#but at least it's still winter where i live so maybe i'm not too late

[eyanin]

Seasonal bows 🌸🌿🍂❄️

[sparks-and-smoke]

Hello!

What about an avengers reader and bucky fic where reader dosnt realize they are in an depressive episode but bucky or steve or both ( platonically or romantically) notices.

Haha I just surfaced from a major depressive episode so that's where the inspiration came from.

Also hi!

Hi <3 this one is a little longer because, well I guess I needed it too. Plus fluffy lovey Stucky is my bread and butter. 

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky barnes x reader, Stucky (but not really the focus)

Content/Warnings: mental health, depression, anxiety, self care

Author Note: as someone who also struggles with mental health I personally loved this ask. Thank you, and I hope your feeling better sweets. Take care. 

(Bonus note from my editor @voice-of-velhart)

Editor Note: Depression is not an easy thing to make your way out of, but I'm proud of ya'll for pushing through it and I'm glad your here. <3

The brain fog was the thing that set in first. It was hard to fall out of a routine living in the compound. Day in and Day out it was training and meal regimens. Sparring and paperwork. Someone was always around and yet you felt like you were drifting. Going through the motions with little to no reason to do so other than if you didn’t what else would fill your day. No one seemed to notice your lack of enthusiasm, or how your typically attentive nature had been slipping lately. Your reports were still on time and you weren’t pulling your punches in training so you were probably fine… right?

It was burn out or maybe you were feeling under the weather. At least that's what you told them if they asked. And while your friends and team loved you, they were busy people with the literal weight of the world on their shoulders. So who could blame them when they didn’t keep tabs, or at least you thought they didn’t keep tabs. 

Bucky sat in the library trying to find a fantasy book he hadn’t already read. Tony was a brilliant guy but he had horrible taste in written fiction. As he perused, he kept you in his peripheral vision. You stared down at your now cold cup of coffee looking lost even though you weren’t moving. He had noticed you are like this a lot the last few weeks. You shower less and less, your normally shiny maintained hair more often than not on the greasy and dull side of the spectrum. And he hadn’t seen you touch the piano or your switch in days. He was getting concerned. 

He taps Steve with his foot. “What?” 

The big guy had been deep in thought, sprawled out in a lounge chair with his nose in a tablet. “Have you noticed Angel is different lately?” 

Steve glanced up, taking a look at their girl as she swirled the coffee in her mug, totally disassociating. “Yeah, she said she was under the weather. I tried to get it out of her what was wrong but she’s being cagey.” his brows knit together in a mask of concern. “Sure is lingering a long time to be just a bug, don't cha think?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah I do… what are we gonna do about it.” 

Steve sighed heavily and set down his tablet, giving the issue his full attention. He thinks back to those long cold winters in brooklyn. When the snow was deep and his bones would ache so bad he didn’t wanna get out of bed. There were always little things that would help him get out of those slumps. Bucky making him get up and shower was always a good start, followed by warm food and if they could find it, sunlight. 

“I think we're gonna start by helping our girl feel human again..” 

~~~~

Steve and Bucky formed a game plan. The two men are nothing if not efficient and tactical. Steve went down stairs to start food. Something starchy and savory. Comfort food. Meanwhile, Bucky started operation Angel Self Care. 

“Angel.” Bucky's voice was soft, wrapped in warm velvet. And you barely registered it before he was crouching down and smoothing back your hair from your face. Taking your untouched cup out of your hand. “How long have you been sitting here, beautiful?” 

You shook your head as if you could wave away the mist behind your eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Lost track of time I guess.” Bucky just hums. Yeah, he knows that feeling. He also knew it never led anywhere good. 

“Lost in thought?” 

You looked up to meet his gaze, warmth and concern mixing in the set of his jaw and the draw of his brows. “Yeah I guess. I’m fine babe. Don’t worry about it I’m just..”

“Feeling under the weather. Yeah, I know. You’ve been saying that a lot lately. I’m starting to think it’s a cop out.”

It is and you know it but you don’t know what else to say. “I just. I don’t know what wrong with me lately. I just… I don’t wanna do anything. Like anything ya know? It’s like sometimes waking up alone is all I have in me for the day. Do you know how that feels.”

If anyone knew how you felt it was Bucky. Hell sometimes he still felt that way, decades of torture and actions out of his own control had left him with more then his own share of depressive tendencies that drag him deep down under the current of reality pretty regularly. There are days he goes completely nonverbal, only going through the motions on autopilot. The only people who can pull him out are Steve, and you. And therapy, lots of therapy. “Of course I do. You know I do. But Angel, you can’t live there. It’s ok to feel it, but you need to acknowledge it and try to crawl back out. It’s ok if you can’t do it alone baby.”

You feel a thick lump forming in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. The urge to argue, to tell him your fine and he’s being overbearing was there. But more then that you knew he was right. Something was wrong, and you couldn’t climb out on your own. But you weren’t ready to say it. Not yet. 

“Come on honey, let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in your belly. That might help a little.” Bucky didn’t wait for you to protest, he slid one arm under your legs and the other around your back and headed up to Steve’s quarters. Not caring in the slightest if teammates or recruits saw. That was a problem for later Bucky. 

~~~~

The big six had full apartments in the upper levels of the compound. Which means he could squirrel you away to Steve’s private bath and get you in the shower. Vetiver and pine, a familiar comforting scent. Gently and quietly he started the shower to an acceptable temperature for you (hot enough to turn your skin the next shade of blush.) and stripped you down to help you in. 

There was nothing sexual about the way he did this. It was all just about loving you. Helping you, as  he guided you into the water and let it wash away your stress. He pulled you back against his chest. “There’s my girl. That feel better Angel?” 

You nod as the smell of Steve’s body wash fills the small space. “Do you mind if I wash you?” 

With your permission he sets about cleaning you up. Slow loving strokes over your body as he pulls you back to lean on his chest. “You know you can talk to us about anything right. Steve and I love you. You’ve been here for us. Let us do the same.” 

“I would tell you… if I knew why I felt this way.” You confess. “If I had some inkling of what I needed to get out to feel better but I don’t.” 

Your voice wavers and it breaks Bucky's heart just a little. He wants to fix it. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there for you. “Well, I’m glad you trust me enough to help you.” He tilts your head back. Starting to wash your hair. “We’ll just take it one step at a time till we find ground again. Ok?

~~~~ 

Downstairs Steve fretted over the stove. Sweet potato pierogi and with onions and butter. It was easy, simple even. But it always made him feel better as a kid and the few times he had made it you liked it. He looked up as he heard feet pad down into the kitchen. Hair still damp, but clean. In fresh sweats and Bucky's shirt. 

“Ahh, there you are. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah… a little.” You admit, sitting on a stool across the island. 

Steve rounds the counter to kiss your forehead. “You look better.” He inhaled her skin, the longer scent of his soap and Bucky's touch still there, along with that sweet undertone that was all you. “Smell better too.” He teased. 

You breath out your nose with a half hearted huff. “Thanks.” 

“Always angel. Here. I made you some food. You don’t have to eat it all but at least a few bites would ease my mind. And then maybe we can go up to the room and get you some sun hmm? Would you be ok with that.” Steve slid the colorful pasta across the counter to you with a warm smile. Trying to coax you to follow his lead. 

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You eat mostly in silence. Steve and Bucky don’t push you to talk as you fill your stomach. You know they're worried. But even just these small gestures are helping you feel like maybe there is an end to this malaise. You see Steve smile and kiss Bucky softly in thanks as they wait for you to tell them you're ready. 

They spend the rest of the day trying to get you some sun. Fresh air and movement. 

“We’re gonna do this a little everyday till you start feeling better. And if you need it or feel up to it we can look into talking to a therapist too.” Steve assures. His hand firmly laced through your own. “You are not alone in this. We all feel this way sometimes. But I’m proud of you for trying love.”

A flicker of hope flies in your chest at his words. You aren’t alone, this isn’t forever. And your men are gonna love you through it till you can do it on you own.

[highhhfiveee]

can I request mike, reader, and Abby going to the beach :p!?

[i'm combining this with another ask! they requested the same setting, but with a scenario!]

wc: 3k tags: sweetgf!reader + dickheadbf!mike, light smut (oral [deepthroating and come swallowing], m!receiving), mostly fluff and being grateful for life and the people who you live it with [: proofread but maybe there are still errors! kill me, i'm human! a/n: i wish i could go to the beach so bad!! i fucking love the summer and it's damn near the dead of winter where i live ],: i also get cold so easily and i can't take freezing every morning lmao

i am imagining:

you and mike are sitting on the couch on a late friday morning, hypnotized by daytime television after a big, indulgent breakfast and chats about mike's shift. abby had retreated to the adjacent loveseat, fast asleep with a stomach full of pancakes and eggs.

"it's so hotttt," mike grumbles, stretching his sweaty body out like a starfish. the limbs on his right side invade your space, leaving you to shrink into the couch with a groan.

"yeah, mike, too hot for you to be doing that. stoppp," you return his irritated tone, bringing your hands up to push into him. it was the hottest day of the summer so far, and it wasn't like you weren't also feeling the elements. not even the AC unit turned to full blast could cool the living room, and it made every breath feel thick and labored.

mike stands from his spot on the couch, dramatically dragging his body over to the kitchen. you watch as he yanks the freezer door open with impatience, craning his head into the crystalized cool and saying, "it's too hot to be living."

you turn your body to extend across the whole sofa, thankful that your hair is up and out of your face so you're able to feel the tickle of a breeze on the nape of your neck. you bite at your bottom lip as the gears of your brain churn through a heat-induced fog, thinking of how to keep cool at a time like this.

abby stirs then, stretching and yawning and squealing, "it was hot in my dream too." you turn your head to her, pursing your lips to the side in disappointment.

"aw, abs, i'm sorry. that sucks."

"i was at the beach though, which i think makes up for it---"

"omg, the beach! we should go!" you cheer, but mike shuts you down once he hears abby wholeheartedly agree.

"uh, the closest beach is six hours away."

"well, maybe we can make a weekend out of it," you suggest, motioning for abby to come sit with you. she delicately settles on your thighs, relaxing into the couch and swinging her legs over the edge.

"yeah, with what money?"

"i can dip into my savings a little bit, at least for the hotel and gas," you offer, and mike is shutting you down again, shaking his head as he cranes it towards you and humming "nuh uh"s.

"c'mon mike, i don't mind! listen, i want to do this for us," you're hugging abby into you, pressing your cheeks together and telepathically communicating for her to help you convince mike with her own set of puppy dog eyes. "we'll leave in the evening so you can get some rest, and we can split the drive."

"abby doesn't have a license."

your face scrunches as you confusedly mutter, "why would you include your eleven year old sister in a 'we' of that context?" as abby states, "you're weird, mike." in the same tone.

"i know, my joke didn't land, i guess," mike sighs, letting his head drop between his shoulders as he closes the freezer door. the sound of suction punctuates his action, and he turns to you and abby with a grimace before saying, "three hours behind a steering wheel just doesn't seem appealing. two would be a hell of a lot more digestible."

"oh my god, mike, you're so pitiful," you playfully chide, crossing your arms over your chest. "i promise that you'll survive, grumpy. tell you what, i'll drive four hours so you'll only have to drive two."

the sweet drawl of your voice and trivial suggestion to take on more work is all it takes for mike to fold and drive all six hours.

he doesn't do it with a smile, but you're still grateful for his sacrifice, cupping his face and kissing his cheek as he drives into the sizzling orange pulse of the sunset. "i love youuuu," you sing, and he grumbles for like the millionth time that day as you ignore him and muse, "and abby loves you, and we're gonna have so much fun on our beach weekend!!"

you and abby begin to whoop and cheer and dance in your seats, chanting, "beachbeachbeach!", and you pretend not to notice the slight smirk that cracks the perpetual stiffness of mike's mouth.

you spend the first half of the trip singing along to an old CD abby had burned sometime ago--"you always have to keep a road trip mix on hand"--, playing various word association games, and sucking fluorescent orange dust from your fingers after you chuck a cheeto into mike's mouth and pass the bag back to abby.

the second half is stiller; abby has fallen asleep again, soothed by the motions of the car, and you're staring at mike's side profile as he drives. he's so tired; it's painted in his eyes and over his body, with the way he slumps into the driver's seat and focuses on the road like nothing else is around him.

he catches your gaze after a bit, breaking himself away from his trance. he switches hands on the wheel so he's able to clutch your thigh, gently kneading at your skin, and with a small grin, asks, "got a nice view?"

"yeah, but it seems the view isn't feeling so nice," you raise your hand to his shoulder, your turn to massage into him. he's so tense under your touch, and you watch his eyes flicker with your words, training back on the four lane highway ahead. "i think this will be nice for us. we all deserve a nice vacation; especially you, mikey. you've been working hard, and i know you're tired."

"yeah," mike breathes softly, the gentlest you think he's been all day. "i'm sorry about the way i was acting about the drive. i just couldn't think straight after my shift, your delicious breakfast, and sitting in the heat."

"i understand. three hours of driving isn't fun, but that's why i offered to take more of the load after you made that...bad joke."

"so now it's just categorically bad?" mike pouts with comical sorrow, and you giggle at him, nudging at his shoulder with soft pressure.

"yes, because why was she included in we? obviously abby can't drive."

"it was supposed to be one of my sillies,"

"you're just usually better at them," you argue, and it sends the both of you into a laughing fit that gives you a stomach cramp, mike affirming, "yeah, yeah, you're right, you're right. shit, are you okay?" as you try to calm down.

after relaxing back into a comfortable silence, you're bringing mike's hand to your lips, kissing at his knuckles when he blurts, "thank you for putting up with me, and for paying for stuff so short notice."

"oh hush. i love you, mike. truly. we take care of each other, don't we?" you squeeze his hand as you continue, placing it over your heart. "there hasn't been a second i've been with you where i haven't felt supported, and now it's my turn to support you. plus, this is like abby's first real vacation. i want her to have the best time too. we don't have any money when we're dead, so we might as well say we had experiences, yeah?"

"i love you. you're an angel on earth," mike hums lovingly as he pulls off of an exit, able to relax his head against the headrest and leer at you once he brakes at a red light. "our angel on earth." you writhe under his enamored stare, blushing and gnawing on your bottom lip with an airy giggle, and later, after you've gotten to your hotel and tucked abby into bed, you're back in the car doing that same giggle with his dick lodged in your throat.

"my angel on earth," he repeats as he folds his fingers into your hair so he can pull on it, maintaining eye contact while you sloppily guide yourself on him. his toes curl and his thigh muscles spasm, and he's panting down on your face as his other hand grabs his steering wheel in a white hot grip. "fuck, baby."

you're grateful that you were able to book a room facing outwards on the first floor of the hotel; you could be disgusting with mike in the car while ensuring abby's safety through the front windshield.

it helped solidify that there were no worries in your orbit; everything here was perfect, and you feed that passion into taking mike deeper, holding his gaze even as a tear runs down your cheek after an obscene gag that resonates through the whole car.

you swallow around him as you reach down to caress his balls, and crack a triumphant smile when he tenses, brokenly whimpering and bucking his hips into your face with sinful desperation. he doesn't stop as he shoots his come into your mouth, using the hand in your head to tilt your head back so the overflow doesn't choke you.

you moan as you taste him on your tongue, drinking it down while you flash mike the watery, filthy twinkle in your eyes. he thinks that it extends his orgasm, his balls tightening with another spray of white down your throat.

though his body burns with fatigue, mike brings his thumb to the corner of your lips to collect a spilt remnant of himself, pushing it into your mouth where he feels the warm plushiness of your tongue wrap around his digit. "god, i think you're gonna kill me one day. this mouth is deadly."

"one day, yes, but not today or saturday or sunday. not while we're on vacation."

you both retire to the room after, two immovable stone statues in bed until 7 am, when you're both ripped from your sleep by abby's noisy movements. she's enthusiastically throwing the curtains open, drowning you two in painfully bright sunlight and skipping over to hop on the bed, narrowly missing your shins and knees with her uncoordinated steps.

"abby, abby, abby," mike drones groggily, reaching out for her ankles.

you blearily watch as she snatches it out of his reach, and you can't help but laugh as you two make eye contact. "come on!! we're on vacation!! we've gotta start vacationing now!!"

"we don't have to start at...seven twenty-two in the morning," mike complains, wiping at his eyes after throwing his gaze to the alarm clock. "maybe we can do...ten."

"ten is way too late! if we eat now, we can wait it out and then go to the beach and stay all day! pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease--" you wrangle abby into your arms, squeezing her close to your body in an attempt to quiet her.

you smooth her hair down, tucking it behind her ears as you whisper, "hey, hey, how about we go get breakfast and meet mike a little later, okay? we can go in our pjs and everything," abby's eyes light up at your plan, and she's nodding excitedly, pulling on your wrist in order to wrench you from the warm bed. "let's go now then!"

"let me brush my teeth first, sweet thing, at least."

after another generous breakfast, two cat naps, and endless searching through bags marked with the sharp zztt zztt zztt of zippers, you, mike, and abby are established in the warm sand of a southern beach; it'd been a bit of a hassle to put the umbrella up, with its complicated, ancient instructions, but your tired muscles and mind are extraordinarily grateful for the effort as you lounge in your chair, leaning your head back into a neck pillow and scanning your eyes over your science fiction read.

after a bit, you stick your bookmark into the crease of your pages and remove your sunglasses from your face so you're able to get a clearer view of abby and mike along the shoreline.

they're laughing together, running back and forth and taunting the tide as it crashes against the sand in a white foam. "you can't let the tide get you, abby! the sea monsters will take you whole!" you chuckle as mike sweeps her up in his arms, swinging her over the water as he treads deeper.

you set your book down and travel towards the tide, picking up more of their conversation over the soft wind.

"wait, what---what---oh no, the sea monsters are speaking to me. they're saying...i have to give you up." mike shakes his head in faux despair, beginning to fake cry as abby yelps in his arms. "they say they've been looking for an eleven year old girl named abby for their mission!" he continues swinging her, pretending to dunk her in some moments and keeping her away from the water in others, claiming, "no, i won't let them have you!"

you place your hands on your hips, raising your eyebrow in preparation to play along as they make their way back to land. "everything okay over here? i heard something about...'sea monsters'."

"the sea monsters have mastered mind control," abby matter-of-factly explains, wiggling from mike's grasp and curling her toes back into the wet sand during her impromptu intermission. "they specifically need an eleven year old abby, but mike is such a great brother that he wouldn't dare give me up."

"wouldn't do it for all the money in the world," mike affirms with a smile and finger wag pointed to the sky. after a moment, he winces and squeezes his eyes tightly in pain, rubbing at his temples with two fingertips. "they're still in my head though. it's taking all my willpower to fight against them."

you nod at the both of them, an oddly fascinated smile etched onto your face. "well maybe you two can take them down and make them reform. ask them why they need children for their mission in the first place."

"well they don't always, do they, abs?" abby shakes her head as mike reaches out for you, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "in fact...they're asking for...you now."

you widen your eyes, playing up your shock with a hand to the heart. "oh jeez. well, thank god it's an adult this time. what would the world be without abby?"

"what would the world be like without me? you ask great questions, y/n. that's why i love you."

"i love you more, abs. i'm not letting them get you either," you reply, running your hand over the crown of her damp head with an affectionate grin as you feel mike sneakily wrap his arms around your waist, pressing you into him. "mike, wh--"

"the sea monsters have spoken. they want you!" you're off your feet before you can even finish your screech, flying towards the cresting waves. one moment, mike had you in his arms, trudging into deeper surf, and the next, you're shrouded in icy ocean water, the salt stinging your eyes and coating your unexpectant tongue in a disgusting layer of minerals.

mike's laughing as he slowly makes his way to the sand, his back facing the shore while he waits for you to come to the surface. he's beside abby when you finally rise, the joy dropping from both of their demeanors when they take you in.

your staunch displeasure could be seen from football fields away and it makes abby mischievously gulp, "uh oh" as you irritably trek through the water, stopping when it reaches your mid-thigh.

you're like a goddess, appearing from the ocean in your simple black bikini, water droplets beading over the exposed parts of your smooth bronze skin, and it's all mike wants to make you feel like in order to atone for his obvious mistake. he wants to throw you into his arms and apologize profusely and plant kisses all over your body and ask you what he can do to make it right; he'll do anything if it means he won't see you with crossed arms and a deep scowl.

your attitude has mike sprinting over, almost face planting as his feet slip in the waterlogged sand. his eyes are overwhelmingly remorseful, and he begins to spew sentiment as he grabs for you.

"i'm so sorry baby, are you okay? are you hurt?" his voice cracks as he examines you thoroughly, grazing his hands over your face and body. you nearly give up your act at his attentiveness, but you maintain, rolling your eyes at him. he deflates at that, whimpering, "fuck, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. i should've asked before i did that, i-i-i just thought since you were playing along that maybe it'd be okay...." mike's ramble trails off as he focuses on you stepping back into deeper water, and even more terrifyingly, your continued silence. "baby, hey, hey. are you okay?"

he follows you closely, and it's a foolish mistake on his own part; his consideration leaves him vulnerable, and you're able to ram your small frame into his torso, wrapping your own arms around his waist and tackling him into the chilly water. he goes down with a yell and comes up soon after with a cough and a smile, shaking the saltwater from his hair.

he wipes at his eyes as he reorients himself, rasping, "oh, i see. you were just getting back at me, being all cold and shit."

you watch him with your lips pursed amusedly, traversing around his recovering form so that you have an unobstructed escape route. "you gave me to the sea monsters, mike. i couldn't not get revenge."

"yeah, well, now this sea monster's gonna get you!" you noisily squeal as you run with high knees all the way to abby, who jumps and cheers for you back at the dry shore. "don't let them get you, y/n!"

"i won't!" you scream back, your words broken up with chuckles as you try your best to escape mike's aquatic nefariousness. you've made it out of the water, pulling abby into a wet embrace when mike clammers into the two of you, sending you all down to the lush sand.

it sticks to your skin as you belly-laugh with abby under mike's weight, feeling his heart pump through his ribs with adrenaline, and you can't help but think about how memorable this time will be for all of you.

mike and abby would be your family forever, and moments like this cemented that.

cute beach time!!! i love sweetgf and dickheadbf, they warm my heart.

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

[cxtherine]

spencer reid x fem! reader - all too well chapter II- i love you, i'm sorry

a/n: i literally had to rewrite all of this, so i'm weeks behind where i wanted to be because my laptop deleted this, and the next 2 chapters so i'm sorry it's so late

tw: bodily harm, gore, unrequited love etc.character death, train crashes.

when the train doors slam behind me, i know it's too late. i should've probably thought it through more than i did- but at least the slam was satisfying enough, bags in one hand with my favourite things. i've left everything i've ever known behind. 8-year-old me would've been upset, but now i'm sort of numb, like the way you just get used to cold ice cream on a hot day.

the sky, though, is gorgeous. perfect ambers and pinks, sinking down with the sun. if i could, i'd paint it.

the train is almost empty, and i sit down by myself, in one of the seats with a table so i can put my bags underneath, and my phone and water on the table. the scenery that's starting to flash by outside the huge window is stunning, and it's perfect for me to reminisce on everything that led up to my somewhat-running-away to start a new life, to get away from who i'd become.

when i was a little girl, people used to tell me i should be a lawyer. it was their own, politely masked way of saying i was rude, outspoken. i'd hated my loudness, and knew it wouldn't do me any favours. in the end, i suppose it did.

i met my ex-boyfreind, spencer reid, because i was shouting at a man on the train for my first day at work. he'd touched me inappropriately, and in my disgust, stress, and evident anger i'd yelled in his face. it was then that spencer stepped in, the doe-like brown eyes i'll never forget flickering with concern, and then disgust as they landed on the man i'd been confronting. his hand slid into mine, and it was clammy but somehow, for a stranger, oddly comforting. it was half-an-hour of awkward, polite conversation with spencer after he'd intervened, that made me realise he was going to be one of my new colleages.

it was half a week after that that he became my best freind. we'd done everything together- dr who conventions, nerdy as it seems- and we sat together on every flight to and from cases for work, and just enjoyed the freindship we had. he taught me chess, which i was awful at, and then every card game under the sun. it was a surprise, really, when it became my three year anniversary of working with him, and three years of him being my closest freind and supporter.

more unsurprisingly, we fell in love. it was just perfect, like the movies i would've watched as a teenager on my parent's old TV. coffee shop dates, pinkies interlinked, winter walks. kisses at work, kisses at home and under that big old oak in the town center. in short, everything was just as i'd hoped for all my life. i had a job which made a difference, and a boyfreind who was as kind as he was handsome. i met his mom, and he met mine- diana and i formed a bond, over laughing at his childhood pictures.

maybe i was naive to expect it to stay that way.

it'd been 4 months, of perfect, pure love. we sat on the bench, beneath the oak tree where we'd first kissed, where we'd talked about children and marriage and..other things. every 'thing' we could possibly think of. i hadn't really planned it, spencer'd always been more organised than me, but when i told him i loved him, i wished he'd said it back.

i knew, and still do, what spencer's been through. love has let him down, over and over, but i really thought that we were the greatest thing in each other's lives. 'i'm sorry' isn't exactly a typical response to your girlfreind saying she loves you.

the angry, disappointed little girl who just wanted love had taken over. we'd fought, of course, like any couple does,but it was worse. so much was said. too much, so much that i cried and yelled until my eyes and throat felt scarlet and he just.. blinked those big doe eyes,like i was being irrational, like i was the problem, and left.

left,like both of us had promised we never would. i ran, and i ran faster than i ever have. booked a train ticket, sold my flat. bought another one, upstate and hours away. resigned from the BAU, found another job as easily as that can happen.

i'm going to hate my new job. i know that already. tucked into my train seat, i sigh. the train is finally out of Quantico, and i feel the tenseness that has slipped through the cracks in my heart and into my bones slowly, slowly leaking away. i never really believed in heartbreak. maybe soul-break is the better term, because there's no part of me that doesn't feel utterly destroyed.

the train jolts, and the sip i'd been taking of my water splashes down my front. confused, i rise to my feet. a few minutes later, we're still stuck. i just want to leave. i follow the carriages to the engine-room, irritated. why can't anyone just help me escape? i hate it here.

there's a body, and it makes me jump. slumped on his side, blood pooling down his chest. the profiler in me knows it's been an efficient kill, by someone impatient and well-trained. a perfect slit through the carotid, and then, when i turn him over, fingers trembling, the human in me makes me gag.

his stomach is cut, wide and deep and enough to expose his stomach. suddenly, everything is too bright, too much. i can't even profile what the hell's going on, because there's a honking in my ears, loud and deep and irritating. i straighten up, and look out of the train window.

there's another train, coming right towards this one. i realise there's nothing i can do at the same time that i realise i'm going to die, and then there's the crash, and everything vanishes.

[simping4villains]

Here’s a part 2 of the Shigaraki oneshot I posted awhile back (since some of y’all were asking for it). I do have both parts posted on both my wattpadd and ao3 account under the same username (along with many other fics). I think i’m going to keep the story going, so check there for more regular updates! <3

~~~~~

Warning: Sexual content

It had been a couple of weeks since that night in Tomura's apartment. You'd been avoiding him, not responding to his texts and dodging his calls, but he started threatening to stop by your apartment or the elementary school you taught at to check on you, so you finally agreed to see him.

He asked you to meet up with him at the South entrance of the mall where you'd first met. He was wearing the same black hoodie he'd worn on that day. Originally, you had thought he was just introverted and anxious, but now you realized that he probably wore it in an attempt to hide his identity. He didn't want to be recognized in public and have the heroes called in.

God, what an idiot you'd been. You were too naive, too trusting. Now you were in too deep.

"Y/n," he smiled when he saw you. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

Neither were you.

"Of course. I'm sorry if it feels like i've been ignoring you lately, i've just been so busy with my students," you lied. "It's almost winter break."

Tomura had never shown any signs that he'd be violent toward you, but you still weren't sure what he was truly capable of. You'd tried to do research on him and his villain group, but the media didn't have a ton of information. It seemed like he hadn't had any sort of life before the league—not one that you could find, at least.

"It's alright," he said, though you weren't sure if he really believed you or not.

"So, what are we doing? Your text was pretty cryptic."

"I was thinking we could grab a drink and talk."

You were confused. You'd never known Tomura to have much of a taste for alcohol. "Um, I'm not so sure there are any bars in the mall."

"That's okay, I know a place." He turned and started walking down the sidewalk, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Come on."

Alarms were going off on your head. He wasn't giving you enough information. You didn't like not knowing where he was taking you. Then again, you weren't sure how he would react if you refused to follow him. What choice did you have but to play along?

He led you to a bus stop, which only made you feel even more unsettled. When the bud arrived, you took note that it was headed for the Kamino Ward. It wasn't a place you were very familiar with.

Walking through the streets, you tried to guess which bar Tomura was bringing you to, but he kept passing them by. Eventually, the streets became less lively and more deserted. Many of the buildings looked abandoned, including the one that he finally stopped in front of.

"Well, here it is."

"I don't understand, is it like a speak easy or something?"

He gave an amused laugh. "I guess you could say that."

He slipped through the boards that covered the busted door, urging you to follow him. Against your better judgment, you did. The room inside was battered and covered in dust.

"There's nothing here."

"It's downstairs."

You started to feel nauseous. Had his plan been to just kill you all along? Did he not think he could let you live now that you knew who he was?

"Tomura, it's getting late, maybe I should get going. I promised my aunt that I'd stop by tonight. I don't want her to worry."

It was another lie, but he didn't have to know that. You wanted him to think you had places to be, people who would notice if you didn't show up, didn't answer their texts and calls. Your aunt had met Tomura before, so she'd probably give his name to the police if you went missing.

Then again, what had the police been able to do to stop him up to this point?

His smile dropped. You'd never seen him look so hurt. "I knew it. You really are afraid of me."

"Tomura, that's not it at all."

"Then just trust me. Please. Don't leave yet."

You nodded. "Okay."

What else could you say? What else could you do? If he thought you were a flight risk, that might only cause him to kill you sooner.

The two of you crossed the room to a door, which he opened to reveal a closet. You braced for an impact, thinking maybe he would use your confusion as a means to distract you while he knocked you out. Instead, he reached out to the back wall of the closet and pushed it forward, revealing it to be a hidden door. Beyond it was a set of stairs that led to the basement. As soon as he revealed this secret entrance, he pulled a hand out of his pocket and put it over his face. It was part of his villain costume—you remembered the chills it gave you when you'd first seen it on that special news report.

You followed him down and were surprised to find that there really was a bar in the basement of this abandoned building. There were a few people in the room, but the person who caught your attention was the man standing behind the counter, polishing a glass. His body appeared to be made of smoke or something. He looked up at the two of you as you entered.

"Ah, young master Shigaraki, you've returned."

A man sitting at the bar in a skin-tight suit turned toward the two of you. "Yeah, and it looks like he brought a friend. Who the hell is this, boss?!"

The girl sitting beside him, who couldn't have been more than 17, tilted her head and smiled. "Is she a new recruit?"

Tomura shifted awkwardly. You could feel the way he tensed with embarrassment. "This is Y/n. We've been seeing each other for a while now and I thought it was time for her to meet you."

"The boss has a girlfriend? Get it, boss!"

The girl hopped off of the stool she'd been perched on, running over to circle around you and size you up. "What a cutie! I wonder what your blood tastes like?"

Tomura wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against him in a protective manner. "Maybe this was a mistake."

The girl laughed. "Oh, don't worry, boss! We're going to be best friends." She beamed at you. "My name's Toga."

The man in the suit hopped up to join you all. "And I'm Jin. But my villain name is Twice because I can duplicate myself and make copies of other people! I don't know if i'm the real deal or just a clone!"

"Don't overwhelm her," Tomura warned, his eyes narrowing at them between the fingers of the hand he wore.

"Oh, no, we wouldn't want to scare her off," one of the other members piped up from the corner of the room, his tone sarcastic. "God knows how hard it is for you to get a date."

You hadn't noticed him before, which seemed shocking now that your gaze met his. His body was covered in what looked like burn scars and even from across the room you could tell he had the most piercing blue eyes you'd ever seen. His demeanor was fairly casual, but still conveyed that he wasn't someone you'd want to mess with. He was a bit terrifying.

Any embarrassment Tomura felt was quickly melting into rage. It seemed he and this other league member didn't get along too well. Despite whatever internal conflict you were facing, you couldn't help but feel bad for him in that moment. Your hand brushed the one he had on your waist, just long enough for him to understand that it had been on purpose and that you'd intended for it to comfort him.

"Just ignore him," Tomura mumbled. "It's what the rest of us do."

"So, what's your quirk?" Toga asked, trying to shift the attention away from the other man.

Twice cut you off before you could answer. "Are you going to join the league? You totally should!"

You looked between Toga and Twice. You had been ready for Tomura to kill you, but nothing could have prepared you for this. "Oh, I—"

"No," Tomura snapped. "She's just here to better understand our cause."

You could feel the silent rage radiating off of him. In his eyes, these two had crossed a line by inviting you to be a part of the league. If it was something you'd decided for yourself, he would have welcomed you with open arms, but he wanted to protect you, and he knew that you would be safest if the heroes never found out about you.

The man in the corner scoffed. "Of course she isn't joining the league. Look at her. She probably couldn't keep up with us."

Tomura's fingers dug into your hip. He was trying to hold himself back, to keep his composure. If this man had been insulting him, he could've just ignored it, or even come back with his own sarcastic retort, but when it came to you—well, it was harder for him to brush it off.

"Y/n," the man behind the bar called. "Come and sit. Would you like some tea? I've always got it ready for master Shigaraki."

"Tea would be lovely," you smiled, glad for someone to diffuse the sudden tension.

You took a seat at the bar, trying to ignore whatever lecture Tomura was giving Twice and Toga about the way they'd ambushed you. You wondered whether or not the other man would get a lecture too. He didn't seem like someone who would really listen. . . or care.

"Sorry about them," the man said as he pushed a cup of tea across the bar to you. "Some of the newer members are so full of charisma. And Dabi, well, he's. . ."

"It's alright. I'm sure they mean well," you replied, forcing a smile. "I didn't catch your name."

"It's Kurogiri."

"Kurogiri," you repeated. "How did you end up becoming a bar tender for the league of villains?"

He laughed. "I am not just a mere bartender. It is my job to keep Tomura Shigaraki safe. I am his sworn protector."

"I didn't think the leader of the league of villains would need protecting."

"There are plenty of people who want to see his downfall—heroes and villains alike. Most don't agree with his mission."

You were about to ask what his mission was when you felt three fingers gripping your shoulder, telling you that Tomura wanted to leave.

"Kurogiri, I'll be in my room if you need me. Come on, Y/n."

He led you through the bar and down a hallway, stopping at the very last door. His room at the league's hideout was smaller than the one in his apartment, and somehow even less decorated. It was very reminiscent of a college dorm, though he had a full-size bed. On his desk you noticed he had a photo strip of the two of you that you'd taken on one of your very first dates. Besides this, his desk was almost completely bare.

"I'm sorry about them," he said as he took a seat on the bed, removing the hand from his face and setting it on the nightstand. "Maybe bringing you here was a mistake after all." His fingers found their way to his neck, mindlessly scratching lines in familiar tracks.

You moved to sit beside him, gently pulling his hand away from his reddening skin to hold it palm-up in your lap. "Toga and Twice seemed nice."

"I just thought maybe if you met everyone then you would see that we aren't as bad as the heroes make us out to be. You'd see that you don't have to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afrai—"

"Stop," he said, his eyes pinching shut like the words pained him to hear. "I feel like you can barely look at me now. You think I wouldn't hesitate to kill you, that your death would be just as meaningless to me as those who have died as collateral—a small sacrifice for my cause."

You didn't know what to say. You had hoped you'd been convincing enough, but Tomura had seen through it. He could tell things had changed between you. Your heart was racing now, wondering what he would do.

He turned to you, his eyes soft and pleading. "I would never do anything to hurt you, y/n—and I would gladly kill anyone who tried. I couldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you."

You swallowed, searching his eyes for any sign of deception, but ultimately decided that this was the truth. He didn't bring you here to kill you, he just wanted you to understand him.

"Kurogiri mentioned that a lot of people don't agree with your 'mission.' What is it you're doing?"

"I want to destroy the world that we live in. You don't know what's going on, so you don't understand how wretched it really is. From the ashes, I'll build a new world—similar to what you believe ours to be."

You had never seen this side of him before. He sounded so. . . evil. "But why do you have to destroy things first? Why can't you just try to make things better?"

He shook his head, pulling his hand away from you. "Society is too far gone. There is no 'making things better' as it stands. We need a fresh start, and I can give it to us."

You nodded slowly, processing everything he was saying. "And what would this new world of yours look like?"

"No more heroes who are only after the pay and praise of a job well done. Just people. People allowed to live their lives without being forced to worship these corrupt imposters."

You thought of your mother, who had been a hero and had died saving others. Had she really been so bad? Had she done it for the wrong reasons? You'd be lying if you said there was never a time where you thought her sense of justice had been selfish. Because of it you had grown up without a mother, without a father, isolated from the rest of the world, discouraged from using and training your quirk. You often wondered how different your life might look now if she had picked a different, more sensible career path.

He continued when you didn't respond. "No one is born a villain, they're created—they're spit out and shunned by this cruel world one too many times. I just want to live in a world where everyone is equal, where no one is treated differently for their quirks."

"Well, I guess. . . I guess that doesn't seem so bad."

He smiled and rested his forehead against yours, bringing a hand up to cup your jaw. "I don't want to live in that world without you by my side. I really do love you."

You held your breath and closed your eyes, weighing everything that he'd said. The man you'd spent the past few months with, Tomu, was sweet, shy, caring. Tomura Shigaraki, the leader of the league of villains, had a reputation for being something else entirely—cold, ambitious, and merciless. Before, you couldn't have believed they really were the same person. Yet sitting here, listen to him speak, it all came together. And you hated yourself because, despite it all. . .

"I love you," you whispered, as if you were ashamed to say the words too loud, afraid that might somehow make them more real.

He pressed his lips to yours, winding his hand into your hair, always careful to keep at least one finger away from you. He'd missed you those past few weeks. He was worried he had lost you. He wanted you to know how much you meant to him—how much he needed you. He had been a mess without you, barely eating or sleeping. He would have fallen apart completely if you'd left. He needed you to know that.

"I thought i'd lost you," he whispered between kisses, his voice like a plea, begging you to keep proving him wrong.

Honestly, you'd thought he'd lost you, too. You had every intention of ending your relationship by avoiding him. Maybe it wasn't fair to do it that way given how long you'd been together, but after learning who he really was, you worried that if you met up with him to end things then he might overreact and become violent. You couldn't have predicted that seeing him would instead make you change your mind.

"I'm still here," you told him, feeling ashamed of yourself. What would Aunt Marci think if she knew you were in love with a villain?

He pulled you onto his lap so that you straddled him, wrapping his arms around your waist so you were caged to his chest. "Are you sure tou don't hate me?" He asked. "You aren't only here telling me the things I want to hear because you're afraid of me?"

You frowned. "I wish that were the case. It would make this all a lot easier."

"You don't want to want to be with me, right? To love me?"

"Right," you agreed, your voice barely audible. You were worried how he might react knowing you were so apprehensive.

His expression didn't change. He didn't erupt into a fit of anger. He brushed the tips of his fingers through your hair before ghosting them along your jaw. "Then i'll just have to keep giving you reasons to want me."

Your lips met again and you melted in his arms. He ran a hand up the back of your shirt, pressing four fingers into your back so that he held you closer. You gasped at his touch and he took the opportunity to catch your bottom lip between his teeth, lightly tugging at it. It was all a painful reminder that, despite everything, you still burned for him.

   You were so weak.

He guided you back on the bed, spreading himself over you and bending to trail feather-light kisses along your neck. "I want to prove that you don't have to be afraid of me," he whispered, his breath tickling your skin.

"How are you going to do that?"

His teeth grazed along your neck. "I'll show you how gentle I can be."

"Tomura, I've already seen that side of you."

He lifted his head from your neck to meet your gaze. He was smirking. God, he was so beautiful. "Not like this."

You didn't even realize he'd grabbed your shirt until it disintegrated around you, flitting away from your body and leaving you feeling vulnerable beneath him, guarded only by the thin lace bra you wore.

He ran his fingers along the edge of it, humming to himself. "Pretty. I don't want to ruin it."

You frowned. "You know, I really wish you wouldn't ruin any of my clothes."

That made him laugh. He thought you were cute when you were mad. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it upset you so much. I just like giving you reasons to wear mine instead."

"I don't have a problem with wearing yours, I just don't want to have to keep spending money on clothes that actually fit me just for you to make them disappear in seconds."

"That's fair." He pressed his lips to your chest before trailing soft kisses down your stomach, stopping at the waistband of your jeans. "But it really is so much quicker to decay them," he said as he fiddled with your belt and zipper.

You lifted your hips to help him guide your pants off of your legs. You were surprised when he dragged your panties along with them, exposing you to him. He ran the tips of his fingers down your thighs before settling between your legs. Your breath hitched at the sight alone.

He wove his arms under your legs so that he could grip your hips, pulling you closer to him. Your heart raced as you felt his breath against your core.

"Are you gonna make it?" He asked. "You're looking a bit flustered."

"Will you quit teasing me?"

He flashed a devilishly playful smile. "I'm not teasing you. I fully intend to give you everything you want. It's not my fault if you lack patience."

He placed a gentle kiss on your clit, the rough cracks of his lips creating enough friction to make your toes curl, but it was the soft warmth of his tongue against you that finally drew a moan from your throat. He hummed his satisfaction, which only added to the sensations as he continued exploring your heat with his mouth.

"Tomura, fuck. . ."

Your hand moved to grip his hair, needing something to ground you in reality as pleasure overtook your body and clouded your mind. His tongue moved faster against your clit, rushing you closer to your orgasm. It wasn't long before you completely fell apart, pulling at his hair and crying out his name. Once you'd gotten past the peak of your climax, he moved to lay next to you. He propped himself up on his elbow and lazily ran a few fingers through your hair.

"I'm surprised," you said.

"What do you mean?"

"No games."

"I told you."

"Maybe you aren't so evil after all," you joked.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. "Don't tell the others."

"I dunno, you might have to buy my silence," you teased.

"What's your price?"

You snaked a hand behind his neck and pulled him into a kiss, hooking your leg over his hip at the same time so you could press his body against yours. He smirked against your lips, chuckling to himself.

You broke away from him. "What?"

"Was that your answer?"

You avoided the question, instead tugging at his shirt. "This isn't fair. I'm practically naked."

"So that's a yes?"

"Will you just shut up and take your clothes off?"

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head at you. "So impatient. We'll have to work on that."

Despite his chastisement, he listened. He pulled his clothes off and threw them next to yours on the floor before reaching behind you to unhook your bra. His hands covered your breasts, careful as always to keep at least one finger off of you. Then, he leaned into your chest and replaced one of your hands with his mouth, sucking bruises on your skin and flicking his tongue against your nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to contain a moan, not wanting to seem anymore desperate, but it just became a whimper in your throat. You felt him smile against your chest and move his free hand down to between your legs. You were so wet that he slid two fingers in you like it was nothing. He scissored them back and forth, stretching you out as he continued toying with your nipples. You couldn't contain yourself any longer. You tugged at his hair as you moaned his name.

"What is it, baby?" He asked.

You grabbed at his hip, trying to pull him closer to you.

"You want something?"

"Stop teasing me. You said no games."

He feigned a sudden realization. "Ohh, you want me in here?" He thrusted his fingers deeper into you, making sure to curl them over your g-spot and drag another moan from your throat.

"Fuck. Yes."

He kissed your forehead. "Of course, baby."

With the hand that was on your chest, he steadied himself on the bed, and with the other he lined his tip up with your entrance. There were no games. He didn't tease you, he didn't make you beg, he just eased himself in until you were completely filled. You arched against him and dug your nails into his shoulders, loving the feeling of him stretching you out.

"Am I good to move?" He asked after a moment, gently brushing his nose against yours.

You nodded.

He slowly pulled his hips back before sinking into you again, repeating the motion over and over until he found a good rhythm.

His movements were different this time. Before, he had seemed desperate, slamming into you at a rough pace. Now, his stokes were slow, controlled, passionate—like he was using his body to show you all of the things he couldn't say out loud. He was begging you to stay, to love him, to give him a chance to be the person you'd originally thought he was.

And despite all of the alarms going off in your head, you knew you would.

You could feel the knot building once more in the pit of your stomach. He was pushing you closer to the edge with each languid movement, and you could tell by his breathing that he was getting closer too.

At one point he paused and grabbed one of the pillows from the bed, lifting your hips and setting you back down on it. The new angle that it provided was absolutely euphoric. He reached deeper than before, rolling his hips so that he hit all of the right spots.

"Tomura," you moaned.

"Does that feel good, baby?"

"Yes."

"Are you close?"

You nodded.

"You wanna cum with me?"

"Please," you begged.

"I gonna count you down, alright?"

"Okay."

"Five."

He moved his hand between you.

"Four."

He started drawing quick circles over your clit with his thumb.

"Three."

You could feel your pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

"T-fuck-two."

You dug your nails into his skin, arching against him.

"One."

You both fell apart, panting and moaning as you let your pleasure wash over you. He caught your lips in a sloppy kiss before moving down your neck, trying to cover every inch of your skin. He wanted you to understand how much he loved you—how much he worshipped you. He wouldn't let you go so easily.

The two of you cleaned up and Tomura gave you another sweatshirt to borrow since he'd decayed your shirt. There was no bathroom attached to his room, so you had to go down the hall. You hadn't taken more than two steps on your way back to his room when you heard a mocking voice.

"Ohhh, Tooomura," He said in a tone meant to mimic your own. "God, it's fucking pathetic."

You turned to see the man from before—the one who'd been a jerk to you in the bar—leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. Your cheeks felt hot—a combination of rage and embarrassment. Had he been listening in on you two?

"It's Dabi, right?" You asked. "Look, I don't know what the fuck your problem is, but will you just leave me the hell alone?"

He kicked off of the wall, closing the distance between you and getting in your face. "My problem is you. I've got big plans for my future and the league can help me see them through, but not if you're here. You're too much of a distraction. You'll just end up making Shigaraki soft—him and the rest of the league."

"I'm not trying to be a distraction," you insisted.

"Oh, please," he scoffed. "It's only a matter of time before you brainwash Shigaraki into thinking that what we're doing is pointless. Love is like a fucking poison."

He shoved past you and disappeared down the hallway. You must've seemed off when you got back to Tomura's room because a look of concern quickly spread across his face.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Fine," you replied, clenching and unclenching your fists as you kept your gaze trained on the floor. You were trying to keep your anger from bubbling over and causing you to do something stupid. How could Dabi think you were bad for Tomu? You wouldn't make him soft. You wouldn't make him give up on the world he was trying to create—a world where everyone was equal. Why would you?

"Are you sure?"

You finally looked up at him. Your determination was radiating off of you as you announced: "I want to join the league."

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

And, darling, all my dreaming has only been given a name (ao3)

Surprise and merry Christmas, @shadowsxgwynriel!! I'm your Secret Santa, and I'm so excited to finally deliver your @acotargiftexchange fic! I hope you like it-- I really loved writing this fic, and getting to know you over the past few weeks has been super fun. Enjoy, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season! ❤️

It’s late— dark, and cold, and in the wake of Clotho suggesting that Gwyn begin to explore the world beyond the library, the priestess finds herself seeking comfort at the House training ring. But with her favourite Shadowsinger away on a mission, Gwyn finds herself musing on her fears and insecurities as she looks out over the city below, wondering if she’ll ever make it down there. When Azriel returns and takes her by surprise, the pair of them begin to realise that maybe they've been something more than friends all along. 

Moonlight bathed the training ring in quicksilver.

The vast space crowning the House of Wind was entirely empty, home to nothing but cold air and starlight and the promise of frost when the sun rose, and alone, Gwyneth Berdara stepped onto the smooth rock floor of the roof, fighting a shiver as the late-winter wind brushed her cheeks.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing.

Barefoot, she wondered if she should have paused to change, or at least thought to wrap something around her shoulders to keep away the cold. But the night was deep and dark and quiet, and even though it was cold it was better than being inside— where she had lain awake in her bed in the library dormitories for hours, watching through her window as the moon tracked a slow and steady path across the sky. She had closed her eyes and wished for sleep, but it had slipped through her fingers each time she came close to grabbing it.

So here she was— still in her pyjamas, standing solitary on the roof, looking out at Velaris spread below.

Her eyes scanned the roof, searching in vain for shadows she knew she wouldn’t find tonight. There was no Shadowsinger in the corner, sharpening blades. No Spymaster wrapping his knuckles by the sparring ring.

For the first time in a long time, she was entirely, completely, alone.

The city sparkled below her, a swell of warm, golden lights. The moonlight turned the river to a ribbon of molten silver, and if she listened hard enough, if she strained her ears, she thought she might just be able to hear the sounds of those who lived only by starlight, who came alive at night, drifting up towards her on a gentle winter breeze. It was like another world, the city down there. Like another realm entirely— one that lingered just beyond the reach of her fingertips, a reality she could only ever reach for, never quite grasp.

It was a world Clotho had softly suggested Gwyn begin to explore.

But when it came to it - when Nesta knocked on her door in the library dormitories that morning ten days ago - Gwyn hadn’t found it in her to leave the shelter of these walls. Nesta had tried to persuade her, but it didn’t matter.

She wasn’t ready.

She might have been— had she not been abducted and forced to take part in the Blood Rite almost eight months ago. She might have been down there now, soaking up the moonlight in one of the late-night cafes by the Sidra. But she’d emerged from the Illyrian mountains all those months ago bruised and bloody, with nothing but a title she hadn’t ever wanted to earn and an overwhelming desire to bury herself back within the deepest parts of the library, where not even the sunlight could find her. For weeks afterward she had surrounded herself with nothing but the feel of parchment and the smell of ink, avoiding the outside world just like she had the first time she sought refuge there. 

Carynthian.

Carynthian— and too consumed by terror to take so much as a single step outside those mountainous walls.

It might have been funny, if the irony weren’t so brutal.

And with the nights drawing in and Solstice just a handful of days away, Gwyn didn’t quite think she’d see the candles burning in the windows up close this year— didn’t think she’d manage a walk by the Sidra, all frozen over, ice crawling up the banks.

And to make it all worse…

Azriel was away. Had been, for two weeks now. Fourteen whole days, not that she’d been counting.

…Except she had.

Every night as the sun sank behind the horizon, she’d added to that mental tally, keeping track of every minute he’d been gone.

If he were home, she knew she’d find him on the House roof. Perhaps that was why she’d ventured up here, seeking solace and hoping to find it even in his absence. He spent as many nights as she did kept from sleep, and where she had once tended to toss and turn until the sun stained the horizon pink, Azriel worked off his restlessness until his body had no choice but to rest— his mind no choice but to quiet. 

In the cold, she sighed.

She’d told him, before he left, what Clotho had suggested.

Two weeks and a day ago, she’d mentioned it to the Shadowsinger, and his reaction—

Well, she didn’t know what his reaction was.

He’d tried a smile— a typical Shadowsinger smile, one that was gently encouraging and only barely there. He’d looked intrigued, and told her he was proud of her, and something in her chest had practically glowed at that, a warmth reaching right the way down to her toes. She was sure the smile that had spread over her own face had been practically luminescent, and for a moment he’d looked stricken senseless. But then, later, when she’d been up at the House with Nesta and Emerie and she’d run into him again… his face had been stoic, and he’d been harder to read than usual, which was saying something. He’d told her that he was being sent away on a mission for the High Lord, and even though he’d told her he was looking forward to hearing all about her exploits in the city, there was something in his eyes that said he wasn’t looking forward to it at all. 

Something like disappointment. 

He was an enigma, that was for certain, she thought as she crossed the roof and leaned on the railing, looking down and down and down towards the city so many hundreds of miles below. Azriel was something she simultaneously felt like she knew down to her bones, but also something she hadn’t even begun to decipher.

It was… complicated. That’s what it was.

It was something that Nesta and Emerie liked to tease her about whenever they saw the opportunity— whenever they saw the blush that inevitably crept over her cheeks when they brought him up in conversation, or whenever they spied the easy grin that spread across her face whenever she was in the ring with him. They’d tease her about the way his shadows seemed to linger around her too, the way they seemed drawn to her lately, like they picked up on something their master did not.

Gods, Gwyn didn’t think she’d been subtle.

She’d never been subtle in her life.

And Nesta and Emerie had picked up on it, certainly. They had noticed the way her eyes followed him around the room, the way she sat up straighter whenever he entered. The way she was just… more when he was around, like he brought out something extra in her, something she’d been missing before. But Azriel… well. Either he was entirely ignoring the way he had her weak at the knees every time he looked at her, or he was entirely clueless.

She didn’t know which would be worse.

All she knew was that— she’d missed him.

These past two weeks, she’d missed him.

Another sigh left her, one that ached in about a hundred different ways. She rested her forearms on the stone ledge that surrounded the House roof, feeling the cold biting her uncovered skin. Perhaps she really should have brought a shawl or something— perhaps she should have paused for even a second to put on something warmer than her satin pyjamas.

Wryly, she shook her head.

She wasn’t thinking straight.

Hadn’t been thinking straight for fourteen days, if she cared to admit it.

Azriel had gone off on his mission and taken some small piece of her sanity with him, and she didn’t want to let herself wonder whether he’d been thinking of her these past two weeks the way she’d been thinking of him. Instead, she glanced up towards the moon— to the cold and distant light that bathed everything beneath in silver, and the sky that was a sheet of black pierced by the light of a thousand stars. 

And just as she was about to return to bed—

Something gave her pause.

The air shifted, and an awareness came over her that sent goosebumps scattering over her arms and a shiver crawling down her spine, borne not of the cold but solely of anticipation and expectation. Glancing over her shoulder, Gwyn felt something in her chest begin to hum, like the quiet beginning of a gentle overture, and as the sound of wingbeats sliced through the silence, she didn’t need to look up to know that Azriel had come home at last.

She didn’t need to— but she did, anyway, and as he landed smoothly on the smooth rock surface of the House roof, that humming in her chest felt more like a melody than anything else.

Clothed in the deepest black, Azriel was the night itself as he straightened and stretched his wings. From his midnight hair to his charcoal boots, the only colour was the blue of his siphons— a brilliant azure that glowed dimly and cast his jaw in sapphire light. His shadows swirled in the darkness but didn’t shy away from the light of the moon, and though he paused for a moment - looking at Gwyn like he couldn’t quite believe his eyes - one of those shadows darted out, separated from the pack, and skated along the stone wall until it rested right beside her wrist.

Gwyn smiled.

His shadows had grown bolder, lately.

A month ago two had even come to find her in the library, and followed her through the stacks until she tilted her head and asked, with no small degree of amusement, whether their master had sent them to check up on her. They had scurried back into the shadows, but she knew they remained there for the rest of the day, watching. And when she’d asked Azriel why he’d sent them, he’d only looked at her blankly, confusion written plainly all over his beautiful face, and said he had no idea what she was talking about.

She looked at that shadow now, suppressing a smile.

It’s master let his wings spread again, as if working off a long journey, and crossed the roof, his steps slow and considered as he made his way directly towards her.

“You’re back,” Gwyn said, pulling away from the wall that overlooked the city.

Azriel blinked once before his lips cut into a familiar, dry smirk. “Glad to see your observation skills haven’t dulled in the two weeks I’ve been away, Berdara.”

Gwyn felt a laugh rise in her throat. It was always like this between them, this easy kind of banter. He arched a brow, but there was a tentative sort of mirth in his eyes that he didn’t bother to conceal, and it made her feel… warm, despite the winter chill hanging like ice in the air. She tilted her head as he moved smoothly across the roof, and when he gave her a withering glance - one loaded with sarcasm - she felt her heart skip a beat.

“Glad to see you’re still an ass,” she retorted.

The smirk pulling at his lips grew bigger, and he dipped his head to hide it, but oh, Gwyn wished he wouldn’t. It was something he did often, she’d noticed, and now his hair fell across his face, and she wished, too, that she could reach out and push it back. But she figured that would be crossing some kind of line, one she wasn’t sure either of them were ready for, and so she kept her hands to herself, even as that lock of midnight dark hair brushed his eyebrows. He shook his head to shift it before rolling his shoulders and stretching his wings wide once more.

“Long journey?” she asked.

Azriel shrugged. “Long day,” he amended. “Long week.”

Gwyn took in the tension that cloaked him like a fine mist, the way he tucked his wings in and kept them close to his spine. His hand flexed towards Truth-teller at his hip, and as innately as if it were a sixth sense, she knew instantly that there was a reason he’d come right to the training ring upon arriving home. She could practically feel the weight of whatever it was that was on his mind, and so as she took a single step away from the stone wall and the city below, she said smoothly,

“I can’t sleep.”

It was an invitation hidden beneath such ordinary words— a hand extended in the language of evasion that the both of them spoke so well.

Az blinked. “Nor can I,” he admitted quietly.

Gwyn smiled, and even though she was wearing satin pyjamas, her hair in a loose plait, she put her shoulders back and cocked her head to the side, walking purposefully to the other side of the roof— where the sparring ring sat beneath the full light of the moon.

“Rematch, then? The last time we were in this ring I beat you, if I recall correctly.”

He snorted, but followed her nonetheless. “And if I recall correctly, that still leaves me with a running score of eight this month, compared to your paltry score of…” His eyes sparked. “What was it? Five?”

“Six,” Gwyn corrected flatly, folding her arms over her chest. “And about to be seven.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “You’re hardly wearing sparring gear.”

She raised a brow. “Scared, Shadowsinger?”

His eyes darkened instantly, just as she’d known they would. “Scared?”

Just as she’d expected, his siphons flared. If there was one thing she’d learned in the time she had known him, it was how push him over the edge, how to get a rise out of him. It was ironic, really, she thought dryly, that he was so adept at keeping secrets and shutting himself away, but she’d still learned to read him like a book.

Idly, she hummed. “Mhm.”

“Am I scared that you’ll win?” His laugh was rough, acerbic, but his eyes glinted as he reached for the sheath at his other hip and took out a slender dagger. He tossed it to her, and when she caught it by the hilt, she saw the corner of his lips twitch. He lifted his chin, the moonlight glancing off his jaw, and— Gods, Gwyn could swear she felt her heart stop.

What she’d give to trace that jaw with her fingers. 

Silently she cursed, but Azriel didn’t seem to notice.

Oblivious, she thought wryly. Why is he always so oblivious?

He didn’t seem to notice, either, when her throat went dry as he removed his jacket, leaving him only in his leather pants and the black tunic that was doing nothing to hide the muscles of his incredibly sculpted chest. His shadows retreated, letting her catch a glimpse of his golden-brown skin and the tattoos swirling across his collarbone.

She cursed again as she tightened her grip on his dagger.

“I’ll take it easy on you,” Azriel drawled, dragging Gwyn from her thoughts, and if the timbre of his voice set a fire beneath her… well, then it was just one more thing the Shadowsinger either didn’t notice, or didn’t react to.

He rounded her, like a predator about to pounce, but Gwyn knew him too well by know, knew the way he moved and the way his weight shifted just before he was about to strike. They had spent too many nights up here, too much time in the sparring ring beneath the moon, and though Azriel might have had centuries of training on her - and a hell of a lot more strength to put behind his hits - Gwyn moved faster, and knew how to recognise his tells.

A second before he moved, he glanced to the right.

Once, Gwyn had fallen for it.

Once, she’d thrown all her weight in that direction, only to find he’d feinted.

Once— only once.

Az turned his head more definitely to the right, but when he slid to the left, Gwyn anticipated the move, and slammed her palm into his chest as her other hand, the one still holding the dagger, flipped and aimed a punch at his ribs with the flat side of the pommel. His hazel eyes widened.

“Good,” he murmured when the blunt end of her knife connected with his side. But before she could pull away completely, he hooked his leg around hers and pulled her weight from under her at the knee. He jerked back, leaving her to break her fall with her hands as she fell backwards, his dagger slipping from her hand and leaving only her palms to stop her back from hitting the ground. “But not good enough.”

Without hesitation she leaped up, dagger back in hand and eyes narrowed in determination. “You haven’t won yet, Shadowsinger.”

He smirked. “Oh, Priestess.” He practically purred as he unsheathed Truth-teller and flipped the blade in hand, and if Gwyn hadn’t been so determined to knock him on his back, she was fairly sure she’d have burned beneath his gaze. “I already know I’m going to win.”

“Don’t you remember the last time you bet against me?” she bit back. “Or do you just like the way losing feels?”

She cast her mind back to the obstacle course— the way Azriel had been so smug, so sure the Valkyries wouldn’t beat it. Their victory had been sweet enough, but it had been made oh so much sweeter when Azriel had been forced to admit that he was wrong.

He snorted, tilting his head as a cluster of shadows whispered along the white line that marked the sparring ring’s boundary.

And then the spymaster frowned.

Azriel was all too used to those shadows murmuring in his ear during a fight, predicting his opponent’s movements and giving him the upper hand, but whilst several of them remained twined around his arms… a band of shadows had drawn back, lingering outside the ring. Watching. And with the furrow that creased his brow, Gwyn didn’t think Azriel had ordered them to separate. Her eyes flicked to the side, curiosity cresting inside her, and from the corner of her eye, she could have sworn one of those shadows jerked, as if pointing at something— at the Shadowsinger’s left foot, where his balance was just ever so slightly off. Swiftly, Gwyn dropped to a crouch, wrapped her hand around that ankle and pulled, and when the Spymaster came crashing down into his back, she shot another glance to that patch of shadow, and thought that the way they shivered looked an awful lot like laughter.

Azriel lay there, beneath the night sky, with his chest rising and the expression on his face caught somewhere between stunned amusement and disbelief.

A smile tried to bloom in the corner of his mouth, but once more he masked it, pressed his lips together to suppress it.

Gwyn didn’t know why he still did that— fought it whenever his lips twitched. His smile was something beautiful, something rare, and made even more precious by its scarcity. The light danced over his cheekbones, and Gwyn straightened now, pulling away before she could get lost in the hazel of his eyes. She sat back and crossed her legs, but Azriel didn’t rise. He remained lying there, shooting a glare at the shadows lingering at the edge of the ring before shifting his gaze back up to the sky.

“You cheated,” he said dryly.

And Gwyn couldn’t help it— the huff of breath he let out clouded in the cold air, and the furrow between his brows deepened as it dawned on him that he’d lost… and it made something in her chest swell as her laughter broke free of her, cutting through the night and echoing off the bare rock of the mountain. And—

There.

That twitch at the corner of his mouth pulled in earnest, and as Azriel pushed up onto his elbows at last, bringing his face within inches of her own, she was rewarded with a real smile— one that was beautiful and bare and as bright as the moon overhead.

“I won fair and square,” she answered tartly as her laughter died, lifting her chin with conviction. “It’s not my fault your shadows like me more than they like you.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t sit up any further. He remained there, weight braced on his elbows, legs extended out as his wings brushed the floor of the training ground. Unguarded— this was the Shadowsinger at his most unguarded, and it was so rare that for a moment Gwyn wished for a moment that she were Nesta’s sister, wished she had the skill of the High Lady, so that she could paint this moment and remember it forever. The fearsome and fearless Spymaster, lying before her, exposed as the moonlight cast him in a silver glow.

And as her heart thumped once in her chest, something behind her ribs starting to ache, she found herself feeling more at peace than she had in the past two weeks, like his presence was somehow inherently soothing to her. It was a thought that her her lifting her head, and despite the way her pulse trembled, she said, softly,

“I missed you, you know.”

The spymaster smiled again, and she thought it might have been the most wondrous thing in the world.

And, quietly, he said,

“I missed you too.”

***

She was going to be the death of him.

Especially in those ridiculous satin pyjamas. A bright teal with thin straps at the shoulders and cut off at the ankle, Azriel didn’t think there could have been anything more inappropriate to spar in. But her auburn hair was like a fire beneath the moon, and the blue of her eyes was made deeper by that length of teal fabric, and for half a moment he let himself think that he could have had no better homecoming than this— a friend there to say hello as he landed.

I missed you, you know.

Did she know how her words seemed to echo? How they seemed to fill some long-abandoned void within his chest?

I missed you too.

It had shocked him, how easy it was to admit it. To say it out loud. He’d spent days thinking it, thinking of her, and it came so naturally now, to sit before her and say those words. Her lips parted, her eyes gleamed, and Azriel had to clear his throat before he did something stupid.

“How was the city?” he asked, changing the subject too swiftly to dwell much on how he had spent days dreading her answer. He wondered if she could tell that it was taking every ounce of strength he had to keep his voice easy, casual.

Azriel had never really thought he was one for jealousy.

But when Gwyn had told him that Clotho was encouraging her to leave the library… he hadn’t been able to stop himself from imagining it, imagining him being the one to take her down those cobbled streets. Gwyn was his friend, and he wanted to be the one looking at the wonder in her eyes the first time she saw the Rainbow. He wanted to sit beside her and order cake at a riverside cafe. He could almost smell the hot chocolate in the air, taste the sugar that would dust her lips…

And then Rhys had tasked him with surveillance on the Continent, a two week mission, and he’d known that he wouldn’t be the one taking her anywhere.

It shouldn’t have stung as much as it did, and he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t bothered him these past two weeks. Lying, too, if he said it wasn’t why he’d come straight to the training ring on arriving home, instead of heading for his bed. 

One lone shadow crept closer, moving slowly until it brushed Gwyn’s ankle and rounded it. Again Azriel frowned. He hadn’t told it to do anything, but it moved of its own accord. Gwyn’s lips curved into a soft smile, those depthless eyes glinting in the silver light. She uncurled her fingers, spread them like she were wading through water, and the shadow by her ankle drifted to her hand, weaving through her fingers.

Briefly Azriel wondered what it would be like if it were his fingers sliding in the gaps between hers rather than his shadows, but he shut the thought down before it could do anything more than flicker across his mind. 

It wouldn’t do him well to think along those lines— never had, if his past experience with Mor was anything to go by.

Gwyn tilted her head now.

“The city?” she asked, and though her voice was light, Azriel didn’t fail to notice her hesitation, or the way she’d dropped her gaze to the floor beneath them. He hummed an affirmative, but the priestess only shook her head. Still, she didn’t lift her eyes. “I didn’t go,” she said quietly.

That surprised him.

“Can I ask why?” he began slowly.

He didn’t know why he felt like he needed to know— it wasn’t like he had any right to pry, did he? His shadows tittered in the corner, and not for the first time he got the uncanny feeling that they knew something they weren’t willing to share with him. Gwyn shook her head and lifted her chin, forcing a smile onto her lips, but it was wan and thin and entirely superficial. Her teal eyes flicked back down to the single shadow dancing between her fingers.

“I just— didn’t feel up to it.”

She shrugged, like it was nothing, but Azriel knew her well enough by now to know it wasn’t nothing. He leaned forward, draping an arm casually across his knee.

“Why?” he asked again, a shade softer. Her eyes finally lifted— met his. And maybe it was the moonlight and the way it shone on her freckled skin - the way it made him want to count each and every one of them scattered across her cheeks - or perhaps it was just the long day he’d had - the long fortnight - and the fact that sleep had evaded him for days, but the air suddenly felt a little bit thinner when their gazes locked.

He blinked.

Gwyn lifted her chin, ever brave in the face of adversity.

Damn if it wasn’t one of the things he admired most about her.

His chest warmed at that thought. His shadows tittered again, and he fought the urge to frown as he focussed all of his attention on her, sitting cross-legged by his side. A breeze ruffled her hair, and suddenly he wondered if she was cold in those satin pyjamas. 

“I don’t think I’m ready,” she whispered, like it was a confession.

Azriel was silent for a moment, before he leaned forward an inch.

“It’s a big step,” he said, his voice more gentle than he’d heard it for an age. He’d almost forgotten he could be that way. So caught up was he in death and darkness, he’d forgotten that parts of his soul sometimes yearned for the light, too.

Gwyn shook her head again, as if trying to shake off her uncertainty. Her smile turned soft— genuine.

“Alright Shadowsinger,” she said briskly. “I told you why I was up here at this time of night in my pyjamas. Your turn.”

Azriel lifted a brow. “My turn?”

She hummed, and gods, the sound was like music to him, a melody he felt resonate deep inside his bones.

“Tell me what it is that’s bothering you,” she demanded.

He stilled, pulling back the inch he’d leaned forward earlier.

How did she know?

And how did he even begin to—

“Come on,” she said, poking him in the knee. The casualness of it might have astounded him had his mind not been too busy trying to figure out some way of evading her question. He might have scoffed— the mighty spymaster, chief of Night Court intelligence, expert at extracting secrets from sealed lips… practically falling apart under that blue-eyed gaze, like her eyes were sharper than any blade he’d ever used to uncover unwitting truths.

I was jealous, his mind whispered. Jealous of someone else being by your side when you see the world outside these walls. 

Selfish— he knew that.

It was ridiculously selfish.

And yet.

Gwyn pursed her lips expectantly, and Azriel let out a bitter huff.

He would not give in.

He would not give in.

He would stay silent, and absolutely, categorically, would. not. give. in—

“Az,” Gwyn said, and just that one word, those two little letters…

Fuck.

“I wanted to go into the city with you,” he said slowly, his voice low. It sounded stupid, sounded pathetic, and he hated it.

Gwyn blinked, her eyelashes fluttering as her lips parted in surprise. He’d shocked her, and he couldn’t say he did that often. She usually had an uncanny ability to know what he was thinking before it had even crossed his own damned mind.

“You— that’s what’s bothering you?”

He glowered at the sky as he waited for the moment she drew back, drew away from the parts of himself he kept most closely guarded.

But it didn’t come.

She let out a soft, tentative breath that sounded unnervingly like a giggle.

“It’s ridiculous,” Azriel said flatly, not knowing why he carried on speaking. He cursed his mouth for shaping the words when all he wanted was to keep them inside— but something about her coaxed honesty from him. Made him want to step out of the shadows for the first time in centuries. So he took a breath, steeled himself. “I’d had this whole trip planned out—”

Gwyn surged up onto her knees.

“So take me,” she said, her eyes still wide. Her hair had escaped her plait, brushed her cheeks, and Azriel longed to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear. “I want you to take me into the city.”

A beat passed between them, a moment of loaded silence, and then, quietly, she added,

“I could do it if it were you by my side.”

“Truly?”

A brave smile crossed her face.

“Tell me what you had planned, Shadowsinger.”

So he did— the Rainbow, the river, the cafe, and the cake. All of it. And when he was done, Gwyn leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Just once— but her lips lingered for a moment, and his heartbeat stilled. A warmth spread through him, one that felt startlingly like coming home, and even though his bruised and battered instincts were begging him to pull away, to put up his walls and retreat behind the safety of them, he looked into her eyes - as wide and as blue as a Summer Court sea - and realised that, for the first time, he didn’t want to pull away— didn’t want the safety that came with distance and isolation. 

And perhaps it was her bravery bringing out the same in him, because when he looked at her, he didn’t see the priestess he’d rescued that awful, awful day from Sangravah. Instead, he saw a woman strong in the face of her past— brave and determined and somehow still managing to smile through it all, and gods—

She…

She was more than a friend, wasn’t she?

He thought of every moment they’d ever spent in that training ring, every time they’d run into one another in the halls of the House. Every look she’d ever given him suddenly felt so much more significant, and everything he’d been too apprehensive to understand before suddenly became clear. A feeling he didn’t dare to name pulsed through him, a trembling that started in his chest and echoed right through to his fingertips.

For a moment, he didn’t move, too stunned to think, to breathe, but when her eyes dropped to his lips…

It was the only confirmation he needed. 

His shadows tittered again, and he got the distinct impression that they’d known about this for far, far longer than he had.

“Shadowsinger,” she whispered, her eyes catching once more on his mouth.

And Azriel felt himself smile - and how foreign it felt, to truly smile - before at last being bold enough to reach out and brush those loose strands of hair back from her face. 

“Priestess,” he answered.

Her heartbeat stumbled— he heard it, clear as day. Her eyelids fluttered, and good gods, he wanted to kiss her. Realised that he’d wanted to kiss her for a long time now, but had been so adept at pushing away his own damn feelings that he hadn’t even realised. She’d snuck up on him, worked her way inbetween his cracks and settled herself right within the centre of his heart.

And he didn’t mind one bit.

He let his hand drop from where it had tucked her hair behind her delicately arched ear, but he didn’t let it fall completely. No— for the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking about the skin of his hands, roughened by scars, as he let it hang in the air between them. He wasn’t thinking about the pain in his past, either. But for the pain in hers… he kept his every move slow, giving her every opportunity to pull away, and when he turned his hand and skimmed her cheek with the palm of his hand…

Gywn loosed a soft sigh.

His fingers came to cradle her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her lips, and he didn’t think she was breathing anymore. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he was, either.

His shadows practically thrummed from the edge of the ring, but he wasn’t listening to their whispers. His attention was focused solely on her, on the way the silver light made her blue eyes shine like the deepest, most precious kind of topaz. The clouds shifted and the moonlight shone on her auburn hair, and when he heard her heartbeat flutter—

Azriel cast off the last of the trepidation, and kissed her.

Slowly at first— like the first tentative steps in uncharted territory. Achingly slowly, he traced her lips with his own, feeling her melt into him at the first brush of his tongue against her, and gods, he thought a light might have erupted behind his eyelids as her hands wandered across his neck, her fingers tracing the tattoos inked there before tracking a path up and into his hair. He might have groaned as her fingers grew tangled there, might have felt himself tremble as she tugged on a strand of sable hair and pressed him closer to her.

“Is this okay?” he breathed.

Gwyn laughed against him - he’d never heard a sound more beautiful - and batted at his chest. His heart swelled in answer.

“Okay?” she repeated. “I’ve been waiting for you to do that for months.”

He felt his lips curve as one hand fell away from her jaw and rounded her waist, resting in the small of her back.

“Sorry I’m late then,” he drawled.

She shrugged, winding both of her arms around his neck and holding him there, in the circle of her arms.

“Better late than never,” she whispered, before bringing him back to her for another kiss, one that seemed to ignite every part of his cold, shadowed soul. A fire raged within him, and as his hands drifted lightly across her waist, fingers slipping on satin, he held her closer to his chest, savouring the taste of her, the feel of her, the weight of her against him.

And when she breathed his name against his lips, Azriel could swear he felt her soul twine around his, like they’d been stumbling in the darkness all this time and now, now, they had found one another at last. He pulled back to let her breathe, and moved instead to press soft kisses to her cheek. Her fingers wound themselves back in his hair, and as the dawn began to stain the edges of the horizon, Azriel felt Gwyn in his arms and couldn’t help but think—

Better late than never, indeed.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

(Late) Happy Monday!

In some random scenario, some magical mayhaps of a happenstance, Harry has to bake Voldemort a cake. Maybe it's out of goodwill, maybe it's the secret to the dark lord's destruction. What cake do you think he'd bake? Would he put effort in? I'd wager Harry at least knows what a crumbcoat is, having lived under Petunia's roof.

Don't know how this ask came to mind, but it's lighthearted and silly.

Well wishes :)

It's almost two months late (I'm sorry @known-concepts) but it's once again Monday, so I thought I'd give this a shot. Thank you for the ask! <3

(If anything doesn't fit with canon, like where Harry spent the sixth year winter holidays -- please ignore it)

Harry's been spending a little too much time thinking about Voldemort lately thanks to his trips into pensieve memories, and now he knows the snake-man's birth date, and Harry knows how much receiving birthday gifts from other people has meant to him. So, he decides to bake Voldemort a birthday cake.

(He briefly debates poisoning or cursing the cake, but 1. Voldemort would probably have wards to detect things like that, paranoid berk that he is, and 2. it will be all the more unnerving if there's nothing wrong with the cake. Psychological warfare but make it delicious.)

He decides on a chocolate cake, as dark as he can make it, with thick raspberry jam between the layers and a chocolate ganache frosting. Maybe he can kill Voldemort with rich, chocolaty flavour. "Death by chocolate" is a thing, right?

The house elves are overjoyed when he comes down to the kitchens and ply him with foods of all kinds. At first, they try to insist on letting them bake the cake for him, but once they realise how firm he is on the subject, they set him up with a station and all of the ingredients he needs. (He'd tried to tell them he could do it himself, but the elves were already on edge from his refusal of their help; he gives in and lets them bring him the ingredients when a couple burst into tears.)

Harry bakes three eight-inch circular layers, the cocoa in them so dark the cakes are almost black. He spreads the jam generously between the layers, does a thin layer of frosting to hold the crumbs down, and then dumps the still-warm ganache over the cake, letting it run down the sides in heavy drips. The slight sheen and dark chocolate make it look a bit like an oil slick.

Harry dithers on what to put on the cake, because he's not exactly happy Voldemort was born, given all the pain and suffering he's caused, but Harry's bothering to make a cake, so he's not exactly unhappy either. But "[complicated feelings] birthday to you" is a little weird, and also won't fit on a cake, probably. He could leave it blank, he supposes. But no.

This is how Harry ends up sending an almost-black, shiny cake with the word "BIRTH" written in blood-red frosting on it to Voldemort for his birthday.

The wordless, hissing confusion (along with a very small, very buried, very mortified bit of happiness) he feels through their connection later that night make it all worth it.

[redlikerozez]

悪魔の巫女 | Akuma no Miko | The Devil's Shrine Maiden (04) written by RedLikeRozes

Chapter 4: Chamomile (approx word count 4k)

Summary: Matsumae recovers from a vicious attack only to find herself even more vulnerable and afraid than she ever thought possible.

Chamomile - patience in adversity

Content warnings for this chapter: use of the word whore, references to Sachiko's su*c*de, mention of curses, nudity, mention of past abuse/trauma

A/N: I'm not super thrilled about this chapter, but I finished it, I guess? Sukuna felt impossible to write for in this chapter for some reason. Lotta stuff been going on in my personal life, so sorry this update took a little while. Hope you enjoy it, though!

Also, I'm looking for a potential beta reader for this series. Please message me if you're interested!

(Masterlist)

“An incident?” the King of Curses repeated skeptically. “What? Did the little mouse kill herself like the other stupid whore?”

“No, she is alive.”

“Then she has no excuse for why she is not here,” he said, standing up and stretching his upper set of arms. “I thought she was interesting. It seems I have made a mistake-”

“Forgive me for interrupting, my lord, but she was attacked. She’s unconscious at the moment.”

He stared at his servant for a long, tense moment, clearly taken aback by their words.

“Explain,” he growled through gritted teeth.

The blind girl was late, Uraume scowled to themself. She was supposed to arrive after eating her meal to take the master his dinner at least fifteen minutes ago. Maybe she had grown too scared from the encounter this morning and failed to show up. Either way, she was going to have to explain herself, not only to them, but to the master as well. Uraume wouldn’t dare kill her without the master’s express permission since he deemed her technique interesting enough to investigate further.

Gliding down the halls with ease, they made their way into the doorway of the maiden’s kitchen, gazing briefly upon the faces inside, but didn’t see the scarred one they were looking for. 

“Where is the blind girl?” Uraume called out. “She has failed to report for her evening duties.” The girls just looked at each other with wide eyes. “When did someone last see her?”

“She never came to dinner,” Tomoe answered. “Her meal is still on the counter.”

“I last saw her in our room,” Kanade piped up quickly. “But that was after lunch…”

“No one has seen her since?” 

A few shook their heads. They turned to enter the maiden’s living quarters, thinking it wise to check the last place she was seen first. But they knew upon approach to the shoji door that she wasn’t there. There were no signatures of her cursed energy on the opposite side of the door. Still, they figured it wouldn’t hurt to check. Sliding open the door and then quickly sliding it back shut confirmed their suspicions. She wasn’t there, but where had she run off too?

They found their feet ghosting through the dimly lit halls of the temple, trying to sense for her cursed energy. Though she didn’t have much, it was more distinct than they had originally thought. It was like a small blossoming flower in the midst of a dead and cold winter brush. It was hard to sense with the master’s residuals and immeasurable cursed energy practically dripping from the walls, but eventually they picked up on a slight wavering to the flower, almost like it was being battered by the winter wind.

They found themselves opening the shoji door to the courtyard that they had escorted her out of only last night after the other shrine maiden cut her own throat. There was another signature of cursed energy somewhere on the other side of the door. 

Much to their surprise, the girl was standing in the middle of the courtyard, but she looked different. She had a disturbed expression on her face and she was surrounded by and soaking in a puddle of putrid smelling purple liquid Uraume instantly recognized as a curse’s blood. Her stance waivered slightly; a slight breeze of the mountain air could have knocked her over. At her feet, there was a reeling cursed spirit that looked worse for wear. The skin of the curse appeared suspiciously like the severed flesh that the King of Curses had to cut off from the girl’s technique. 

“Onryo… be at peace,” she whispered, voice hollow and terrified. She collapsed to her knees, panting with effort.

The curse at her feet suddenly raised a weak and blackened hand towards the girl.

“Matsumae…” the curse spoke. “Get out while you can.”

Matsumae’s lips quivered at the words she remembered someone utter to her last night. A trembling hand covered her mouth from a gasp.

“S-Sachiko?”

“Before he takes root and infects you…”

The curse’s hand found her cheek and caressed it gently with a clawed fingernail. After touching her skin, the curse shrieked in pain and crumbled into a pile of dust on the girl’s lap.

The purple viscera soaking the girl evaporated into thin air, leaving a trail of deep claw marks and shredded silk visible. Without a chance to say a word, the girl’s milky white eyes rolled back into her head and she fell limp on the cold, snowy pavement of the temple courtyard. Several small flower blossoms poked their way through the stones where she collapsed, which was strange, as it was the middle of winter.

“From what I gather, it appears the other maidens believed her to have killed Sachiko and unknowingly cursed their friend’s death. The cursed spirit was that of Sachiko who attempted to kill the subject of her friend’s revenge. I am unsure what the girl did exactly, but the spirit was exorcised, but not after she sustained a fair amount of damage. She has been moved into a spare room to rest,” Uraume explained. “What would you like to do with her?”

“Leave me,” he instructed. He needed to think about his next course of action with this unexpected development. “I will speak with her in the morning if she awakens. Keep me updated on her condition.”

“As you wish, my king.”

They took their leave of the master’s bedchambers.

Sukuna, now with their servant gone, felt a wicked grin take over the corners of his mouth. Two hands ghosted their way up to his face and he leaned back so that his back was almost parallel with the floor and he shrieked out a hideous string of laughter. The mouth at his abdomen even decided to join in. Absolutely enthralled at the realization that his new acquisition was- as he suspected- supremely intriguing, he found a joyful giddy feeling in his heart at the thought of breaking in his shiny new toy. He had to hold himself back from bounding down the hallways and healing her battered body so he could start investigating right away. There would be plenty of time to test the limits of the little mouse, he just needed to make sure that in his eagerness he didn’t push her too far in pursuit of knowledge. Humans were fragile. He’d have to keep it in mind.

After finally taking his meal and pouring himself some sake, Sukuna found himself unable to think of anything other than the blind miko. She was able to take down what sounded like a vengeful cursed spirit by herself. He was impressed. He couldn’t wait to unravel the secrets of her technique.

In the midmorning, Uraume trekked back to the room where the girl rested and found her curiously prostrated on the floor with the futon they had laid out for her folded in the corner of the room. She was whispering frantically to herself in a low, hoarse voice. She appeared to be deeply concentrated because she hadn’t even bothered to look up or make notice of Uraume opening the door. They left without saying anything to inform the master that she was awake. 

Sukuna smiled widely, feeling his heart race under his tattooed skin, eager to begin. Practically slamming open the shoji door in anticipation, he gazed upon the image of the blind miko in deep prayer.

“Mouse, what are you doing?” he questioned. “Are you praying to your gods?” She jumped at the sudden intrusion and the booming voice in the doorway. “Praying to another in my own temple?” He tutted in disapproval. She felt an overwhelming amount of power and bloodlust radiate from him in anger. It was suffocating. “If I ever find you worshiping some other pathetic god instead of me, I will have your head for such brazen disrespect, do you understand?”

She squeaked out a noise of fear and nodded again, shifting back to a sitting position. Quickly, she shifted her gaze downwards, remembering the rules. 

“Uraume, inspect her wounds.”

She felt a cool breeze enter the room and stand in front of her. There was a freezing hand on her clothed wrist that brought her to her feet somewhat gently. The cold hands and even colder gaze meticulously searched for wounds or blood on her frame, but found nothing out of the ordinary upon first glance.

“Remove your hadajuban,” their voice ordered.

She gulped in fear, heart nearly stopping at the instructions.

“My… remove my…?” she stammered.

“To check your injuries. Yes.”

She didn’t move for a long moment as she contemplated her options. Refuse the order and face horrible consequences she couldn’t even imagine or comply and have her dignity and honor shattered.

Two trembling hands fumbled at her waist and tried to undo the knot that held the undergarment in place. After an embarrassing amount of time, she felt the knot give way and open at the front. Hesitantly, she shrugged the white silk off her mismatched shoulders and stood bare before the servant and the master. Her ears and face felt like they could catch on fire from how hard her heart was pumping from embarrassment and anxiety. She could barely think or keep standing as wordlessly Uraume began to investigate her flesh. 

To be honest, Sukuna had planned on looking away once the girl undressed as Uraume checked her condition, but he found his lower set of eyes magnetically drawn to her trembling figure. He vaguely noticed that her hair looked different today. But more importantly, he saw the true extent of the scar that began on her face, how it twisted and blotted a path across a large part of her upper body’s flesh. It was hard not to stare, especially at the patch of scarring around her breasts, both of which were quickly hardening at the tips from the cold air. But as soon as he found both sets of eyes trying to memorize her frame, she was putting her hadajuban back around her freezing form. The King of Curses quickly shook his head, trying to get the image of her bare breasts out of his mind. 

“She appears uninjured,” Uraume said, finishing their master’s request and stepping away from the girl. 

“I suspected as much,” he mused, staring at her mortified face. “Get her dressed and meet me in the library. Show her the way.” He took leave of the room.

Uraume uttered a passing confirmation to their master as he exited. Now gazing away from the still trembling miko, they walked over to a corner of the room where a small wardrobe resided and opened it. They fished out yet another hakama and kosode pair. Uraume made a mental note to tell the girls to begin making more clothes for the maidens. Rie and Wakana, the girls in charge of sewing, were quickly running out of replacements for this girl. She kept finding ways to ruin every garment she wore. 

Uraume beckoned her to take the kosode they held out. She eagerly began dressing herself, feeling much more comfortable under layers of silk than she had been seconds before. After tucking the top into the hakama, Uraume glanced and saw that she had misaligned a section of her garments. She gasped slightly as she felt their cold hands on her chest grab and readjust the top slightly so that it was now aligned properly.

Uraume didn’t say much more before taking her upper arm in their chilling grasp and began guiding her through the temple towards the library where their master was waiting.

There was a strange silence between the two as they walked through the halls. She had just been more thoroughly inspected than she’d ever been in her life by this cold and aloof near-stranger, yet they were guiding her along the halls like nothing had just happened, like it was a completely normal thing to ask and do.

Usually, she could feel the uncomfortable stares and pity stabbing into her soul whenever someone caught a glimpse of her scars, but she felt no such judgment from either of the two that had been in the room. In fact, with Uraume, it felt like it really was just a professional, almost clinical investigation of her wounds. There wasn’t a hint of being treated any differently than any other. It made her feel more at ease knowing they weren’t pitying her for her deformities. 

But as for the other set of eyes in the room, she could feel a grim curiosity and something like sick pleasure radiating from his stares that made her spine shiver in recognition. She felt like even though she would be meeting him in the library fully dressed, that all he would ever think about when seeing her again was the image of her naked body in his mind. Or even that he was only thinking of ways to paint her flesh further with more scars of his own making. 

Uraume and Matsumae finally approached the library. She could feel the presence of the demon beyond the doors and she found her feet hesitating alongside her guide. Uraume continued to beckon her further, not dropping a single stride in their delicate yet rushed gait. 

The King of Curses looked up from the text he was reading as he felt the energy of the two approach from further down the halls. He laid the bound text on the low table in front of him. There was a pile of other scrolls and texts he had accumulated in his studies he thought might help him understand this girl’s technique. A couple of texts were scrolls of pedigree from some of the major jujutsu clans, trying to see if somewhere down the line there was a bastard child they hadn’t accounted for, but there was no mention of anything like the blind miko walking towards him. And he couldn’t find anything concrete that would explain why reverse cursed technique would be rendered unable to heal flesh after coming into contact with her skin.

Finally stepping through the threshold of the library, Uraume set the girl down on a zabuton cushion on the opposite side of the table to the King of Curses.

“Is there anything more you require, my lord?” they asked.

“This might take a while,” he began. “Bring me something to eat. Are you hungry, mouse?” She nodded, not really knowing if she actually felt hungry or not. She was caught off guard by the question and tried to respond quickly. “And bring the mouse something, as well.”

“As you wish, my king,” they agreed before swiftly departing the library. 

There was a moment of silence. Matsumae shifted slightly on the cushion to get a little more comfortable while four eyes studied her intensely. 

“Your hair is different, mouse,” he noticed. “Did it happen in the attack?” She shook her head. He suddenly forgot he hadn’t ordered her to speak. “You may speak freely now.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, bowing her head. “My hair was cut by another maiden who believed I was lying about Sachiko’s death, my lord,” she replied, mouth feeling suddenly very dry. She swallowed loudly.

“And did the girls do anything else to you out of revenge for their friend?”

“Yes, my lord,” she replied. “They hid my clothes on a high shelf somewhere that I could not find them, they fed me inedible food and maggots, and they tripped me in the hallway.”

“That whore’s haori yesterday… I see,” he said, putting it together in his head. “The manifestation of their hatred was the thing that attacked you yesterday. They cursed their friend’s death and she came back to kill you.”

“The onryo… that was Sachiko?” she said in a small voice. “And I killed her?”

“Yes, you did, little mouse,” he said, a smile forming in the corner of his lips. “How did you do it?”

She didn’t respond for a moment, taking in the information that she had, in fact, killed Sachiko. Or at least, that version of Sachiko. 

“I… I do not know, my lord,” she said honestly. “The onryo lured me into the courtyard. I thought I heard someone crying, so I went to go check and it was waiting for me. But when her claws made contact with my skin, she started screaming and wailing. Is it something to do with the same power you spoke of that hurt you?”

“I believe so,” he mused. “But first, let me explain a bit about the foundations of jujutsu: 

“Cursed energy is everywhere. It is naturally produced by humans from their negative emotions, but only a select few can see it, and an even smaller percentage can bend and manipulate this energy to their will. When enough cursed energy builds up, it manifests into a creature called a cursed spirit. Some are weak and some are not, but these curses can only be exorcised with jujutsu from a sorcerer, one who wields cursed energy. The spirit that attacked you was a strong curse, a vengeful cursed spirit.” He paused, gazing upon her face to see if she was listening. “Moreover, there is a highly difficult technique called reverse cursed technique that only the most elite sorcerers can master. It multiplies cursed energy on itself creating a positive energy force that can restore flesh and heal injuries.” Her brows furrowed at this utterance. “I believe that you are capable of using this technique. But what I cannot understand is how. This is what I hope to discover, as well as the secret behind your technique that can render reverse cursed technique useless.”

It was at this point that Uraume returned in the doorway holding a tray of snacks for the two. One plate held various flavors of rice balls and the other had a large selection of finely sliced meat and a rind of daigo cheese. 

“Thank you, Uraume,” he praised, greedily taking a couple of slices of meat before they even set the tray down and dangled them into his mouth. “Mmm. Delicious as always.”

“No, thank you, sir,” Uraume said, finding a rare smile on their lips from the praise.

Uraume set the tray of rice balls in front of her and whispered quickly where they had put it exactly for the blind girl. Matsumae was a little caught off guard by this interaction between the two. She’d never heard a compliment come out of the King of Curses’ mouth before. 

“Do you require anything further, my lord?”

“No, you may leave us.”

“As you wish.”

She heard grotesque and loud chewing noises coming from across the table and the occasional groan of delight. It made her shiver a little at the disgusting noises gracing her ears so indelicately. 

“Eat,” he ordered, mouth full of a corner of cheese and various slices of meat.

Hesitantly, she reached forward to where Uraume had explained they had set down the tray of rice balls for her and took a bite. It was delicious.

“Tell me more about your background.”

“What do you wish to know, my lord?” she asked after swallowing a nibble.

“What is your clan’s name, if you have one?” he started.

She shook her head. “I am no longer from any clan, my lord. My father disowned me.”

“Did you have any familial relations with the Gojo, Kamo, Zen’in, or perhaps even the Inumaki, Fujiwara or Sugawara clan?” he pressed further. She shook her head. “Then tell me the name of your former clan.”

“Clan Byouma, my lord,” she said, remembering the sting of her father’s name on her lips. “My name was Byouma Matsumae, and my father was Byouma Kojiro.”

He repeated her clan name several times under his breath, trying to see if he remembered reading anything about the name. It wasn’t ringing any bells.

“Were you always blind, mouse?” he asked, abruptly transitioning the conversation.

“No, my lord,” she replied after taking another bite from her delicious snack. “I lost my sight at fifteen.”

“So you could see before,” he mused. “And could you see things no one else could? Could you see curses?”

She pondered for a moment before saying, “I remember telling my mother about the monsters that followed my father around or clung to his back, but she forbade me to speak of such things. They would scare me at night. Once I had lost my sight, I could still hear the strange creatures moving or growling, but I could not see them anymore.”

“Did you lose your sight to a curse?”

“No, my lord,” she chewed, trying not to show anger on her face. “It was a worse monster. My father.”

“Tell me how it happened.”

“My father threw vitriol on me after the man he planned for me to marry chose another with a larger dowry. And after seeing he rendered me no longer useful or able to marry, he threw me out of the house, and left me to die in the street. A priestess from the temple found me and helped nurse me back to health. I stayed there until my lord found me.”

“Vitriol?” he repeated, taken aback. “You should be dead. The scars on your skin are quite extensive.” She didn’t reply. “Reverse cursed technique must have saved you.”

“If I may ask a question, my lord?” she posited carefully. “If reverse cursed technique can heal any wound, why did it not mend my eyes?” 

“Sometimes the damage one takes is too extensive for even reverse cursed technique to heal completely. That is why it still leaves scars,” he explained. “So the vitriol must have damaged your eyes beyond repair. I imagine they were almost melted away from the attack and your reverse cursed technique managed to save the eyes themselves, but could not repair the ocular functions.”

“I understand,” she resigned.

“What I do not understand is how you were able to use this technique at such a young age, mouse,” he said, brows furrowing in contemplation. “Has anything else happened to you that should have been fatal or have lasting impacts that you have recovered from?”

She hesitated for a moment, thinking something through. “There is nothing other than the vitriol and perhaps when my lord found me at the shrine.”

There was a long silence. She could hear the shuffling of papers in front of her. She took the opportunity to finish another rice ball as she waited patiently for the King of Curses to continue.

He had a theory. He thought he remembered reading something about when a sorcerer is on the brink of death, sometimes this can unlock the ability to use reverse cursed technique. Maybe she had learned how to use it in the aftermath of the vitriol attack. He muttered something to himself as he found the scroll he was looking for.

“Here,” he said, “listen to this.”

He begins reading the first-hand account of the sorcerer who describes the attack in vivid detail, how his limbs were torn from his body and just as the curse was about to devour him, somehow his limbs regenerated and he exorcised it. He described the feeling of using the reverse curse technique as a divine revelation that he could only understand while breathing his last. 

But even this theory required working knowledge of how cursed energy works. She obviously had innate talent, but no working knowledge to help expand and develop it. Well, he mused, if she was smart enough to figure out how to use reverse cursed technique and injure him while on the brink of death, maybe he could learn about her technique when she was in a similar dire situation.

An evil grin found its way to the corner of his lips after finishing the story.

“Little mouse, do you like games?” he asked slyly.

She noticed the sharp change of tone and could feel something like bloodlust radiating from across the table. Swallowing dryly, she replied, “What game do you have in mind, my lord?”

“A game of cat and mouse. I’ll be the hungry cat and you can be the little mouse that I chase around,” he explained. “If the mouse manages to escape or injure the cat in any way, then the mouse wins and the hunt is over. But if the cat manages to make the mouse squeal and catches her, he’ll gobble her up for being dull.” He watched her face slowly break its calm facade as a small bead of sweat dripped down her forehead. “I’ll be a nice cat, do not worry. You can have a day’s head start, little mouse. Starting now.” She didn’t move from the table and blinked several times in confusion. “Interesting use of your advantage, mouse. I would get going if I were you,” he taunted. “Go on. Scram.”

She tried to bring her trembling legs to a stand, but tripped and fell down. She heard the wicked laughter of the demon behind her and scrambled up as fast as she could and took off in a full sprint out of the library. She flung herself into the nearest wall, panting desperately, and tried to find her way out of the temple.

Uraume, who had overheard what was happening, had already begun to open up the doors to the main atrium. They called over to get the miko’s attention and bid her outside.

“What am I supposed to do? Where do I go? How do I hide?” she stammered frantically.

They offered little in response as they shut the heavy wooden doors of the temple. She stumbled out into the snow covered mountain air, already beginning to shiver, and tore off blindly into the woods.

Author's Note:

(Masterlist)

Words to know: miko: shrine maiden hakama: a traditional japanese trousers kosode: an everyday garment usually made of white or, very rarely, plain red silk irori: a traditional Japanese sunken hearth tatami: a type of mat used as a flooring material in traditional Japanese-style rooms shoji: a door, window or room divider used in traditional Japanese architecture, consisting of translucent (or transparent) sheets on a lattice frame kami: the deities, divinities, spirits, mythological, spiritual, or natural phenomena, or holy powers that are venerated in the Shinto religion zabuton: a cushion for sitting that is commonly used in traditional Japanese settings koto: a Japanese plucked half-tube zither instrument, and the national instrument of Japan hadajuban: a thin, traditional garment, considered to be "kimono underwear" haori: a hip or thigh length kimono-like overcoat with straight, rather than overlapping, lapels tabi: ankle-high, divided-toe socks usually worn with zouri or geta onryo: vengeful japanese ghost

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[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Alto/Landgraab Household

Splits

It's now evening and Holly is back from her daily outing. “Oh man, that's so unfair"/ ”What's unfair again, Holly? “/ “You know that very well, mom! I'd love to give the juice to the people here instead of letting him drink it all. “/ “hh… You know…”/ “I don't know anything anymore. Some people are already thinking about getting together for the winter months so they don't have to freeze”.

Holly was really pissed off. After all, she and her family had everything they needed. “Great…if you would at least cook your spaghetti for everyone…”. Vita tried to remain calm. Despite all the circumstances, her daughter's words really got to her. And now that she's pregnant, her nerves are even more frayed than usual. “How's the school set-up going?"/ ‘We're still missing a few tables and books’….

It was almost too late to build a small school for the children. Now that winter is coming, a well-heated room will be needed. But maybe they'll find a solution for that too. “I'll bring my easel at the school , so others can use it"/ ‘Yes, Holly, that's a good idea’.

Since you never knew when a good time was, Gerhard seized the moment anyway. “Would you have a moment to talk after dinner, Nick?"/ ‘How important is it, on a scale of 1-10?’/ ”Cut the nonsense, will you? “. Nick looked at him blankly for a moment. “You've got 20 minutes then, after that I have to go to the bedroom.” Gerhard and the others knew what that meant.

“Don't eat so fast, Malcolm, you had a tummy ache earlier…"/ ”It's all right now. Can I really have my own room, Mom?"/ ‘When we find the right house, then yes…’. Vita looked at her a little skeptically. “Are you sure you'll find something there, Nancy?”. She just looked at her with narrow eyes “You haven't really looked around yet, Vita! At least you don't have to worry, your house is still standing!”.

Vita was piqued. “Oh please, our house hasn't stayed quite intact either, our bedroom is now in the office and the kitchen is just a makeshift"/ ‘at least I helped you build a new kitchen and besides… when we're gone, at least you'll have one more room for the little thing’, Nancy looked at Vita's stomach with a movement of her head. And she just looked at her again with narrowed eyes “Do you think it's better somewhere else than here? I don't think so!"/ ‘That shouldn't be your problem, Vita.’.

The room was silent for a brief moment. Then Nancy continued. “Where have all the good times gone? We were young once too, Vita. Nothing was laid in our laps.” Vita looked at her hesitantly and with one eyebrow raised. “You had a rich mother who left you a lot…"/ ”Leave my mother out of it, do you hear me? And besides, there's nothing left of that or I would have made sure we didn't have to live under one roof with you any longer. I'm sorry, Vita, but we're out of here tomorrow”.

While the women were talking animatedly in the house, the men were talking to each other outside. “When are you going to get some sense, Nick? Can't you see how the others are doing? It all depends on you, why can't you just give in?"/ ”Because then I'll have nothing left but the house."/ ”as you know, money is slowly becoming irrelevant here, only you're still holding on to it”.

“It wasn't just you who built this city back then, don't forget that. My wife also contributed a lot to making the city what it is… Was. And now look around you. Do you really want to go on like this forever? You're going to be a father again, Nick, maybe you'll think about it? Or do you want to raise your offspring to be the selfish asshole you are right now?”.

Nick turned to him and got a little louder again. “Do you think I give a shit? No, damn it…"/ ”Then finally put an end to all this. Give them your shares and finally accept the help of the military. The people here have done a lot on their own by now. And almost got themselves killed in the process. There have already been enough casualties, Nick… And it won't be long before they'll be here on your doorstep because you're not cooperating, believe me.”

“Man Gerhard…"/ ”No… I'm getting sick of hearing it. It would be so easy if you just had a little compassion. And sorry, I'm not going to be a spy for you any more… When's the next delivery coming by the way?"/ ‘I think it's Sunday…’/ ”Then make sure we're not the only ones who benefit from it. Did you know that VJ Alvi has now shot two deer? He distributes the meat among the people… The boy is going to be something”.

“Yes, I… I've heard about it… I need a break "/ ”Nancy and I will look for a new place to stay tomorrow. She can no longer be under the same roof as your wife. And think about your daughter, she's more of a Samaritan than you two ever were. “. Nick had to admit to himself that Gerhard was right. His daughter had taken very good care of the other inhabitants since the meteor storm. “Yes, I know… Now please excuse me”….

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover 😊

[yours-the-author]

Hey, I'm back from my trip and got ya'll some stick ship goodies. It's no longer fair season where I live, but I had ideas for my favorite ships going to the fair and finally decided to draw them, so here you go!

CopperRight

I imagine that Right Hand Man is either the kind of guy to actually hate fairs/carnivals/things like that, or the kind of guy to say he hates them, but actually really enjoys them. He'd probably play all of the "test of strength" games and win the the giant prizes for Reginald. Reginald doesn't actually want/need the giant prizes (and isn't really a fan of fairs, either; too loud and dirty!), but if he gets a petty sense of pride when showing them off, he can do that because he's a rat man who loves his husband.

On the other hand, though, Reginald does have a serious sweet tooth, and sometimes only a treat found at the fair can do the trick! (I imagine RHM doesn't really like sweets, but he's not gonna leave Reg by himself in a strange theme park where danger could be at any corner!)

_____________________________________

Curtisson

Burt actually really likes carnivals and fairs, but he acts unimpressed at every fair he goes to.

Burt: Nice theme park. Be a shame if someone broke it.

Sven, on the other hand, does NOT like fairs or carnivals. They're crowded, noisy, the food is terrible for you, and it's too hot all the time! I imagine he'd go maybe once just to say that he did, and would somehow get goaded into going on a big scary ride (or maybe even a not-so-scary ride) only to sob uncontrollably afterwards for like ten minutes.

The Curtisson date at the fair would almost be completely ruined... but at least there's a petting zoo, and they both like small and fluffy animals.

Date saved!

_________________________________

PanPrice

Believe it or not, Dave's actually pretty okay with most rides. Nothing extreme, like triple loop-de-loop rollercoasters or anything, but maybe one of those "roller coasters" that just go around in a loop over and over. Dave knows what he likes and doesn't like, and can plan accordingly.

Rupert thinks he can handle a few amusement park rides. He's a trained military man who was on the police force for nearly a decade before hand! He can handle a baby roller coaster!

He cannot handle the baby roller coaster

But once Rupert gets the feeling back in his everything, it's time to play some games! Probably a shooting game of some kind; something challenging that takes a lot of skill and precision (but most importantly, something with a prize that Dave will like):

Obligatory Dave Panpa / Panda fanart

And of course, what's a fair or carnival without the FOOD! Dave loves fair food and has a hard time picking what to get. Rupert is less inclined to fried and sugary foods in large portions, but he likes to see Dave indulge every once in a while, because Dave deserves it.

___________________________________

Poly Threat

A group of thrill seekers like the Triple Threat would definitely be the first in line for some rides! And they know exactly which one to start with, too...

(Fun Fact: There was actually a ride shaped like a helicopter at the last fair I went to, which is what inspired all of this art!)

Of course, there's nothing wrong with having fun in a more relaxed way. Henry might need some downtime away from the crowds, and Charles and Ellie are happy to accommodate.

Who doesn't like a little face paint every once in a while? (Bonus points if you know what the significance of the symbols are!)

A day at the fair can be long and exhausting, but there's still stuff going on after dark! Maybe Charles is a little sensitive to loud noises, or maybe Ellie is legally barred from being near gunpowder, but there's nothing like a picnic under the fireworks to wrap up a fun day!

Technically, fairs and carnivals and such are more late summer things than early winter things, but I had fun making these pictures! I hope you like them too!

[balkanradfem]

So, some of you might remember, how I found an abandoned 'banished settlement' where people used to live 20 years ago, and they left plenty of cultivated and edible plants behind, including one huge rose plant. It was spread more than 10 meters in both directions, made thousands of roses, I used to decorate my entire place with them, dry them, they didn't have a scent so I didn't make food from them. However, the city has decided to build some ugly buildings in that place, so they flattened half of the area to the ground, made it into nothing but empty dirt. Needless to say I was devastated when I went foraging and found most of my plants, including the rose, gone.

However, the rose wasn't just a plant you can run over and destroy; in the spring I found new shoots, it's starting up again from the roots, and it's not going to get exterminated so easily. I do believe they're intending to destroy it completely, so I'm going to try and rescue it by taking some cuttings and propagating it.

Here's what it used to be vs what it is now.

:(

I took a few of the most sturdy stems I could find, I had to get plant cutters in order to do it, they will not break easily. Here's me propagating them at home:

All of the leaves and growth is stripped down, because a plant without roots cannot support foliage. For roses, I think stems of 12-15cm in lenght are reccomended for propagation, that way they have enough stem to try and grow roots from, and not too much to support. I stabbed them in a pot of soil, and then covered with this big glass thing, because cuttings will usually only grow in high humidity, they need to be supplied with water from air, because they don't have roots yet. I had to cut them down a bit more to fit them in, but I think that will be okay. I watered them excessively, and sprayed the cover with water too, so it would create super humid conditions.

I left this on the kitchen window, so it doesn't have to deal with a lot of sun or heat, it's best for cuttings to be put in mild conditions so they can focus on development of roots. If they start growing new foliage, that's the sign that the propagation is successful!

Here they are 10 days later:

To me it looks like all of them are already growing new foliage, but, it's suspicious, I don't think they would have managed to grow new roots so soon, in my mind it should take a ~while~. Maybe they're just using the plant power they had stored in the stem, and haven't figured out they've been turned into cuttings yet. The only way to really check would be to pluck them out and check for roots, but I won't do it yet, I'll leave them in here for at least 2 more weeks before trying to transplant them somewhere else. But for now it looks hopeful! I might have roses on my balcony!

Here's the first post I ever made about this rose, if you wanna see more pictures of how it looked.

(edit: I later looked into how long do rose cuttings take, and it said 2 months, but it also said that in late spring, you're supposed to only take young, flexible, and not-woody cuttings, and they'll grow faster. So I have messed up a little, sturdy cuttings are to be taken in the fall and winter and they're the most difficult ones to root. It also said you need 25cm and to bury them 70% in the ground. But it seems that it's still going well so do not follow the rules! I did have one that was young and flexible and that one is showing the strongest signs of growth.)

[lilabella12]

1321 - Day 2

It takes some time getting used to, but Ian and Daniel develop a good routine at their new home. Daniel managed to learn a few basic recipes for breakfast.

Daniel: "I have to go to the market today, I wanted to sell some of the produce from winter harvest and some flour I made... do you think you will be okay on your own or do you want to come as well?"

Ian: "I think I'll stay here. I wanted to explore a bit... do you remember where that tree was that you and Evie talked about?"

Daniel: "The one we used to climb on? Of course, it's right by the fields."

Ian: "I will stay, then."

Daniel: "Okay. If I make enough money today, maybe we could buy some chickens next."

Ian: "I would like that... I always took care of them at unlce Evan's."

Daniel leaves first thing in the morning and after Ian takes care of some chores in the fields, he is free to explore. He finds that tree his siblings used to climb all the time and even their old stone doll-house...

Daniel arrives early at the market, not many people are around but he manages to sell some of his stock. Not yet enough for a chicken coop and some animals, but he's getting there slowly but surely.

When midday breaks, he spots Annabeth in the crowd.

Daniel: "Annabeth! It's so good to see you, how have you been? I haven't seen you in ages... at least that's what it feels like."

Annabeth: "Yes, I'm sorry... I can't get out of the house as much as I used to. How have you been? Did your siblings move in now?"

Daniel: "Well, that's... let's sit down and I'll tell you about it. I'm almost done here anyway."

They sit down at a secluded spot behind the shops.

Daniel: "Hey, do you remember? We met here for the first time. When my father was selling his wares and me and my sister..."

Annabeth: "Yes, I remember. You and Eve were playing in the trees and I just moved here."

Daniel: "Yes, Evie... I have to tell you... she passed away. A few weeks ago."

Annabeth: "Oh no! Daniel, I'm so sorry to hear that. What happened to her?"

Daniel: "The phsyicians say it was tuberculosis. She had a very bad cough and she just... didn't wake up one morning. At least that's what my uncle told me. Ian found her that morning and came to get me as soon as possible but it was too late. We buried her next to my parents."

Annabeth: "That must have been so hard for Ian...."

Daniel: "He doesn't speak much about it but I think you're right. I know it's been hard on me. He lives with me now... he wanted to. I think he fears of losing me as well. The two of us are the only ones left."

Annabeth: "Then it's a good thing you took him in. He needs you now and perhaps you need him as well."

Daniel: "Do you want to come with me and meet him? I think he would be happy to have some company other than me. It gets quite lonely out there."

Annabeth: "Well... I don't think I can. There's a suitor I have to meet this afternoon, my father has been... pushing me."

She chuckles a bit.

Annabeth: "He thinks I'm getting too old to be living with my parents."

Daniel: "Oh.... I... that's.... you don't have to come."

His stomach does a funny flip. He felt that way the last time she sopke about it as well.

Annabeth: "You know... I don't think it's that important. Let's go. I can't wait to meet Ian.

Daniel is right - Ian is happy to meet Annabeth and the two spend the afternoon by the stables to talk a bit.

Before she leaves for home, Annabeth tries to reassure Daniel.

Annabeth: "You're doing a good job with Ian, really. He's happy here with you even if he can't show it that well right now. I think he still needs to mourn a bit before he can move on."

Daniel: "Thank you, Annabeth. I would love for you to visit again. I missed you these past few weeks."

Annabeth: "I will if I can. But.... I don't know if my father will approve."

Daniel: "I don't want to get you in trouble of course. Travel home safe, okay?"

When he watches her leave he thinks about marriage for the first time in his life. Should he introcuce himself as a possible suitor to her father? Is it a good idea to do this at his current stage... and his living conditions? Would she even want to?

Evan and his family also have to get used to living without Daniel and Ian now. The twins miss their cousins, but at least they still have each other.

But it won't be long until the family grows again... Valeria is expecting a child! Evan and the children are excited to meet the new family member... Valeria meanwhile hopes that she will carry this baby to term and everything will be fine. She does not want to repeat her last pregnancy.

| previous | next |

[leebrontide]

Hello random stranger I don’t even follow! I grew up on Lake Erie and we have a storm hag and I am so excited to talk about her! Mostly she’s from like the war of 1812 and partially forgotten about, but she’s said to cause storms that take down ships so she can feast on sailor flesh. She has a spooky little theme song but by the time you hear it it’s too late and she’s already next to your ship about to pull you under. Which like, you’d think then that we wouldn’t know the song but it’s:

Come into the water, love, dance beneath the waves

Where dwell the bones of sailor lads inside my mossy cave

She’s said to live in a cave under presque isle, which does not make sense because it’s a sand bar full of swampy lagoons, but also there’s a rip current medium often on the beach side so arguably she’s still out there sucking down souls. I’m just saying there’s bluffs on the other side of the bay that seem more reasonable as a place to find caves. But like also historically during the war of 1812 (but really 1813) Oliver hazard Perry’s fleet spent the winter in misery bay, which is sort of toward the end of presque isle, and they were very cold and hungry. I do also like to think that the people that fall through the ice dunes and die in winter are her victims. Maybe also the people that snowmobile on the ice too far into spring and go under. Then again she probably can’t be blamed for every kind of stupid death that happens.

Anyway apparently her name is Jenny Greenteeth, which makes it pretty clear that she’s an English import at least in name, but I love her.

Also, in case you don’t already know, Lake Erie is shallow which makes the currents weird and there’s like, so many shipwrecks. It’s warmer than the deeper lakes so they aren’t as well preserved as the ones in Lake Superior or anything, but there are genuinely a nuts number of them. Also there’s at least one ghost ship, the dean richmond. There’s this whole area called the Lake Erie quadrangle that they’re thinking about protecting federally because there’s so many shipwrecks? Like, beyond a Bermuda Triangle amount. But on the bright side, it doesn’t have as much of a plane crash history as the Lake Michigan triangle!

Also there are some giant goddamned sturgeon in that lake, and if you feel the need to go mermaid tail/person body with the mermaid thing I recommend a long twisty sturgeon tail and body! I forgot what this was for in my excitement to tell someone about my girl Jenny Greenteeth, but have so much fun!

THIS is what I'm talking about!

[dearunreliablenarrator]

✨Good day and happy STS!✨

What is the Coolest thing you have ever come up with lore-wise? Could be anything—a sick motif, a compelling character design, unique worldbuilding, anything!

Feel free to Ramble !!!

and have an awesome day ✨✨✨

✨howdy!

umh, there's honestly so much i can touch on because i've realized i don't really share much on my WIPs outside of Mystic Mondays or sporadic snippet drops.

but i think i'll start with the most important thing that will carry over through the unreliable universe.

so. generational ties/crossroads/parallel timelines/red string theory, i believe are the backbone to the lore inside what we'll call Project NM (PM for short). which wasn't an intentional thing until I started to plot for the duo/companion book for WTRB (where the river bends-a speculative comp. romance (something like that)), because I needed way to bring all four of the characters together in their events naturally, since they'd be referenced and also (technically) be happening at the same.

this was a pretty significant plot hole eraser and pace fixer, because it gave me a sense of timing for events and as someone who isn't planner when it comes to writing, it definitely made me realize that this projects couldn't been done on the fly. (mind you writing now compared to writing in middle school is a complete different world, didn't really worry much about plot holes)

now! i can add as many side stories as i want because i've given myself a backbone to Project NM, and not have to worry about creating world building details from scratch every time i have a new idea. (this also cut down on some overactive world building things, that would have been too complicated to be real or explain)

so, it works lika this. The timeline generationally goes all the way back to GG (a sort of prequel to the unreliableverse) which i could say is set in the feudal/middle age/era because of the Age of Enlightenment is interesting and I've watched Ella Enchanted one too many times to not have my own take on it. (and knights are cool...)

And with GG (which will also have a companion, maybe) the two female leads respectively are the reasons MOST if not ALL of the female leads throughout the series are connected.

So, with that being said. No matter what timeline is currently being lived through, their descendants (or they themselves) will meet and have to face whatever challenges (curse as people are saying nowadays) together, that were never dealt with previously.

But what this doesn't mean is that they're all happening at different times or generations. For clarity, we'll stick with the Big Three. WTRB (where the river bends), CUTS (cherries under the sun) and ALT (altheia).

canonically, CUTS and WTRB are happening that same time but the entry point to their stories are staggered. CUTS and all it's horror begins in the late summer/early fall (starting from the prologue) while WTRB opens in late winter/early spring and at some point meet at a crossroad. whether that's characters referencing one another or events. There will things that shift the actions of each group, respectively as their stories go on.

as for ALT, this is maybe 500 or so years later, i haven't really decided yet. but its far enough out for some consequences to be eliminated, and close enough to still see and feel some of the repercussions of not just the actions of our characters but also the world they live in or grow around. so, 5 generations later at the least, at the max 10.

so,tiny diagram here!

i'm linking a youtube playlist, that i hope will make this make a little more sense if i've gotten you lost. it'd probably be a piece of media i'll reference alot along with Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022).

while there are some more things i want to expand on here, i'll plug mystic monday one more time. there is no tag list, but it does have a dedicated tag for your searching ease. #unreliablelore or just search mystic monday!

i find the lore here- while being a bit more detail oriented and researched base, it isn't really significant to the storyline. think of it as a living library, to be referenced throughout the story. and probably the answers to easter eggs as they come.

i think thats all i can ramble on about at thee moment, if there's anything i can clarify or expand on just let me know.

k-bai✨

[xxsycamore]

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭

↬ 🌸 You and Napoleon welcome the spring out in the fields, trying an interesting new date idea... And Napoleon learns about something curious from the future, along the way, using it to his own advantage.

Napoleon Bonaparte x f!reader • rating: G • tags: Picnics; Painting; Dates; Fluff; Humor; Married Characters • wordcount: 1, 680• masterlist

a/n: This is a birthday gift for a fellow Napoleon lover! This fic was a stay idea lounging in my mind since forever, but it's for @topaz-carbuncle that I decided to put it on paper, with hopes that it would make her smile ❤ With that birthday date, I was so sure that it overlaps with the first day of spring - it turns out it was the day prior, but!! Spring actually came late into the evening where I am, so I really hope it counts! Happy Birthday, dear Lucille! Thank you for being here and sharing your lovely works with us, from one napo lover to another I hope you'd accept this humble gift in turn for all the smiles you've put on my face (and undoubtedly, on many others', too!), I wish you a great day today!! ❤❤🎉🎉🎉 Woooho! • Also for day 8 of Spring Showers Spring Flowers by @aquagirl1978 & @violettduchess Prompt: Picnics (fluff)

"Now, the sun might not be that strong, but I'm still demanding you wear your hat, Mrs. Bonaparte."

You sigh, staying still with chin tipped up while a pair of familiar, sturdy hands tie the ribbons of your straw hat for you. Glancing at Napoleon's face behind your lashes from that point of view, you think it might be fair, after all. He looks a little silly with his own straw hat, it's the one that Sebas uses when working in the garden… maybe it's because you're so used to seeing it on the butler's head that you're seeing something comedic in the current situation.

"Alright, alright, whatever the monsieur wants."

Napoleon smirks at your words, shooting you that boyish gaze while finishing up tying the ribbons under your chin.

Oh, wait! Now you're actually protected against his hair-ruffling attacks! Maybe it's not such a bad idea after all.

"Allons-y!"

***

It's surprising how much the grass has grown, fresh and green as if winter hasn't come to your secret spot at all. With the exception of the few trees in the distance, which are now spots of white instead of spots of green - all in blossom, and surely buzzing with bees, you almost can hear all the way here - the sight is reminiscent of those of the summer days. Napoleon is right, the sun is not as cruel today - and that's why you both intend to use its welcoming rays for company in today's pastime.

"Napoleon, give me those already… you don't have to carry everything."

"Nonsense. What other reason is there for your strong boyfriend to be around?"

You sigh. Again. Napoleon can be such a show-off occasionally, but oh well, it's not like you're too annoyed by it… and it looks like you've arrived too.

Napoleon sets down the many items he carried - picnic basket full of yummy refreshments; another, larger one, filled with painting supplies; two foldable chairs; and of course, the two wooden easels. Today is the first day of spring, and what other way to welcome and commemorate its glory than to capture it on the canvas…! Or at least attempt to, and have fun in the course of it. It's a bit different from your typical dates, but you love the idea either way. Spending time with the love of your life is always exciting, no matter the activity.

"Vincent showed me how to put those up, so I won't do the same mistake as last time. Just watch."

True, last time you two tried painting together Napoleon has been stubborn about putting up a painting easel by himself, refusing to ask for help even when the tripod kept falling apart. To think that there are things even Napoleon can't do…! Alas, that was a short-lived miracle, as you're now witnessing the work of a professional, putting the easel as if it's something mundane he does every day. And so, waking up early remains the only thing Napoleon Bonaparte cannot master.

"There. Please tell me what direction would you like yours to face."

You let out a lengthy hum, cutting it off as soon as the invincible light bulb pops up above your head.

"How sad are you going to be on a scale from 1 to 10 if you were to not see my face through the whole duration of our date?"

"Huh? Ten. No, even more than-"

"Okay, but listen - it's a good idea, listen - both this side," you gesture to the outstretching meadow ahead of you, "and that one," you turn around to point to the opposite one, "are worth putting on the canvas… so why don't we paint two different paintings? We'll sit back to back, and we won't turn around until we're done. No peeking! How's that?"

"Well…"

You suspect that a battle is taking place in his heart this very moment, but you know that his mind is always a little louder than his feelings. You think.

"Yeah, that actually makes a lot of sense. That's my clever Nunuche."

"That sounds like an oxymoron."

***

Even though the sun was high in the sky when you came here, the spring day remains a little too short for your liking, calling for final touches to be added soon.

It's true that somewhere amidst it all, a bear roared - not the real kind, the one that would make you pack your stuff and run, shouting at Napoleon not to attempt dueling with it with his rapier at the ready - but also not the one in your stomach either! Instead of that cute bear cub Napoleon likes to tease you about, it was a papa bear, awoken from its slumber in… Napoleon's belly. You thought the lunch you made earlier at the mansion was enough for him, but alas, a snack break was due. And a snack break you had.

Napoleon was a bit grumpy when you denied him the afternoon nap'n cuddle™ on the picnic blanket, but the slight change of scenery in the afternoon spoke to his inner artist just as it did to yours, fortunately.

Armed with a paintbrush anew, there you are, dipping the bristles into shades of rose-gold mixed on your palate. Napoleon has been quiet for awhile, but that's okay - the wild birds speak enough in his stead, in their various whimsical languages.

The pink on your palate seems to be dominating over the warm yellow shades, and instead of trying to mellow it down, you stand with your brush in the air, staring at the canvas.

Your painted field is a satisfactory still image of the one behind the easel - not that the real thing is much more dynamic. As rules call, one third is taken by the greenery, two thirds are taken by the sky. The occasional trees in the distance make for a good perspective, yet the upper part of it seems rather… empty? You trail off in thoughts about skies you've seen, and naturally, they're all skies you've seen in your own time period.

"Hehee…"

"What are you giggling about, Nunuche?"

Napoleon leans a bit onto you, using you as a backrest. He's not putting his whole weight, of course, but it successfully makes you huff and takes your attention. You push back against him likewise, nudging until your backs are parallel again. It's actually you that have been using him as a backrest in the last half an hour, but, but, he was the one who wholeheartedly suggested it!

"Nothing. I'll just add a little detail in mine."

"Oh? Can I take a peek?"

The whole ordeal about not looking at each other's paintings has been a bit too much… and you give in with a shrug. You clutch the brush with determination, peach-pink paint still at its top.

And you draw a straight line across the stark blue sky of your painting.

Just on time, Napoleon turns on his chair, moving his long legs so they're on either side of your chair.

"What is that…?"

You chuckle some more at his confusion, understandable as it is.

"A chemtrail! I've told you about the advances of planes in modern times… that's the trail their engines leave in the atmosphere. It's a white line showing their trajectory."

"But yours is pink?"

"That's because," You look up beyond the margins of the painting, as if there is a chance you'd see exactly what you're explaining in that very sky above you and Napoleon. "When the sun goes down and we can't see it on eyelevel anymore, sometimes planes are up there - and with how high they are, the sun is still shining on them. And on their chemtrails, too, painting them orange-pink, like so. It's just a little something I've always noticed, sooo…"

"I like that. Thank you for sharing with me."

You smile, turning halfway to meet Napoleon's cyan gaze. You recognize that thirst for knowledge in his eyes, your heart beating warmly in your chest with the sentiment of the moment.

Napoleon reaches over your shoulder with his own brush, dipping it in your freshly blended pink and stealing some.

"Hey!"

"Now I want to add a futuristic element in my painting too. I'm not going to be left behind you like that."

You watch in awe as Napoleon's hand strikes boldly on his own freshly painted landscape. But it's not a straight line like yours.

"A heart?!"

"Yep, a heart… what, don’t tell me they can't do that. There's no way things are so advanced yet they can't do that."

The need to close your jaw triumphs over your bewilderment, somehow, still left speechless at Napoleon's clever deduction. No wonder he is one of history's greatest geniuses, his place among the mansion residents is deserved.

His painting skills… they're so-so, but it's because of that that the line curving in a heart shape in the middle is so eye-catching, making his painting a whole masterpiece.

"I still like yours better, though. You've got talent, Nunuche."

"I think you might be biased, Monsieur de Wahaha." You nod with eyelids fluttering shut, finally turning all the way on your little chair so you can face Napoleon. The impending talk about stunt planes and his right guess about their existence can wait. "…Because I thought the same about yours."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because a person in love is naturally biased for their partner, and everything they do."

Your sudden straightforwardness surprises Napoleon, coloring his face in shades you picked and mixed personally. He holds your gaze like that for awhile, then it all happens in the way it always does.

Napoleon shortens the distance, and so do you. And right in the middle-

"Oh!"

The resistance of two straw hats colliding startles you both, making you withdraw from each other in a rush.

"Pfft. Hahahaha!!"

As Napoleon falls into another of his infamous laughing fits, you wonder if the protection against his hair-ruffling attacks was worth the ruined moment. But the rising urge to laugh - with him, or at him, it doesn't matter all that much - might be worth it all.

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @ale-teodora @kimi00twin @otomelady @privilegedpancake @g-kleran    @pumpumnnnp @thesirenwashere @ravenarld @kimmy-banana @devonares @animeworldsposts @randomanimatedhusbandoseeker @galaxyprison @sadshaxk @starshards26 @pro-cat-stination @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @keen19thcenturygoatsstudent @lordsister @ikemen-banshou   @themysticalbeing @canaria-blackwell @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @coornn @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @cilokgoang Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[rosethornewrites]

NR, E, & M reading since 3/18

Finished

Not Rated:

JC & WWX role swap (LWJ/WWX/JC), by nirejseki

Prompt: au where wwx comes from the old and respected yiling wei sect and jc and jyl are the children of rogue cultivators (or maybe madam yu ran away with rogue jfm?), taken in by sect leader wei

four letters: H-A-T-E (Wei Wuxian's POV), by Edith343redwood

What if the first night they met was rewritten?

Four letters. One word.

that's all it took to send Wei Wuxian spiralling.

They say words hold power, but what can words do?

If a word could be rewritten into a story, what would it be?

Possible works 1 - Ghost Child, by Hauntcats

Wei Ying returns to the day Jiang Fengmian found him and decides to do something different.

None of these are very Jiang Cheng friendly. I'm not even sure if they are Lan friendly. At least one of them is nicer to Jiang Yanli.

Explicit:

The Best Laid Plans, by Admiranda, Rynne (11th in a series)

After a long day traveling, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian just want to have a bath together. Those simple intentions don't last -- and neither does the bathtub.

and we can be anything, by Imatableclock (2nd in a series)

"You’re so good at this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, panting.

From the look on Lan Zhan’s face, she probably considers it an offence that Wei Ying is still speaking. Wei Ying is very happy to learn this about Lan Zhan.

---

Two lesbians in one apartment, and their firsts.

Microphones and Camera Reels, by UseMyMuse

Wei Ying and Lan Wangji have been happily married for five years, their careers are at an all time high, and they really couldn't be happier. Purely by chance, the public is unaware of their relationship, and Lan Zhan's fans are severely misjudging his horny glare for hate and they decide to ban together to get rid of the thorn in their favorite star's side.

One Day We're Loving Each Other, by sami (2nd in a series, 2 chapters, reread)

The wedding is lovely, the bride is very beautiful, and Jiang Yanli comes to live at the Unclean Realm.

Mature:

Blood of the Black Earth, by wirevix (15 chapters)

By the time Jiang Cheng and his small rescue party managed to clear away the rubble at the cave's collapsed entrance, it was too late.

Wei Wuxian had already gone cold.

The Moon Reflected Upon Two Springs, by Rubberduckieassassin (🔒)

In many ways, this part of Wen Ning’s existence has felt like winter. Winter is the most Yin of all the seasons. It is a time of stillness and quiet reflection. Remembering how to ‘live’ again as best he could.

Possible Works 2 - Numb, by Hauntcats

Wei Ying returns to his teenage years, but can't shake the memories of what he has lost.

The Tamed, by pj_moonchild (7 chapters)

Wei Wuxian believes he can change the past for the better if he never misbehaved and remained considerate of the Jiang Yunmeng Sect the whole time. At the same time, he sacrifices meeting Lan Zhan but inevitably, they do meet again once the Wen Clan decides to take over the other sects.

Unfinished

Not Rated:

I'd Give You The Moon, by Teadrenched

Wei Wuxian is very smart, but you wouldn't think that if you saw him now, lost alone in the woods at night and being choked by a witch. Despite his predicament, all Wei Wuxian can think about is how pretty the witch looked, and that he didn't know boys were allowed to wear dresses (but after seeing Lan Wangji, definitely thinks more should)

OR

Wei Ying finds fem witch Lan Zhan in the woods and goes to bother him whenever Madame Yu has been a bit too much

Friday Nights, by Autumn_leaf101

“A-Cheng there is someone I would like you to meet with this Friday. He is the successor to Lan Academies. I’ve spoken with his uncle and we shall see if you both are suitable for each other.” Said Yu-Jiang ZiYuan, with a tone of clarity and finality.

“Yes A-Niang” Having expected this he felt relieved to get it over with.

“The Lan Academies huh? The heirs are quite the handsome duo.” A cheeky Cangse Sanren pointed out. “Isn’t the younger, the pouty one you’re always talking about A-Xian?! Oh, and the older, he has the sweetest smile, doesn’t he?” She continued an excited rant, met with an equally excited Wei Wuxian.

As the conversation steered to the rumours of Jiang Cheng’s potential betrothed, he wanted to know what was being said but no amount of effort could help him concentrate. His only focus; convincing himself that a lifetime of neglect and passive-aggressive companionship wouldn’t be too bad, or maybe, just maybe he could love and be loved the way a husband and wife are meant to.

wing bones touching, by ShanaStoryteller

Mo Xuanyu is the hastily legitimized daughter of Jin Guangshan.

Wei Wuxian wakes up in her body the day before her wedding.

Explicit:

the long way back home, by Misila (🔒)

Wei Ying always knew he was the single discordant note in the Jiang household. That was why, after graduating from university, he didn’t return home. With him gone, Yu Ziyuan wouldn’t have anyone to compare her son to, and Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t have to keep avoiding his own family to prevent further conflict.

…Right?

(Seven years later, married to the man of his life and with a four year-old son, Wei Ying returns to his hometown and tries to reconnect with his siblings and befriend his nephew; but, most of all, he struggles to figure out what’s wrong with his brother and how to help him, despite Jiang Cheng not wanting to have anything to do with him anymore.)

Lupine, by Anonymous

It’s never been an option before—to see Wei Ying after that dream. Typically, Lan Wangji jolts awake in bed, alone with his quaking limbs, and resigns himself to reading or meditating until morning.

But here in Qinghe, dawn is far away, and Wei Ying’s room is so, so close.

The Second Hand Unwinds, by trulywicked (🔒)

Sent back in time without his husband after a night hunt gone wrong, Lan Wangji is determined to ensure that Wei Wuxian’s safety and in the process hopefully mitigate, if not prevent, the war.

Through marriage among other things.

Heart of the Beast, by WaitForTheSnitch

“Wei Ying?” Nie Mingjue prompted him gently. “Where are your parents?”

“They went on a night hunt,” Wei Ying said, a bit evasively.

“Your parents are cultivators?” Da-ge asked in surprise. “Did they leave you here while they hunted? When did they go on their night hunt?”

“Four summers ago,” Wei Ying said a bit uncomfortable.

“Four summers ago,” Nie Mingjue repeated. “What are your parents’ names?”

“My mama is Cangse Sanren and my baba is Wei Changze,” Wei Ying told him, and recognition registered in Nie Mingjue’s eyes.

“Wei Ying,” Nie Mingjue said, sounding a bit regretful, “Your parents aren’t coming back.”

Or, Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang run into Wei Ying while in Yiling and decide to bring him home. And it changes everything.

Mature:

Dreams of Paradise, by Hauntcats

This on begins during the siege of the Burial Mound. Wei Ying is trying to destroy or nullify the tiger seal before anyone else can get it. The results don’t work out quite how he thought they would. His essence is trapped in between time where he witnesses different scenes of the lives of those he cares about. (The 13? 16? Years when he was dead.)

Then he wakes up in a place he didn't expect.

Once again, not Jiang friendly. If you don't like that, please, don't read.

Tragedy That Befall Upon Us, by xoxoholic

"Hey! What's this?" Jin Ling yelled, pointing at the glowing, black and red orb. Jiang Wanyin marched over to Jin Ling, but the young Jin sect leader had already touched the orb.

"Jin Ling!" Jiang Wanyin yelled in anger. If his golden core was not sealed, then Zidian would be cackling furiously.

"..Oops?" Jin Ling sheepishly smiled as he hid behind his friends. Lan Jingyi laughed at Jin Lings predicament while Lan Sizhui sighed. Ouyang Zizhen laughed with Lan Jingyi in amusement before he was hit in the back of his head by his father.

UNDER EDITING

【银 劍 探 心】| Silver Jian Seeking Hearts, by stiltonbasket

“A ghost bridegroom?” Wei Wuxian asks, when he receives his latest night-hunting assignment from Uncle Jiang. “Have women been going missing?”

If brides have been going missing, this is the first that Wei Wuxian is hearing about it; which is strange, because the systematic kidnapping of brides should have quickly been recognized as spirits’ work and reported as such to the nearest cultivation sect as soon as possible.

“Three women and ten men have gone missing so far,” his uncle tells him. “Jinshan town is out of our jurisdiction, and the records say there hasn’t been a hunt in the area since before my grandfather’s time. But no one from Jinshan thought to report the disappearances until today, so the victims must be long dead by now.”

Four hundred years after the Sunshot Campaign, a reincarnated Wei Wuxian dresses himself in wedding red to defeat the ghost of a bridegroom.

Deep within the forests of Jinshan Mountain, the mourning calamity Yin Jian Tan Xin waits to marry his beloved.

What If..... Jiang Cheng Understood?, by ToxicAngel13

It didn't take a genius to realize just what had happened in the time that Wei Wuxian was gone. Not with that damn ribbon on his wrist and Jiang Cheng was not going to let his brother be taken advantage of!

Or a tale in which one insight sparks a world of change.