#but it retains the heat so well so the water is still warm. my candles are still lit. the window is open and the breeze is so cool. so cozy.

[matineemonsters]

The primary problem with living with a large bathtub is that I have an awfully hard time getting out when it's so relaxing inside

[whiskerinthestars]

Chapter 3: Ignition Point

Urban Ascent

Rummaging through this footstool—one of those cheap, pressed-wood boxes covered in rough cloth, hollow with a removable lid for storage—I’m searching for that Dollar Store box of “emergency candles” I bought three years ago. In this narrow one-bedroom apartment, with less square footage than a department store bathroom, storage is a premium. So, I’ve become an expert at cramming stuff into every available nook and cranny. Apartment living, right? It usually makes things hard to find, though, since I’m not exactly working with the Dewey Decimal system here.

Ah, here we go—half a candle, rolling around loose among the random debris. Not sure why it’s the last one left—or why it’s snapped in half—but I guess it’ll do. After dragging the coffee table back in front of the couch, I sit down and set the flat side of the candle on one of those “thirsty stone” coasters. Not sure they’re as “thirsty” as advertised, though—seems like the water just pools on top before evaporating. But whatever.

So, how exactly do I go about creating fire? I guess the name of the game here would be to project this mana outside of my body, right? If those cultivation cycles taught me anything, it’s that the further I have to push it out, the harder it gets. Maybe I’ll channel the energy just beyond the tip of my finger, and if I hold it close enough to the candle—it’ll heat up enough to combust. Well, no time like the present, right?

I stretch out my finger until it’s practically touching the top of the candle and begin to concentrate. Just like before with the bottle cap, I imagine forcing the mana to the tip of my finger, but this time, visualize it exiting in the form of heat. As expected, the flow drops by half as it reaches my elbow and halves again at my fingertip—there’s definitely a pattern here. And as if to prove my point, by the time the energy exits my finger, it feels like the flow has halved yet again.

If the energy I sent to my arm was one-hundred “units” of mana—Uhh, I guess I’ll call it Mana Points, or MP for short. I know, I know—but what do you expect from a chronic RPG fan? Anyway, fifty MP makes it to my elbow, twenty-five to my finger, and a dismal twelve-point-five MP actually exits my fingertip. That’s practically a one-to-ten ratio, and I’m guessing there are even more losses when it converts to heat.

Note to self: the novels were right again. Internal arts are a lot easier than external arts, huh? No wonder all the beginner cultivators in those stories focus on the basics of speed and strength. Creating a flame out of nothing probably isn’t going to happen, good thing I decided to just focus on heat then right? The candle has to retain some of the heat I pass to it, right? If I can just feed it heat faster than it loses it, eventually it should get warm enough to combust on its own.

Huh—I guess this still counts as superhuman, but my power being worse than a Zippo lighter is still disappointing. Whatever—everyone has to start somewhere. Is the candle even getting warm? I gently poke it, half-expecting it to be warm, but... I’m not sure I’m feeling much. Maybe it’s warmer—but—not by a significant amount. Sure wish I had a temperature gun right about now. Not actually leave the house and go buy one—wish—but still.

Wait, how dumb can I be? It’s not like I only have one finger, right? I’m already sending mana down my whole arm—so why limit myself? Actually, who says I even need to use my fingers? It only halves once it reaches my fingers. I could just release the energy directly from my palm. That would be more efficient—50 MP straight from my hand—but it wouldn’t necessarily produce more energy.

But, it’s a trade-off: 100 MP for 50 output from my hand at 50% efficiency, or 500 MP—100 for each finger—for 125 output, but at a miserable 25% efficiency.

But now the question is—is it worth being two and a half times hotter at the cost of five times the mana? In this case, I’m not sure it is. I don’t need a big blast of energy all at once; I just need to build it up faster than it can be lost. Why burn twice the gas to go the same distance if time isn't a factor? I think slow and steady wins the race here. To begin with, I don’t have much “gas” in the first place, so it’s not exactly the time to be wasteful.

Reaching back out to the candle, I sort of cup my hand around it, almost as if I’m shielding an imaginary flame from the wind. There’s something incredibly primal about tending to fire. Just like my countless ancestors, I slowly tend to this soon to be flame, this source of heat—my light in the darkness. Okay, that’s a bit dramatic—I do have a lamp in the corner of my room—but sometimes it’s important to set the mood.

That extra twenty-five percent is really making a difference this time—I can practically feel the heat building up on the candle. Reassured, I double my concentration, focusing with all my might. I try to heighten my imagination to its fullest potential. What is heat? And what am I trying to do with it? Warmth isn’t enough—I’m not seeking comfort. I’m seeking power! The power to burn, the power to destroy. Hotter—it has to get even hotter. Like the combustion of flammable gas exposed to a spark, like the fusion of hydrogen fueling the sun. The kind of heat that grows into an unwavering inferno—a recursive function feeding into itself, a destructive cycle. Fire begets fire. One flame becomes two. Two becomes three. And from three—comes the destruction of everything!

The true nature of Yang itself—destruction, light, heat, and fire—the embodiment of man’s willpower, his drive to impose order, and his capacity to break down whatever stands before him. Yang is relentless, consuming everything in its path, forging power from chaos. As I focus on this intent, I feel the fire within me flicker and grow. This is no longer just about lighting a candle—it’s about tapping into something far deeper, a force that connects me to the very fabric of existence.

My palm feels as though it could ignite the very air. My breath quickens as I imagine the power coursing through my veins—acting as an extension of the universe’s boundless energy, an inferno ready to be unleashed. And then, without thinking, I do it. I scream at the candle before me.

“Burn!”

To my shock, it does.

Perhaps with a bit too much power—it’s hot! I quickly yank my hand back as I feel the flame lick against my palm. Not burned, but definitely startled, I lose track of time, staring blankly at the flame as it dances atop the candle. My eyes are wider than they’ve ever been—both literally and metaphorically. It feels as though, for the first time, I’ve caught a glimpse of truth. Even though my heart pounds in my chest, a strange serenity washes over me, the kind of stillness that only comes in moments of profound enlightenment.

I know, even now, that this single moment will be etched deeply into my mind. Though I’m living it right now, it already feels like something I’ll look back on with nostalgia and wonder. It’s the oddest sensation of disembodiment—like an even more intense sense of déjà vu. Past, present, and future seem to blur together, distilling into this singular experience. In that moment, I almost forget who I am—my entire sense of self nearly dissolves into the flame.

“Who am I?” The words escape my lips, though I don’t even remember saying them—it doesn’t feel like I’m in my own body anymore. I can practically see myself sitting there, as if my soul has left me, hovering just above, watching from a distance.

Suddenly, a sense of urgency floods through me. I realize this is a pivotal moment—a crossroads. If I don’t answer now, I’ll lose everything. It’s as if the very heavens themselves are holding me at gunpoint, demanding an answer to this one question.

I steel myself, feeling a surge of resolve—perhaps the strongest I’ve ever felt. The words gather at the tip of my tongue, ready to spill out as I—

[feral--bog--witch]

I don't know if anyone of my mutuals are from Texas but here is a really good list of winter survival tips from a lady who lives where it gets to be -40C (up to -55C sometimes).

Layer your clothes.

Start with leggings or skin tight pants, then put sweats or another fuzzy type pant over top of that. Put on a tank top, then a t-shirt, then a sweater, then a coat. Same with socks. Layer your socks as well. HOWEVER do not put so much on that you start sweating. If you start sweating you MUST remove a layer to where you are warm but NOT hot. If you get cold while you are sweating, it negates all your layers and you WILL get cold faster.

For going outside without winter gear.

Do the layering and if you have wind pants or a wind jacket (waterproof outer shells can work too), put that over top of your clothes. Its not rated for cold weather but it will keep the wind from cutting through you which is a big thing that can affect your core body temperature. The wind will be freezing and it won't take you long to get freezing as well if it can cut through your clothes.

For your feet, water proof foot wear but NOT rubber boots. Those will make your feet freeze.

And for gloves, if you don't have any, you can make some quick ones out of socks but you MUST put them on BEFORE you go outside otherwise it negates the reason for them. They KEEP you warm, not MAKE you warm.

Also remember leggings can be doubled as a scarf and you can and will lose heat through your head so wrap it up or wear a hood.

What to do if you think you have frostbite.

You can tell if you are frost bitten due to the fact your skin will kind of go numb and you can no longer feel it. The worse it is, the more you can't feel. Now to warm that area back up once you are safe inside DO NOT USE HOT WATER! This is imperative. You WILL cause second or third degree burns because you can't tell how hot it is. Start with tepid water and rub the area vigorously while you run water over it or hold it under the water. Increase the temperature slowly over time. Another point. This WILL hurt. It will hurt A LOT but you need to keep going. It hurts because your nerves are thawing out and you are regaining circulation. This is normal and GOOD. If it hurts you know the area is slowly thawing out.

If you don't have access to water, rub the affected area a lot, massage it and work the skin and muscle. The friction will slowly thaw it out through heat and you will need to keep doing it to ensure it thaws out completely. Once again this will hurt but you need to push through it to ensure you retain functionality of that area be it your hands or feet or fingers or toes.

What do do to prep your house for freezing temps.

First thing you need to do, especially because in the south your houses are not built for freezing temps is to drip your taps. All the taps in your house should be dripping hot and cold water. This will prevent your pipes from freezing.

Also open your cupboards under your sink to help prevent the pipes from freezing. If you are concerned about it still freezing you can use cardboard to wrap them, it's not the greatest for insulation as it's not built specifically for it but it will work in a pinch to keep your pipes from freezing. You can also wrap some cotton batting around them BEFORE you do the cardboard to insulate even better.

Then we move onto draft proofing your home. If your house is drafty it will get cold VERY quickly, especially when you have freezing wind blowing. So for your windows, hang dark blankets up to cover the windows, this will help prevent drafts and the darker colour will absorb heat that will be help keep your house a touch warmer.

For your doors, roll up towels and put them at the bottom of your doors to help stop drafts from coming in or out. If you are leaking around the edges, if you have it, staple double over plastic to over hang the door to isolate the draft to the door itself. If you don't, hang a blanket to cover the door completely. This will block the draft and keep the cold from coming in and the heat from escaping.

What do do if your power goes out.

First thing you are going to do is bring everyone into a single room, if you can centralize the room to be in the middle of the house, that's even better as the cold will take much longer to reach it. As you do that, close all the door you can and then you are going to amp up your space to help retain heat. So you are going to cover the door with a blanket and you are going to bring as many blankets as possible into that space.

You are going to stay there with everyone and eat and sleep in this room TOGETHER. Your body heat will keep the room warm and if you insulate it properly it will retain that heat. If you notice a wall is super cold, hang a blanket up on it, if you notice a draft, stuff it with a towel or hang a blanket up on it.

You want the room to be as insulated as possible. And yes I include pets with this so bring in their food and water dish and if it's a cat bring in toys and their litter box.

For light, use flashlights or camping lights. If you have kerosene lamps use those, but generally use candles. Make sure they are high off the ground, not where they can tip over, and make sure they have a plate or a tray underneath then so that if they DO tip you won't catch anything on fire or get wax every where. Remember that crayons can be used as candles, and if you shove a candle in a can of Crisco that shit will burn for like six days straight. Also if you have an orange, cut it in half, take the pulp out, pour in a little cooking oil into the half a peel (make sure the flash point of the oil is high so it doesn't catch fire), and then stick a small candle in the middle, this will give you a large amount of burn time for a small candle.

For heat. There are several methods you can use to heat up a space, one is you take a tiny can, put a toll of toilet paper inside of it, then you dump isopropyl alcohol (min 70%) over the roll until it's soaked, and then light it on fire. This will provide both light and heat for several hours.

If you want to double that heat, take a terra cotta pot or a metal pot and have it slightly over top of the can. NOT covering the fire but resting slight over top of it so the rim of the terracotta pot or the metal pot it level with the edge of the candle. If you have several of those, you will heat the space rather quickly.

If you have a woodburning stove or a fireplace, then use that! Just make sure you have your chimney unobstructed donut draws properly and for all burning types of heat ALWAYS HAVE A CARBON MONOXIDE ALARM. If you DON'T then make sure your space is ventilated.

Also never fall asleep while the fire is going. So candles, your little flame heaters, ect.

Keeping yourself warm at night.

The absolute BEST blankets to use to wrap up in are sleeping bags. Use them on-top of all your other blankets and they will keep your heat in so much better than anything else. They are specifically designed for colder weather and keeping you warm.

Keep your feet warm. The best and easiest solution to this is to make a 'bed rock'. Back in the old times people used to warm up rocks and stones and stick them at the end of their bed underneath their covers to keep them warm. We can mimic that by using hot packs, so those little plastic bean filled baggies that you warm up in the microwave. Pop those into the microwave for two minutes and stick them at your feet under your blankets and you will have warm feet for up to three or four hours.

If you don't have a heat pack, that's fine! You can make one with a sock, rice, and a hair elastic. Fill your sock with rice, tie it closed with the elastic and there you go! Homemade heat pack (I actually made one this winter when our power went off. It makes a WORLD of difference.)

If you are stuck outside in the freezing cold (and can't get into a shelter).

Layer your clothes and if you are still cold, crumple up newspaper and stick it between the layers. This will act as a insulator to keep your body heat in. You need to stay warm. It's easier to stay warm than it is to warm up.

Try and get access to a tent and a sleeping bag will increase your chances of staying warm. You need shelter and a tent with a sleeping bag is the best way to do that. If you have shelter you can survive but if it's snowing do NOT let snow accumulate on your tent. This can block air flow and can cause your tent to collapse.

Sleep on something that protects you from the ground. Even if you have to layer cardboard to keep the cold away from you, do so.

If you have no shelter, you can make one using cardboard boxes. Find a large box if you can, then a smaller one that fits inside of it but still fits you. Once you have them, find a place that is sheltered from the wind and then place your boxes so that the opening it towards the shelter and then shove crumpled newspaper in the space between the boxes to provide insulation and while it's not pretty, it will work in a pinch. If you want too insulate it more, put plastic over the boxes and then pile snow on the sides and a thin layer on the top. This will insulate your shelter as snow acts as a great insulator.

Buddy up. The more people you find the more heat you can generate. Never be alone out in the cold. It's easier to fall asleep when you shouldn't and you won't have someone else there who can help you if you need it. Have at least someone else with you if you can manage it.

Never go to sleep cold! If you are warm you can stay warm but you can't warm up if you are cold. Doing jumping jacks, rub your legs and arms, do whatever it takes to get warm before you go to sleep.

If it's super cold out, keep moving and find public spaces that are open to get out of the cold. Sometimes it is too cold for you to stop and sleep. You might want too but you can and will die if you do. The cold will kill you quickly and it is better to keep moving to keep yourself safe and awake. If you can find open public buildings, like 24 hour laundry mats or libraries or other buildings like that. Go in to get warm as best as you can and if you can sleep there, do so but you cannot sleep outside if it's too cold.

Stay safe.

This is the biggest piece of advice I can give you. This cold snap is horrible for people who have never experienced it before so stay safe and stay warm. Im worried for you, I'm used to this, you aren't. I love you all and stay safe!

[diavolosthots]

I was in the mood for satan so I wrote Satan.

Hypothetical ( SATAN X GN!READER )

He was beside you, reading one of his books like usual, except that you joined him this time. His body, which was propped up against the headboard, was illuminated by the candles in his room, and for a while you just laid on your stomach, your head turned toward him as your eyes scanned over his body. 

"Something the matter, Kitten?" Your eyes flew up to his, which were still fixated on his book. "No...i think…" you pushed yourself off his bed, climbing over him to stand back up, "I think I'll go walk around for a bit." Your arms came up to stretch, and almost tired yawn escaping your lips in response. He finally looked up, watching your body stretch as his eyes scanned your frame. "Want me to come too?" But you shook your head, "no. Go get lost in fantasyland, peter." It was a running joke between you and the demon; you always called him Peter because he seemed to just get lost in his books, aka Neverland, instead of coming back to reality. 

He just nodded at you, watching you leave through his door, the light from the hallway only briefly illumination his room. A small sigh escaped his lips as he felt the warm spot beside him where you had just laid moments earlier. 

You started to make your way through the house's hallways, although you didn't get very far before Asmodeus pushed you against one of its many walls. "You know why he calls you kitten, right?" You almost screamed in shock but relaxed again, seeing the familiar demon in front of you. "Asmo! Don't do that!" The demon just chuckled, a playful glint behind his eyes, "well?" You scoffed, "because he wants to." Or something like that. Really, you cant tell Satan much; he always did what he wanted to anyway so this seemed like a very plausible reason. 

"Ah-ah… I mean sure, but there's something deeper to it, and you know it just as much as I do." Your cheeks suddenly felt hot, but you just glared at him, "so you cornered me to tell me that?!" He shrugged and you let our a sigh, "lets say, hypothetically speaking, you're right" 

"I am right" you rolled your eyes, "what am i supposed to do?" Asmodeus almost laughed at your answer. "I know Satan, (Y/N). Hypothetically speaking, you should go back in there and, hypothetically speaking, talk to him about it." 

You frowned, should you? Really this has been going on way too long. The lingering touches, the yearning glances, the silly remarks… "youre right." You pushed Asmodeus off of you and walked back to where you came from. "What? No thank you?" Asmo pouted. "And that's how I get treated…" 

You didnt bother knocking, knowing the Demon wouldnt mind. "Satan." His eyes flicked up to meet yours, watching you enter his room again. "Back already? Did you miss me that much?" Yes. You smiled softly, "I have a question." He raised an eyebrow, putting his book down, "and I, most likely, have an answer." You rolled your eyes in response, although it's true. He retains information like a sponge soaks up water. 

"Hypothetically speaking, what if I were to tell you something… interesting" he chuckled, standing up from the bed and making his way toward you, "that depends on how interesting it really is, but, hypothetically speaking, I would listen with great intent." You nodded, feeling the heat return to your face. "Then, hypothetically speaking, I wonder what youd do if I kissed you right now." 

He stopped for a split second, looking at you before his steps continued, "well, hypothetically speaking of course, i would return the kiss." His hands came to settle on your hips while yours wrapped around his neck. His green eyes were staring into yours now, "and… hypothetically speaking…" your voice dropped, barely above a whisper as you leaned in, grazing your lips over his, "what would you do… if i confessed my feelings?" He took in a sharp breath, desperate wanting to feel those lips now, but instead he answered with an equal whisper, "then, hypothetically speaking, I would answer with a confession of my own." 

Your lips pressed against his in a sweet kiss, one which he gladly returned as his thumbs drew circles on your hips. You pulled away, slightly, "then, hypothetically speaking, I want you to be mine." 

He smiled softly, locking his lips again with yours, "Hypothetically speaking, I'm already yours, just as you are mine."

"Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Of course, hypothetically."

[kitkatt0430]

So freezing rains on Wednesday and Thursday and...

I honestly still don't know which makes more anxious - staying at home or going to my parent's place

But I need to decide tomorrow because if I do decide to go to their house and then don't leave by tomorrow evening, then I'm basically stuck at home anyway.

The rest of this is just me anxiety rambling...

Spending what'd amount to three or four days at my parents place doesn't bother me in and of itself, it's just... my house is easier to keep warm in a power outage, so there's one point of anxiety. I know my fireplace works, I can block up the one hallway exit, the ceilings aren't particularly high, the room actually retains heat fairly well. Twelve hour power outage the other week and the room was 50 degrees when the power came back on.

My parents house, on the other hand, has two fireplaces, but one is in the one upstairs room that I don't like going into because I'm no longer comfortable going up and down stairs. The other fireplace is in the formal living room which has high ceilings, multiple entrances/exits to other parts of the house that are difficult to block off, huge windows, multiple doors to the outside...

I've procured two small, low wattage heaters. I've got my power backup, which I need to plug back in just to top it back off, which can do up to 600w. I've got a ridiculous amount of blankets. I've got a bunch of tea candles I've got a few options for cooking either without power or using my little power backup. Food that doesn't need to be cooked. Lots of water stored up. Lots of warm clothes.

I also have a tree outside that, despite having been trimmed back, dropped another limb over the driveway the other day and it has limbs closer to the utility lines than I'm comfortable with. I had asked for my tree trimmers to pull the limbs back, but apparently the limbs are too close for them to safely trim, which means it has to be the electric company that does it. Of course, they didn't actually tell me this last week so I had thought they'd trimmed the limbs back as asked. Until I finally had a chance to look down there and see they hadn't. So I got to have a text conversation today to find out why and... they should have told me this while they were out doing the trimming last week. So I'm kind of pissed off that they didn't because... they knew how concerned I was about that. Now I have to figure out how to get the electric company to send out tree trimmers. Lovely.

So it basically boils down to me being far more likely to encounter another outage at home than at my parents home.

(Of course, if I'm not home and a pipe bursts like last year then I won't be there to turn off the water line to prevent my house from being a swamp. So if I go, I have to make sure that I leave the faucets dripping/running a small stream and then spend three or four days super fucking stressed about it.)

I'm trying not to anxiety/stress cry over this because it's just... nothing I can really do about the weather and it feels like this... huge decision and I don't have a lot of time to make it and no matter what I'm going to wind up stressing about my decision after I make it either way. And of course stress crying on top of recovering from bronchitis won't make my lungs happy. :/

I'm tired and stressed and I'm sick of coughing and being sick and i really hate that damn tree right now and...

[way-to-the-future]

The Deep Sea, Pt. 1

Harasagi-no-Mifune is not without virtue. Look, the strength of his drawing-arm; hear, his forthright speech and courtly discourse. Truly he is fierce, and beautiful, and just; none among his people would deny it. Abroad, too, he wears the pelt of a Doman tiger as well as Hingan silk as well as gyuki skin – for he is a king of the sea, inheritor of a lineage stretching back to the time of Go-Hinzen, who was the first to recognize the Harasagi clan’s rightful rule of these waters with title and tribute. Yet so humble is he, too, that he confers gladly with his retainers on the right course, and makes no judgement without consulting the beloved dowager, mother to her people, his great grandmother.

               The hall is never so quiet as when Miharu sits for prayer. Her great grandson kneels some paces behind; though he measures nearly twice her height, he has never been able to leap the wall of convention. It is a stiflingly warm day, as all days in summer are on these islands, and the damp heat makes even the flames of the votive candles waver. Still the dowager abides; still, -

“Have you not marked one hundred summers yet, great grandmother?” The sound of boredom, and so boring itself; accompanied by the waving of that lord’s hand fan prized from the last treasure ship. If the boy king is so uncomfortable, why not excuse himself, rather than burden the family spirit with such talk and such soft looks?

“Not yet, grandson.” She touches the corner of a cameo in stunning crimson and jade paints, the strokes of the brush elegant and forceful as their subject. How warlike her son was.

“Ah,” wonders Mifune, sounding both surprised and ever so slightly disappointed. The swish of his fan slows just a moment.

“Our family has always been long-lived, when we had the chance.” She splits a pomelo for Misuke – a clever and indulgent boy. At least he had a father to guide him through that age.

“Not grandfather nor father,” notes the boy, who has more than enough sense to not state the obvious. If she still had the strength of her hands, she would turn him head over hind in the square – but as it is, she struggles with the paring knife.

Grandsons are not without their virtues, it is true -  but to separate them from the accompanying vices is another matter. Not like cutting fruit; not even like boiling silk. Well, when had Miharu ever been one to complain about such work? If the arrow must land between cuirass and faceguard, that is where it will land.

“Mifune – “ Her call is joined in unwitting harmony by… Oshima. Mifune’s second. Who is he to interrupt the family prayer?

At least he has the sense to appear chastised by her stare. “Ah – dear mother. Forgive me, I had no idea you were still – “ A little prolonged eye contact, and he bows. Deep.

“There is no excuse. Save – “

“Oshima. Enough of the groveling. What is it?” Mifune won’t let his men see him wielding that painted paper trinket against the heat, at least.

The retainer looks to the dowager for approval, who only returns to her devotions. “… It’s the sentry, my King. A seal ship, by the report.”

The great mother can hear the boyish glee in her great-grandson’s voice without turning her face from the shrine. “About time. One would think they had forgotten the sailing season. What is its heading?”

“Northeasterly, my King.”

“Returning with a cargo full of Hannish dyes, no doubt.”

“As you say, my King.”

“Make ready the sekibune. And swiftly. If they have caught the current, we will need haste if we are to catch them.

Miharu’s voice breaks into the conversation with a rasp like that of a scroll unrattling. “It is early in the season for a return voyage, isn’t it, Oshima?”

The King and his bannerman stare. “That is true, great mother.”

“Might they have wintered in Thavnair?”

“They may have, great mother.”

Impatience, cut with a sheen of impudence, colors her great-grandson’s tone. “What does it matter? It is the first tithe we have had the chance to take this season.”

“It is an odd thing,” Miharu continues, as though she had not heard him. “A sailor of Hingashi does not lightly winter far from home. Not the least the master of a seal ship. Whatever their business was, it was not simple sale and purchase.”

“And they will see the folly in remaining beyond the horizon too long, grandmother. We can ill afford this delay.”

“Had you the shiphunter’s wisdom like your father, you would know that the young shark strains the net more than he is worth.”

“For mercy, do not speak proverbs at me, grandmother.”

“If I must say it simply for you to catch the meaning, you rush for a small – “

“Enough,” snaps the boy. He raises his voice to the great mother, and in the hall of his forebears no less. Even Oshima grasps the trespass; he withdraws a few paces, bowing his head. Mifune squares his shoulders and his jaw, instead. “You will not speak to me this way. I am King – daimyo, father to the people.” Over his shoulder, he calls: “Oshima. Make ready to launch. Await me at the quay.”

The servant withdraws without a further word. Miharu grants her grandson a look of measured disdain. “Passion ill suits the speech of a king in his own hall, boy.”

“I have said it once. I will not say it again. Father and grandfather are dead – and they surely named me their successor.”

“They expected that you would moderate yourself with my counsel.”

A sneer. “We have seen what your counsel brought them, have we not?”

Stillness, and the rustling of palms. The words settle into the air, choking like the heat.

“Then – with your blessing, grandmother.” How stubborn, her great-grandson is. Perhaps she should say no; perhaps the panels of family saints, staring down in blissful repose, would do so in her place. But the people can ill-afford to become untethered from their past.

For better – and likely for worse – Mifune now stands for the people. She returns to prayer without another word, and to the sound of his retreating stride. Confident, warlike – beautiful, and fierce. The rogue wave coasts over a much greater sea.

[curiosity-killed]

sunbeam flaring

hair...healing...thoughts...?? They’re Dumbasses, Ur Honor

(title stolen from Love Sonnet XI by Neruda bc I had litcherally no idea what to call it)

word count: 2354

He notices it on a perfectly ordinary afternoon two weeks before Callebero’s twenty-second birthday. Inasmuch as the captain of the imperial cavalry has such a thing, it’s Sirion’s day off; he sleeps in, waking only briefly when Callebero extricates himself and presses a kiss to his cheek and then dozing until the sun is two fingers above the horizon. His morning is slow and indulgent; breakfast with Regent Aquios, who insists he call her by her first name despite the way he shies from such familiarity, followed by a few hours catching up on the paperwork and correspondence that has piled up in his office lately. Now, he pauses in the middle of running forms with Mikolan as Callebero crosses the gardens. He’s dressed formally today, in those heavy layers he hates and which always draw Sirion’s eyes to his narrow waist and the broad strength of his shoulders. An older retainer walks at his side, mirroring his frown, but it’s not their conversation that catches Sirion’s attention.

Callebero’s hair has been pulled back from the front, the long tail tucked into a neat bun that’s secured by a gold band. A spider’s-silk thread of jewels drips in a loop below it. Beneath it, the rest of his hair forms a short curtain falling just below his ear. The end of a staff taps him on the top of his head. “Stop gawking. We already know you and the imperator have turned the palace to your love nest, but you don’t have to be so obvious,” Mikolan scolds. “That is not—” Sirion starts to sign before huffing out a breath and giving up. Once she recovered from the initial shock of Valyn’s treachery and Callebero’s return, Mikolan had thrown herself gleefully into teasing him about their relationship. So far, she is still too mindful of place to say anything to Callebero, but she has taken full credit for them meeting and has not missed a single opportunity to remind Sirion of his early impressions of Callebero. There’s no point fighting such a losing battle, so he turns back to their practice and stows that startled notice away for later contemplation. It’s not like he’s unaware of it. He’d noticed Callebero scratching the back of his head with the end of a reed pen when his hair was little more than rabbit-fur fuzz, and Sirion has combed his fingers through both the long tail of his crown and the shorter locks just growing out. It’s just—he hasn’t thought about it. That night, curled close around each other with their legs tangled, Sirion skates his fingers through Callebero’s hair and tries to order his own thoughts. There’s a sharp division between the thick, downy underlayer and the longer half, sleek and silken. A fiercely selfish part of Sirion is grateful he never saw Callebero’s hair hacked short. He thinks he might have killed whoever held the blade. “I know, it’s ridiculous,” Callebero mumbles from where his face is smashed partially into the pillow and partially into Sirion’s left arm. Canting his head, Sirion shakes his fingers gently out of his hair and taps Callebero’s shoulder twice in the negative. Callebero shifts so that half his face is unburied and squints blearily up at Sirion. He’s not sure what all happened today, but Jisel had been clearly nursing a headache throughout dinner and Callebero had collapsed face first onto their bed before removing his crown or hairpieces. He’d muttered something about doing away with all laws and ceding absolute power to Jisel, to which Sirion had reasonably pointed out that she would kill him herself if he did such a thing. Groaning, Callebero had smashed his face into the pillow and muttered a string of curses that made even Sirion’s brows lift. “It is nice,” Sirion signs now. “I liked how you had it today.” Callebero squints at him, brow wrinkling as if in complete bafflement. “You may be a once-in-a-generation commander,” he says finally, “but your taste in men remains questionable.” Rolling his eyes, Sirion flicks his shoulder. “Say it again, and I’ll bite you,” he warns. For a moment, Callebero stares at him in open confusion, his lips parted around words that don’t escape beyond a faint squeak. Then, he breaks into laughter and reaches up to drag Sirion down and kiss him. “So much for my protector,” he teases. Sirion arches his eyebrows. “Jisel would say the same,” he retorts. “I can assure you Jisel would never bite me,” Callebero rejoins with a laugh. Rolling them over so that he can drape himself across Callebero’s chest and free his left arm, Sirion shakes his head. Callebero allows the shift comfortably, curling his arm around Sirion’s side to trace slow strokes up and down his back. Despite his earlier exhaustion, he’s bright-eyed now and smiles up at Sirion. “Only because she would be better prepared,” Sirion replies. At that, Callebero only breathes out a soft laugh and tilts his head to one side in apparent concession. “Very well, Commander,” he teases. “I solemnly swear not to doubt your taste in romantic partners ever again.” He leans in when Sirion presses a kiss to his lips and hums in pleasure when Sirion nips his bottom lip. “I don’t know how anyone thinks you’re such a solemn and decorous leader,” Sirion gripes. Callebero yawns and wiggles his shoulders in a mix of a shrug and an effort to nestle down into the mattress. Easing off him, Sirion settles back at his side with his arm draped over Callebero’s waist. His sleeping robes are warm and creased from being pressed so close between them, and Sirion can feel his own body slipping closer to sleep. “Mm,” Callebero hums. “It helps that I mostly keep my mouth shut.” Sirion can’t help breathing out a laugh at that, shaking his head. Like many, his first impression of Callebero had been a silent one—and at the time, Sirion had read that as cool haughtiness much as many visitors did. Laying such an image over the Callebero he now knows seems laughable, but he knows he’s one of only a few who can claim such familiarity. Under his arm, Callebero’s belly tenses with a quiet laugh. He prods Sirion in the ribs. “It worked on you, after all,” he teases. Mikolan’s incessant teasing rises to Sirion’s mind, and he shakes his head. Callebero grins. “You thought I was a brat,” he says, unreasonably gleeful. “I”—Sirion starts and then stops short, because that is true—“changed my mind.” Callebero snorts, graceless, and wriggles out from Sirion just enough to smother the candle on the side table. With only the moonlight left spilling blue through the cracks in the shutters, the room is ink-dark and it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust. “It took me kicking your ass to change your mind,” Callebero retorts. “It was a draw,” Sirion signs. “I laid you out, love.” There’s laughter in Callebero’s voice as he speaks, and Sirion finds amusement battling down the old wound to his pride. He can still picture the staff end hovering right before his nose, Callebero’s careless, bright grin on the other end. He hadn’t fallen in love in that moment, but it had been a shift—a sudden, bracing change like dunking into cold water on a summer day. “You had the element of surprise,” he still insists. “Mm,” Callebero hums doubtfully. “I could still take you.” Narrowing his eyes, Sirion squints at him in the darkness. It’s absurd. They’re both grown men with more accolades than most families have in three generations. They’ve each emerged from three wars and a coup with honors and scars to prove their valor. There is no reason to quibble over an old sparring match. “Could not,” he signs anyway. Callebero’s laughter is more of a hot brush of air against Sirion’s skin than a sound, and he squeezes him once. “I suppose we’re due for a rematch then,” he says, the words briefly warped around a yawn. “Ah maybe next week?” Sirion hums and drops his head to Callebero’s shoulder, hooking his ankle around his calf. “For your birthday,” he signs, and Callebero laughs. Jisel catches on quickly, of course. On the third day of Regent Batu’s visit, they duck away with a pot of tea in the far corner of the library where only Callebero ever thinks to look. If anyone asks, they aren’t hiding. It’s simply a convenient location to get some work done while the visiting gentry fill the palace with gossip and traveling parties and more gifts than any single person has ever needed. For the most part, Sirion looks on all the pomp and frivolity with amusement. All these rich nobles falling over themselves to litter Callebero with gilt and gems as if they could win his favor with enough gold. And, selfishly, part of Sirion likes that none of their piled gifts will never match what Callebero actually wants. A toothed satisfaction runs through him at the futility of their sycophancy. “If Jemma catches you gawking at his hair one more time, I think she might combust,” Jisel remarks. Rolling his eyes, Sirion glances up from the report he’s been reading to shoot her a glare. Over the last year and a half, it has become apparent that Jemma doesn’t quite know how to handle he and Callebero being partners and seems stuck vacillating between threatening Sirion should he ever hurt Callebero and lecturing Callebero on valuing Sirion enough. Hayalen has spent most of it laughing at both her wife and the two of them. “I do not gawk,” Sirion retorts now. Jisel raises her eyebrows, hiding her smile behind her teacup, and he can feel heat suffusing his cheeks. Huffing out a breath, he leans back in his chair. “It’s not”—he stops, pressing his lips into a seam in frustration before sighing—“I’m just not used to it.” Humming faintly, Jisel lowers her cup to cradle between her hands and runs a fingertip back and forth over the lip. “I did the same when Kieran came back from Jimar,” she admits. “It took a while, and I hardly noticed at first but then…” She pauses, looking away. A pang squeezes Sirion’s heart. He doesn’t know exactly how she and the younger Aquios’ relationship fell apart, and they’ve seemed to be on polite enough terms now—but it still feels shocking and somehow wrong that they should have ended at all. “It’s comforting,” she says finally, turning back to him with a little smile, “to know that he’s not planning to rush headlong into danger again.” Oh. Sirion blinks, startled by that analysis. He’s hardly thought of it in such serious terms; when he’s pondered his sudden fixation on Callebero’s hair it’s been more in curiosity and bafflement. Footsteps sound behind them, and Sirion twists around. Callebero’s eyebrows arch up as he nears, unimpressed, and Sirion grins back at him. “Traitors,” Callebero announces. “We only wanted to give our imperator princep space to celebrate with his courtiers,” Jisel replies, sweet as honey. Huffing out a breath, Callebero drops down into the chair beside Sirion. “Your imperator princep would rather shovel out all the horse stalls in the capital,” he retorts. He kicks lightly at Sirion’s ankle, glancing over to grin at Sirion as if Sirion weren’t already looking at him. Shaking his head, Sirion reaches over to pull him in for a brief kiss. He comes willingly, smiling against his lips, and across the table, Jisel snorts. “Shameless,” she singsongs. Callebero laughs, a warm breath of air against Sirion’s lips, and then he pulls back to grin at her. He’s still leaned close enough that Sirion could run a hand through his hair if it weren’t so neatly pinned up. “I remember someone telling me that Aeridians are all too repressed and that’s why we spend so much time polishing our swords,” he says. Pausing, Jisel narrows her eyes and searches his face like she can’t tell if he’s joking or not. After a moment, she scowls and leans back. “You can’t use the things I’ve said while drunk against me,” she says. “And I stand by it anyway.” Shaking his head, Callebero snorts out a laugh. The motion makes his earrings jingle, ringing together like little chimes. When they turn in for the evening, he’ll grumble about all the layers and seriously contemplate going to bed with each of the dangling piercings still in, and Sirion will nudge him into sitting still long enough to let him take them out and loosen his hair from its severe styling. He can nearly feel the memory of it, the body-warm metal and the cool brush of hair, already lingering in his fingertips. “Since neither of you drink properly, it’s only fair,” Jisel says with a careless shrug. “That is for the sake of the nation’s dignity,” Callebero rejoins. Sirion snorts. “Where would we be if everyone knew the fearsome Black Prince fell asleep after one cup?” he teases. That earns him a short glare and a flick in his shoulder, but he captures Callebero’s hand to tangle their fingers together, which earns him a smile and a net win. Sitting back in his chair, Callebero rolls his shoulders and finally starts to relax. “Jar,” Callebero corrects loftily, and Jisel snorts. “Half,” Jisel rejoins. Stifling a grin, Sirion settles in to let them bicker it out. He’s never seen Callebero drunk, only warm and loose with wine and contentment. His only part in the quibbling is to tease both of them wherever possible. A few strands of Callebero’s hair have slipped loose from the braids and bun, sliding down in a loose loop. Humming softly, Sirion reaches out to tuck them behind his ear. His hand lingers, brushing gently through his hair. Callebero turns slightly, just enough for Sirion to catch the smile on his lips. It softens, warms, and Sirion finds himself mirroring him, helpless. Across the table, Jisel snorts at both of them, and Sirion’s smile broadens into a grin.

[johannestevans]

Vampirism: What Is it?

Wrote out an article about vampires, as applied to vampires like those in Heart of Stone, and in my other original work! Thinking I might start making semi-regular Wiki-style articles with world-building like this.

Tip Jar

Vampirism is a disease communicable by a magical, blood-based virus (sanguinavirus A) originally found only in the infernal bat (Desmodus infernus), a species that came from Averna, the nether dimension commonly known as Hell, which came to Earth in approximately 9000 BC. Observing that some of these bats were very hardy and resistant to damage, in the vicinity of what is now known as Northern Iraq, some sorcerers at the time chose to examine them in detail, and realised they were infected with the aforementioned disease. By artificially cultivating the virus for human transmission, they created a strain intended to infect mundane and magical humans (sanguinavirus B), and thus created the vampire. 

Today, according to records from the International Vampiric Council, there are approximately thirty to forty thousand vampires spread across the Earth, with the vast majority of them originally having mundane or magical humans that were infected with it.  Sanguinavirus B is an extremely hardy virus that immediately makes changes to its host's make-up in order to ensure it can safely exist within it and sustain itself, and thus triggers what is broadly known as the vampiric disease.

What is a vampire? 

The term "vampire" commonly refers to a human - ordinarily but not always from a magical community - who has been infected with Sanguinavirus B, and has subsequently contracted the disease known as vampirism. This is not to say that only humans can be vampires, however - many animals are capable of contracting vampirism, as are many fae species. 

Once it has been transmitted to a new host, the sanguinavirus establishes itself in the core of its host's body, around the heart, and forms new matter that has been compared by some academics to a hindbrain. It devotes itself to initially changing the make-up of its host body, and then focuses itself on defending the host from threats, boosting immune response, strengthening the host, and ensuring it retains a temperature low enough for the virus to remain healthy. The vampiric core allows vampires to heal from even severe injuries very quickly, and makes them heavily resistant to damage or weakness. 

As well as priming its host to resist damage or attack, the sanguinavirus creates in them a heavy thirst for blood, specifically for the iron-rich protein haemoglobin, and the vampire will be driven to quench this thirst in the same way they would be hunger or thirst for water. 

A human vampire will typically develop an ability to extend two of their canine teeth, which will become very sharp, in order to pierce a victim's skin, and after making this piercing, they can lap at or suck from the blood that comes from the wounds. These teeth inject a vampiric venom, which is made up primarily of two parts - an anti-coagulant, to ensure free blood flow while the vampire drinks, and a strong analgesic that will impart a feeling of euphoria upon the victim. As a vampire ages, their venom typically becomes more potent, and stronger venom's effects can last for several days, and even have hallucinogenic effects, or induce memory loss.  

One of the primary changes in the vampire's body is in the increased density and number of tightly corded fiber that makes up their muscle: muscle becomes very tightly packed and heavy in make-up, meaning that many vampires are far stronger than their undiseased counterparts. The skin is also thickened and hardened, and the veins are tightly constricted in order to help keep them safe from harm and to ensure they are appropriately insulated by the heavy flesh. As a result of this strengthening of both skin and muscle, a vampire is typically far, far heavier than their human counterpart, and most non-vampires would struggle to lift or support the weight of one. 

With the thickening of the vampiric skin, the vampire ceases to sweat, and in such cases as the vampire becomes overheated, the veins will further constrict and the skin will become slightly thinner in an attempt to ensure heat can escape. In the case of the latter, the vampire's skin will seem chalky and strangely static in appearance, and these are the elements a doctor should look for as signs of fever, as opposed to a sweaty brow. 

Vampires do still need to eat food and remain hydrated, on top of their appetite for blood, and studies have shown that vampiric appetite is not noticeably different to that which they had whilst human, although some particularly strong-tasting or aromatic foods can become overpowering and thus less palatable once the disease has been contracted, owing to the enhancement of vampiric senses. With that said, vampires can survive starvation or extreme thirst for far longer than their human counterparts, even if they are also deprived of blood. 

 The sanguinavirus thrives best at lower temperatures, and the body temperature of a human vampire typically stands at approximately 23° Celsius, or approximately 73° Fahrenheit. Vampires are subsequently very cold to the touch, as well as their flesh being hard when pressed upon, and their bodies are often compared to corpses in physicality. Vampires prefer cooler temperatures, and although due to the magical nature of their disease, they can often retain their homeostasis up to much higher temperatures, if a vampire contracts a fever, or if they are under threat from fire, it can rapidly become very dangerous for them. 

Many vampires - although not all - are highly sensitive to direct sunlight, and have to shield themselves from the sun. It's generally recommended for vampires to shade themselves as best they can, wearing clothes that cover the skin, carrying a parasol or remaining in the shade, and to use a high-factor sunscreen. 

Those vampires sensitive to sunlight will often begin to burn and blister within minutes of being under direct sunshine, and there are documented cases - although none in recent history - of vampires dying from combustion following exposure to sunlight alone. 

Many of the vampire's senses are heavily enhanced following the contraction of the disease, particularly their senses of hearing, taste, and smell. Due to the enhancement of the latter, some vampires find themselves sensitive to some strong scents - such as garlic, fish, or some strong chemicals - and vampires typically have strong enough hearing to keep track of the heartbeats of anyone else in their vicinity.  

Although the vampire's sense of sight is not particularly improved by the contraction of vampirism (it has been noted that both colourblind vampires and vampires with myopia or hyperopia, as well as vampires who are blind or partially sighted, retain their impediments post-turning), many vampires find that the extent to which their eyes take in light is heavily improved, meaning that they can see in low-light conditions, as well as being able to navigate by ear in complete darkness. As a result of the former, vampires can develop photosensitivity, particularly to the shine of bright sunlight or to strong fluorescent lighting, and will wear sunglasses in public. 

Vampires' homes are often lit by candles or by low-impact, warm lighting that is easy on the eyes. For ancient vampires particularly, although these are problems many vampires have, adjusting to the modern world in the aftermath of the Industrial Revolution has been difficult because of the constant hum of electricity in wires, water moving through pipes, and particularly the high-frequency noises of motors and light bulbs.

 Due to the aggressive nature of the immune system after the vampiric disease has been contracted, some vampires also develop overpowering allergies, particularly to plastics, cleaning chemicals, and diesel and petroleum-based products. In urban and industrial areas, it is common to see vampires wearing clothes that cover them from head to toe, and to wear sunglasses or even goggles, and to wear some form of face covering, such as a mask or piece of gear to breathe through, and perhaps ear plugs. 

Many vampires have highly developed sound proofing in their homes, or choose to live away from urban and industrial centres in order to avoid overstimulation. Vampires are widely regarded as immortal, due to the fact that the effect of their disease is to ensure that they do not appear to age, and vampires can live for centuries upon centuries, if not millennia. 

This is not to say that the vampire is immune to damage - common causes of vampiric death are exposure to fire (although unlike humans, they do not die from smoke inhalation, but from the heat), hyperthermia, and as a result of fever from another contracted illness. 

Because of the effects of the vampiric "hindbrain", which encourages ultrafast healing in the vampire, and because the vampire's flesh is so resistant to being pierced or cut, it is difficult for a vampire to be injured. They can recover swiftly even after breaking a bone or severely injuring an organ, although they do not regenerate limbs. 

In cases of severe head injury, the "hindbrain" has been known to suddenly swell and take over many unconscious processes ordinarily controlled by the prime brain, such as control of the nervous, circulatory, and respiratory systems, giving the brain much needed time to heal itself.  With that said, vampires are not capable of limb regeneration, and they cannot regenerate lost limbs, nor regrow their head once they have been beheaded. 

A traditional method of execution for a vampire is to drive a hard stake made of iron or heavy wood through their heart while they are lying on their back - this is because a hammer is needed to work up the necessary force to pierce the vampire's hard, dense chest, and the stake must pierce directly through the "hindbrain" to prevent it from assisting the vampire in later healing.

  Sanguinavirus can be transmitted between parent and baby, although there are some additional health risks concerned for expecting parents - some vampires struggle to drink enough blood whilst pregnant, as all the protein is consumed by the foetus, occasionally necessitating a regular transfusion. 

Contrary to popular belief, children who've contracted vampiric disease do continue to mature and grow, and although they have the teeth and a mild venom from birth, they do not form the strong, dense flesh, or sensitivity to light, that is typical to vampires until they reach puberty. 

Young vampires tend to grow more consistently throughout puberty rather than having the sudden growth spurts human children often have, and as a result, many of them have complaints of sustained aches and pains until they're fully grown. With that said, on average, vampiric youths often grow taller on average than their human counterparts. They usually cease to visibly age at around the age of twenty-five.  

Being an artificially cultivated magical virus, sanguinavirus takes two elements to be transmitted - first, the new host must be bitten by a vampire, or to somehow have an infected vampire's venom in their veins, and secondly, they must then ingest the vampire's blood, or have it enter their bloodstream.  

A common myth among noble vampires, which has been roundly debunked by academics, is that the working class and poor vampires came about because they would capture and eat infernal bats that had drunk their blood. In actuality, there are vampires of all socioeconomic classes, because even at the advent of the vampiric disease's introduction to humanity, there were different sorcerers at work upon it, and later, noble vampires would often transmit the disease to their favourite servants or slaves, or to merchants and tradesmen in their communities. 

It has been posited by many academics that there is a risk of sexual transmission of the sanguinavirus between a vampire and a partner from whom they have fed, because there is a potential for blood-to-blood contact because of tiny abrasions during sex. It is recommended that vampires use appropriate prophylactics during sex, even if they are using a chemical birth control, and to use plenty of lubricant. 

Full guidelines for safe sex for vampires can be found on the website of the International Vampiric Council.

[circuscarnage]

Stormy Night.

Bluh okay so vent writing is a thing now. We’ve had some dreadful weather over here. Hail, rain, high winds, storms. It was so bad part of the kitchen was covered in water, leaking in through the windows. I’ve spent my time either shaking in the class or cowering in my room. And let’s not even get started on me having a breakdown whilst giving a presentation. So I wrote this to vent.

Words: 2280.

The dark wood doors of the Diasomnia dorm flung open, a massive gust of wind entered the common area, causing some of the candles to flicker wildly on their stands. A student managed to pull themselves in from the harsh weather outside, stumbling over their own feet from the shift in amplitude. Outside the weather worsened. Dark clouds hung heavy in the air, already thrashing down heavy pleats of rain. She leaned against the door, pushing it back into place, fighting a one-sided battle against mother nature herself. It slammed shut, causing the student to fall over onto the tiled floor. 

She laid there for a moment, finally being able to breathe after practically drowning in the rain storm outside. She wasn't suppose to be here. Her white uniform against the dark colour scheme was enough of an indication. In all honesty, she didn't have much of a choice. The Diasomnia dorm was the closest, and the storm was only growing worse by the second. If she had spent anymore time out there, she would have drowned. With limited options, she decided that this was her best choice. Perhaps Ali or Blue would take pity on this poor soul and allow her to have a change of clothes, maybe even a blanket. She would get sick if she stayed in this damp uniform.

With the intention of getting warm in mind, she picked herself off the floor and looked around. Not a single soul in sight. Entering the warm common room did little to ease her shivers. It was here that she was finally able to get a good look at herself. The black mirror beside the entrance displayed a picture of a stowaway that had been lost at sea. Her hair was completely soaked, sticking to her face at odd angles, creating an amalgamation of thick strands to grasp at her head. The Heartslabyul jacket looked like it had been dipped in a lake, dripping water off every seam and clinging to her body for dear life. Socks see-through and only just able to keep themselves up. If Vil saw the state she was in, he would surly faint. She didn't even need to look at her shoes to know they left a wet footprint wherever she stepped. Maybe she should take the shoes off? No. Her socks were also in terrible shape. It wouldn't help much. Promptly she turned on her heels and headed towards the fireplace. 

Luckily for her, it was already lit, roaring with heated intensity. The green flames flickered at her presence, leaning towards the stranger that settled in the dorm. All she needed to do was make it to her friends room and ask for a change of clothes. Perhaps even an invitation to stay, depending on whether or not the storm was going to pass. Looking at the rain lashing harshly against the tall window, it didn't seem likely. She turned her attention to the large grandfather clock that was seated off to the right. 11:46pm. The perfect time to be sneaking into another dorm for some warmth. Not that it was going to do her any good. Riddle would surely have her head if he knew she was out past curfew-

"Anna?"

Startled at the sudden voice, she snapped out of her daze. Standing at the top of the stairs was a figure she knew all too well. One of Malleus's esteemed guards, Sebek Zigvolt, stood positioned and poised, staring down at her. He still held the same authoritative aura, even after hours. She had to admit, that was some dedication. "I was just finishing my patrol when I heard someone enter. What are you doing here at this dreadful hour? And in such a state?" He began to walk down the steps, his concern only growing as he got closer. He could see the bags that hung under her eyes, even though her smudged makeup was trying to cover it.

"Studying." She said blankly.

He raised a brow. "In the rain?"

"In the library. Just let me use the fireplace to warm up as the storm blows over. I'm sure it'll leave soon." As soon as that sentence left her mouth, another wave of rain started to bat against the glass, this one more aggressive than before. It was accompanied by the howling wind, seeming to amplify the storms reluctance to leave. He watched as she started to cower at the noise, every shiver followed by a small whimper. Storms were not common at Night Raven, but when they appeared, it was expected some damage would be done. Last time Crowley had to spend the entire day trying to repair the west wing of the Savanaclaw dorm after the wall had been completely demolished. And lets not get started at how mad Riddle was when he found out how many rosebushes had been uprooted.

"You're not going back outside." Sebek decided. It was far too dangerous. One step outside and she would be swept away. 

"Alright, fine. I'll go and see if my friends are awake." She went to take a step forward, before a hand stopped her.

"I would advise against that. Most students have already retired for the night. It would be unwise to disturb them."

"Well then, what do I do?" 

Sebek retained his position. The school rules did not permit students to trespass on other dorms after curfew. It was an offence that Leona knew too well. Things like that would leave a permanent mark on your report. All of the rules stated that she should be returned to her own dorm. However, with the state she was in, he couldn't bring himself to simply send her away. There was another option, but it was a tad risky.

He cleared his throat. "As a member of Diasomnia, it would reflect badly on our reputation if I did not assist a fellow student in need." He adverted his gaze for a moment, instead focusing his eyes elsewhere. Checking around to see if anyone else was awake. It seemed they were the only ones there. With furrowed brows and a slight pout, she looked back at the fire. Green flames reflecting in her glassy orbs. "You always say that." Whenever he wanted to help, it was always because of that prestigious reputation Diasomnia held. Was he using it as an excuse, or was he genuinely concerned about it? "I'm sorry for always dragging their reputation down. Didn't realise I was so much of a burden."

Sebek blinked. "That's not what I..." He paused. It was never his intention to make her feel worse. "...Never mind. Just come with me." He turned on his heels and started to head back up the stairs, ushering her to follow. With one last glance back at the storm outside, she complied.

It would be a lie if Anna said she didn't feel a tad awkward right now. After trailing after the guard upstairs, she was ushered into his room, given a change of clothes, and told she would be spending the night here until the storm passed. Now she was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing an oversized pair of spare pyjamas, and waiting in uncertain silence. The storm continued it's destructive dance, bashing against the window with hostility. She winced away from the sight. Although not high on her list of fears, storms were still frightening enough. It wasn't long before he reentered the room, having himself changed from his uniform. At first, she didn't recognise him. Almost believing a stranger had walked in. His hair, which was usually slicked back, was now hanging down. Some loose strands dropping down in front of his eyes. She quickly adverted her gaze, once she realised she had been caught staring. 

There was a trace of uncertainty in the air. Both seemed to be waiting for a signal from the other, but the affirmation was unknown. Determined not to be stuck in an awkward silence, Sebek cleared his throat. "I hope you realise how much trouble you are," He turned his back and started to shift through the paper on his desk. "Maybe then you would stop being so reckless..." 

"I know, I know. You told me the same thing last week." She let out a disgruntled breath as she rested her chin in her hand. "I appreciate that you're looking out for me though." If he did let out a response, she didn't catch it. There was a pause. "Where are you sleeping?" She questioned. Suddenly being very aware that there was only one bed. He gestured to a high back chair sitting next to the desk before flopping down into it, the purple satin shifting under his weight.

Anna frowned. He didn't actually expect her to sleep in his bed, did he? This was his room, after all. If anyone had the right to sleep there, it was him. He had already helped her enough, this just seemed excessive. "Sebek you are not sleeping in a chair, it's bad for you posture." She stood up and walked over to him, gesturing with her hands for him to move. After receiving no reaction, she held onto his wrists, dug her heels into the floor, and tried to pull him up. He didn't even budge. Only watching her efforts in vain with an invisible soft smile. When she saw that no progress was being made, she let out a disgruntled breath and crossed her arms. "I'm suppose to be the difficult one, not the other way around." 

"After being out in a storm, you're not sleeping in a chair."

"But-" She stopped as soon as his gaze met hers. Stern eyes that told her not to argue back. Something told her she wouldn't get a chance like this again. So stop being difficult and just accept it. "Fine." She grumbled. "But a fair warning. You can't get a good nights sleep in a chair."

She was right. No matter how hard the boy tried, he was never able to get comfortable enough to drift off. He tried everything. From sitting upright to slouching down, even adjusting the cushion in several different positions, it didn't help. Grumbling to himself, he took another glance out the window. The intensity of the storm seemed to have increased, thunder was starting to bellow outside. The reckless sound echoing within the castle walls. It felt like no one was going to sleep tonight.

The flash of light that illuminated the room every few seconds was becoming more erratic, outlining the objects in his room with a bleak light. Giving up on the idea of sleep, he started to walk around the room, his mind starting to wonder. What the hell was he doing? Letting a student outside of the Diasomnia dorm stay the night. If anyone found out, there would surely be talk. Would Malleus mind? Oh god he hoped Malleus wouldn't scold his actions. He had always pried himself on being a strict rule follower, never faulting for anyone. But rules always seemed to be bent whenever she was around. He cast a glance in her direction, surprised to find that she wasn't sleeping as peacefully as he hoped.

Even though she was wrapped tightly in the covers, it did not stop the rapid shaking that convulsed through her body. The storm outside continued on. Every strike against the window only burred her deeper into the duvet. He stood at her side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, shaking gently. Without warning she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and clinging on tight to the fabric of his shirt. Her uneven breathing spilled out of her lungs, unable to contain the panic that was coursing through her heart. Sebek froze up, not exactly processing what was happening. His hands instinctively went up in defence as he studied the person clutching onto him for dear life. Her delightful aura was gone, replaced with fear. 

"Sebey..." She started. Voice in silent whispers, hollow and void. Her already shaking hands gripped deeper into the fabric, threatening to cause a tear. "P-please..." Her sentence trailed off, unable to form words. Too much was going on. Too many sounds. Too many lights. Too many emotions begging to seep out. It was all so overwhelming. She just wanted it to stop.

He had seen this before. Humans cowering in fear. Scared and skittish, hiding from the dangers in the world. Their eyes pleading to be safe. They would try and distance themselves as far away from him as possible, creating a display of timid distress. But this time was different. Instead of shrinking away from him, she was taking solace in his presence, reluctant to let go. Her eyes, though still pleading, were begging him to stay. 

Once he realised the situation he was in, he could only breathe out a small sigh, before being replaced by a slight chuckle. His hands wrapped around her shivering form as he sat down beside her, pulling her in close. "You humans always get so worked up over the simplest of things." He rested his chin on top of her head, trying his best to comfort her. It never occurred to him that he would be in a position like this. His intimidating stature and stern gaze was enough to urge students away. It worked in his favour when guarding Malleus, not so much when comforting students. But if there was one person who felt genuinely safe around him, he wouldn't want it to be anyone else. 

"I'll stay with you until the storm passes. Don't worry. I'm here."

[sinister-bob]

Truthfully, each time there is some sort of outbreak (namely from foreign countries because the racism really jumps out), I get irritated.  If there’s nothing you can do, have hope, keep clean, and monitor yourself/surroundings.  That’s it.  That’s all you can do.

I have a chronic illness, and with that comes a compromised immune system, which means that even flu shots are out for me.  But for the most part I live like this, since a common cold can lay me low for a month or longer.  So it’s more so a drudge, and seeing people panicking like this feels like an overreaction, though if I care to be empathetic enough, I know why.  You’re not used to the thought of all this, or the great finality of it all.

It’s going to get better, guys.  Just like it always has before.  Yes, there are risks, but that’s for the people with the compromised immune systems, IE., people like me, pregnant folk and the elderly.  You are going to survive.  Remember that.

But, people are scared.  Just like they always are.  Which makes sense, so okay, you want to be healthy along with your friends, family, and other people.  But, in doing so, people are buying out stores, using not really necessary things that are bad for the environment, and buying hand sanitizer, which was found years ago to be BAD on a whole other level because it makes super-bugs that can’t be killed by antibiotics.

There are things, though, that you can get, that you can make, that will work in place of them.  All it takes is a little effort, so in the long run, these things will probably be cheaper too.

Wet wipes 2

Disinfectant 2 3

Thieves oil 2 mix it with oil based hand lotion, or a carrier oil, like coconut oil, which is antibacterial in itself.*

Four thieves vinegar 2 3 4 (white vinegar is fine, don’t believe their lies.  You can also eat this, unlike the thieves oil.)

Then there are the things you can buy, which are a little off the beaten path, but are still good.

Carbolic soap:  It’s antibacterial, kills acne, and is good for open sores.

Coconut oil: As stated above, it has antibacterial properties, and as well is good for open sore.  Don’t over do it, though, because it can clog pores. (It’s also good for healing tattoos.)

Honey: it’s antibacterial and antifungal.  I once made a mix of this and coconut oil of equal measures, and it’s wonderful for cuts and the like.  Honey is also good for getting rid of acne.

Edible plants 2 3 4: Because, oh shit, there’s a lot of them!  The ones linked are actually lists that give their properties, but they are all either antibacterial/antiviral.  Check to make sure you aren’t actually allergic to anything.  You can’t be healthy if you’re dead.

Capsicum: Eat spicy foods.  The spice helps your immune system, and helps keep you healthier longer.  At least one meal every day.  Even if you don’t like spice, start small.  Start with paper-thin garlic, and work your way up the peppers, starting at something like an anaheim.  It looks like a giant jalapeno, but it is pretty much a green pepper.

*Essential oils: This one is tricky.  You have to make sure that you are getting the right ones, and you will have to do some research.  They can be harmful to pets, especially small ones like rodent, birds, lizards, ETC.  But you have to make sure the ones you’re getting are the antibacterial, antifungal, antiviral ones, like tea tree, eucalyptus, rosemary, cinnamon . . .

Lemon concentrate:  Lemon helps boost your immune system, and if you catch anything, it can help you get better quicker.  It also helps loosen phlegm stuck to the walls of your lungs.  So, if you have asthma or bronchitis besides, this would be a good thing to keep in your fridge.

Ginger: Ginger is like lemon only a 100 times better.  It does so much more, like help with blood flow and is an anti inflammatory.  Tastes great with lemon and pretty much everything else.  Fresh or dried, it doesn’t matter for the most part, but fresh always tastes best.

Turmeric:  It’s again anti everything, including anti-inflammatory.  Good for both the inside and outside of you.

Then there’s prep.

Soap

Take the carbolic soap, melt it in a double boiler with some water.  Once it’s dissolved, you have a choice: either you can make liquid soap, or you can make some small hard ones so you can take it wherever you’re going.  If you are making it liquid, you add some more water, and once that is done, you add it to the bottle.  If you’re making hard ones, use an ice cube tray or the like.  I don’t suggest using a plastic one, because it can melt it as well as the soap scent will linger.

Either way, you can add things to it to either make it pull double duty or to make it stronger.  Things you can add?

Baking soda:  About a teaspoon per bar.  Warning:  It foams a lot when you introduce it, so make sure the walls of your pot are high enough to keep it contained.  Mine went about twice the volume.  It makes it a better cleaner.

coconut oil: About a tablespoon.  It retains it’s antibacterial properties.

Honey: About a tablespoon and a half.  It makes it lather well.  It keeps it’s properties as well.

Essential oil: For the most part, I don’t suggest adding more than 30 drops (a tablespoon).   You can do more, I just think you’d be wasting it at that point.  This would be a good use for the thieves oil, too.

*Note*  Always vent, especially if you have pets or small children.

Antibacterial ETC ETC ETC Hand Lotion

All you need is coconut oil, wax, and your choice of essential oil.

Depending on how hard you want the lotion, I would say about 1/3 wax to 2/3 oil.  Use a sliding scale to see where you want it, but remember, you cannot tell when it is in a liquid state.  If you are unsure, you have to let it completely cool before checking.  To add your essential oil, add it by the drop and stir.  You have to experiment, rather than just dumping stuff in.  Always add your scent last, otherwise you’ll kill it while smoking yourself out.

As for wax, believe it or not, you can use most anything.  I recently made hand lotion with the wax that comes off baby bells.  Certain candles work too.  You can even use crayons.  You dilute them so much, that they don’t really leave a colour on you, but that said, you might want to stick to colours that are complimentary to your skin tone.

You can steep a couple teaspoons of turmeric in the oil while keeping it over a low heat, and you’ll get the added benefit of it.  Steep it for about 4-5 minutes.  You can later throw the bundle in your bath for your health.  *Turmeric can dye things including you, so be careful.  I would more so suggest this step for people who have naturally occurring yellow or gold tones in their skin, unless you don’t mind looking like a Simpson.

Honey Lemon Ginger Drink

1/4 c. lemon concentrate

2/3 tsp. powdered ginger

2 tsp. honey

3/4 c. water

Optional: 1/4 c. gin (Decrease water to 1/2 cup)

Add all of the ingredients (except gin) to the pot.  Bring to under a boil.  Pour into cup and drink when cool enough to handle.  Tastes great cold, so you can make it a few days ahead.  Strain if you don’t want to contend with the sludge in the bottom.

Sage and Thyme Tea

1/2 tsp. powdered sage

1/8 tsp. powdered thyme

1/8 tsp. cinnamon

1 c. water

prep like regular tea.  Let steep for 6-8 minutes.  Strain before drinking to get rid of the sludge.  Sweeten to taste.

Fermented Milk

Yes, it sounds weird and gross, but it is good for you and boosts your immune system.  It doesn’t taste bad.   Kind of creamy and nutty.

1 c. warm milk

1/4 tsp. bakers’ yeast

1 tsp. honey or sugar

Combine all ingredients in a jar, shaking until the honey is dissolved.  Put the lid on loosely, not even barely closed, so that if you were to tip the jar, the contents would spill out.

Let sit for four hours, checking on it occasionally.  Sometimes you need to agitate it a little.  Once the time is up, you can drink it.  Leave it any longer, and it will turn to alcohol.  Don’t drink the dregs.

Wash your hands.  It’s a little terrifying that that has to be a reminder, since I got that drilled into my head as a child first from my mother and then by countless kid shows and ASPs.  Didn’t that happen with you guys?

20 seconds right?

Have a soliloquy:

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw.

Have a poem:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?

Make Big Bird proud.

[kusunogatari]

[ Frozen Flames and Shadowed Lights || Chapter Seven ] [ @yukaikokoro @abyssaldespair ] [ Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Madara ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ Previous || Next ]

Beyond the snow line, little has changed for Ryū. Doing as her captor suggested, she’s remained in her little hideaway almost constantly, clinging to her books and reading slowly, trying to make them last. Occasionally she’ll break to think, try to imagine some sort of way out of here, but...to no avail. Without her ven, her options are virtually nonexistent. And even if she had it, it’s two against one...and she isn’t exactly versed in combat. Defense, yes - healing, yes. But she’s had little opportunity to learn how to use her powers offensively.

...and even then, she fears she’d be greatly outmatched.

So far, she knows only that the man she’s seen is a disciple of Tenebreos. His powers mirror her own: an exact reflection, total opposites. But the other...she has yet to see. Knows nothing of what they look like, what ven they may have...but she assumes either igni, or something close: someone has to be vicariously feeding the candles to lengthen their lives. So...a tenebris mage, and an igni mage...she’d be on a decently-level playing field if it was just the former, but adding in the latter tips the scales too much...doubly so concerning her current handicap.

So, instead, she takes a leaf from Thera’s virtue...and tries to be patient as the earth and stones. If she cannot act now...she will wait until something changes. There may yet be an opportunity down the road...and she wants to be prepared.

Otherwise, she’s shown only to two other rooms. One to relieve herself, and the other far deeper, and kept a bit darker.

“...where are we going?” she’d asked their first time journeying downward. A mineral, wet smell was drifting toward them, but otherwise...she was clueless.

“There is a thermal spring further down the cavern,” Tobi had told her. “You may bathe there.”

Surprised, she’d lost herself for a moment in the joy a simple bath brought her...and then she realized something.

Tobi had sparked fire along a hand, holding it in his palm to light their way.

...but…?

“...you are trained in igni?”

He gave a questioning glance.

“You are...you are a Tenebreon mage, are you not? Fire is across the balance from you: a child of light. Surely it must have been difficult to learn…?”

“...I have always been able to use fire,” he replied, tone suggesting it was completely ordinary.

And yet, it was anything but.

A dark mage using fire ven isn’t impossible, of course...but their opposing sides of the web of elements means difficulty mastering it. But according to Tobi, he’d always retained the ability.

...that made no sense.

Deciding to think on it later, she pushed the thoughts aside as they reached the belly of the cavern. Water dribbled through a crack high in the wall, pouring into a pool that fed into another, then another...layering down through several meters of cave before disappearing down a narrow, dark tunnel.

Peering around him curiously, Ryū jumped a bit as Tobi announced, “I will leave you here to bathe. Please be quick...I’ll return to fetch you soon.”

“...thank you,” she offered softly as he lit a spare cylinder of wax to illuminate a pool before turning to give her her privacy.

The water was a deep blue-green, steam rising lazily in swirls. A bit hotter than any bath she’d had, but not dangerously so. Stripped and sinking in slowly, she’d admittedly allowed a few minutes to just...take in the heat and relax before scrubbing at her skin and combing fingers through her hair.

During another pause, she watched the water flow...and then considered the tunnel. It was only a few feet high, and frighteningly dark. And yet...she had to wonder where it led. Water flows with gravity...was it possible it led somewhere out of the mountains? Maybe…?

...no. A fool’s plan. Even if it did lead out...it would dump her right into snowy mountains, without supplies, a mount, or any idea where she is, or where to go. Let alone the fact her rite would still be in place, and would remain so until undone, or its caster dead. As desperate as she may find herself...it would be a near-certain death sentence.

So when footsteps started echoing toward her, she’d scrambled to dress, cloth sticking to wet skin.

“...are you finished?”

“One moment.” Tugging the last stubborn piece into place, she went to meet him, following back to her nook.

She’s yet to return to the springs.

That leaves her only to her books...and her occasional companion. Tobi brings her meals every so often, checking to ensure she needs nothing else. Asking if her bed is still suitable, if her clothes need replacing, or if she’s yet to run out of books.

“You’ve gone through so many already,” he notes. She can’t know what day it is now, but at least a few have passed.

Glancing to her two piles - one read, one not - she hums thoughtfully. “Well...I’ve little else to do...but I try to make them last.”

“Are they...suitable?”

She offers a soft smile. “Perhaps not my usual taste, but...it’s never bad to try something new.” Nothing to dislike, per se...but not what she’d look for on her own.

“Ah…”

He then lingers, almost awkwardly, and Ryū considers his questions. Maybe he’s…?

“...do you have anything else to tend to?”

“Now?” he asks. At her nod, he adds, “...no. I do not.”

“...would you like me to read to you?”

The weight of the silence betrays his surprise. “...to me?”

“Yes. Aloud. If you’ve nothing else to do, and we need a way to pass the time…” At times he just sort of...stands about, and she can’t help but assume it’s boring. At least this way, he’d have something to break the monotony. “Would you like that?”

Another pregnant pause. “...I...I would.”

With that, he simply folds up on the floor, mask turned to her expectantly.

Fighting against a smile of amusement, she turns back to the first page. This particular book isn’t exactly riveting, but...well, it’s better than nothing. Scanning the first few lines, she clears her throat...and begins to read.

All the while, Tobi sits perfectly still, perfectly silent. No questions, no fidgeting...just a rapt attention to her words. Every so often she spares him a glance, only to find him unwavering.

But sadly, before too long...the echoing shouts of his companion signal he’s a task to attend to.

Stumbling to a stop at the sudden interruption, Ryū glances to the mouth of the tunnel. “...I’ll mark the page, and we’ll continue again later.”

“You...don’t mind waiting?”

“I’ve others I can read in the interim.” She gives a flicker of a somber smile. “...best not to keep him waiting, right…?”

“...you are right.” Standing (a bit stiffly), he seems to consider the room a moment before moving to the corridor.

When he pauses, she tilts her head.

“...thank you.”

As Ryū brightens, he takes a few long strides and disappears.

Left in a bit of a lurch, she thinks to herself for a time before taking a page corner, carefully bending it to mark her place...and then setting the book aside for another.

Thus begins their newest tradition. Whenever left without a task and freed from his companion’s bidding, Tobi returns to the nook, usually with some of Ryū’s food, and immediately takes an expectant seat, awaiting the next leg of the story. Even as she pauses every so often to take a bite, he doesn’t waver, clinging to words and silences alike.

...it’s almost like he’s never heard a tale before.

...or maybe...he just doesn’t remember.

And though she can’t confirm it, given her rather...limited view, he seems a bit...quicker in his pace. As though endeavoring to complete his other tasks in order to return. Which...she supposes she can understand. This may very well be his only break in monotony...as it is hers.

...and after a day or two, she notices that his posture creeps a bit closer every time, daring to close the distance between himself and his object of attention.

Soon, she can’t help but look forward to it, too.

It feels like a traitorous thought. To, in any way, enjoy any aspect of being here. She should be endeavoring to escape, or at least waylay whatever plans these people have for her. But though this is the man that took her from all she knew...her instincts tell her he’s not a threat. Surely he has the power to kill her at any moment he decides to, but...he doesn’t. Nor does she feel he has any intention to.

If anything, he seems to grow more and more attached to her.

...and she wonders if that might just turn the tables.

Surely he’s not about to stop his plans just because of a little kindness. But if she can warm up one of these men to her presence, even just a bit...it may keep her a sliver safer. Maybe not enough in the long run, but...she can’t ignore any possibility here.

And maybe, just maybe...she finds herself, in the basest meaning of the word...fond of him. He treats her well, attends to her needs, and has yet to even speak harshly to her. In this separate environment, a world of just three people...for now, he’s the closest thing she has to an ally.

...or a friend.

Reclined in her eclectic nest of blankets and pillows, posture lax and aura calm, she reads through a rather slow section of their tale. A lull in the action, which Tobi doesn’t seem to mind. As always, he’s front and center, sitting - this time - just at the edge of her makeshift bed. Not quite touching any of the fabric, but an uncurling of her leg could see her touch him.

Not that she dares.

Turning a page with a soft whisper of paper, there’s a tensing as she senses an approaching aura. Tobi, too, goes stiff.

Rather than shout, it seems his companion has decided this time to fetch Tobi personally.

The Tenebreon mage struggles to his feet, upright just as another figure rounds the corner of the short tunnel that leads to Ryū’s alcove.

It’s then she gets her first glimpse of her other host.

Almost immediately, an oppressive energy seems to fill the room like fog. Fairly tall and barrel-chested, a man of dark hair and stern expression glares haughtily into the room. Ryū has scarcely seen someone of such locks, wild and long to the end of his spine. He wears similar robes to his companion: long, dark, and high-collared. 

But what strikes her most is his face.

Anger currently shapes it, brows drawn and a scowl curling his lips. Seems he’s noticed Tobi’s absence stretching a bit too long. Dark circles rest under his eyes...and that’s where she finds herself surprised.

One is a bright, fiery red, like the one Kakashi bears from his childhood friend, Obito. The other...is a deep, noxious purple.

The eyes typical of a Tenebreon mage.

Breath deepening with panic, her gaze flickers between Tobi and his cohort.

“...what in the twelve hells are you doing?” the deep tone of the second man demands.

Clearly struggling for an excuse, Tobi flounders. “I...I was just…?”

“Have you nothing better to do than laze about with the lux mage? Need I remind you there’s still work to be done?”

“I...finished what you had asked -?”

“If you’ve time to sit on your rump and fill your head with nonsense, you’ve time to come to me, and find another task.” Full-on sneering, he crosses the distance, taking Tobi by the front and hauling him downward. Dark ven sparks and slithers along his free hand menacingly. “Need I remind you what your purpose is…?”

“To...to serve.”

“And what are you doing now…?”

“...I…?”

Tossing him back, the dual-mage only watches as Tobi impacts against the cavern wall. “You are nothing. A vessel to be bent to my will. A tool with which to bring about the success of my plans. If you aren’t being useful, you’re wasting your very existence!”

Breath muffled behind his mask, Tobi seems to take a moment to adjust. “...I apologize. What would you have me do?”

“We’re running low on supplies. Meet with our supplier and bring back what you can carry. No more wasting my time.”

All the while, Ryū remains curled in her corner, confusion and fear making her heart race. Did...did this man receive another el’ven’s eye…? How...how can he…? She’s never heard of two elements manifesting at once within a single body. Either one overcomes the other, or a lower tiered element is born. And fire and darkness...they can’t...but then…?

Flinching when Tobi hits the wall...something else blooms within her. A kind of indignation. One Rin has always chastised her for failing to suppress.

“...s-stop!”

The room goes eerily still...and then the second mage turns to her. “...what?”

Struggling to think of words and calm her trembling, Ryū rebukes, “It...it was my suggestion. For him to stay. I...I invited his company. If you’re to blame anyone...blame me.”

Ruby and amethyst stare at her incredulously. “...a grown man should know better than to sit and waste time when there is work to be done. And I’ll thank you not to interfere with my underling’s duties. You are to sit, wait, and be quiet.”

All the while, Tobi remains motionless, mask staring straight ahead.

Seeming to decide something, his companion takes a step toward Ryū, ignoring her flinch and scrambling to burrow deeper into the corner. Disregarding her space, he takes a knee, leaning until his face is inches from her own.

“...you’ll do well to realize that you are in no position to speak to me that way, girl,” he murmurs, voice deep and laced with an edge. “You are here for one reason, and one reason only. Your fate is tied to your new purpose. There’s no use in you trying to fight it.”

A hand reaches, takes her chin, wrenches her toward him and ignores her whimper. Mismatched eyes study her openly, unaffected by her terror. “...you, too, are a vessel. One that I will fill, and which will bring the true key to peace. You will sit, and wait, and be obedient. And once it is over...you will find your reward. Until then, I have no use for your words, your reading, your nonsense. Accept your fate, lux’el’ven. And rejoice...for you will birth the dawning of a new age.”

Slowly, Ryū’s face changes from fear to a sickened understanding.

As it does, his lips curl into a cruel grin of victory. “So...best be patient. You will be here as long as it takes, my dear...if not this cycle, then the next. Until you give me what I want...you will remain. It would do you well to swallow that fate now, and accept it.”

Shaking and fighting the urge to be sick, Ryū recoils as he releases his grip, turning from him with a gasp of panic.

Passing Tobi, who has yet to move, the other mage pauses. “...get back to work.”

“...yes, Madara…” Watching him go, Tobi lingers a long moment before turning to the lux mage.

Still she convulses with a combined disgust and horror, despair finding form in soft sobs she tries her best to muffle.

“...why...did you interfere?”

His question is soft, tone still grating. And for a long moment it goes unanswered, as though she didn’t hear.

But slowly, Ryū struggles to calm her breath, arms hugged tightly to her form, turning ever so slightly to glance to him. “...why...w-why wouldn’t I…? Does he - does he always treat you this way…?”

“...I have known no different.”

Face tearstained and still quivering, Ryū nonetheless dashes at her cheeks. “...no one should be treated thusly,” she murmurs, voice cracking. “He was cruel to you, and for no adequate reason. I couldn’t just...I couldn’t let him do that to you. It is the way of my people to treat all fairly, and kindly. Luxeria is the harbinger of light, of life, of healing...we were chosen to undo the chaos and pain and strife of Tenebreos. I might not have my ven...but I still have my words, a-and my will, and my actions. And through them, if nothing else...I will do Luxeria’s work.”

Silence falls as Tobi seems to consider that.

“...but I am your enemy.”

“...you took me,” she admits. “...but never have you raised your voice, or your hand. You feed me, tend to me...keep me company.” Finally, she brings silvers up to behold his mask. “...you are not my foe. But that man, that…” Her face flinches with disgust. “...he intends to harm me. He...is my enemy.”

...Tobi has no reply for that.

Curled in her corner, arms clinging to her front, Ryū murmurs, “...you should go. I don’t want him getting angry at you again.”

“I can survive his anger. It is my constant companion.” Slowly, carefully, Tobi approaches the edge of her nest, taking a knee. A hand reaches, pausing as she flinches...then grasps the guise over his face.

In spite of herself, Ryū stills, watching as he lifts the mask and bares the skin beneath it for the first time.

Like Madara, one eye of red, and one eye of violet stare at her almost...sadly. But what draws her gaze is the mottled skin along the right side. Ridges and puckers mar the surface. Almost as though...he was burned…?

Without pause, sympathy fills her chest to bursting, tears - these for him, not herself - bead along her lids.

His eyes flicker between hers, reading her expression. “...but...it is not my only companion now,” Tobi murmurs. “...now...I have your kindness. And that...I may not survive without.”

Drawing a breath, Ryū startles at a strange feeling, glancing up as Tobi stands, replacing his mask. As though fleeing, he turns on his heel and retreats from the room.

All over again, her heart jumps in her chest...but this time, not out of fear. Something in her face warms, and confusion overtakes her.

What…?

And beyond his words, confusion still swirls. So...he does wield both darkness and fire. So does this Madara bastard. But...how? Have they stolen eyes? They bear no scars like Kakashi, and yet...that’s the only explanation she can conceive. One cannot bear two elements. It’s never been recorded, not in all of her reading, and she’s lived in the Luxerian library since their coming to the capital. Even tales of those like Kakashi have been rare. 

But then how…? How?!

And yet, she can only puzzle it for so long before she buries her head in her drawn knees. There’s no mistaking their plans now. So...she’s to be a vessel. One for the illest of intentions. Just considering it makes her nauseous. If she had her ven, she could delay her cycle, even render herself infertile if she had to. But...without it, she has little hope. And surely there are no herbs she could use for the same - not here in snow-capped mountains. She could never reach them, anyway.

It all seems so...hopeless…

Kakashi...Rin...anyone...p-please…! Shoulders shaking, Ryū doesn’t bother to censor frightened tears, soaking into her breeches as she curls into herself, wishing she could simply...disappear.

...and yet...and yet...she retains one small sliver of a hope:

Tobi.

Sniffling, Ryū peers out over the caps of her knees.

"You are nothing. A vessel to be bent to my will. A tool with which to bring about the success of my plans. If you aren’t being useful, you’re wasting your very existence!”

...is Madara...using him? Controlling him somehow? If that is the case...if she can drive a wedge between servant and master, then...maybe…!

“...but...it is not my only companion now...now...I have your kindness. And that...I may not survive without.”

Recalling his words brings back the heightened pace to her chest. At the very least...he recognizes her better treatment of him. And as loathe as she is to consider using him - she’s far and away from that sort of person - he may very well be the only chance she has to avoid not only a horrid fate of her own...but possibly for the rest of their world as they know it.

...no...I’m not going to treat him as a tool. I’ll not do him that abuse. I simply must...take what has started, and help it grow. Maybe...we can save each other.

     Aaand our first completely new chapter! And one not covered in the plotting xD Ryū is finally starting to get a few answers...most of which aren’t exactly reassuring. But she still has a LOT to figure out! Now back to Kakashi and Kumiko for a lil drama llama :3c

[stars-over-omori]

The lords and the cold

the sequel/companion piece/contrast piece to my heat headcanon! mainly winter for most of them with sprinkles of not-quite-winter-yet and just-plain-chilly

Nobunaga may be the Lord of Hell, but he is not above draping his haori over his head to keep his head toasty warm, even if it makes him look ridiculously childlike. Brings an old towel out to the garden so he can sit in his favourite tree without freezing his butt off. Frequently smuggles a kitten or puppy into the castle for the day so it can have some warmth and food.

It is customary for Mitsuhide to have a teapot warming in his room so he can have a cup of hot tea whenever he desires. Bonus points for it doubling as a heater. Single-handedly burns through a third of the castle’s stock of candles to complete his work as the days become shorter. Tries to avoid walking under trees as they tend to drop a branch’s load of snow on his head as he passes under them.

Yukimura can tell from smell alone that the seasons have shifted - there is a sharpness in the air that wasn’t there before, along with hints of pine needles and smoked meat. Has fun gathering and roasting various edibles over the brazier with Sasuke (think roasted chestnuts, roasted sweet potatoes, roasted yam, roasted potatoes, dango, anything that can be roasted on a stick) after training. Misses the warmth of the sun and is quick to retreat to the safety of a warm room when he finishes any business he has outdoors, increasing the length of his strides to hasten his return.

Saizo has mixed feelings about the cold - mitarashi dango has never tasted better on those days, but they harden substantially faster as well. Once it gets too cold to be on the roof or in trees, the rafters of various rooms become the prime location to relax (and hide) after some cleaning. Still keeps and wears the gloves Yukimura gave him a long time ago when he was still Benmaru - they still fit little lord, waste not, want not - and takes special care in maintaining them.

Masamune channels the same amount of dedication that he put into perfecting his zunda-mochi recipe into learning how to make mouth-watering oshiruko so that he can enjoy it at every meal in the little house beside the castle. When Kojirou is at Yonezawa Castle, the brothers enjoy catching snowflakes on Masamune’s haori and observing the intricate crystalline details crafted by nature. Is fond of sitting on his bedding with the covers around his shoulders as he goes through new finds from the bookseller in town.

Kojuro prepares a special box for Bontenmaru as his turtle companion begins its annual hibernation. Personally looks up recipes packed with energy to recommend to the kitchen and for Masamune to make - he knows he can’t cook so he tries to provide meal-related assistance in any other way. Wraps himself so snugly in his bedding that it’s virtually impossible to shake him awake as he is padded everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

Hideyoshi is exceptionally careful not to mention words that hint at the low temperature around Lord Katsuie - he’s learnt a very important lesson after being subjected to a thorough towel rubdown from the man once. Personally teaches everyone in the residence how to dry various foodstuff and fruits in preparation for the winter. Gets cold fingers easily and is usually either puffing warm breaths on them or sitting on them to warm them up.

Toshiie starts wearing his haori on his shoulders rather than tied around his waist for some much-needed warmth. Is a dab hand at roasting chestnuts and enjoys the process, the smoky, sweet scent clinging to his skin long after he finishes a batch. Will always stop to help old people over a particularly icy patch of road when out in town and gets all warm and fuzzy from their thanks.

Ieyasu sharpens his archery skills by shattering the icicles on trees in rapid succession, his movements deft and sure despite the harsh chill in the air nipping at his extremities. Is more than happy to go on frequent excursions to source for plants and herbs that can only be found around this time, appreciating the crisp, cool air with every breath. As the sole individual in Hamamatsu Castle who is well and truly unaffected by the cold, he doesn’t quite understand the fuss that everyone makes about how miserable the weather is.

Mitsunari takes full advantage of the fact that it’s too cold out for creepy-crawlies to be around by burning specific incenses to enhance his reading experience instead of the usual insect-repelling incense. Places several rolled towels near the door to prevent unwelcome gusts of cold air from sneaking in and chilling his toes, and does the same for Hideyoshi’s and Sakon’s rooms. Never goes outside without firmly bundling himself in his mauve scarf and cornflower blue coat.

Shingen would luxuriate in an outdoor bath all day if he could until Kansuke bodily hauls him out, reprimanding him as he vigorously towels long red hair dry. Holds an annual gathering of retainers to coordinate efforts and resources that range from mending roofs to distributing charcoal in order to provide assistance to the families in need in Kai. Finds it a little embarrassing that his nose gets obnoxiously red from the cold.

As the camellias in the gardens bloom, Kenshin takes the opportunity to teach Ai all that he knows of his beloved winter blooms, and she in turns hangs onto his every word, spellbound. Sends an abundance of scarves down to Kai when it seems the upcoming season will be more unforgiving than usual. Has a secret talent for avoiding every icy patch of ground without compromising the fluidity of his movements that contribute to his ethereal beauty. 

Shigezane tries to swing by the kitchens as much as possible: there are lots of good smells all around, chatting with the maids is always enjoyable and it’s warm. After a night of snowfall, the snow bunnies that pepper the courtyard of Omori Castle are a result of his handiwork. Incorporates snowball fights into training as a form of increasing agility and improving endurance in the cold, which usually ends in a tremendous free-for-all with everyone, even the maids and Hiromasa.

eternally grateful to @randomhomosapiens, @pseudofaux, @100christy for all the things they told me about dealing with the cold, @dear-mrs-otome and @frywen-babbles for the bits of Ieyasu-related info and all the discord ladies who talk about snow and ice and cold - all this has helped to snowball this work from scraps to something that looks presentable at last 😭 apologies for filling the discord with my grumping

I shall now proceed to stick my head in the freezer or find a nice air-conditioned place to wait out the hot afternoon that’s sneaking up on me 🔥

[ko-yeop]

Lovecraft: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Coming Soon

Characters: Saeran Choi x Reader

Word Count: 3,811

Genre: Witchcraft!AU, Slow burn

Summary: After an unfortunate drunken night, you, a fortune teller who was cursed from a young age by an unknown witch, breaks your own creed and read your own fate. Seeing nothing but ruin and isolation in the future, you seek out an apothecary named Saeran, who gives you untested potion called Aphrodite’s Blessing, not for free though. In return, he wishes to study and document it’s effects on you. Can his creation not only save you from fate, but also break your longstanding curse?

Authors Note: I don’t usually care to write multi-chapter fics, but I felt this would be a better format for what I’ve planned out. I greatly appreciate critique, and reading your comments. Let me know what you think!

You could feel each curve of the cobblestone path pressing against the thin sole of your boots. They were worn down, patched to no end, seams parting once again… Not that it really mattered to you. You were destined for a life of solitude, ruin, destruction at your own core. Being a fortune teller, it was your own creed to not read your own fate. You were a medium. A pawn used to relay fate, you weren’t meant to know your own. You never really wanted to anyways, after seeing so many disastrous readings in which the card’s warnings weren’t headed. A few nights ago, in your drunken stupor you thought reading your fate would be a good idea. You were horrifically wrong.

You hadn’t intended to drink so much rum. The bartender was just so whimsical in the way he mixed his concoctions. The way silver strands jostled as muscular arms shook drinks in the same rhythmic way, every time. Maybe you’d thought that if you ordered enough, you’d catch him skip a beat. Maybe that chiseled face, surely crafted by the gods would take you home and ravage you. You swore you could still taste the spice in the back of your throat when you coughed at the chill in the air. Your esophagus burned when you took a swig from the water jug you carried on your hip.

All of this could simply be a physical manifestation of your current mental state though. Plagued with anxiety, you proceeded to shove those like you, wandering hopelessly, aside in the crowded streets. You tugged the wool of your navy cloak tighter around your shoulders, hoping to retain some bodily heat. You thumbed at the white edges, lined with constellations. This was the last gift you’d been presented with by your father before you left home for the big city. The cloak was like the summer night sky, at the last moment before shadows filled the sky in its entirety. It was home to you, a comfort item of sorts. You never wished to part from your dear parents, the only people who’d cared for you all these years, but the village was no place for a fortune teller to find a living. You could only tell the same twenty people the same thing the cards and skies told you so many times. Small towns like yours were a place for those strong enough with their craft to practice elemental magic. To freely cause boulders to rise and be flung about with no worry of guards rushing about, offering threats if one persisted. Elemental magic was still seen as a dubious concept, one that only the rich elite would have access to. However, it was becoming more common knowledge that a gifted student of any class could obtain the ability to practice creating breezes with proper guidance. The outskirts of town could be easily accessed, with no need to walk half the day to reach a far off stream to try to cause the water to bubble and boil, harnessing both fire and water spells. You could often find apothecaries wandering in your town, searching for new foliage, inquiring about preservation methods from those most acquainted with living off the land.

“You there! Prophet!” A ragged voice called from the entrance to his shop. A tailor, by the looks of the sign. “Don’tcha need them raggedy boots patched up? Can’t have someone like yourself lookin’ like yer livin’ off tha streets,” You gazed down at the black suede, knowing fully well they were tattered beyond return.

“No thank you, I have little coin to spare, and am equipped with a needle and thread myself,” The man did not look like the sort you’d trust to repair anything. He was scarred, war torn, and brash. His red beard was caked with dirt, bits of food clinging to the ends.You didn’t believe such chubby, calloused fingers could even hold a needle. It was more likely he was a thief, pretending he owned the shop as he stood in front of the door, taking payments and items from unsuspecting victims until the merchant came to scurry them away. You did not offer the chance for him to reply, simply carrying on your way. You had business to attend to, after all.

It was by chance that the discarded paper ended up in your path. On that treacherous walk home from the pub, it stood in your path like a beacon. Perhaps this was some deity giving you a second chance with your mistake soon to come. “Lovecraft: Potions and Vulneraries” it read in pink lettering. It had been torn at the edges, footprints having left their mark on it, but you still tucked the page in your pocket. Perhaps you knew all along that you’d need it.

The wooden sign creaked in the wind, tugging at its chain links, the peeling paint threatening to join the wind and it’s journeys. Red bricks were chipped, but it certainly had its charm. It was wedged between a bakery and a magical equipment suppliers shop. The thump of tomes being tossed on the counter could be heard through a cracked window pane, coins being tossed into palms and the scurry of yet another mage to be purchasing the essentials. Fresh bread could be smelled in the air, sweeping its way across the street. It warmed your bones. You walked up the steps, lightly dusted with snow, its pristine placing showed no signs of anyone visiting within the past hour. You heard a small chime as you pushed the splintered door open. The heavy floral, herbal scent hit you like a wave. Various coloured bottles lined the shelves, dried basil leaves dangling from the ceiling. Wax candles that spilled over, dripping onto the shop counter flickered at the breeze that drifted in along with you.

“Welcome! What can I help you with?” a voice called out. The man, standing behind the counter fiddling away with the soft petals of a sunflower, turned around. He lowered the burgundy hood on his cloak to reveal a soft, round face, hair as white as the snowflakes flitting about outside, bits of pink clinging to the ends. Perhaps it was some kind of pollen from a flower he utilized? You wondered about how he’d achieved the mix of hair colours, but quickly shoved those thoughts to the back of your head. It wasn’t all that important at the moment. The boy seemed quite young, not much older than yourself, if at all. With his age, he was most likely an apprentice. It was usually men and women in their late teens and older who ran shops, seeing as how the younger generation typically couldn’t afford to start up their own shops.

“I’m looking for the owner of this shop, would he be around perchance?” You questioned. You were always wary of apprentice apothecaries. They had quite a knack for creating potions that backfired in the form of bodily alterations that can’t be undone, using their craft as a guise to create aphrodisiacs that they’d slip into ladies’ drinks at the pubs, having bottles combust because they couldn’t be bothered to check what fumes would be emitted, and how they’d fill the glass until they burst…

“That’d be me,” He pointed to himself, looking slightly dejected. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“I-I’m so sorry!” You blurted. “I’m just used to shop owners being much older, and you look quite young…”

“That’s to be expected,” Placing down the mortar and pestle he’d been using, he walked around the counter, leaning up against the front of it casually. “I...Kind of inherited this place from my teacher, that’s why someone as inexperienced as me is running it,” You could sense that something grave had happened to him by the way the man’s tone dropped.

“Oh… If you don’t mind my asking, what happened to him?” You tried to evade asking him if his teacher had died, point blank. Instead choosing to give him a bone, and let him tell you as much as he wished. It wasn’t exactly polite to be inquiring about such a personal story, but you did wish to know why such a young looking guy was running a shop.

“He passed away a few years ago. The cause was unknown... “ His mint eyes darted down to floorboards, his foot playing with a loose one that was near ready to pop out. “But in his will, he gave everything he owned to me. Shop included. I just decided to keep carrying on practicing what I’d been taught, so here I am, running my own place,”

“I’m so sorry… About your loss, I mean,”

“Thank you for your condolences,” He smiled sadly. You figured his teacher must have been dear to him, seeing as how he acted as though he’d passed away a few weeks ago rather than a few years. “But all that aside, what can I help you with today miss?”

“I’ve… Found myself in a bit of a predicament, you see,” Averting your eyes, you took sudden interest in a stray thread on your cloak. It was embarrassing to tell your story, it was foolish that your answer wasn’t as easy as “go out and make friends”. You’d never been able to form close bonds with anyone who wasn’t family. It wasn’t that you were unkind, or deemed a monstrosity by society, but rather… A lack of connection. There was never any sort of click that went off when you spoke to people. Everyone always seemed at a distance. Civil to you, but it was like you were a minor character in a book. One who appeared for a page or two to fill up a moment, to hurry along the plot, and then you were abandoned by the writer. You were certain it had to do with the curse your parents whispered about in the night. It was only ever bits and pieces that you heard, but you knew the truth, deep down. Someone, somewhere, had cursed you to never find companionship. Not among friends, not among lovers. You could only wish you knew why or whom. It took an exorbitant amount of time and effort to learn how to curse. Anyone who wished to learn how would’ve required a deep seated motivation to curse someone. You never did let your parents know that you knew about this curse. You didn’t want them to feel sorry for you, so instead, you focused on your studies into divination rather than making friends, quickly being able to accel in your field. Taking on the guise of a cheerful studious girl, you were able to ease their worries, if only a little bit.

“I’m a fortune teller you see, and I accidentally read my own fortune, and my fate… Was not good to say in the least,”

“How do you accidentally read your own fate?” He questioned, confusion laced in his voice. Truthfully, it was an odd thing to say. Reading fortunes was a long, drawn out process, not something done with the flick of the wrist.

“I was a drunken mess, and it’s my personal vow to never tell my own future, but, well… Rum really gets to you, doesn’t it?” His face was skeptical, seeming as though he was analyzing your tale for lies.

“So what about your fate?”

“The cards foretold of a horrid future. One where I am alone for eternity, no companions, no family, no lovers. All that awaits me due to my isolation, is ruin at my own core.” You truthfully wished that this was a jest by the gods, however, cards did not lie. This, you strongly believed, was a warning. “I don’t wish to succumb to a fate like this, so I was wondering if there was perhaps a potion of some sort that could help me?”

“You’re an odd one, you believe in fate, yet you think it can be changed?” You’d piqued his interest. Why would someone who practices divination say the complete opposite of where their beliefs should lie?

“Destiny is not absolute.” You could go on for hours about your thoughts on fate, but you didn’t want to bore him with your long winded explanations. He nodded at this, you weren’t sure if it was of acceptance of your answer, or agreement.

“I might have something, give me a moment,” Turning his back to you, he walked into a nearby backroom, leaving you by yourself while he sifted through glass bottles. Grasping a nearby vulnerary, you examined it’s bring blue contents. An scrawled label read “Bane of Phobetor”. Carefully popping the cork, you sniffed at it’s contents. It smelled of the sickly sweet cough syrup your mother used to give you as a child, the kind that stuck in your throat, and you could taste with every swallow. Just what was this for? How much was it? This boy had a lot to learn about running a shop if he couldn’t even attach price tags and descriptions to the oddly named vials. You shook your head, sending melting snow flying off your cloak.

“Here it is!” The boy emerged with a heart-shaped bottle in hand. It was filled with a bright pink colour. The dim candle light caught on the glass, reflecting it in your direction. “This is one I’ve been working on for some time now, it’s called Aphrodite’s Blessing.” He shook the bottle gently, swirling it’s contents about. “I’m warning you though, it hasn’t been properly tested on anyone yet,” You weren’t sure how to feel, taking an untested potion. By an unexperienced apprentice who had his shop given to him by his deceased teacher, no less. But was this your only hope to save yourself?

“What’s the intended effect?” You inquired.

“I designed it to draw love and companionship to the user, a love potion, essentially.”

“So what, I’m supposed to take this and prince charming will pop up out of nowhere and save my pathetic soul for eternity?” As silly as his explanation sounded, you were desperate. You’d already sought counselling, you’d spoken to those in your field about your predicament, and none could offer any help. Would this be powerful enough to combat the curse you were bestowed upon? You’d heard of certain potions being taken daily to combat effects of a curse, but overcoming your own would depend on the unknown strength of the curse, and the apothecary’s potion.

“Not quite,” He laughed. “I created it out of accident. I was originally trying to create something that would bring my long lost twin brother back to my side, but I found the creation seemed to show promise of helping new relationships form well.”

“I thought you said it hadn’t been tested, so how did you come to that conclusion?”

“I tested the original formula on myself, but since then, I’ve done some alterations. I changed the intention to focus on helping the lonely souls of the world rather than trying to bring people back,”

“I see…” Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to bear any ill will. His aura was not malicious in the slightest. You were at your wits end, and even though you were wary, it didn’t seem like you had much a choice in the matter. You were doomed if you didn’t take it, so might as well try your luck with taking it.

“How much?”

He was a bit taken back, startled that you’d try it. He was expecting a solid no, and for you to carry on your way.

“Um...Actually, I can give it to you for free, for a favour,” It had to be a hefty kind of favour in return for the cure-all that you were about to receive, you thought.

“What kind of favour?”

“I’d like to study the effects of this on you so I can properly document its properties,” A reasonable request, after all, he said this batch hadn’t been tested. You would help him in his craft, and if this potion worked, you wouldn’t face a future of loneliness. “You’d just need to stop in a few times a week so I can record any changes to you,” This bargain wasn’t sounding too bad at all. And you’d get to see him again, he was kind of cute, you had to admit.

“I’ll do it...” You muttered.

“A-Are you sure? You don’t need to if you don’t want to,” He stumbled over his words, worrying he’d pressured you into making a decision in his favour. As eager as he was, he didn’t wish you to do something you weren’t comfortable with.

“No, this is my only chance at obtaining happiness. I want to try it,”

“Alright.” Placing the vial in your palms, he began to recite a list of instructions. “Ingest this once daily, if you can use a rose quartz spoon that would be best for enhancing the intention. Don’t mix it with other vulneraries, as we don’t know the effects yet. Stop taking it if you feel there’s something wrong, and let me know immediately. I have other potions for healing purposes should something go haywire,” You nodded, trying to mentally jot down the grand list of things to remember.

“So when would you like me to stop by again?”

“Maybe in two or three days? That should be enough time for the effects to begin.”

“Alright then, I shall see you soon then, um… What is your name, by the way?”

“It’s Saeran. Saeran Choi. Yours?” You gave him your name, and smiled as it rolled off his tongue. “Good to meet you miss, well, enjoy the rest of your day,” You waved as you opened the door to the brisk temperatures, braving them once again. You hugged the bottle tightly to your chest as if to protect it from the chill. You raced home, dodging the people scuttling about the streets.

Quickly, you shut the wooden door behind you, locking out the frigid cold. You placed Aphrodite’s Blessing on your nightstand, watching as condensation formed on the outside. A gentle finger swiping at the droplets, as if brushing away its tears. You finally, finally had some hope to save yourself. Far too long had you lived a lonely life, only thankful that the curse was not strong enough to shake the bonds you held with your parents. If the curse couldn’t totally isolate you, that meant this potion might be strong enough to overcome it. Maybe you’d find comfort in the arms of the bartender, perhaps that sweet lady with the glasses at the bank would look your way more than once, who knew what could be around the corner if this worked?

You began sifting through a drawer to find that rose quartz spoon you knew you had. It was quite common to have a few crystal utensils these days, they were useful for things such as enchantments and basic magic practice of any type. You thought it was wonderful that the common folk had learned enchantments, and that they’d become widely known to all. It was one of the simplest forms of witchcraft, and finally it was being taught to those who weren’t among the elite.

“Ah, there it is,” You tugged it from underneath an old altar cloth. Taking it to your sink, you quickly rinsed it of any dust.

The cork made a pop as you opened it. The smell of the concoction was sickly sweet, an overwhelming floral scent. You could smell the rosehip, the violet, the basil, all his ingredients mixing together. Tentatively, you poured a small amount into the spoon. It had the viscosity of a light syrup, but didn’t seem to be sticky. It was rather oily, as your rubbed a small amount between your thumb and index finger. You gulped down the spoonful, not trying to savour it’s taste. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but you weren’t a fan of barely flavoured cheap bubblegum. You weren’t sure if the slightly buttery taste was from a pollen, or if it was added to make the potion more bearable to drink, but nonetheless, you appreciated that Saeran had tried to add some more favourable flavours to it.

You sat, as if waiting for some form of instantaneous change. In the back of your mind however, you knew change would take it’s time, and all you had to do was go about your life and let Saeran record any changes. You did admit though, you felt a little warmer inside. Was it the excitement? The fear of the unknown? It was hard to say.

After placing your cards and gems on the windowsill to charge under the moonlight, you tucked yourself underneath the heavy quilt, eager to wake tomorrow and begin witnessing the change to come.

“Dear child, you know this won’t work,” Your head turned abruptly in the direction of the voice. “I am darkness itself, why do you think his potions will cure you?”

“Who are you?” You called out. You could only see a silhouette, a dark, toxic aura emanating from the person.

“Darkness, did I not already state that? But you, oh, such a sweet, foolish child of mine… You’ll soon see why your fate was such. The tower is not always such a bad card to pull.”

“Reveal yourself! What do you know about me?” You screamed, too afraid to take a step towards the figure. Why did they know your fate, and how did they know one of the cards you pulled?

“Why would I do that? My fun would end all too soon. I’ll enjoy seeing you put together these pieces my silly child,”

“What are you talking about?”

“Me. You. The apothecaries. We’re all connected, you’ll see. And you, you’ll be my finest child yet. You’ll see. Good luck out there, darling,” The figure offered you no chance to respond, to inquire any more. Waving a bleak hand, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, sunlight pouring through your window.

You grabbed the notebook sitting beside you, scribbling down anything you could remember from your dream. Hand, something about Saeran, total darkness, a child…. Whatever this was, you’re sure it had a deeper meaning. Dreams often could be used in divination, but this… Was so vivid. Could it be a side effect of Aphrodite’s Blessing? Is there someone trying to tell you something? Your subconscious? Only time and a consultation with your local potions dealer could tell. You placed the pen down, feeling the dream fading away from your memories, your consciousness becoming more aware of reality. You tried to forget the feeling of panic coursing through you, that the reasoning for became less and less clear as you woke. It was just a dream, right?

Well, it was time for another dose of the potion anyways.

[initiala]

Shelter from the Storm (1/1)

MERRY CHRISTMAS @jennifer-morrison!!!!!!! I was your CS Secret Santa, it was so nice to get to know you!! You have such a sweet pup and it was really fun to get to know someone who loves doing Secret Santa as much as I do.

I hope you like this, there’s bedsharing and making out and I have worried myself into a tizzy over characterization.

There’s no possible good answer to give to Mary Margaret’s question about the temperature when she comes home that afternoon. Oh, Emma’s tried to think of one all day, but really all it boils down to is--

“We forgot to pay the gas bill and they’re closed until Tuesday unless it’s an emergency and yes, I know, I tried to tell them it’s fucking Christmas and December in Maine, but it’s not a blizzard and neither one of us is old and at risk of dying of hypothermia so they basically told me to pay the bill tonight and it’ll get turned on again on Tuesday and ‘get fucked’ was kind of implied in the woman’s tone, but I kind of deserved it because--”

“Emma.” Mary Margaret’s got her ‘teacher voice’ on, which is really intimidating to the ten-year old living in Emma’s brain most days. “Back up, slow down.” She drops her bags on the loveseat near the door and doesn’t take off her peacoat or hat, which is probably the smart thing to do since their apartment is, after all, without heat for the foreseeable future. “When did we forget to pay the gas bill?”

Emma bites her lip and fidgets a little under the responsible stare of Mary Margaret Blanchard, woman of top-buttoned cardigans and color-coded schedules, voted Preferred Designated Driver three years running by their friends, rare rule-breaker, and master of ‘I’m not mad I’m just disappointed’ looks. “Um. September. And October. And last month.”

“Emma--”

“Look, I know utilities are my responsibility--”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret says, louder this time. “Okay. Did you pay the bill?”

“Yes.”

“Even the overdue fees?”

“Yes.”

“And they’ll switch it on again on Tuesday?”

“Barring any weather emergencies, yes.”

Mary Margaret is quiet for a long moment, then scuffs her shoes on the welcome mat briefly before heading for her room. “Okay.”

Emma twists in the chair to watch her fling back the curtain dividing her sleeping area from the living space of the loft. “Okay? That’s it?”

Mary Margaret glances at her before ducking to retrieve a bag from under the bed. “You screwed up, you admitted to it, you took care of it. Being mad isn’t going to help.”

“You’re never mad, you’re--”

“I’m disappointed, but it happens, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, opening her wardrobe.

Emma squints at her best friend, watching as she removes a few items of clothing and puts them in the bag. “You’re being really reasonable about...” She cuts herself off with a gasp when a drawer is opened. “Mary Margaret Blanchard, you scheming little--you’re going to David’s!”

“What?” Mary Margaret slams her underwear drawer closed, her cheeks pink. “No!”

Emma grins. She knows for a fact that, despite having gone on more than three dates, Mary Margaret and her new boyfriend have yet to spend the night together. (They haven’t used the words yet, but really, the way that David looks at Mary Margaret makes Emma surprised that he didn’t pop the question on date two.) Someone had mentioned something about throwing off the weight of expectations and letting it happen naturally.

Well, naturally, Emma had forgotten to pay all of their utilities on time, so the time for letting it happen is apparently now.

“That’s your good underwear drawer,” she says, getting up and trying not to look too smug about the whole thing. “Because you’re an anal retentive freak who of course has a good underwear drawer and a period-panty drawer, and I say that with all the love in my heart--ow!” Emma laughs as Mary Margaret smacks her on the arm, the pink on her cheeks spreading up towards her ears. “So what was the plan going to be, appear on his doorstep with a bag and big sad puppy eyes and a story about how I’m the worst roommate in the world?”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and yanks open the drawer again -- the good underwear drawer, thank you very much -- digging out some lacy things that toe the line between racy and tasteful. “Well, first of all you aren’t the worst roommate in the world. You haven’t flooded the place or burned it down.”

“Your roommate freshman year does not get to set the standards for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, she does,” she says, irritation clearly written on her face at the memory. She shakes her head. “Forgetting to pay bills happens, and it’s not like we aren’t used to things getting cut off.”

Emma has to admit the truth in that. She and Mary Margaret have spent more than one night with candles and flashlights as their only light sources, or splitting a box of mac and cheese for dinner… every night in a week. Only in the last year has Mary Margaret upgraded from substituting to teaching full-time, and while bail-jumpers still aren’t as common as Emma would like, she’s still on the payroll down at Booth Bonds and August makes sure she’s taken care of (even if he is kind of an ass about health insurance) in between the bonuses she gets from catching a dirtbag. So maybe she’s gotten used to having things consistent, like actual vegetables to go with their mac and cheese diets, or the power only going out during a nor’easter, and forgotten how it wasn’t that long ago when this was an every-other-month kind of thing.

“And if it gives you an excuse to get laid…” Emma grins as Mary Margaret reaches to smack her again, skipping out of the way. “Look, more blankets for me and I get to hog the space heater. It’s fine, go use your boyfriend. In every sense of the word.”

Her friend looks aghast. “You’re staying here?”

“Where else am I supposed to go? I am definitely not sleeping on David’s couch while you two figure out how to dance the horizontal mambo.” At Mary Margaret’s look, Emma balks. “No. I know that look on your face--”

“He’ll be more than willing--”

“Which is exactly why I’m saying no--”

“Just call him!”

“Mary Margaret!”

“Emma!”

A knock on the door breaks up their bickering. “It’s open!” Mary Margaret calls, flashing Emma a smile. “It’s Friday -- you have a standing date,” she whispers.

“It’s not a date,” Emma hisses, just as the door opens.

“Bloody hell, it’s cold in here.”

Emma turns just as Killian Jones -- man of artfully disheveled hair, buttoned shirts that somehow never button up to the top, scoundrel and rogue, voted Preferred Drinking Buddy three years running, and one of the best friends she’s ever had -- looks around the apartment with concern. “Seriously, are you trying to save on energy costs? Your pipes are going to freeze.”

Emma and Mary Margaret share a panicked glance before Mary Margaret says, “Slow drip, quick.”

As they split up to turn on all the faucets enough to keep water running, though slowly, Killian watches with increasing confusion. “No really, what--”

“I forgot to pay the bill and the gas company can eat my ass,” Emma calls from the bathroom.

She hears Killian snort. “Lovely as your arse is, Swan, I doubt they took the suggestion very well.”

Her mouth twists and she feels her cheeks warm. “I didn’t say it to them.”

“No, you just thought it. Loudly.”

Coming out of the bathroom, she grabs one of her beanies and shoves it on over her hair, hoping to retain some of her body heat. “Did not,” she says, mulishly.

The look he levels at her makes her feel warm all over. “I know you, love, don’t forget. The moment you can tell someone to piss off, or one of your other charming turns of phrase, you do. There’s no hesitation.”

“He’s right,” Mary Margaret says, placing a few more items into her bag and then zipping it shut. “There’s a reason I made you call the cable company.” She picks up her bag with a small grunt, walking awkwardly towards the door with it. “Okay, so I’m going then. Emma, you do what you need to but please do not freeze to death in our apartment over Christmas. You’ll hang around as some sort of Christmas ghost and judge me for whoever I choose as my next roommate.”

Emma snorts. “Please. I would not Marley you, you’re way more Fuzziwig than Scrooge.”

Mary Margaret laughs and waves as she heads out the door. Killian looks at Emma, still bemused to the whole situation. “So, there’s no heat.”

“No.”

“And Mary Margaret is going… where, exactly?”

Emma smiles, wrapping herself in a blanket from the back of the couch and plopping down on the cushions. Killian sits next to her, looking at her with one eyebrow raised expectantly. “She’s going to go make a man out of Sheriff Nolan,” Emma says, a note of pride in her voice. “Making the best out of a stupid situation. I’m sorry movie night is going to be kind of cold.”

Killian shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” At her inquisitive eyebrow, he continues, “It’s not going to be cold because we’re going to my place. And you’re bringing a bag and you aren’t coming back until they’ve turned your heat back on. I much prefer your company while you’re not half-frozen, Swan.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Killian, I can’t possibly impose like that.”

“It’s not an imposition if I offer first, love.”

“Still--it’s Christmas, and--”

“All the more reason. Tis the season and all, yeah?”

Emma huffs and Killian smiles. “Look, Swan, it’s not as if either you or I have any big grand plans for the holiday. In fact, if I recall correctly, our plan was to have takeout together and watch ridiculous movies. This just ensures you won’t be late.”

She scoffs, smacking him on the arm, and his smile widens into a grin. Her heart, slowly making its way down from her throat, skips a beat.

This would be why staying at Killian’s would be a terrible idea. She’s had a ridiculous crush on him since--well, since she shot him down that one time he asked her out and then actually backed off respectfully. It wasn’t an immediate thing, more a slow realization that he actually meant it when he said he’d back off if his advances made her uncomfortable. And then it turned out that they worked ridiculously well together -- as friends, as partners in pinochle, as Tom Servo and Crow when it came to bad movies.

And then Emma didn’t want to ruin that by saying “Hey remember when you asked me to dinner and I told you to get lost? Yeah, taking that back now, let’s go out. And then make out on your ridiculously comfortable couch.”

It’s going to be a lot harder to resist making out with him on his couch when she’s going to be sleeping on said couch.

Though, maybe, it might be harder when he’s sleeping on said couch.

“I’m not staying here if you’re making me take your damn bed, Jones,” Emma says an hour or so later, braced for a fight in his blessedly warm living room.

“And my mother will rise from the dead and shame me from now until hell freezes over if I allow a woman to sleep on my couch when I’m not bedridden or otherwise incapacitated.”

Mary Margaret’s always warning her that if she keeps rolling them, her eyes are going to roll right out of her head and across the floor, but everyone just keeps saying ridiculous things and Emma can’t help it. “Well, I’m pretty sure that I’m a big girl who can make her own decisions on where to sleep. And it’s on the couch. You have an extremely comfortable couch.”

To prove her point, she goes to root around in his linen closet, intent on making up the couch herself. Yes, they were planning on a movie night still, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have everything ready; she smiles to herself, thinking about how he’s going to grumble when she inevitably kicks him out to sleep in his own bed, but then her hands still as she wonders what might happen if she just… didn’t.

If she just asked him to stay. Or… didn’t ask, but didn’t… make him leave.

She feels warmth behind her and Killian’s hands cover hers, taking the sheets from her. “Stubborn lass,” he murmurs, right near her ear.

Emma watches him go, fingering the hems of her sleeves while she watches him make up the couch. Quietly, she goes to change into her pajamas--no use taking extra steps later, be comfortable now--and by the time she comes back out of the bathroom he’s already finished with the sheets and the blankets; now he’s perched on the end of the couch, a 6-pack of Christmas ales sitting unopened on the coffee table, with a fresh bag of chips and some salsa sitting out for their eating pleasure. “Well isn’t this festive?” Emma asks, sitting down and opening the bag. “What’s on the docket for tonight?”

They argue for a bit about what to watch--Christmas movies are for Christmas Eve, Die Hard is so a Christmas movie and thus off the table, they don’t want anything too sappy or action-y tonight--and while Emma then scrolls through the movie list, Killian goes to put on his own pajamas. She’s distracted when he comes back, eyes following the line of his well-fitted shirt (seriously, who wears a fitted shirt to bed? Killian Jones, apparently) down to where his pajama pants sit low on his hips.

Her mouth feels very dry and there’s no bottle opener for the Christmas ales.

Fuck, staying here is a terrible idea, no matter how warm his apartment actually is.

He barely sits when he says, “Damn, the bottle opener,” and gets up to go to the kitchen and fuck her life if his pants aren’t like, expertly sculpted to his ass. Did Yves Saint Laurent make pajamas now? Distracted as she is, she doesn’t really pay attention to what movie she picks; her fingers just seem to take over from her brain’s complete lack of comprehensive abilities and all Emma hears is the ‘yay thank you for choosing a movie!’ noise coming from the TV. She just hopes she didn’t choose something too sappy or silly or childish. Or all three.

“What are we watching?” Killian asks, the bottle opener in his prosthetic and picking up a beer with the other. He pops the lid off and hands it to her, reaching for his own.

“I left it to the whims of fate,” she says, hoping she sounds very casual about it and not at all like she wants to say ‘fuck this’ to the movie and crawl on top of him and rip him out of his absurdly well-fitted pajamas. “Like throwing a dart, but less holes left in your wall.”

He chuckles, setting the bottle opener down. “Well I, and my landlord, thank you for the consideration, love.”

They tap the bottlenecks together and take a swig; Emma practically dives into the chips and salsa while whatever it is her fingers picked to watch starts playing.

It’s some animated movie. It might be about feelings or growing up or both. She’s not too sure, but it’s bright and colorful and she absolutely starts to feel tired about half an

hour into it. She steals the blanket across the back of the couch and bundles herself in it, snuggling into the cushions and just… closing her eyes for a moment.

Just a moment. Just…

*~*

There’s a pillow under her head. There definitely hadn’t been any pillows like this on the couch, a plush and soft one with an actual pillowcase, and while Killian’s couch is comfortable, it’s not pillow-top comfortable.

She vaguely remembers being picked up at some point, but nothing after that. And if she’d been picked up, it meant Killian had put her in his bed, after she’d specifically insisted--

“Dammit, Killian,” she mumbles, stretching a little and rolling onto her belly.

“What on earth have I done now?”

She freezes, mid-pillow plumping, and realizes that the weight around her middle is not, actually, the blankets bunched up on her. Turning her head, she cracks open an eye and sees him lying next to her, one arm around her middle, and seeming just as half-asleep and bemused as she. His hair’s a riot on top of his head and his beard is scruffy from lack of trimming, and Emma has never felt more like she might be in love with him than she has in this moment. “I told you to let me stay on the couch,” she whispers finally.

“And you did fight me on that, even in sleep. I did attempt to move you, and yet you clung to me even in sleep and refused to let me leave, so in that case it seemed to me that the best compromise was to stay.”

Emma’s glad for the darkness in the room still because she’s pretty sure there’s not much that she could use as an excuse for why her cheeks were so red. “Well, I won’t apologize since it wasn’t what I wanted in the first place,” she grumbles, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

Killian chuckles and she feels his thumb tracing a pattern on her hip. “Stubborn lass.”

She hums in agreement, wriggling into his touch and feeling sleepy again. Killian mumbles something under his breath and moves closer, pulling her snug against his chest. “Killian,” Emma whispers, sucking in a breath and feeling much more awake.

But he’s fast asleep, or good at pretending, and doesn’t reply. Emma lays still for a few moments to make sure he’s asleep once more, then pulls away. He was half-asleep, she thinks as she gets out from under the blankets and to her feet; the carpet is cool under her skin and her heart races as she tiptoes to the kitchen to get breakfast going. It didn’t mean anything, he was half-asleep.

Killian’s kitchen is well stocked, but even so she’s not that much of a cook. She gets the coffee going, which is honestly the most important part, and then just decides to make pancakes. Beating the eggs and whipping the powder mix together helps her get her emotions under control, though she possibly squishes the pancakes down a little harder than necessary in the pan.

She’s pathetic, in love with her best friend and too chicken to say anything about it, too overcome by a simple thing as him holding her to stay in bed and enjoy it. He’d been warm and she’d really just wanted to roll over and press her back to his front and enjoy the feeling of being held, but no. He was half-asleep and it didn’t count and he’s just her best friend and why does it hurt so much?

God, she hopes Mary Margaret is having a better Christmas weekend than she is. Not that this is bad, per say, but she’d rather go without having more fuel to add to the fire that is her stupid, unrequited crush.

There’s a shuffling down the hall and she busies herself with the pancake mix. “Hmm, something smells delicious,” Killian rumbles.

She glances over her shoulder, watching briefly as he scrubs his hand over his face. “It’s just from a box,” she says, feeling a little dejected.

“I wasn’t talking about the pancakes,” he says and she hears the grin in his voice. “The coffee, love, it’s a godsend.”

She cracks half a smile as she hears him rattle around with the coffee mugs. “It’s why I did that first. And before you say anything, I am, in fact, aware that I don’t have to cook for you just because you let me stay. Even if you did drag me to bed against my will.”

He makes a sort of choking noise into his coffee mug. “Pardon?”

“Oh you told me all about it, buddy.”

“I did?”

Her heart sank a little further. “Yeah. You must have been talking in your sleep, but I cussed you out about it and you just went back to sleep.”

He’s quiet for a few moments and she finishes the last pancake, sliding it onto the stack and turning off the burner. She goes to drop the pan and the mixing bowl in the sink and as soon as they leave her hands, his own catches her wrist. “Emma, are you cross with me?”

No, never with you. Except when you cheat at Scrabble, but that’s fair game, she thinks. “No.”

He pulls a little and makes her look at him. That’s cheating, giving her those big eyes, so full of trust and sincerity, letting her know that it’s completely fine to tell him anything. “I’m not,” she says. “I’m just… well, you’re just as touchy-feely when you’re mostly-asleep as you are when you’re drunk, that’s all.”

“Emma, if I’ve at all behaved inappropriately towards you--”

“No! God, Killian, no. You were just missing your teddy bear or whatever,” she says, yanking her hand free and going to get plates.

He doesn’t respond and they eat in the most uncomfortable silence Emma’s ever sat through. She doesn’t look at him and though she’s fairly hungry, her cinnamon-laced pancakes go down like lead. She shouldn’t have said anything. Now he feels awkward and it didn’t bother her--not the way he probably thinks--and she’s made the whole of Christmas weekend terrible.

“I’m going to shower,” she says quietly after she’s put her dishes in the sink.

She’s quick and efficient, drying her hair in much the same way. She packs up her bag when she’s done dressing, figuring the fastest way out of this awkwardness is to just leave him to it alone. She can suffer with a space heater and a mountain of blankets. “Swan, what are you doing?”

Killian’s in the doorway, watching her with a worried look on his face. “Going back to my apartment,” she mumbles, zipping the bag up with more force than strictly necessary.

“Emma, please talk to me. Have I done something?”

Frustration bubbles up in her chest. “No,” she snaps. “It’s not--look, I liked it, okay? You held me this morning, and I liked it, and I don’t--I just need to go, okay?”

“Emma.” He’s like a brick wall in her way, giving her a pleading look as she tries and fails to get past him. “Lass, I may--I may not have been entirely truthful. Or, rather, chose not to mention… It wasn’t an accident.”

“What wasn’t an accident?”

She feels nervous all of a sudden, adrenaline making her fingers tingle and her heart pounds in her chest. He looks just as nervous, but his lips quirk up in a brief smile. “The teddy bear thing,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “It may--it may not have been--well, it wasn’t an accident. I wanted to… It wasn’t very gentlemanly of me and I apologize about that, but I just wanted to see… for once… what it might feel like to hold you.”

That last part is barely audible, but she’s close enough that she hears it all the same. “You--”

“Aye.”

Her nerves increase but it’s powered by hope rather than fear, and she’s not sure which of them moves first but they do meet somewhere in the middle for a tangle of lips and tongues and sighs. Her hands find his hair, still a complete mess and about to get even messier if she has anything to say about it, and his arms wrap around her waist to pull her in snug against him. She still has some questions about how it might--will--feel to have his front pressed to his back, but she’s fairly certain that having their fronts pressed together is the most wonderful thing she’s felt in ages.

Though there might be too many clothes between them, if the way his body is reacting to hers has anything to say about it.

It’s a tangle of limbs and laughter as they stumble back to the bed, knocking her bag off of it in the process as they lay back down, but there’s no move to remove their clothes, simply reveling in the learning curve of kissing and light touches. He finds where she’s ticklish and makes her giggle against his lips and his smile is bright enough to rival the Christmas tree out in the living room and she’s happy. The fastest switch from glum to glee she can ever remember feeling and the cause of both is the man in front of her, his fingers tracing her chin and looking at her like he’s never seen anything so wonderful in his entire life. “I can’t--I’ve been in love with you for what feels like forever,” she confesses quietly.

He smiles, it’s soft and she loves the lines that crinkle around his eyes. “Yeah?” he asks.

“You’re going to kill me for it, but probably around the time I told you to fuck off after asking me out.”

He looks at her differently now, maybe like she’s grown another head, but then he starts to laugh. He rolls onto his back, tears streaming from his eyes as he laughs so hard he can hardly breathe, and Emma eventually starts to giggle too, burying her face in the crook of his arm. “You bloody would,” Killian says finally, wiping the heel of his hand across his face to clear the tear tracks.

“Shut up,” she mumbles, still giggling, and pinches him for good measure.

He yelps and wriggles away, leaving her to prop her head up on her arm to look at him better. He turns his head, his cheeks pink from laughter, and her heart melts a little at his smile. “I’ve loved you a bit longer than that, I think, but I never expected you’d return how I feel.”

“Yeah, well… I came around to the idea eventually. And was a big chicken about it. It was easier to stay quiet.”

“While I wish you hadn’t, I understand why. And I wouldn’t trade our years of friendship for anything, love. We got there in the end didn’t we?”

She smiles and leans forward, touching their foreheads together. “Yeah. Eventually.”

*~*

On Christmas morning, Emma’s cell phone wakes them both from the bedside table. She rolls over and reaches for it, swearing up a storm at the noise and at Killian’s laughter next to her. “Good morning and David had better have turned out to be the guy who floods the apartment and burns it down,” Emma says.

Mary Margaret just laughs. “Merry Christmas to you, too. Have you survived the weekend?”

Emma smiles as Killian’s lips brush over her bare shoulder. They’d talked yesterday about letting their friends know about this little development, but decided just to keep this between themselves for a little while longer. Their own little Christmas secret. She leans into it and smiles wider as his hand brushes down her back and teases the backs of her thighs. “We’ve survived. There was a lot of beer and movies. I should be asking you that--how’s the state of your vagina?”

Killian makes a noise that’s halfway between a choke and a laugh and Mary Margaret is a little more vocally scandalized by the question. “Emma Swan, you--it’s fine, thank you very much, but what was that noise?”

“Killian’s coming down with a cough. He was up before me making coffee, making noise and trying to wake me up,” Emma lies easily.

Her best friend hums, not quite believing her, but perhaps in the spirit of Christmas she doesn’t question it further. “Well, things here have been good. Better than good. You didn’t hear anything more from the gas company?”

“No,” Emma says, arching her back a little into Killian’s touch. “But I expected as much. Might not be able to go home until Wednesday.”

“Shame,” Mary Margaret replies, a little wistful and not at all regretful about maybe having to stay at her boyfriend’s house another day.

Killian ducks under the covers and his lips start mapping a path down her back. “Yeah,” Emma says with a happy sigh. “A damn shame.”

[sumisuchan]

Fates Ch.4

The battle had finally died down, and the surrounding forest developed a rare silence. Coal, Pearl, Luna, and the golem carrying White Diamond kept a steady pace through the long quiet. Sometimes Pearl turned back to look at Luna, or White Diamond, having linked arms with Coal.

“She’s not going to murder us when she wakes up, is she?” Pearl whispered.

Coal neglected to answer.

Fortunately, the cave only required about an hour’s walk, and lay well in seclusion past a thick patch of forest. It wasn’t particularly large or small, but just the right size for the three of them to stay the night. No one besides Coal or Pearl came there, and Coal had posted protection charms onto the trees and had written her spells in the dirt.

When the band arrived, Luna waited outside while the golem came in and set White Diamond gently upon the floor. Her armor chattered as her body landed, and her fine features shifted, though she didn’t wake.

“Thank you, Golem.” Coal touched her creation on the shoulder. “You’re free to go now.”

The creature grunted and walked outside the cave, making heavy steps before collapsing back into dirt, rocks, and soil. Luna squawked in surprise.

Pearl set up the larger sleeping mat and as Coal placed White Diamond upon it, making sure her head didn’t crash against the floor as her body landed. Not a second passed without those dark grey hands coming to White’s jewel.

On rare occasions, Coal and Pearl had been tasked with curing a cracked gem. For this procedure, Coal would funnel every fiber of her body’s power into her patient’s stone, and this healing played out no differently, but the crack in White’s gem was severe. The terrible and slender fault continued to the innermost sanctum of her diamond, which Coal observed from the side before covering it gingerly with her palms. Her gem appeared as a broken mirror, tinier faults branching out from the one in the center like roots of a sinister tree.         

All the while, Pearl wiped White’s face of sweat and opened parts of her armor to release the heat. She mixed potions for the pain, and or to help her restore blood or water. White swallowed whenever Pearl poured potion into her mouth, but she had yet to speak.

As the light faded, Pearl lit a candle. The moon had come out, and the sky retained a handsome purple, but would soon transition to black.

“I’m glad Luna brought her to us.” Coal spoke as Pearl wiped the side of White’s face with the cloth. After so many hours, she had finally interrupted the whistling of the wind with her voice.

“I’m sure she’ll wake up and scowl at you any moment now.”

Coal sighed, and lifted her hands. Though the candlelight wavered, that terrible scar had grown shallow, and the smaller cuts had disappeared. She touched White’s shoulders, and Coal’s frothy lashes managed a few long blinks as the shadows deepened beneath them.

Pearl’s cloth drank White’s sweat again.

“It’s getting late.” Coal prepped her hands, birthed a gasp of smoke from her heartlines, and straightened her crooked back. “Would you like to get some sleep?”

“Would that be alright?”

Coal returned to the position she had held for hours. “You should rest.”

“You should too.”

“I can’t,” Coal said, “White Diamond is in my bed.”

Pearl snorted. “Are you sure? I’m tired, but I can still help.”

“I’m sure. It shouldn’t be much longer.”  

“Alright. Wake me if you need me.”

Through the night, one enormous gem looked over the other, wiping the sweat from her brow and switching out candles as they burned to the ends of their wicks.  She watched White breathe slowly and steadily, and unconsciously adjust her shapely lips. Sometimes her eyes squeezed tightly shut, but the moment where she exposed her gorgeous silver and diamond pupils had yet to come.

The first time Coal had locked eyes with White Diamond was outside the palace garden. She stood amongst the plants, dressed in billowing crème robes and shined like a goddess beneath the beams of the sun. The breeze bunched inside her sleeves and rustled her long strands of upright hair.

Even with the wind, she looked like a statue. The spring had brought up flowers around her and the stony features of her delicate face remained locked on to Coal, who stayed just as still.

“You’re quite curious, aren’t you?”

The dark grey gem covered in rags and a light layer of dirt didn’t answer. She merely lifted her fabrics to cover her gem from those powerful, prying eyes.

“You’re much taller than any gems I’ve seen. Who are you, exactly?”

“I’m Coal, My Diamond.”

“Coal? Are all Coals as large as you are? I’ve never seen one.”

“We’re usually quite tall, Ma’am.” Her left fingers gripped her garment and her heart fluttered faster. She couldn’t say more.

“Well…” White Diamond set her dagger of a stare onto something else, and in turning her head, displayed her profile. “I’ve seen you around before. I’ve even heard about you. Apparently, you have some strong magic.” Lazily, White brought her attention back and blinked just once. “If that’s true, you could work in the city. I want to have a place for every gem in my empire, regardless of who you are. You can find a purpose, in case you grow tired of wandering through the woods.”

“Thank you, My Diamond, but I enjoy moving from place to place.”

Coal nearly heard the smack of White’s stare as it afflicted her face. “Are you a criminal?”

“No, Ma’am.” She raised the hand that didn’t threaten to tear apart her outfit. “I don’t cause trouble. I simply prefer to explore.”

“For your sake, I hope you’re telling the truth.” White turned toward her palace, though she didn’t begin to walk. “Next time, go exploring further from my home. You shouldn’t be this close.” She crossed her arms in a way that showed their definition. Her shapely shoulders swelled with their muscles underneath. “I don’t want to catch you around here again.”     

Coal didn’t reply, but began her descent from the mountain, leaving White behind inside her glowing garden.

Yet, somehow, they continued to run into one another. Even outside the streets of the city, they would lock eyes on a mountain path or inside the forest. Granted, this never happened too far away from White’s city, but their run-ins occurred enough to include short conversations.

“You again?”

“How is the dirt today, Coal?”

“Are you tired of living like an animal yet?”

And Coal would answer back:

“Yes, Madame. It’s me again.”

“The dirt is lovely today.”

“I’m not sick of it yet, My Diamond. Are you satisfied in life?”

Eventually, White began to greet her with a wave of the hand. “Coal,” she would say, as she and her army passed by.

“Greetings, My Diamond. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Tired,” and she might roll her eyes, “And you?”

“I’m doing well, Madame. Today looks like it’s going to be pleasant. I’m looking forward to the warm weather.”

“Us too. Isn’t that right, Ladies?”

Her army of Quartzes replied with a unanimous grunt before passing by and shaking the ground with their steps.

When Topaz’s inn was full and they had nowhere to sleep, Coal and Pearl would tuck themselves into the edge of White Diamond’s garden. Hiding amongst the lush leaves that never seemed to wilt, they both slept and listened. Sometimes, even from the bottom of the mountain, Coal could hear White’s strict voice, and even rarer still, the sound of a siren calling White softly.

“My Diamond…”

The lights upon the hill would extinguish.

Coal took her hands from White’s brow and wiped up her own sweat. Her body complained with rigidness and her stomach whined of hunger, but beneath her palms was a flawless gem. White Diamond had returned to her normal color of smooth marble and stayed still, save for the steady breathing expanding her chest.

Coal blinked and searched through her faulty vision at the diamond. It sparkled in the unsteady candlelight without flaw. Sighing, Coal propped herself against the cave’s hard, rocky wall while expelling a few tears, which she wiped away and eventually came to set her cramping arms at her sides, where sleep could grab her by the wrist and drag her away. Unconsciousness came for her like a tidal wave, swallowing her in the time White Diamond could snap her fingers to make a demand.

Coal slept as the candle wax melted to the ground.

[rationalsanskar]

How to Achieve Mindfulness Without Having to Actually Meditate

In 1977, Roald Dahl published a lesser-known collection of short stories called The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six . The titular tale is about a beleaguered British billionaire who finds peace (and eventually, fantastical powers) by learning to calm his brain with a variety of techniques. One such method involves focusing intensely on a single image in the brain for a long period of time.

In the book, Sugar manages to picture an orange for more than 10 minutes. I can remember putting my dog-eared copy down and trying my best to do the same. When that failed after eight or nine hopeless seconds, I thought of apples, blueberries, pears. No luck. Each time, memories from earlier in the week or stresses about the upcoming one managed to invade my brain and tear me from the moment.

Fast-forward a couple decades, and whenever I try to sit down tomeditate — yoga mat, dimly lit room, relaxing music, a scented candle or two — I still think of this failed fourth-grade experiment. Formal attempts at proper, popular meditation often end prematurely for me, with my mind whirring like the wheel of death on an old Dell desktop. I think about interviews I have to schedule, flights I have to book, contact lenses I have to order. Eventually, I call it, thinking Damn, didn’t work. After these “failures” I’m less likely to attempt meditation again; ironically, I now associate the practice with stress.

This isn’t uncommon. According to a 2016 study, only 12% of American adults practice meditation, a number that nonetheless represents a 50% increase from earlier in the decade. That uptick has coincided with an ever-growing wellness industry that includes functional exercise, apps and products that encourage embracing the present, from mat Pilates to Calm to the Wave meditation system.

But that number’s still low, and the difficulty surrounding the practice is a prevailing reason why. In order to achieve mindfulness — the practice of paying attention to one’s thoughts and sensations in a particular moment — people assume they need to first create a perfect environment. Noise at a minimum, pleasant scents and legs crossed, with enlightenment just a few deep breaths out of reach. This line of thinking, though, ascribes too much importance to the activity. It’s self-defeating, like punching a pillow in anger while trying to fall asleep. Traditional meditation may indeed work well for many, but if it doesn’t do it for you, there are other ways to achieve mindfulness.

Think of activities in your life that erase hours from the clock. The ones you look forward to, or perhaps the ones you don’t think much about at all. They come, they go, but by the end of it all you feel measurably more relaxed. These activities can be considered “backdoors” to mindfulness. They’re inherently meditative, because you derive the same benefits from them that might come from 10 good minutes spent picturing an orange.

Below, we’ve assembled seven different activities that have been known to universally encourage elements of mindfulness. Importantly, we chose pursuits that an overwhelming majority of human beings can participate in at the drop of a hat. Surfing big waves, practicing magic tricks or playing the French horn may help you achieve mindfulness, and walking a dog may get you there too (assuming you’ve got one), but these examples are inclusive and easily incorporated into the mornings, afternoons and evenings of just about anyone.

Cooking

The future of on-demand food ordering is absolutely insane: the industry is projected to rake in a whopping $365 billion in revenue by 2030. Why? Millennials buy fewer groceries than older generations, and devote just 13 minutes a day to meal prep. I can identify. Three nights a week, I’ll bring some sort of $13 grab-and-go market bowl back for dinner. I often think of it as a chore handled, and an opportunity to watch TV the second I enter my apartment, fork shoved firmly into my mouth as I do. But I’ve noticed that on days I cook up a meal, however simple (I’m a big fan of shrimp mixed with rice and veggies), I’m able to go on a rare, much-appreciated, end-of-day autopilot. Heat the pan, prepare the rice, wash the veggies, cut and season the shrimp — I’ll generally perform these tasks with music on, while talking to my roommate or in silence, the only sound the gentle sizzle of the cooking food.

There’s an exact phrase for this experience: behavioral activation. It refers to a positive activity that necessitates presence of mind. Cooking requires decisions from your brain, motor skills from your body and an end goal that can fill your brain with a feeling of accomplishment. Plus, cutting and tearing are proven methods for handling a tough day, while the recipes can be both comforting and expected, or unusual and creative. Either way, they demand your attention, and will keep you looking at the pan, instead of your emails.

Water Therapy

The restorative effects of cold-water immersion are well-documented at this point. From ice baths to plunge pools to Scottish showers, the practice has near magical benefits for the body. It catalyzes post-workout recovery, staves off injury, lowers blood pressure, increases metabolic rate and stimulates the immune system. But there is mindfulness in freezing your butt off, too, believe it or not. You’re outside in nature, for starters, which we know does wonders for mental health. And cold water encourages the release of neurotransmitters like dopamine, adrenaline, norepinephrine and serotonin, all of which have anti-depressive effects.

I jumped into the North Sea a few days ago, when air temperatures were hovering around 30°F, and can assure you that I wasn’t thinking about anything but exactly how my body felt in that exact moment. It hijacks your afternoon, in a good way; I took a long, hot shower afterwards, and then felt alert and alive for a good six hours. On the other, less-Bear-Grylls end of the spectrum, lounging into warm water or having a bath at the end of the day are other forms of highly effective “water therapy” which should march you one step closer to mindfulness.

Journaling

According to a team of researchers from Princeton University and UCLA, those who take notes on computers are less likely to summarize and retain information than those who take notes with their hands. The study (and others like it) has long been cited as a reason to save handwriting: save a lost art while boosting our memory! But handwriting’s effectiveness also extends into the realm of another mindful activity: journaling. A nightly commitment to putting pen on paper will add special significance to your days; what’s remembered as banal or unspectacular two months later might’ve actually been exciting or unusual at the time, and you’ll have the notes to prove it. On top of making you a better handwriter, it will make you a better writer, period, and it will happen in an arena that’s rhythm, old-timey and devoid of stress-inducing blue light. In case you have no desire to catalogue your own life — find writing prompts online. Scribble nonsense. Sometimes, when I finish writing for 10 minutes or so, I wake up as if from a drunken trance. It’s a lovely feeling.

Adult Recess

When you’re a kid, there are times that your parents, needing an afternoon to wash dishes, pay bills and do other real-world-things, will order you to “go play.” It’s a typical childhood exultation, and from a young age, we oblige. We pick up branches and have stick fights. We “run the bases.” We invent games on trampolines and whack each other with styrofoam noodles. But somewhere along the way, play stops. For some medical professionals, the lack of play among adults is public health issue. Dr. Stuart Brown, who founded the National Institute for Play, explains that play is instrumental to optimism and self-motivation, while fostering a sense of belonging and community with others.

Unfortunately, it’s long been difficult for the average individual to find play in the adult world — let alone the heaping helping of mindfulness it delivers. Adults are an insular bunch, and those that do join groups often do so for competition. (Think: weekend warriors in intramural leagues.) But in the last few years, more groups have come about that prioritize the relaxation involved with simply running around. From DC to San Francisco to Greensboro, more cities are starting “adult recess” leagues, where the stakes are low and you’re free to think about nothing but throwing or kicking a ball for 90 minutes — with drinks often on the docket afterward.

Running

I’ve written about my return to running in the last couple months, after a six-year break. For years, I associated the activity with stress, expectation and pre-race nervous pees, but my recent reentry to the tribe has been calm and easy. I feel an appreciation now for the ways in which both pain (mile repeats on a track along Manhattan’s East River) and wonder (tripping up snow-covered hills on the outskirts of Edinburgh) seem to remove me entirely from the world of 9-5. I don’t need a scientific study to confirm the inherent meditative qualities of running, though there are many. Runs with destinations, runs that meander, runs desperate to hit a certain time — they’re all about the sweaty, heaving present. That state of being is usually a struggle, but it can be euphoric, and that’s why we do it. You should do it, too.

Live Music

A massive trend in the mindfulness space is the composition of music specifically geared for achieving calm. They can be lovely, and I can mellow into them easily, but they’re often too ethereal and not very sustainable. Who can listen to that stuff for 45 minutes? I contend that mindfulness can also be found in the General Admission section at a concert, or in a booth at an Irish pub that brings some Van Morrison sound-alike out every Tuesday evening. Live music is effortless presence of mind, especially when we leave our phones in our pockets. It represents a deviation from the norm (very few of us experience live music every day), which heightens the importance of the moment and your concentration relative to other earthly concerns. And it often rewards your ossicles with a series of mini-eargasms, which is nice.

Home and Garden

One of the surest signs that you’ve become an adult — aside from a strange desire to receive socks over the holidays — is that you actually enjoy performing household chores. I get giddy when I have a solid two hours to push my vacuum around, make the kitchen sparkle and point a hose at the gutters. Similar to the behavioral activation associated with cooking, busying about a home or apartment offers tasks and results, concentration and satisfaction. They’re an exhilarating change of pace from the mind-numbing practices of day-to-day work in a sedentary society. After a week of sitting at a computer, I will gladly Lysol the hell out of a coffee table. And I can’t remember ever thinking about much while I’m doing it. Not to mention — there are endless opportunities to personalize and perfect a space, from DIY projects to caring for plants, that will also transport you to a relaxing place far, far away.

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