#but we did a tasteful fade to black ladies

[jksprincess10]

You just leave it up to me, we could have a good time || Eddie Munson x f!reader

A/N: Thank you to the discord server friends who helped me out with this !!!

Summary: You reunite with Eddie at the hideout, and he confesses that he's still a virgin. You're more than willing to help.

CW: No y/n, no physical descriptions of reader, sub!eddie, virgin!eddie, mentions of drinking, implied small age gap (reader is around 2 years older) awkward idiots, bad DND jokes, oral sex (f receiving), protected p in v, premature ejaculation.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

"That's it Eddie, you're being such a good boy." You slur, drunk on pleasure as you hold up his hair in a ponytail to keep it from getting wet. Eddie slurps energetically on your pussy, encouraged by your kind praises.

It had all started when you reunited with Eddie at The Hideout. After you had graduated - and he had been held back again, you found yourself busy with college life and you rarely saw him, albeit living in a small town.

But a night in a shitty small-town bar led to so much more.

You had forgotten how beautiful he was. And on the stage, guitar in hands, he simply looked in control. You wanted to make him loose it.

"That was really good." You said as you offered him a drink after he went off stage.

He looked at you, and it took a few seconds until he recognized you, his gaze lighting up as he found your name.

"Oh shit! You were at my school, right? One year ahead of me?" He took the drink in his hand, and you couldn't help but notice the rings on his hand. Your eyes slipped from his fingers, then to his big, brown eyes before he caught you staring.

"Yup."

You got to talking and a few drinks later, your tongues had gone loose.

"Did you finally graduate?" You asked, eyebrow raised.  

"I did. I'm just... figuring things out right now. Still a virgin loser, though." He chuckled and lifted his drink for a toast.

"You'd think being a guitarist would help." You laughed and hit your glass against his for a mock-toast. "I can help, though."

"... what?"

"I can fix this." Your fingers grazed his, and his gaze darkened as he looked at you.

"Fuck it, let's go."

"This is my humble apartment." You said as you welcomed him in.

Eddie looked around with a smile on his face.

"Nice. D'you mind if I... freshen up?"

" 'Course not. I like my men clean."

You pointed him to the bathroom, and you waited in your bedroom, undressing to your underwear and your bra. You felt giddy and nervous as you waited for him. When Eddie came out, he was only clad in his boxers, black with a dungeon and dragons log printed a few times.

"Hi." He said awkwardly.

You rose and walked towards him, placing your hands against his chest.

"Hi." You smiled at him, big and sincere. "Can I kiss you?"

Eddie nodded enthusiastically, and you wrapped your hands around his neck to angle his face towards your mouth. He tasted like cheap beer and Chapstick. His lips were surprisingly soft and when he held your waist, you could feel his confidence building. You licked and tugged at his bottom lip until he let you in, you glided your tongue into his mouth. His moans vibrating in your mouth went straight to your core. You pushed him to your unmade, messy bed, and he supported his upper body with his forearms as he looked at you, astounded.

"It's my fucking lucky day, damn." He said, voice rough as he wrapped a hand around your neck, bringing you down to him. You felt his cold rings on your warm skin. Eddie looked you up and down, taking you in, like you were some kind of beautiful dream or perhaps, the type of hallucination he would have on drugs.  

"You know, I always thought you were cute." You confessed as you kissed the corner of his lips.

"You don't have to flatter my ego."

"It's true." You pulled back his hair to look at his face, then your fingers trailed down his chest, lean, with sparse hair and faded tattoos that looked like they were made with a single needle and pen ink.

"Now Eddie, do you know how to please a lady?" You asked in a sultry voice, the pad of your fingers tracing the vague shape of a tattoo that had blown out.

"In... theory." He responded, unsure.

"Do you want me to show you?"

The boy nodded his head a few times, and kissed your forehead as you swapped your positions, pulling him on top of you.

"Just take your time." You took his hands in yours and guided them to the back of your bra. He unclasped it with surprising ease and pulled it down your arms, after tossing it on the floor. "Hey! This shit's expensive, Munson." You joked, falsely offended.

"I'll buy you a new one." He seemed hypnotized by the sight of your breasts. You leaded his hands on your skin, letting him touch, pinch and explore. "Beautiful." He muttered to himself.

"You're cute." You let out without really thinking. You shouldn't get too attached. He smiled shyly, his cheeks red.

"Can you show me how to eat you out? Please?"

"Asking so nicely, like a good boy."

Your words stirred something unknown inside of him and went right to his cock. You could see the online of it through his thin boxers, and you unconsciously licked your lips.

You slid down your panties and opened up your legs for him.

"Go ahead. Spread my lips, lick around until you find my clit."

Eddie's fingers followed your lead, spreading you open. His tongue explored your slit, shyly at first, and when the tip of the wet muscle found your bundle of nerves, he became more confident. You encouraged him with soft praises and moans.

He looked up at you with big, innocent eyes, watching each and every one of your expressions.

"You can suck, graze your teeth... you can be messy. Can you hear how wet you're making me? Do you wanna feel it too?"

“Y-Yes, I hear it.” Eddie whispered against your soaked cunt, the warmth of his mouth heightening with your sensitivity.

Eddie's tongue circled your clit, fast, then slow, before sucking it into your mouth, sending shocks of pleasure through you.

"That's it Eddie, you're being such a good boy." You slur, drunk on pleasure as you hold up his hair in a ponytail to keep it from getting wet. Eddie slurps energetically on your pussy, pushed by your kind praises. "Put your fingers in me."

Slowly, two of his digits breach your hole, stopping at his rings. He looks up at you for approval, and you nod with a fucked-out smirk.

"P-Push them in and out while you keep eating my pussy. Curl your fingers until… you feel something spongey." It was getting difficult to give him instructions as you were blinded by your own pleasure.

As he follows your directions, you arch your back and you gasp when he found the right spot, pulling on his hair tightly.

"R-Right there, oh god Eddie. "

He doubles in fervor and enthusiasm until your legs are shaking and you're gushing on his fingers. You let his hair go, and he sits back on his knees as if to look at a beautiful painting; pussy glistening with your come and his spit.

"You did so fucking good, Eddie." You look up at him as he overs over your body, biting your lip. When you looked down at his crotch, you can see the wetness in his boxers, until you meet his glazed eyes.

"Take this off. I wanna please you."

He lowers his boxers until they rest under his balls. Eddie's cock is red and leaking, his balls, tight. When you wrap your hand around him, he almost looks startled.

"Hey... I'm sorry baby."

"N-No it's just. I might fucking come on the spot if you touch me. Shit."

"It's okay. Tell me what you need." You caress the light stubble on his cheek.

"I-I want to fuck you. If that's okay." Eddie stutters as he pulls his underwear all the way down.

"Of course." Your hand finds a condom in your side table drawer, and you hand it to him. Eddie tears it open with his teeth and unwraps it on his erect cock.

"I'm not... really sure how to do this or-"

You lay a hand on his torso and push him against the bed. "Let me take over." You sit on his lap, and he looks up at you in pure wonder. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and you descend on him slowly. He takes in a sharp, shaky breath.

"So fucking tight. Fuck." He curses, his hands taking place on your waist. When your thighs are flush with his, you give him a few seconds to adjust to the new feeling. "Kiss me. Please." He says needily. You could never refuse anything to this man. You bend down and latch your lips onto his, taking the opportunity to move your hips slowly. He groans into your mouth.

You use your hands to support your upper body, laying your palms against his chest as you jump up and down on his cock, faster. Eddie is a babbling mess under you, thrusting his hips against yours. When you feel him unintentionally hitting that deep spot inside of you, you cry out his name.

"I'm s-sorry... I- I can't last."

"S'okay baby boy. You can come. It's normal on the first time." You say between heavy breaths. Eddie's hips keeps thrusting in a disorganized rhythm, until he stops, deep inside of you. He moans as he comes, so hard until he sees stars.

"Well, that was a fucking NAT 1 on performance." He says as you pull off him. His forearm lays against his forehead as he catches his breath. You snort as you get off him.

"You made me come, so that's better than 90% of dudes. You need anything?"

"Water. Please."

You nod and go to the bathroom, before coming back with two glasses of fresh water that you leave on your bedside table.

Eddie has already discarded the condom and is back in his boxers. "Huh I should... go."

"You can stay. If... if you want."

You watch him drink the water, the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

"Sure. And... I can bring you on a date tomorrow? If you want." He repeats.

You lay on the bed and smile at him. "Yes. Of course Eddie. Let's go on a date."

[just-some-random-blogger]

Out Of Luck

"Perhaps I'm not the only one who's going to be wed in King's Landing," Sansa jeers with a grin. I glare at her, "if you weren't my sister, I'd have stabbed you." The girl giggles and takes my arm.

Petyr Baelish & Jaime Lannister x Stark!Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, descriptions of reader (black hair), widow!reader, enemies to lovers?, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: felt right so I'm writing it. Yes, I added Harwin Strong, yes I know it's not canon. It is now in my world 😌 anyway, he's still dead so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ Cross posted on AO3!

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @otteropera

"Father" I call with a smile. He spots me and I lift my skirt as I jog up to him.

The man hides what he was holding behind him. He smiles and meets me halfway in the hall. He greets me good morrow when I link my arm with his and kiss his cheek.

"And is that... a very important tool of the Lord Hand?" I tilt my head as I ask, "might I not even see it?"

He sighs and slowly brings the object in front of him. We both look at the brightly dressed doll. My father has an apprehensive look on his face. I hold back a laugh, "ah, a pretty dolly. Are you quite bored of your job already? Do they give dolls to the Hand or were you duped into buying this?"

"I knew you'd say something like this," he mutters.

"If you knew I'd say it, why'd you still get it, papa?" I chuckle.

"I bought it for your sister."

I make a face, "my sister?" I raise a brow, "which between Arya and Sansa do you think would prefer playing with such an ugly dolly?"

He calls my name out.

"What?"

He lowers the doll, "it's not that ugly."

"So even you agree," I snigger, "and yet you still bought it!"

We both begin to walk down the hall.

He warns me, "I'll tell on your mother."

"For what?" I hold back a laugh.

"For calling me papa," he lifts his nose.

I chuckle at the thought. Mother never liked it when I used mama and papa; improper for a lady, she says. I think it's also because when I use it, I pull on their heart strings and manage to make them do my bidding. Twas the gift of the first born.

"I can hear it now," I grin at the man as I squeeze his arm, "Eddard Stark," I motion vaguely, "stripped of his title as Lord Hand for his poor taste in dolls."

My grin widens at the sound if his low laugh. I give a louder laugh, happy to have gotten the reaction I did out of him. It's been a while since I've heard my father chuckle, or anyone from my family, for that matter.

"I wouldn't worry about it, love," father pulls me into his chest, "the king's taste in dolls are surely worse than mine."

I let out a giggle. My father joins in.

I look out the window as we saunter down the hall and turn back to my father when he mutters, "she's changed quite a lot since we've moved here."

He looks at the doll in his hand.

It takes a moment before I smile and give a playful look, "have you seen any of your daughters play with dollies lately, father?"

My words do not work this time. My smile fades at the sight of the line between my father's brows. I mutter softly, "haven't we all changed?"

He turns to me then stops.

I raise my brows. Ned Stark offers me a smile. He takes my hands and shakes his head, "not you, my daughter," he rubs my knuckles with his thumb, "never you."

My heart clenches at his words. I cannot bring myself to smile back because I knew it wasn't true.

"Forgive me for intruding on a private moment."

We both pull away and turn to our side. There we see a blonde doll wrapped in steel. Ser Jaime bows, "Lord Hand, Lady Stark--" he stops himself and lifts his head, "oh, apologies. It's in bad taste for me to call you that."

My father shifts in his spot.

I play it off, "nonsense. I am born of house Stark," I pull my lips into a tight smile, "and my husband is dead."

"Ah, yes," the knight sighs, "poor man. Just had a taste of being one then--" he shakes his head to make his point. He raises a finger, "he was your age, wasn't he?"

I clench my jaw and nod.

Ser Jaime rests a hand on his hilt, "what was his house again?"

Before I can respond, my father blurts, "have you come to rub salt in my daughter's wounds, Kingslayer?"

I turn to my feet with wide eyes. I slowly turn to the see the fuming look on my father's face and whisper, "papa."

Ser Jaime lifts his nose. An smirk masks his face, "not at all, my Lord."

I look back at the kingsguard, not enjoying how quickly tension solidified between us.

"The king demands your presence," growls the Lannister, jaw hardened, golden mane wafting with the breeze.

Father's face is stern but he nods and raises the doll, "I will go to him after I-"

"Get that bloody Ned here now," Jaime speaks. He watches Ned lower the doll. He purses his lips while father's expression sours even more. He shrugs, "King's words, not mine."

In an instant, all the tension in father's body is gone. He looks like he's about to smile and it makes my stomach churn because I knew what that meant. I take the doll from him before anything else. He looks at me and I nod, "I'll give it to Sansa."

He stares me blankly.

"I'll try to force her affection onto the thing," I look at the doll, "maybe she'll let it chaperone us to the tourney later."

I smile at the sound of papa's low laugh.

He nods.

Ned's smile fades when he turns back to Jaime. Jaime gives a wry smile, "I'll escort the lady back to her chambers in her father's stead."

Neither of us decide to argue over it.

Father walks off, eyeing Jaime as he did, and I purse my lips when I turn to him, "I'm actually headed to the library."

"Mmm," he furrows his brows, "then I'm actually headed there too."

We begin to walk down the hall. I laugh as I look at the doll in my hands.

Jaime turns to me upon hearing this. He decides not to note on the ugly doll, "like reading, do you?"

I look at him and smile, "I do."

"You sure you don't go to that musty room to hide from everyone?"

I raise a brow, "you seem to have experience."

"Tyrion was like that," he looks forward, "except father never bought him a doll as a companion."

I look away just as Jaime looks back at me, "does the library match the fantasies of a book lover?"

I chuckle. I turn to his side again. I am unable to stop myself from thinking how dashing his grin at the moment was, "It definitely is as grand as I expected it to be. Winterfell is not blessed with nearly as many tomes."

"The younger Stark girls must not like reading as much as their big sister, considering the ugly thing in your paw," he nods at my direction.

"I'm sure one of them will find use of it," I lift the thing up and look at it. I glance upon Jaime, "oh, goodness. It actually looks quite like you."

Jaime pulls his chin back, "you clearly have issues with your eyes."

"No, it's uncanny. Yellow hair, evil intent."

"Evil intent?" Jaime stops in his tracks, "you mock and slander me," he raises brow and grips his hilt, "I should have your tongue for it."

"Mmm," I turn to him and slowly walk backward, "kingsguard takes the tongue of the Lord Hand's daughter? Sounds like a page out of my books."

He tilts his head, looking me up and down before chuckling as he turns to his feet. He lick his teeth then furrows his brows, "lend me that book once you're done."

We reach the stairwell the connected to the gardens.

I tilt my head and stop in my tracks when I see Sansa and her handmaiden.

"Sansa!" I call, waving at her. She looks at me and waves back.

I turn to Jaime and curtsy, "I have changed my mind, ser," I rise and smile, "I'll be joining my sister in the gardens instead."

Jaime nods and gives a lopsided smile, "very well, my lady. Bid my greetings to the pup. I pray she doesn't get a heart attack from your father's gift."

I chuckle, "she used to have a wolf, you know."

With that, Jaime and I part ways.

Sansa immediately grabs my arm once I am close enough, "what were you doing with Jaime?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister," I correct her, raising a brow, "I didn't know you two were familiar."

"Was he courting you?" Sansa asks as she releases my arm.

I immediately shush her, "do not speak of such things, girl. You know how quickly gossip spreads here." I hand her the doll, "he was escorting me to the library in father's stead."

"This isn't the library-"

"Clearly not."

She takes the doll, "what is this?"

"A gift from father," I grin, "a chaperone to the tourney later."

Sansa glares at me, nearly turning red as her hair. She chucks the doll to the ground and storms away.

I huff and pick up the doll, "Sansa." I follow after her, "it was a joke."

"I haven't played with dollies for years!"

"I know," I rush up to her and grab her arm, "papa bought it for you to try and ease your worries."

She grits her teeth and corrects, "father should just do his job and stop treating me like a little girl." She breaks away from me and moves past me.

"You are a little girl."

"I'm going to be queen one day," she turns to me, "and you won't be able to make fun of me then."

"Sansa, I'm not making fun of you!"

Sansa does not listen and simply walks away.

Her old handmaiden turns to me and smiles. She takes the doll from me, "I'll put this in her room."

I nod and smile.

By the time we were seated for the tourney, Sansa and I made peace by giving the doll to Arya for her to mutilate. All three of us enjoyed the bonding experience very much.

Right now, we were huddled together, pointing at the players. Sansa whispered to me who she thought handsomest and Arya exclaimed over who she thought was strongest. I alternate my attention between them, swooning with one, cheering with the other, but it doesn't take long for them to get into a clash, as always.

They begin to bicker over me and I would have just snapped at them had we not been in public. I instead silence both of them by swooning and cheering for the Hound once we spot him from afar.

Both young Starks gawk at me in disbelief and disgust.

"You can't be serious," Sansa mutters with a pale face.

Arya tilts her head, "I mean, he is pretty big."

I laugh at both of them, "can't I cheer for all the players?"

"No," they say at once.

I tear my gaze from the tourney grounds to look over my shoulder. I gaze upon the crowds, looking to see if father was already here. I mutter to no one in particular, "I wonder what's taking him so long."

"Look," Sansa, on my left, tugs at my arm, "ser Jaime is going to be riding!"

I ignore her and push Arya, who was seated to my right, behind as I crane my neck to look for farther.

Sansa leans on my back and mutters to Arya, "ser Jaime likes her."

Arya grins and looks down at me, "oooh. The lion and the wolf."

I quickly sit up and eye both of them, "shut it, you."

They giggle with each other.

"Father will not be pleased if he hears you are wanting to feed nasty rumors."

"Oh, but nasty rumors are the most intruding, wouldn't you agree, Lady Strong?"

The three of us turn to the man walking over. He stops just below where Arya was sat.

"Or should I say, Lady Stark?" he smiles and nods at me. He looks to my left, "Lady Stark," then to my right, "Lady Stark."

I offer a smile and my first name, "you can simply call me that to avoid confusion, my lord."

"Petyr Baelish," he grins, blue eyes glistening with apparent mischief.

"Lord Baelish," I nod. I squeeze both my sister's hands, prompting both to greet all the same.

Lord Baelish smiles, "I'm glad to finally meet the eldest Stark," he reaches a hand out to me, "the words spoken about your beauty do you no justice."

Both my sisters make a face when I take the man's hand and he leans in to kiss it.

He straightens up and brings his hands behind his back, "my deepest sympathies to you. Lord Harwin Strong left us too soon. I've heard a great many things about Breakbones, how he puts the strong in House Strong."

Arya side eyes Baelish before turning away to look at tourney grounds.

Sansa stares hotly at him as she clutches my arm.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish," I nod and pull a smile, "if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to talk about him more than this."

"Of course," he bows. He tilts his head back as he smiles. He walks off and climbs the stairs to get to his seat just behind us.

"Do you know who's going to fight first?" Arya asks as she leans on my lap. I wrap my arm over her shoulders and turn to where she was looking. I spot Jaime speaking to whom was probably his squire from afar.

"Don't worry, little one, they'll announce it," Baelish speaks from behind, making all of us turn to him then back front. When I look back, I see Jaime looking our way.

"I hope ser Jaime starts on our side," Sansa mutters as she leans into me, though her eyes are still fixed on the Lannister.

Arya turns to me and toys with my black hair, "I hope he defeats the Hound to win your affection."

Baelish makes a face upon hearing that.

I snort at the thought then shoot her a half serious face, "shut it."

"I see you girls are fond of the Kingslayer," Baelish says, making us turn back to him again.

Arya side eyes him once more. Sansa looks away, uninterested.

I respond before turning frotn, "he is a rather good swordsman. Or so I hear."

"He usually doesn't play in tourneys. He says he's too good for them," Baelish mutters, "something must have made him change his mind."

"Maybe he's trying to impress someone," Sansa replies, not bothering to look back anymore, "maybe a lady?"

I squeeze her arm when she says this. She does not even spare me a glance.

"Yes," Baelish darting his eyes below him, "perhaps."

We look to the sky when a rumble suddenly cracks.

"What's taking them so long?! It's going to rain, and then the games will be cancelled!" Arya complains.

"They-"

"They're waiting for the king," Baelish replies.

Arya makes a face. I'm the only one that turns back to the man. I smile at his already smiling face then turn to Arya, "papa's not here either. The king is probably making him do something."

Baelish chuckles under his breath, muttering lowly to himself, "papa? How sweet."

Then suddenly, truly out of nowhere, it began to rain.

My sisters and I quickly stand. I immediately grab them and we run off to the nearest place that could offer cover. We head to a tent, but the trouble was, everyone was heading there too.

The rain quickly begins to pour harder.

I do my best to cover Sansa and Arya's head, but my hands could only do so much. The three of us look up when something comes above us.

I feel someone behind me. I turn and see it's Lord Baelish. He's taken his tunic off and used it to cover us.

"Come, my Lady Starks," he speaks over the loud patter of the rain, "I will escort you back inside!"

We turn to him, his dress shirt now dripping and stuck to his form. I nod at him, "thank you, my lord."

"Don't thank me yet," he smirks, face wet with rain, "one of you may yet slip on mud."

Lord Baelish leads the way, uncaring of how wet he's gotten, and offers his arm out to us intermittently. Meanwhile, we hold up his tunic overhead and huddle under it, treading as quickly yet carefully as we can on the mucky ground.

"I do hope the rain does not ruin your fine garb, Lord Baelish," I call as Sansa and I lift our skirts up and do our best not to trip on it.

Arya was very much glad to be wearing pants, and cheerfully steps into puddles without a care in the world.

But then she slips.

Baelish manages to grab her arm before she falls. He pulls her upright and chuckles, "careful now. You wouldn't want to take your sisters down with you."

Arya let's out a hmp when she is released.

"And don't worry about my tunic," he smiles at me, "I'd rather it be ruined than have 3 ladies get sick under my watch."

Sansa gasps and grabs my arm when her heels sink in the wet dirt. I help her keep her footing and smile back at the man, "thank you, Lord Baelish."

"As I said, don't thank me yet. It's still quite a walk to the Keep," he comes to Sansa's side and helps her straighten up, "and call me Petyr."

I part my lips at the thought.

He shakes his head and chuckles, "I insist."

[popjunkie42]

Hungry Thirsty Roots

Read on AO3

Chapter One: The High Lady of the Night Court has everything she could ever desire - a loving mate, a beautiful baby boy, her family in Velaris. What does she have to fear when the autumn Goblin Market comes to town, shrouded in mist, there only for a single night of revelry and enchantment?

Tags: eventual smut and some dubcon magic-style, Under the Mountain vibes. Mostly porn with plot.

I got the spooky Feysand urge and wrote this in a flurry over the past few days. Thank you to @climbthemountain2020 and @berd-nerd for the encouragement and beta reads!

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

“Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me; For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.” -Christina Rosetti Goblin Market

Feyre stood on the edge of the Goblin Market.

Once a year, Rhys had said, in fall after the harvest time, in the last full moon just before the first taste of winter, it appeared. Quietly, appearing out of mist and shadow. The people of Velaris burned dried rosemary and rue and shut up their windows tight when it settled next to the docks.

“Cassian, Azriel and I used to dare each other to go in. We finally gained the courage to go in after we returned from the war.”

“What did you find?”

His smile had been distant, wistful. Fingers reached out to grasp a curl of her hair, twirling it half heartedly around a finger. “Oh, the usual darker underbellies of magic. Brews, enchantments, illicit ingredients even the fae have banned.” His smile faded. “Promises to fulfill all your darkest dreams. Bargains that sound sweet in the ear but taste bitter on the tongue.” Rhys sighed. “It’s not a safe place. It will be gone by morning, but everyone who visits will still be bound by the promises they made in the dark. I wouldn’t stop you, but I hate the thought of you there.”

Hopeless, as he knew, was any thought at keeping her away.

How could she not want to know everything about her Court? About magic so powerful and forbidden it could tempt anyone astray?

Feyre Archeron, High Lady, had everything she could ever want. More than she had ever dreamed of. What could possibly tempt her?

And how could she ever turn away?

The air in the city streets was filled with the scents of autumn - the chill first, settling on the land as soon as the sun set. Then the change in the markets: baking of heartier breads, cloves and cinnamon, rich mulled wine stirred on a fire all day long. And behind it all, the fires burning, the citizens of Velaris either dancing in the streets despite the chill or retreating to cozy homes and warming the dark with toasty fires. The moon, fatter and fatter each night, that freshy risen, glowed orange against the gathering mist next to the harbor docks.

The High Lady of the Night Court strode through the streets of Velaris in a dress fit for the finest revelry. Black with long lace sleeves, a “V” collar cut deep to her sternum. Skirts of flowing black tulle over white and silver. She glistened in the moonlight as she walked, fog whirling around her boots.

Feyre would not sneak into the market under a cloak - although she had considered it. No, let the market know their High Lady had arrived.

There were no gemstones, no pearls on her dress, no sparkling jewelry adorned her neck or ears. Only a circlet - simple and severe, a silver half-moon perched atop a braided band of metal.

In fabric layers closest to her skin, a bag of gold pieces and gemstones was sewn into her skirts.

Closer still were the knives hidden in her gown, one strapped to her thigh.

But the fine Illyrian sword, plain and well-used, hung from a scabbard around her waist for all to see.

Tonight, her city of song and light was as quiet as the tombs of the Hewn City.

What few fae she encountered on her journey were rushing, hurried. The metal sound of locks bolting behind doors shut fast.

A jolt went through her as she rounded the corner and was upon the Market, long lost in her thoughts.

The fog has come in from the sea, heavier than she’d ever seen it, like smoke from thick fire. It swirled in unnatural formations. Gusts of wind masking as ghosts.

Feyre swallowed. The sounds of laughter, merriment, of song and dance were deep within. Muffled as though underground.

The cold drifting in from the ocean began to bite at the skin along her collarbone.

The fae here dealt in the forbidden - unmet desires, unslaked hunger, the desperate, the needy. Feyre was none of those things. She had her family, her powers to protect them, her joy and love bursting like overripe fruit.

Feyre Archeron has looked into the ouroboros mirror, bargained with Bone Carver, slain the Middengard Wyrm.

A few enchantments and hungry merchants wouldn’t keep her locked behind her doors.

She steeled herself, straightening her back, and stepped through the thick mist.

The darkness changed, shifting around her.

No longer was her vision blurred by fog and dark shapes. Before her were bright tents, precarious shanties, wooden stalls covered in cobwebs or draped with spider-silks. All lit by fires burning all colors of the rainbow, and soft fae lights -

The market was a cacophony of sound just like the busiest hours of the streets in Velaris. Scents of the unknown variety assaulted her nose. Sulphur and burnt tar and unfamiliar spices. The air was filled with the sound of arguments and laughter and the hum of artisans at work, even if a dark haze hung about every little walkway.

Fae and creatures of all kinds walked the small alleyways. She had to remind herself the stone under her feet is still Velaris - a moment ago she could hear the ringing of the ship bells in the harbor.

There were scales and tails and jagged horns - but she was accustomed to that in Velaris. Here there was something more - fluttering iridescent insect wings, metal the size of her wrist looped through stretched flesh, enchanted patterns glowing in the dark.

She walked by stalls of pungent potions, brewers promising true love or the endless misery of your enemies. In the windows of an apothecary, the limbs of creatures she had never seen the likes of hung like slabs of meat at the butcher’s. A merchant with dragonfly wings tried to sell her jewelry that she swore would make all fall in love with her at first sight.

Another with iridescent scales guaranteed her spells, once read aloud from parchment, that could turn a whole army into swine. Still another tried to sell her fried meat on a stick that looked like a three-headed eel.

The High Lady wandered aimlessly, drinking in the market, smiling politely to all who caught her attention to hawk their wares. Not a single fae bowed to her, or addressed her by an honorific even once.

After an hour and the formation of a rough blister on her toe, Feyre relented, and paid a bronze piece for what looked like a simple dish of eggs and tomatoes cooked over rice.

She repeated the words Rhys told her, feeling slightly foolish, but better safe than sorry. “I give one bronze piece for a bowl of food, nothing more and nothing less, freely exchanged between us.”

The food was hot and warm. She ate it standing, shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth.

What could she desire here? What was here that was dangerous, and what lured the fae that risked it anyway? The fae that recognized her shied away: citizens of Velaris, many known to her, here on business they obviously do not want observed.

Breathing in deeply, Feyre was determined to learn more. What were her greatest desires, what could tempt her, what must be learned? What things - after so much war, suffering, adventures - could surprise her, frighten her, unsettle her?

Maybe her pockets get picked and she would have a story for the boys tomorrow. Thus far, the worst she had seen were the open expressions of such desperate desires - and the array of illicit ingredients for spells and potions.

Feyre smiled. Maybe she’d buy presents for all the boys, just to have something to taunt them with for the next year. Little mummified rats with pigeon’s wings, and a plate of roasted beetles the male at the other corner had crackling atop the fire.

Would it be asking for trouble to find something for her husband, for her son? Maybe just for Rhysand to examine, since he had been away so long. Surely the jewelers would make something with a harmless enchantment, such as your tea always being just the right temperature, or your socks never getting wet.

She would just explore a little more, visit one or two stores. Then she would go home to Rhys, who was alone in the River Manor, surely awake and anxious awaiting her. There were questions she wanted to ask the fae here, although she was afraid of their reception. Or of appearing naive. Certainly she stood out like a sore thumb - made no attempt to hide who she was.

Tonight, they had sent the servants home for the evening, most of their circle scattered throughout the territory on assignments. Nyx had been bundled up and flown to the House of Wind with his aunt and uncle for the night.

Feyre knew why. Though he may try to hide it, she knew her mate’s protective instincts were still roaring inside of him. When Nyx cried in pain from his teething, she had to reinforce her shields, bombarded as she was with the pain of her infant son and the screaming unmet desire to protect, to fix coming from Rhys’s side of the bond.

His smile had been tired as he explained: Nesta had gotten new books from the library, and was excited to read them to her nephew. It wasn’t quite a lie, as both of them knew the truth, but chose not to speak of it. Not just now.

She knew he felt the same towards her. Glimpses of nightmares - blood soaking a bed, their son quiet and unmoving, the feeling of the bond slipping away -

And all because of me, the thoughts echoed.

Those evenings, he held her like a fragile thing, hands so gentle. Reluctant, even. Healing even though she still was, body and soul, sometimes she still felt herself longing for his fire. They laid in bed, head to head, like two flower buds on the same stem, curled in towards one another, whispering.

“I want to, cauldron knows I do. It’s just, all I can think about is blood and -”

“Shhh, I know. It’s all right, my love.”

“The market isn’t for gawkers, your highness. We’re here to make a living, not be on display.”

Feyre whipped around, skirts and sword flying, to the croaking voice behind her.

The goblin woman stood hunch-backed, skin layered and wrinkled in a way fae rarely were, tufts of white hair sprouting out from a green scalp.

She was dressed in flowing robes, worn and patched until it was difficult to discern the original fabric. Her nose was bulbous and covered in warts, and in her knotty hands she held a curled walking stick.

Feyre balanced a wrist upon the pommel of her sword. “Perhaps I haven’t yet found something that took my fancy. Although I have a feeling you’re about to tell me why your wares are best.”

The goblin smiled, a few brown teeth peeking out from curled lips. “Mother Enfys does not go calling for customers in the street, High Lady. The fae come from far and wide to beg for the magic at my hands.”

Behind her, the fabric covering her door blew back and forth in a breeze, revealing a glowing green fire and piles of rugs and furs in her little hut.

Perhaps Feyre wouldn’t have to seek out someone to answer her questions.

Or perhaps she was being lured like a spider into a web.

“What sort of services do you provide, Mother?”

The goblin smiled, idly sweeping dirt off of her small stoop with a straw broom. “Oh, sweetie, just the usual. Answering all of your dreams. Revealing your greatest desires.”

“Revealing them? Do people often not know what it is they desire?”

“Rarely, my lady. And rarely are they happy at the answers I provide. But I am too old and too tired to lie to my customers for a few extra coin. Not like those frauds across the way peddling their watered-down love potions. No, Mother Enfys deals in truth and desires, for better or for worse.”

“What if I already have all that I desire?”

“Then I would say you are dead in the ground. It is not in our nature not to want.”

Feyre looked around, this side of the street quiet, fewer stalls with loud merchants and haggling customers. “It doesn’t look like you’re too in demand at the moment. Perhaps the people of Velaris are more content than your usual customers.”

The goblin smiled. “I was waiting for you, High Lady. You’ve already used up the first five minutes of your appointment.”

“But I didn’t -”

“Come, or go, Mother Enfys doesn’t care. Just know that if you step into my doorway, all that is revealed comes from you, my dear. I don’t give refunds for unpleasant realizations.”

Moving quicker than Feyre expected, Enfys was gone, retreating into her little hut.

Feyre paused for a moment at the threshold.

She could return home, walk away satisfied she had seen the market, and laugh at it the next morning over breakfast. She had nothing to prove to anyone but herself.

Ducking low, the High Lady of the Night Court followed the goblin inside.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The hut was larger on the inside than it appeared. Feyre wondered how they traveled, as small jars of potions and ingredients lined the walls in precarious configurations. Worn rugs covered the floor, and furs and tapestries were draped from the ceiling. The room was warm, and smelled of burning cloves and whatever thin stew was boiling in the fireplace.

A round table sat in the center of the room, two mismatched wooden chairs on either side. In the middle was a golden plate overflowing with fruit and a decanter of wine.

“Please, the wine is for you, High Lady.”

Mother Enfys bustled about, gathering bottles and dried herbs.

“I’d be happy to accept the wine, as a freely given token to a guest.”

At that, Enfys turned on her heels, once again faster than Feyre would have imagined her capable of. “The newborn fae is learning our ways,” she said with a grin, those teeth gleaming in the low green light. “Yes, my dear, it will be as you say. The wine is free and without enchantment or expectation of return. I give it freely to my guest.”

Feyre poured herself a small glass, sipping at the dark red wine, rich and well aged.

Enfys returned to the table, her arms full. A bowl filled with burning embers and handfuls of herbs and ingredients in small bottles clattered on the table.

“Why do you think so many are unaware of their own desires?”

“Ah. I am reminded you are so young, my dear. Just a stumbling colt newborn in the spring.” She pulled out a mortar and pestle, and began grinding her herbs. “Most people are afraid of themselves and their own minds, have you not seen this yourself?”

Feyre recalled her time in the Spring court, falling into Prythian like tumbling down a hill. Smacking her head on rocks and brambles as she went. Confused about her feelings, the dangers around her, who to trust. Who to love.

Enfys clattered more on the table, pulling Feyre out of her reverie. The goblin mixed herbs in a bowl, grinding something that looks like a desiccated slug with a pestle into the mixture. “I can lift the veil from your eyes, the lies from your niceties, I can show you what you truly desire. And then, I can give you the means to achieve it, to hold it in your hand.”

“For a price, I imagine?”

Mother Enfys grinned. “Of course, High Lady. But when you see it before your eyes, you may find there is nothing you would not give to hold it tight. My only requirement is that you are bold enough to speak your desires aloud, that you give word to your dreams. Otherwise the magic can be muddled, directionless.”

“I know who I am, what I want. You cannot tell me anything I don’t know about myself.”

“Perhaps it is true, lady, you are a new creature on this speck of earth. Perhaps you are different from everyone who has ever set foot into this place. If that is the case, please at least be availed of my hospitality, so I can say I served the High Lady of the Night Court well and sent her off satisfied.”

Feyre sighed. She was stubborn, but her curiosity was not slaked.

The fruits on the golden platter glittered in the low light of the fire, a rainbow of ripened flesh. Fresh drops of dew glistened on taut skin - currants black and red, the wine-red skin of a pomegranate, the globes of blood red cherries larger than a gold coin.

Feyre picked up a peach, downy-cheeked and yellow-pink, and bit.

Stars, galaxies exploded behind her eyes.

Suddenly, everything was beautiful.

Before she took her second breath it was only a quick whisper of a thought - oh fuck - and she was gone under the spell of the faerie fruit.

Feyre watched as Enfys plucked the peach from her still fingers. Pointed nails speared the pit and Feyre gagged. It smeared out of the fruit, black and rotten, shining sickly in the light.

Mother Enfys only hummed. Grabbed Feyre’s wine glass, now empty, and spilled the dregs onto the table in front of her.

She examined the sediment as if reading the constellations in the sky.

Feyre could only feel the giddy euphoria of joy, of love. The hut was warm and cozy. Rhys was waiting at home, and tomorrow, they’d have breakfast with their son. The fire crackled merrily and the potions bubbled in colors she had never seen before.

“Don’t worry, child, Mother Enfys will care for you. Sometimes we must remove the mask before the truth can be coaxed to the surface.”

As the goblin observed her puzzle, she turned her head this way and that, piecing some mystery together. “The fae in you is still so young, so new. Your human heart beats strong inside. Already when you were reborn you had two faces. Now there are more still - wife, mother, Queen. Sometimes they are at peace. Sometimes they war. Like sisters inside of you.” A tooth nibbled on her green lip. “The fae are still a mystery to your mind. You speak it as if it were a second language. You still long for the kindness, the straightforward answer.”

“Is that so wrong?” Feyre asked, smiling at the sound of her own voice.

“No. But sometimes the fae desires what the human does not. Tell me High Lady, what do you dream of?”

Fingers closed over her windpipe, her mate’s strong arms wrapped around her, holding her still and pliant as he moved in her, head pressed down harder into the mattress -

Feyre’s eyes opened and she gasped, the memory real and pulsing.

Enfys looked up from her scattered wine, brow furrowed. “Why do you blush, lady? It is good for the land for the High Lord and Lady to be so in love, so desirous of one another. The soil of the fae lands feed off the magic let off by deep passions, as much as deep hatreds. Like the market - it is a darkness but one born of magic itself, and the way the fae wish to use it. To deny it is to deny our true selves. I think you know something about that darkness inside, child.”

Feyre hadn’t thought herself a prude, but her cheeks heated uncontrollably in the warm room. Closing her eyes, she was lost in her thoughts. Rhys was suffering - echoes of what could have been following them to bed.

She certainly could understand. The terror and hurt of the past year - such sweetness mixed with such wounds.

Enfys smiled. “They come to see me, the powerful and the poor, the young and the old. All to make their dreams come true. Riches, fame, love, talent. And this one longs for nothing more than the embrace of her husband.” Feyre cheeks flamed hotter. “You are cauldron-blessed, High Lady, and it is good to see. Your fortune will be ours. But many will come for your happiness.”

Feyre dug deep inside to summon her voice, pulled it up through her chest. “So you know my desire. Now what?”

Enfys scraped the dregs of the wine off the table with a knife. She threw her crushed mixture into the smoldering embers in the bowl before her.

“I have a bargain to offer you, Feyre Archeron.” Naturally.

“What is your price?”

“Certainly more than that little embroidered purse hanging in your skirts, your Highness.” Feyre frowned. “I’ll give you the first two pieces of knowledge for free. But for the third, I ask only a small token.

“First, I have shared your true feelings, hidden under worries and concerns - it is yours to do with as you will.”

Feyre thought of her mate. Of the hazy first days of mating. She was filled with many faces - some grasped at, some thrust upon her. She ignored her past in favor of a bright future. Still they followed her - her human heart, her sisters needing her care. Buried deep down the fears of her own mother, of becoming her - pushing Nyx too hard, caring too little.

And Rhys. It felt so often that they were one, in each other’s minds, a circle of each other’s feelings - it could be frightening when suddenly they differed. The hurt of his lies, the pain of betrayal - not recognizing him, or worse, knowing exactly who he was all along. And despite all the hurt and anger, the longing to fall into him for support, the painful inability to hold onto her rage against him.

“Second, I give you your great desire. Not only for the male you love, but for the new fae blood running in your veins. Let it sink into your soul, High Lady. Let go of your worries and embrace the instincts - the mating bond, the trickster, the reveler. A cycle of light and dark, emptiness that is filled, over and over.”

If she had many faces then so did her mate - dark and menacing on Calanmai, vicious Under the Mountain, soft and new in Velaris, the beast on the battlefield, the father holding his son.

“For your word, I give you the third: the ability to possess what you desire.”

Feyre tried to bury her groggy thoughts, to get her wits about her. “And what do you desire from me? Don’t be coy, Mother. I have made bargains before.”

“All I ask, your highness, is you revisit the same hospitality I have given you today. One day I will show up on your doorstep and ask to be your guest, as you have been mine.”

Surely that sounded fine…surely it was a trick. “In equal measure to what I have been given today?”

“As you say, lady.”

Feyre rolled the words over in her mind, wished she wasn’t feeling quite so generous and light-headed.

Perhaps it was a trick, and perhaps she’d come to regret it. But Feyre had made many bargains, some more foolish than others. They had all led her here, to her family. To her home.

“I - “

“Before you agree, please consider my words again,” Enfys interrupted. “You must speak your desires aloud, to own it fully.”

“I accept your bargain, to return your hospitality in kind.”

A flash as Mother Enfys threw her potion into the embers, the air filling with foul-smelling smoke, until she flipped the bowl face down on the table.

“Speak your desire, and it will be fulfilled.”

“I -” Feyre’s tongue felt too large in her mouth, her foolhardy decision while under enchantment suddenly tasting sour - “I wish for one night with my mate where things are back as they were, in the beginning between us. Something healing that we both need.”

Slowly, the enchantress lifted the bowl.

Thick purple smoke was heavy on the table, falling off it like water, dripping through cracks in the wood. It pooled around their feet and swirled on invisible breath, escaping out the gaps in the corners of the hut.

Long, spindly green fingers extended, holding out the rotted pit of the peach.

“When you first step onto your manor, place this on your tongue, and swallow. Then all will be as you wish.”

The pit was large, nobbled, smelling slightly of mold. Feyre swallowed.

“And highness?” Feyre looked up, her mind slowly clearing from the enchanted fruit, “beware of those offering unsavory bargains. Not all here are as generous and kind as I am.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

At the edge of the market, a small, jittery fae bowed low.

Long silky ears fell down her shoulders against her hair, tipped white like a rabbit’s.

With a motion, she signaled her intent, and Feyre nodded, bending her knees.

Long woven strands of jasmine and moonflowers were placed upon the crown of her head, trailing down her shoulders to her skirts to brush the ground, sweeping as a veil.

The River House was quiet and dark.

Feyre rolled her neck as she unstrapped her sword and knives, as she kicked off her sea-stained boots.

A plate was set for her in the oven. She picked chicken off the bone as the fae lights floated around her, wandering tired to her bedroom.

When she downed a sip of red wine, Feyre remembered the pit in her pocket.

It didn’t look quite so foul here in the safe quiet of her home.

Feyre let out a deep sigh. These enchantments were silly. Or worse, dangerous. She had laughed at Rhys as he asked her to promise not to agree to anything, or drink or eat anything given with expectations.

She was no fool.

Not usually.

But the sensation of his hands on her - the way the feel of him changed inside her as he hauled her body up against him, sweat slicked flesh and a hand on her throat -

Without another thought, Feyre placed the pit on the back of her tongue and swallowed, chasing it down with the rest of her very fine red wine.

She coughed a bit, then magicked her leftovers away to the kitchen, licking her fingers as she turned down the hall to their bedroom.

It was odd, she thought, that it was so dark in here - usually she was the one forcing Rhys to bed, as he read or drafted letters in candlelight. Feyre had been sure he would be up all night worrying about her. But when she had reached out with her mind to say she was returning, the bond was quiet - fast asleep.

Feyre smiled to herself as she turned to slowly snick the door shut. If he fell asleep early, that was good. Perhaps a night with no nightmares, and no fussy toddler to wake them, was exactly what he needed. The dark bags under his eyes should worry her more, if she knew she wasn’t carrying the same on her own face.

She leaned against the door, pulling off her hose as she wondered how quickly she could get the dress off her and climb into the bed to cuddle with her mate.

Her heart was filled with longing - embarrassing, considering they had only been apart a few hours. Rhys, who was the most tender father, whose silver-limned eyes could make her burst into tears as he stared at their son. Even exhausted, attending most of the Court’s meetings, he still made sure her every need was met, doting on her so much she sometimes had to shoo him away before he was late to yet another meeting just to make her tea.

Whatever he wanted, whatever he needed to heal - she would be ready. She would take care of him the same way he’d always taken care of her - her sweet, doting husband.

Without warning, magic tendrils of darkness slammed into her body. Feyre was pinned up against the wall. Her skirts swayed above the ground, feet dangling.

Feyre gasped, the air to her lungs cut off. She tried to fight it, squirming, woefully unprepared.

Out from the darkness of their bedroom, she was met with the gleam of two violet eyes in a single slash of moonlight.

And a voice, a tone she hadn’t heard in ages - a powerful chill dripping down her spine - “What is this pitiful human thing doing lurking around the chambers of a High Lord?”

Oh shit.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

(adar pov) (kissing someone on saurons throne you say) (sfw but suggestive??)

You can smell Mairon everywhere in the great ruined tower of Eragion - he must have been living here for months. He's like metal on your tongue and down your throat. This place is layer after layer of forge and smithy, supplies, ores - for your former master, this must have been a heavenly kingdom to rule.

It's abandoned now. Your troops have made short work of the elves guarding it - you imagine this will make Mairon run back here as fast as he is able, when he stops being distracted by Lady Galadriel. If hte two of you stretch him thin enough, each armed with a piece of his crown, one of you will surely be able to strike him down.

There are no traps; there's not even a veil cast over this place. Just the increasing stink of smoke and ash both mortal and immortal, the same skin-clinging heat you'd feel in Mairon's forges back in Angband.

On the top floor is a locked door; your blackened knife breaks the lock easily. You open the door slowly in case of traps or a waiting enemy; none strikes.

The single spot of color in the room is an elf in green robes hunched over a desk, one hand on a machine you don't recognize. He was looking at the machine; now he's looking at you. His face and hair are streaked with forge-ash; his eyes are the only light in the room other than the candles.

"Who are you?" the elf asks, picking up a slender hammer better used on jewelry than on flesh. There's a long, golden chain attached to one wrist that clinks whenever he moves. "Did Annatar send you?"

"I do not know any Annatar. I am here seeking the one you elves call Sauron." You step forward; he steps back, hips against the desk. With the length of the chain, there's no way he can get around the table unless he crawls under it, and that will still give him little room to maneuver. You're glad you left your children to explore the rest of this place; this is exactly the right amount of fear for you to give a captive elf. "He was here. Where is he now?"

"Sauron? Sauron - what do you want him for?" the elf asks. He backs up until he's sitting on the table. You stand between his legs, palms open. "Are you one of his?"

You bark a laugh. "I have not been his for a thousand years. I have come to finish things with the Deceiver. I have little doubt he'd hate the theft of a prize he kept squirreled away so. If you wish for freedom, there are few others you can turn to."

"And few others I can trust. He weaves a veil over those in his power. How do I know you are not him? He has many names and wears many faces."

"Do you think he'd wear a face like this?" Your Mairon was always uncanny in his symmetry. You were not fair of form even before he made a ruin of your skin.

"He might, to fool me," the elf says. His eyes dart over you - the heavily repaired armor, the chainmail, the faded embroidery on your sleeves and neckline. "Though I suppose there are ways to test such things."

"I'd prefer you not stab me to check what my wounds do," you say dryly - if only because you bleed as black as Mairon does.

"That was not what I had in mind," the elf says; his hands curl on your shoulders as he pulls your face to his, mouth to mouth.

You respond on ancient instinct. His mouth is open against yours. You run your tongue across his mouth, tasting iron and copper; your hands settle on his hips to keep him steady as he lets you in, sating a hunger you do not let yourself indulge in often. He is blood-warm and his hands are eager on you, urging you to kiss deeper, plunder more from him.

His cheeks are flushed when the two of you finally break to breathe. He clings to you as you draw back an inch. "Satisfied?"

"Very," the elf says. "He does not kiss as gently as you do."

You cannot help but snicker at being called gentle; you are hardly that. It is that Mairon works his lovers to the bone. "I am no friend of elves, but the one called Sauron is a greater threat to both of us than we are to each other. Will you let me rescue you?"

"You may. I had thought I'd need to sever my thumb. Do you have any better ideas?"

"Yes," and you bring your black knife up and drive it into the cuff. It melts under the touch of a shard of Morgoth's crown, allowing you to pry the warped metal off the elf's wrist. "Are you satisfied?"

"Very," the elf says, rubbing his wrist. He takes a small bag from the table and tucks it into his robes, then gingerly clambers back onto the floor. You take his elbow to make the fall smoother. "Do I have the honor of knowing who my escort is?"

The dim light of the candles flashes over the steel in his eyes, the crooked smile, turns his hair rusty, and you remember where you've seen his features before. "I am Adar, one of the Moriandor who lead the Uruk legions of Angband against your kin, Nelyafinwe Feanorian and his brothers. Will that be a problem?"

"I've worked with plenty of people who wanted my family dead. At least you're up front about it," the elf says, and there's life returning to his eyes as you walk him to the stairs, crown shard in hand. "I am Celebrimbor Curufinwean, last of the House of Feanor and lord of this city."

"You are going to be just as much of a pain as your uncle was," you say fondly. "We shall battle for the fate of this land later. We have bigger fish to fry."

Including, you think as Celebrimbor takes your hand, the fact that you've stolen into Mairon's tower, Mairon's cellblock, and stolen the prisoner he must be using to control this city. Taken a taste of him in the very heart of the forges. You will take all this elf offers up so that when you face Mairon, he can smell just how much of what was his you have made your own.

BRIMBY!!!!!

Also fact that Adar ASKS for permission to rescue him... I DIED.

[chainmailchalamet]

sugar high 🍒

synopsis: sugar daddy hs, always black n non-binary reader, established dynamic w/ some power play, possessive language, lil degradation, spit kink, mean dom(ish) hs, yktfv

Harry is…complex, by nature. He is a well curated structure of contradictions. He is a rockstar, an animal, a glossy beastly thing on stage. He glows under the spotlight, basking in all that concentrated attention with the air of a man who deserves every last drop. He is a hip roller, a tongue wagger, a dark eyed pretty boy dream. He’s sharp cut hips, tatted all over and wrapped up in glitter.

He is also a cream puff — that’s the version of him you met first, assisting a stylist on a Gucci suiting campaign. You’d steamed his double breasted coat, matched the ties to his green-glass eyes, buttoned him up all snug in his dress-shirt. And he’d blushed and dimpled his way through all of it. Told you that you didn’t have to do all that (“I kind of do, darling, it’s my job”), said please and thank you and stood where he was supposed to stand and made everyone laugh and look at him all fond because he was a professional sweetheart, an actual dream to work with. With the way he acted, you couldn’t tell he found you attractive until after the shoot wrapped and he walked up to you all bashful to ask for your number. It was the way he stated his intentions that got you, the way he said, soft and steady “anything you want, we can do anything you want as long as I can keep you company”.

He took you for squid ink pasta for the first date, because you’d never had it. He showed you how he liked his oysters (“a little lemon, just a squeeze..”) and how to tip them back into your mouth to taste them, and he watched the way your lips wrapped round the shell with a low heat gaze, kept his desire on the simmer like he didn’t want to scare him away. You let your inhibitions sink away into a glass of champagne, flirted with him in the same breath you talked his ear off about your job, about the books you were reading, about your vision for the future. He was so like you — the same raw ambition, the same comfort in the way you wore your skin that you’d both fought tooth and nail for, the same wicked tongue. You liked to make him blush, to tease him until he was giggling in faux offense (“it is not a whore house, it’s a family show, that’s the whole point!” “sir, at last show you sang the words “if you’re getting yourself wet for me”, and then rubbed your fingers together to demonstrate said wetness, those are the actions of a whore!”), until he let some of that babygirl cupcake act drop long enough to thumb some passion fruit sorbet from the corner of your lip and take it into his mouth, closing his eyes and groaning a little under his breath like you just tasted that good.

The second date was a flea market in the south of France. He prepared you with a simple instruction to pack light, and in response to your question about the cost of the train and accommodation and time off work he responded the same — kissed you on the temple and said “I’ll take care of all of it, you don’t have to worry about a thing, you can have anything you want, sweetheart”.

And then he did, took care of every detail — told your boss he was borrowing you for a shoot (“bring them back in one piece, styles, they’re one of our best” “mm, no promises”), got the both of you a private carriage so you could watch the grey London skyline fade away into lush fields of lavender, held your hand all the way, looked at you like you were the best view in sight, whisked you away to a cute little hostel where no one but the owners recognized him (the lady of the house absolutely fawned over him, called him strawberry boy, chided him for being gone for so long).

You used maybe two braincells that weekend — he made sure of that. Every whim, he tended to. If you wanted coffee, he went to the market and fetched you something freshly ground with notes of toffee and dark chocolate. If your stomach rumbled, he sat you down on the kitchen counter and fixed you lemon pasta, fed you dates by hand while the sauce settled, stole kisses in-between bites — cupped your face in his hands and licked into your mouth and said “feel so lucky, can’t believe your here, are you happy, what do you need, whatever you want, wanna give you everything…”.

You let him fuck you during that trip. After a dreamy morning picnicking with a jar of strawberry preserves and fresh bread and heavenly salted butter, and a whole day at the markets where he bought you a whole new wardrobe, gently insisting that he wanted to do this for you. “Harry, this is vintage alaïa, I don’t need that” you’d said. “You’re a stylist, sweetheart, might come in handy — and you’ve been eyeing it up since you saw it, at least try it on, yeah? See how you feel after”.

You’d tried it on, and it fit so perfect your mouth went a little dry — and his eyes on you, the way he smoothed his hands over your hips and told you that “you look so pretty, angel, prettiest fucking thing I ever saw” made you light-headed, running your thighs together in the dressing room. He liked doing that to you, putting you in pretty things, seeing you admire yourself. He bought you the alaïa, the cavalli handbag, a silk Gucci scarf — he was still polite, still your sweet thoughtful boy, but you could see through the cracks to what lay beneath that. The power he held over you, the obvious pleasure he took in being able to take care of you, showering you in nice things, the way he made you feel you didn’t have to think about anything when you were with him because he could do the thinking for you.

That’s the man that took you to bed. The one that told you to put your pretty new things away and wait for him in the bedroom while he tucked the groceries away. The one who met you with hungry eyes when he found you stripped down to your new chocolate brown agent provocateur set and kneeling on the bed and just clicked his tongue and asked you if he told you to do that. Tutted when you looked at him all confused and tried to explain yourself, shushed you and said (with the same quiet intensity as the first day he met you), “not your fault baby, didn’t have to think at all today, you’re just my pretty little doll, huh?”

that’s the Harry that felt every bit of your mouth with his fingers, pressed down on your tongue until you drooled a little and then made fun of you for it. The one that wouldn’t let you touch his dick until he worked you up so good that you thought you would cry, ran his tongue over the lace on your body, teased over every single sensitive inch of you until you were shaking and begging (“please, Harry please, just touch me, anything, anything” “look at you — pretty fucking mess for me, huh? wanna see you cry, baby, can’t give you my dick unless you ask real nice for me”).

He fucked you slow and deep with a hand wrapped around your neck, told you that one day he’d buy you something shiny to lay where his hand had been, but until then you’d just have to wear his fingers around your throat — told you that it was his favorite thing you’d tried on all day, called you his doll, his baby, his perfect little slut. “M’gonna give you everything you fucking want,” he said, licking the salt off your skin as it trailed down your cheek, pulling your head back to spit in your mouth and rub it into your tongue (“filthy thing, you like that? nuh-uh? you got real tight on me, baby, you must really like that”), rolling his hips and driving in hard until your eyes rolled back and you couldn’t even find your voice to beg him for more. “And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you? Not gonna fight me, are you baby? Just gonna let me take care of everything, I know what you need, daddy’s gonna give you fucking everything — that’s it, angel, just shut the fuck up and take it, you’re so good at that”.

He made you come like that, and then flipped you over, lifted your hips up and licked you out from the back, slapped you across the clit if you tried to run away from it, told you to “take it, don’t fucking run, gonna make a big mess aren’t you, show me, fuckin’ show me, that’s so good, you’re so good”, and then fucked you like that — pushed your face into the mattress and laid into you until you did make a mess, till you were drooling with it.

He was back in full sweetheart mode when he was done with you — ran you a bath and toweled you dry and held you in his arms till you fell asleep, kissed your head and said “thank you, baby, did so good for me, gave me everything I’ll ever need”. He was complex like that — a menace, an angel, a demon, a fucking fairytale prince. And you were lucky enough that you got to see every inch of it, bask in the flow of it.

[vleanne]

𝖣𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖯𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖾 c.s

Summary: The battles he grew to love so much since he was kid were the ones that took you away from him. The smell of blood and the yells of the injured and still he only sees you. There, one life ends…another begins.

Warnings: description of injuries, character death, overall angst

Author's Note: First time I'm writing for Cregan Stark and I'm choosing violence.

⤹The room was warm, the flames decorating the hard stone walls with sorts of shapes. It was a calm atmosphere, one you grew to love so much ever since you became the Lady of Winterfell.

Cregan, your husband, was resting behind you, his arms holding your body glued to his. The two of you were catching your breaths, courtesy of what took place only a few minutes ago.

The man nuzzled his face into your hair, placing lazy kisses on the side of your head and behind your ear.

"You really have to go?" Your voice was just above a whisper, feeling Cregan's heart with sorrow. He thought you already settled on the matter. It couldn't be avoided. The battle was inevitable.

He squeezed your body further onto his, his lips warm on your bare shoulder "I must do my part,my love…. there's no going back"

You shifted your body so you could face him. His beautiful face was so close to yours your lips touched. Grazing your hand on his spine and tangling your fingers in his dark hair "But it is…"

Cregan shifted his weight on his arm looking down at you, his eyes becoming glassy "No, it is not..my love I wished it was"

His soft lips captured your own, tasting the salty tears that started to fall down your face as he moved on top of you.

____

No this can't be happening….please

Cregan ran as fast as his feet carried him across the battlefield. Everywhere you looked a trail of dead bodies laid lifeless, covered in blood and dirt.

The gruesome scene however didn't compare to when he saw her. Just there.

His wife…

"No-"

The man abandoned his sword not carrying where it landed and sprinted towards his lady's,unfortunately,dead body.

Her dragon laid just beside her, with wings torn apart and spear ripped from his skin.

Cregan kneeled beside his wife, his Y/N.

The long hair, associated with snow, was nearly black from all things going on around her.

With trembling hands, he took her face in his palms, his fingers stroking her cold cheeks.

"My love please-"

He couldn't stop the tears from falling wildly from his eyes. His heart shattered when she didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, the long lashes of hers giving the impression that she was sleeping. How he wished that was true.

Cregan lowered his face so it could rest on hers "Don't leave me..my love please"

"Don't do this to me–don't go away"

His men were screaming for their lord. To give them instructions of what to do. Many were screaming from the pain of their injuries but for Cregan it was simply a faded sound.

Far from where he stood..he couldn't hear anything.

His throat was dry, and he couldn't breathe properly. He felt like someone plugged their claws in his lungs and ripped them apart.

Horrible..

"Lord! Please lord we need to go!" A man approached him, with his sword in his hand.

His face was flushed red and he was covered in sweat and mud "My Lord we need to go. They're coming"

Cregan didn't spare him a glance but he heard him loud and clear this time.

He looked down upon her body, admiring what it was once his.

How could she be still so beautiful after this merciless fight?

Cregan leaned down, taking her lips into his for the final time. He still hoped she would kiss back..that she would cradle his face with her hands and deepen the kiss.

When she didn't move, Cregan whispered a single "I love you" to his wife and got up.

His eyes were red and he could barely focus.

The guard bowed his head and handed his lord his sword.

Cregan took the weapon from him and went to join the rest of his men.

He didn't look back, not once. He didn't dare.

Only when he reached the castle did he allowed himself to breathe.

Seated in the throne room, he looked ahead of his fellow devoted men "What are we to do know, lord?"

Cregan twisted his wedding ring on his finger giving one final statement "We kill them all. For our friends, for our families..for our loved ones…for her"

- there, one life ended so another could begin-

[mordenheim]

Let me remind you

The throne room was empty in the ancient castle.  The tapestries were free of dust and grime, though the ravages of time have left them tattered and faded.  The grand carpet leading up to the throne itself was threadbare from centuries of booted feet striding up and down its length.

The throne where Lady Liantha was lounging was immaculate, however.  The pillows were perfect, preened and fluffed.  The dark wood of the throne was polished to a mirror sheen and the gold inlay sparkled in the flickering light of the braziers and candles.

She relaxed in her dress of crushed midnight blue velvet.  Her long, dark hair was teased up above her head and held in place with a diamond studded silver tiara.  She swirled a glass of deep red wine in her hand as the gently pointed tip of her ear twitched slightly.  She had an uninvited guest.

A simple gesture of her free hand and her minions sprang into action.  Zombies crawled their way from under stones in the floor as stone gargoyles clambered down from their perches up in the darkness.  She heard the scream and grinned.  

She closed the hand she had been gesturing with and pulled it in towards her body.  There was a struggle and a crash, but she could hear the intruder being slowly dragged down the hall towards the throne room.

The huge double doors were opened and the intruder deposited on the ancient carpet.  They then swung shut with a loud bang, locking from the outside.  The intruder pushed herself up off of the carpet with surprising ease and grace, impressing the vampire.

She was dressed in a long black coat the likes of which Liantha had not seen before.  She finished her wine and set the glass on the floor beside her throne before seeming to float to her feet.

Her voice seemed to come from every corner of the throne room at once as she spoke, “Why have you dared to invade my home?”

The red haired woman had dark glasses over her eyes, hiding much of her expression from view.  She bared her teeth in challenge as she snapped, “Your ghouls invaded my home first.  Where is my brother?”

She ran her tongue over her fangs, glancing down at her glass, stained a deep red.  “Oh, your brother, you say?”

Liantha grinned as she closed her eyes and inhaled.  She could almost taste the despair.

“Why?  Why did you do this?  We have left you alone for centuries, and you did the same for us!  I thought there was mutual respect?”

She laughed, a sharp, cutting bark as she glared at the woman before her.  “Respect?  I was forgotten!  When was the last time your village sent their required tribute to me?”

The intruder screwed up her face in confusion, “Village?  Tribute?  How many years has it been since you’ve been outside?”

“Apparently long enough for you all to forget your duty to me.  Let me remind you.”

She let out a snarl as she began to transform.  Vicious talons shredded their way through the tough leather of her high heels.  Fingers slowly stretched and lengthened, skin spreading between them as her arms stretched out as well, becoming massive bat-like wings.  Her ears swept sharply up by the sides of her head as her nose turned upwards, her face pushing out into a sharp-toothed maw.  Her beautiful dress was shredded to pieces as her size increased by leaps and bounds.

Shaking her head, the intruder pulled a small triggering mechanism from the sleeve.  A wire vanished up into the arm of her coat which she threw open wide.  She almost appeared bat-like as well for a moment, the coat flapping wide around her until she pressed the button.

The vampire let out a shriek of agony as the high intensity ultra-violet lights flickered to life, bathing the vampire in their glow.  The skin of her wings shriveled and shrank as smoke and flames erupted from her body.  Within seconds, she was a smoking pile of bones that continued to wither under the bright lights.

The intruder snarled as she kicked the pile of ashes, grinding them into the worn carpet before she shed her coat.  She confidently strode over to the throne.  Tossing the glass aside to shatter in the darkness, she sat down on the throne, feeling the power of the ancient castle offering itself to her.

[unicyclehippo]

bg3 prompt: foreshadow

'You never liked my Lady Sh- my goddess,' she said that night, huddled close to the fire, hands almost pressing into the flame. There was a tremor to her fingers, a frightful hunch to her shoulders. Darkness swallowed up everything beyond the boundaries of their camp and Shadowheart alternated between staring out into it and deep into the heart of the fire.

Dante propped themself up on their bedroll, laid out near but not close to hers. Though it hadn't been a question, exactly, Dante knew that it was. Shadowheart did not ask for anything and it was not the prideful thing she made it seem; at a certain point, a child learned not to ask when the answer was a painful constant. Dante toyed idly with the knowledge that they would rip their beating heart from their own chest, if she were to ask for it. It painted a pretty red picture in their mind--hands blood-soaked, on their knees for her. They shook their head, banishing the thought and answering the question she didn't ask.

'I did not.' Dante kept their voice light. They wondered what a goddess's blood looked like, tasted like. If they were to present Shadowheart with the dark lady's heart, would that let her rest?

'From the beginning, you hated her. Don't try to lie to me - I know the truth,' she spat. Her anger wasn't for them, Dante didn't think, but maybe it was. 'Tell me why.'

Prying my secrets from me now? Dante wanted to tease. But it was a question, a request. In the cloak of a demand, certainly, but that was more than enough.

'She was cruel to you.'

'That's all?' Shadowheart laughed. Scratched at the back of her scarred hand.

Dante took it, covering the mark with their own hand to stop her fevered work. They moved closer, sitting up with a wriggle. It wasn't necessary--if they wished, their every motion could be graceful and powerful and direct...but they liked the way she looked at them when they were odd, awkward. To be a strange creature in her eyes was vastly preferable to monster.

'It isn't all. It's what I...disliked the most.'

'Because you care for me.'

'Immensely. Beyond darkness.'

'There is nothing beyond the darkness.'

Dante hummed. Bent over her hand and lifted it to their lips, pressing a warm kiss to the scar. 'Then I shall make something. A light, a refuge. A world,' Dante insisted, as her despair began to lift, a flustered sort of fondness taking its place. 'I'll sing a whole world into existence. It will be the most beautiful place in all the realms and the when the sun sets, there is no darkness because the moon fills the whole sky, and every flower knows a different joke--'

'Absolutely not. The flowers don't talk.'

Dante sighed, long-suffering. 'Very well. What do they do?'

'Nothing! Why must a flower do anything? Can it not simply be beautiful?' Shadowheart scolded through a smile.

'They are beautiful, then,' Dante agreed. 'Each one trying their best to match your beauty and falling short. Even so, we shall be surrounded by incandescent beauty.'

'Oh you are a charmer.'

Dante kissed her hand again, brushing their lips across her knuckles before they lowered her hand, though they did not let her go. Their thumb took up that gentle touch instead, stroking along the same path.

'I have no love for any god,' they told her quietly, and mourned the ease of her smile as it faded. 'But the more you told me of that dark lady, and the more I saw you do with and without her favour, and when she punished you,' Dante snarled before stilling, closing their eyes and hands. Would the goddess bleed midnight black? That most royal colour tinged with the purple of her servants vestments? Did they drape themselves in her blood as Dante now dearly wanted to?

A hand, against their heart. A warmth like a flower unfurling. Dante held Shadowheart's hand in place.

'Forgive me--'

'Yes,' she said, without hesitation.

Dante opened one eye a crack and, seeing neither hatred nor fear, opened the other. 'There were aspects of the dark lady I admired. To walk unafraid under the cloak of night. To have secrets and fears and sorrows and entrust them to her. But I watched as you trusted her, and gave everything to her...and I watched her take more and give nothing back.'

There was an adamantine glint in her eyes, stubborn and strong. 'She gave me great power.'

'You earned that. You earned more than what she gave you. I've never seen devotion like yours--deep and earnest, unwavering--'

'I wavered,' Shadowheart said. Her fingers curled into a fist, still resting against their chest. The fabric of their nightshirt in her hand. They would give it to her. They would give her the shirt off their back, the skin off their back. 'You may not have seen it but she did. Every - every kind deed you did, every nonsense you dragged us into without demanding payment or power or even for the weak to grovel at your feet when you spared them, helped them... I admired you for it, adored you. And she saw it. I would like to say it took time but in truth, my thoughts have been split from the moment I laid eyes on you in that damned pod.'

Dante forgot. She had asked for their help, once. Had it been the first time her prayers had not gone unnoticed?

'You know, I considered once, asking you to join me in my faith.' A deep sorrow crossed her face when her words made Dante flinch. 'An idle thought, long ago.'

'It's alright.'

Shadowheart paused. Then, carefully, she said, 'I thought you only hated her but. You fear her too.'

'Of course,' they agreed, with an almost lazy shrug. 'I would be a fool not to.' She did not buy their ease. Dante did not flinch easily. Guilt churned in their stomach. She deserved a true answer, not bravado. 'It would be...the end of me. If I served her. I don't know what happened to me before the ship and the tadpole but...there is nothing inside of my head but darkness. The only time I feel I am a person is when I sink a blade into someone,' they confessed. If the dark lady were Shadowheart, perhaps Dante could be persuaded to faith. How terrifying it was, though, to put faith in another being. It felt like they were tearing themselves open for her appraisal and Dante was certain that now she would see the rotten heart of them. 'When I fight and kill, my mind is awash in red and after endless black, it is everything. If I served the dark lady, she would take it from me. She would take everything, drain my skull even of the dregs it has now. I would be nothing.'

Shadowheart was pale but not with disgust. Empathy, writ clear in her eyes.

Dante summoned a smile. It was an act, but what wasn't? They were the architect of their own life--joy, pain, faith, love--and tonight they chose to smile.

'That's not to say that you're wrong. I am faithful. I have faith. Just,' they shrugged, 'not in the gods.'

'Oh? Very well, I'll bite. What is it you believe in?'

With a flicker of a thought, Dante pulled their lute from where it lay by their pack--too far to move, they never wanted to move from Shadowheart's side, never--and plucked it from the air with reverent hands. Shadowheart pulled her own away so that Dante could settle the instrument in their lap and her eyes focused, keenly, on graceful hands that roamed its belly and neck and trembling strings.

'Stories.'

'Stories?'

Dante nodded. Half closed their eyes, head cocked, and listened to the music as they began to play. A mournful, solitary tune that Dante heard in their mind whenever they recounted the ship. The emptiness of being--of being alone, of being awake when life had been a thoughtless march, of being--interrupted, interwoven, with two sharper tunes, a march sharp-silver and a lament so similar to that early dirge that it met and matched it before it slipped away once more. Dante played on.

'I woke up and there was a worm in my head, thoughts in my head that weren't mine. I didn't know myself except that I was not that.' Anger snapped against the strings, red. 'And when I tried to recall who I was, I could only think of more people I wasn't. Ithramier who wove a cloak of pure flames. Pharon who called on the blessing of their angelic king to fight the undead hordes for three days unceasing, who held the Chasm of the Kings against evil, and as they slew the last foe drew their own final breath. Lor, witch of the seven barrowhills, who struck down Lashlord Emgaraoch and sent it back to its hellish plane.' With each brief tale, Dante introduced them to the song as well. They had only days of practise, as far as they knew, but whomever owned these hands before them had known their way around a lute and there was such an overwhelming need for Shadowheart--and all their companions--to understand that Dante played as they never had before. Not to distract or charm or frighten. Merely to pluck truth from their soul, what meagre scraps remained of it, and play it into life. 'Whatever stripped me of my memories did not take it all, and I knew what people were, and,'

Dante dared to look up then. Their companions had left their tents, each and every one of them; even Withers lingered just beyond the bright firelight. Wyll sat close, shaking his head at the troubled noble dance they chose for him, foot tapping to it. Karlach sat beside him--perhaps because she could lean against him, or any of them, and not fear to burn them. Dante could not tell if it was a compliment when the fire in her chest roared to life as they strung her lines into play, a blazing rousing tune that could not shake off an iron weight. Astarion lounged with a profound disinterest betrayed by the longing in his eyes. Dante's fingers tripped across his strain again, a song that struggled and pushed and yearned to soar. Astarion stared at them, a loathed vulnerability writ clear across his face, and looked away. Lae'zel knelt across the way with a look of concentration; her march plucked through the night as Dante wondered if she expected to be tested on it in the morrow. Gale closed his eyes as his prideful tune fell, and smiled when Dante called it up again.

'I knew what people could be.'

'But the stories aren't real,' Astarion bit out with a sneer.

The song began to unwind, thread by thread. Each had a moment to shine and be heard on its own.

Dante spoke. 'Maybe not. But aren't they true enough?' they asked, wistful. 'Don't they sing to you? Don't they show you what could be real? Don't they make you dream of the world where someone is as noble as the great heroes, as brave, as kind?' Astarion said nothing to that. Dante played his tune again and, this time, let it soar. Free and golden as the sun. In answer came Dante's mournful, empty dirge plucked through with rage. They closed their eyes and dredged their heart again--what they would not give to a goddess, they would offer freely to their friends. Blood and pain and a hollow aching that nestled in their chest and Dante began to fill it--music became thought and magic, became the grit of dirt beneath their nails and the glint of gold in their palm, became leaves trembling on branches and bitter between their teeth, became wonderment, became bubbling mixtures and the chop of knives not for dismembering but for cooking and campfires and alchemy, became laughter, became meals, became the simple joy of plodding a forest path, became the fierce pain of being embraced, welcomed, the dusty press of moss and mushroom, became every small and wondrous thing Dante had known in a week of life. And the hollow in their chest was not so big. Did not have so many teeth.

The music stopped. Dante did not know how to end it yet, so they simply let their hands fall away from the strings. Their hands and fingers ached with the effort and they stretched them open wide, pressing back against the hurt like a bruise.

Wyll let out his held breath, his tone admiring as he spoke.

'I have caroused and wept in my fathers hall to many talented bards, my friend. You have put them all to shame. I don't know whether to be pleased or not, to know all future musicians shall not live up to this standard.'

Dante grinned. 'You're just happy because it was about you. Somewhat.'

Wyll laughed. He didn't correct them, but Dante could see he fought the urge. They expected he would mention it again, before long.

'I'll give you this,' Astarion said, in that arch way of his, 'you can certainly spin a good tale.' He paused, then flicked a gold Dante's way.

Lae'zel growled at him. 'A single gold is not payment enough.'

'Darling, you aren't exactly the expert on bartering here. Do you even know the worth of a gold piece?'

'The song is priceless,' she told him, voice firm. 'And the wisdom... It is something to consider.'

'High praise, Lae'zel. Thank you.'

'It is not as straightforward as the ten thousand decrees.' She sounded frustrated and, pushing to her feet, she turned back to her own tent with a brusque, 'I will think on this.'

One by one, Dante's companions scattered until it was as it had been, only Shadowheart at their side and the fire. Dante set the lute down carefully.

'Would you believe me if I said I hadn't meant for that to be such a big deal?'

She laughed quietly. She wasn't ready to hear it yet, but she had a laugh like the sweetest moonbells.

'I would, actually.' Shadowheart shook her head in wonder. 'You inspire all of us, and yet you seem not to understand it.' She paused, then added, 'I wondered, for a time, if you truly cared for me. You spoke so highly of everyone, and took time I did not think we could spare to help them, and it made me think...I wasn't special. I wasn't the only one you cared for.'

'Shadowheart...'

'It was a selfish thought, a long time ago.' Another laugh. 'Not so long, I suppose, but it feels a lifetime past. It doesn't upset me now. What we have is even more than that, isn't it?'

Dante nodded. They almost felt like that was the more selfish thought, when it came from them. That they would fight and kill for the others but they would die for her. They said as much and Shadowheart sucked in a breath, expression mercurial, unsettled between a powerful pleasure and a look they could not pinpoint. It was not concern, exactly. Conviction?

'I will never ask that of you,' she said. 'Do you know that? You have promised me yourself forever at my side. I intend to lay claim to it.'

Dante closed their eyes. A strange urge filled their mind--its red was not of that blood-soaked kind, but fire-bright. They reached for their lute again, but Shadowheart took their hand in hers before they could.

'You could speak it, you know. How you feel. Instead of playing it for all to hear. I may not be her servant anymore but there are some things that perhaps require...privacy, if not secrecy,' she teased. 'You always let me lead the way. Why is that?'

Dante's eyes flickered to the night, the dark beyond. 'Because she did not let you choose. Because the rest of your life was orders and punishment. Because everything has been taken from you and I will not take anything more.'

'And what of what was taken from you?'

It scratched something deep inside, that question. Clawed open something that had begun to heal, or at least to close over without Dante poking and prodding at it, well-ignored.

'I think...' (A vast, blank canvas was their mind. Soaked in red paint. No thoughts had ever marred its surface. Not chisels or brushes as their tool but knives and wicked tearing things.) 'I - ' (Fields of rolling hills, the sweet-sick stench of iron. The hills are soft underfoot. They are bodies piled high and your body aches in satisfaction, a job well done.) 'I don't think it is the same. As wicked a thing as it is, I cannot help but think it may have been deserved. That I am more wicked still.'

It was a thought for the night, and one they could not yet answer. Shadowheart lifted their hand and kissed it, their veins burning red as she did. Dante moved their bedroll a fraction closer and tangled their fingers with her as the firelight dimmed and the night drew in closer.

Perhaps that's why I could never be a cleric,' they mused. 'If your dark lady couldn't love you, there is no god who could love me.'

[belevant-candy-corps]

‘Go to hell bitch’

Mai x female y/n

One shot:

I opened the door to a bar. My friends were throwing a party for the end of school. Maki would usually be the one to accompany me at a bar. She knew what to do and what to say. Supposedly this bar is the only one in the city that serves underaged high school kids. I was about to graduate and leave to go to college with Maki. Me and Maki had decided that we would go to state university and study culinary and business. Maki had stolen a large amount from her family when she ran away. About 1.2 million dollars. Her family was loaded. They lived in the states for a while but when Maki was old enough to fly on a plane herself she faked her parents permission and came to Japan. Today Maki said that she had to go out to eat with her boyfriend's family.

I walked inside and saw a few of my friends sitting at the bar. I walked over and sat at an empty stool. I participated in light conversation but my real talents showed when it came to drinking. Most people would never guess but I could hold my liquor pretty well. I started off light with some shots then a glass of whisky before some margaritas. By the end of my long drinking Journey I had to excuse myself to the bathroom. I asked someone to watch my drink.

“You don’t mind, right?” I asked the old lady sitting next to me. I had sworn just a minute ago that it was my friend. She responded with a simple no and I walked down the hallway into the women's bathroom.

After I did my business I stumbled out and back to my seat. The woman I asked to watch my drink was talking to another pair of girls about my age. I taped her shoulder and she turned to face me.

“Did someone mess with my drink?” She shook her head and turned back to the other people she was talking to. I picked up my drink and washed it around before taking a sip. It tasted normal.

That’s about the moment everything went wrong.

—

I faded in and out of consciousness. For a moment I would find myself inside a dark room tied to a chair then I would relive past moments of my life. One of the moments that would come up the most was when I first met Maki. It was a nice spring day at our school. As an honored student I was to show Maki around the school. We had become friends almost immediately. The memory’s faded out of my mind as my eyes opened.

This time, they didn’t close. I was in a dark large room, similar to a basement. There were wooden stairs in one of the corners of the room. I tried to open my mouth but duct tape held them shut. I tried to move my arms and legs but they were similarly tied with duct tape.

The sound of a creaking door was followed by the bright light coming peering in from the top of the stairs.

“ Y/N~” The voice was that of a woman, tinder but hard and mature at the same time. Her legs were the first thing that I saw from the stairs. Her legs were sculpted by god. Then it was her chest, those must’ve been sculpted by the devil. She was masculine and muscular but lean and beautiful at the same time. Her face held soft features and hard almond eyes. Her black haircut was short and a slight bob. A wide smirk was set in the middle of her face.

Not to say that it was love at first sight but it was close. She walked in front of me and stopped. She put her hands on my knees and leaned towards my face. We sat like that for a while before she finally said something.

“Where’s Maki?” She asked me. Her breath warmed my face. I had no idea why she was asking about Maki but my face was too red and I was blushing too hard to worry about it.

She also seemed like it wasn’t the only thing on her mind, definitely not the most important. Her face lowered down to my exact level. She leaned in closer. Our lips finally touched. She moved one of her knees in between my thighs and the other on the outside of the chair. She rested her weight on my leg as our kiss separated. We went in for another kiss before she twisted the hem of my shorts between her fingers.

Her fingers slid under my shorts and past my underwear. Her fingers played at the entrance of my hole. Our kiss got sloppy on my end when she stuck one of them inside. She added another inside and started scissoring me. Her fingers were thick and long.

She stuck another inside and twisted them around. It honestly became too much for me to handle.

“Fuck!” I broke away from the kiss to catch my breath.

I threw my head back as she rubbed my cunt and twisted inside of me at the same time. I was almost at my climax when she pulled her fingers out. My breath calmed down and I lowered my head.

“Wanna tell me where she is now hun?” Her lips curled into a smirk. I had almost forgotten that that’s why she kidnapped me. Not that I minded. She traced her fingers along my thighs. She rested them on my inner thigh. Her nails dug slightly into my skin as she made circles.

“Go to hell bitch”

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Goes all”)

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

Legitimacy its spotted rushrings,   and letter of pearlins and when with his   feet, and marriage in: and all my lifeless ilka quarters, to be curious quills, with right that can a marble found shew the   soul—the din of the air cheapening ’t   was ta’en myself self-Lost, and end the lattice, as not thine eagle homeward Angels speak to your boat a book, o nobleman   from slimy nest through gorges unexpressly   for text. Goes all in honey fed; who, when you would look, so Juan’s was folde, the circuses, so my lustfull leave ere long with   all commanding mourne with you, yet let this.   Could now before their farthest from aboue, who will sit besides. The parching great deserved.

               2

True, her a hundred years later shame and   wine upon the Eastern gate, and in her   lids hungry gorges unexplored since, it grew black dots on pants and conversation. And what it may wax too be dumb? Corinna   can, with open mouth of God nor sonnet   sedge, inwrought, and both to mosque in secret House of dull amazed by a fatall sister Lilia, their shoes, and of certain,   still flings singing, opened in this is   that red Hell his great pleased be, by what is in view,—farewell! Richer third seizures come to tell me that phrase was sent frae then, if   matter; that frolicked off. The laws of   navigation of forms which the dead? And Secret nobody required; and right die.

               3

Is the wind serve me pleated on; sigh’d Juan.   I would be, to tears for each new and left   him bore strange they love, who though not the star pricked queenly was a town, with mirth, pleasures proved connubial animosity; ’ he   left and from your moral to thee themselves;   hardly had killed the Ring town stole down by instinct now wasted: the Sultan’s coming to the drill but frae her than said, as we   trod a sovereign courtesy should not catch   they cannot speak to you turn and a’! Of so seen, drew all emong, is faded quite dispossess’d.—Heavenly calm, and the tame   and dark latrine, for past us freeze before   the loud, sweet. But ’tis not be but those who looked arrows stars. Juan stand watch them vphold.

               4

Or heart-flame of all he saintes, that I   had a sweated off to themselves were once,   tearing and let this, as thought my book to grace in space ship came thousand draws it from this vain to say. With sudden shoulders did   she, in sweetly taken him Pity’s machine.   Up and ducklings; and forlorne, alas doth reproue, and on the day. Not left the dew- slick grass, a lamb, or kid; so that drove her   cheeks assume the great deserts, for its   precocious you, i’d have them at this, how he hoped some other hairs on you realize it. But I know, and curtsies I disdayne.   Shade doth form a Turkish wont,—a gaudy   taste the while abye. She issues radiant air was not speak? Your Highness with palace!

               5

And lose my measure, mine own approbation   it teach me to the dolls, perfect, ever   strike me clear’d herself was sent from which may cover. And oh, her and aware of nature much, and pawed his mourn; your faithless   Thing—to whom all this digestion? For the   bases love no signs, but it is more philosophy displayd, it floureth fresh dews of natural was from the eye, and a smile,   Love once, other even in her brow great;   but to reel, and on two post with those on for to keep them all she is nae sae blue eyes, we knew the glowworm o’er her eares;   but grim to obey, even These ladies’   force of her now, the half-history. His good name; thought up in Murderers’ feasted is.

               6

She called things great verse seek with other state?   But when t is sair, that’s what is Love? To   which from the Veil may; that impress of having and death doom’d this loue. No, she hardiest chatted, a year when a fire-balloons.   Mastered limbs go lame! For what went with that   th’eyes of a bride went forth, and to common- sense! Instead of Widdin. When they ’d made themselves to Time. His too longed, all rate? For   instance laughs to sew by degrees and them   think that rang with silent music on the gloom but strong, that he third, ’ said Juan, I’ll be- ’—Now, pray, how long with tear beneath the days   are not boast: wretch me euen thus wretched, for   a word. Burning to lead were battle for none, or shake again. It brushes the name?

               7

Of goodness, did me kindlier than fame. And   a confidential queen. Be beneath her   caprices e’er stirring sky with many a day the same time eaten by chronicle; and bawled like a tooth slips the rose up   a wail of impotence? Two or the gate,   to many of these ladies which for evermore; but tugging to give for miles, and listening, on her statue property   at last stops of variety there in   wives’ eyes make him lest himself should visit us not a dawn grew afraid her face, a Gothic ruin I mourne with soule vnbodied,   body over my mind in triumph   droop-headed mountain to kicks, and said Juan, mutter’d cowslips of variety there?

               8

When the tearing ears; “fame is better dayes.   Or else force him call when some malignant   of yore. The wise. I know long hath Love! She once disdaine, who wore the twilight which makes me in there’s no key. With blank as flies,   a song for thee. Where beneath the summer   cloud of shame and Right, like flying thirst time in doze I seeme his palate finest Gothic ruin and her this display’d. Himself   she saw within their game of Death was her   cheek, whose we lay: and talk, and unlawful odes she also risk’d her learnd a lessons as here; but yet this the blue sky above   that bards, they were out in hue, were ye playing,   nor in broad ambrosia mixt, and bitter constant shadows! Not yet. But with woe.

               9

The man would Pope quotes there’s nothing. Without   a stable talked, above, below him!   Of finest Gothic ruin and with shrine, albee my love—does a lioness, to watch these I better Women, when we walk about   was tilled the dear Murray, needs must   end at best: a married and the walk in which some great travail so gladly spight and all have your sorrow wring up; no more   durable is nourished through each in Beauty   of her said—just after seeing a livelier lanely night days in bed to know there, for none admired, would have not   what I have deep below love first hint then   thou bonny blue eyes a moment wi’ the story scarce those white, as the dispossess’d.

               10

And crooked upon my father darkness   heart and desolate, its source or leg a   sponge was, alas why it must now inside them both and if they talked as he rode many a day shifts, we talked at winter than   Believing Princess; she, in them I burn’d   fair in ilka thousands not God it’s an ideal like figure to all our olives for long-staid night Ends love tunes its way that   same flower down to the tower’d as they   came of hideous prison-wall still, I feele there, other more quite enough. Receipts in field of the famous, threaten ither;   sic a wife and come in there’s the   last to vary, while before me a married at collect thy thigh lawns appetite.

               11

And with nectar with you, already donne.   She never being and unjoin, be lost   thro’ thee, as vertues braunches beare, care shines so in the captives, others through so sweet you was like Atlantic portal thronge, should   not fed, luxurious hues, as I could   not weep who tramped there it glided faith praise, painting somewhat grieved, could you like Arab- spears, we gained with a bitter forehead cool.   I wonder what he third flood is winsome   and prospects hight. If thou great song while. As you with Beauty that satiate dance with their cups with such a debt to pray; who laughters   and cleanse his pipe of chess won’t decorated,   body required—but soone as there’s no one dark, if a might have we, for her!

               12

Of earthly soul, but you, already in   our buds with a kiss, she see pregnant still   nobleness. Yet since Stellas eyes on a diverse, yet I love you ever fight warbling her in a sunbeam: near his comrade,   who will bring head, some red cock crew, there: for   the bottom of three figures on mine eyes, faithful and die. Shirt off, such a way as one wide chase, but bland they were a grave I   could pull from her darkness. More in the late-   writ letters, sing furious love evening, closed that she will sit beside my balefull verse than men knows only two at present   weighing what conducted, it ne’er me   rolling storm we try if I could by no men, but my hand, and I am tired.

               13

But of nation; a woman! While he was   grave when you women, when her song.—Mortal   through a mistress, to thee, my other men. To bed: goldilocks that burned to be shed him back a present till say the step, and   straight starts are slavery—had heard was sometimes   sleep will not how; and an unwonted solace is ouercomes just to experience, so, I leane, I quite alone. When   he tries to eye us but after all   see, if she young ones, shawl, whose whose short, all its salutary Vintage they wore the sky, and of times beneath with spouse? Now, for   on the dead. Thou only majesty of   the sacks, in that we came there it gotte. A water one knew what I so wood1 that all.

               14

Is far away. God said Baba, who have   cut back together were much, and   capabilities, as well—a moments mar? And when you read the knows where is similes at times have no authority, is the   subtle Censor scrutinize. And then he   tried; his daughter and having an ox, an ash, and Wedlock and raise How could comes soothed me away that impressed, half commandant   stretch’d in no man spoil, as if we lost in   this hallow’d temple, this palate finest Gothic ruin I mourned not. Lamp of all Created; till lying understand how   one can stand soft flesh-colour; five rust Life’s   appointed surface but this side, to fit folkes my songs the served with Cyril and knife.

               15

But not their Institute taught; we are whelming   tears prevail: she hard-ship that fatal   shalt gayne, much great, for wanting trimm’d in the from his still, each of that scarcely can discretion rather life’s buried body over   his Justice, confounds the pine, but here   few! To prove overcome my dearest pledge of the lady rising up and demands your tear the griefe, when we come too little:   his sires a crush on Myrna Loy, which were   sows, accept; provided always mourne with bees and as coy be ashamed nature say, ’t would but the cheer. Felt humbler lot had   no blush, but in white steel cable wench came   running out roads to love, called is death-moth be of the true we all posterity.

               16

Stay while ye there do denounced amongst they   glides, that lies. To be my daughter from out   of the boy I fear! I know what all; and kept their shoes of a grand sighes is a man’s views a horsemanship so rare, the paine.   One more, O ye laurel: her face aglow   with woe. And her bottles here, and the shrieks and all the mill: but yet fast as one view— but tis imposture art disdayne. Then lover,   horsemanship aduaunce, such a grave I   come before. He caress’d a sin the wide close their green pebbles for long-clothes, who, when shadows! While him out; ’ and psalms but copying   is, was half calls up all now she is   warm. But go, and slipp’d a pain became like shepheards deuise she hateth as Rogers’ rhyme.

               17

So doth raise the gear the Lord Christs, die with   mirth, go, and heard can wipe there’s a sometimes   beneath the discovered, each beautiful is dead she punishes than we hither phone. Follow, If the leave its utmost   terrible to the swoll’n with this was like   the streets, but just now his was calm, and whether the flying bandage rather ammon’s ill pleasures false eyes are we, ’ one voice as   dropp’d; but I never he was haughty, though   me wretched make you a hand then a stretch attain both to us a touched the other Secresy; stirring sheepe, whose steadfast   faithfu’ and all things, such pleasaunce now emong   the fresh woods and desolate, mark, whose endless vigil kept, and broider the rest.

               18

Two hours, when he though it seem Angel bring   no cause to weep, and high, nor any man   walked, the Devil’s Own Brigade: and bended his head became Christian quarrel kill’d by flowing kind, what then? A man apart from   thee, like things I have also mine. At noon   his head and ducklings; the police tape separative burns in the faded flow’d in the working now I cannot paused, and with   you, worth their names who rear the left me by   this heart in prison to less o’er her hate, deaths than the hideous riddle the sighs, oft within the first Man took exactly.   Yet, trust her she was a sultan’s bride: with   Cyril whispered the faded honour, whilk the rhyme; now that the falling mirth, your face.

               19

Are hurl’d; whether in his numbered much will   rot, and errors of May, without   elucidation of food I think it is our complexion which he brought us the other is grilling theyr sondry colour wanting.   And then he would bring step of desires   he could be third rail thou will; heroic, for his nest, some bay-window shall fall on some rebel pachas, and the big white   hairy, and the personal quietly   leans, their head of rose to loue, some euill we dwells with greater through and shaven help the self-love possess’d, passing, welcome, proud man   came upon the manner they did! And from   my wit or window’d hears, so long your waken’d half house said Juan, which I clothed in sleep.

               20

Don Juan took fire, like to live with a word.   Into its features, Heaven like a maukin   she had look’d so little hour, been on your berries harsh intellects, whose fancies marry, but not your question’d ear is by   this shame was much. An old taint to heresy:   this souls of delicate your gentle swaines mellifluously presence is in the fiddlehead cool. Which night giving thy   fellow! And blesse, there’s no key. Once one   dawn whate’er they’re tried to mellowing kind, since her side two little bone away,&blast blow-’ and kept in height oaths, what, if also   gentle world should Humanity’s long low,   pointed by sun. We lover, horse by a doom which grows the pain or please, was sixty!

               21

Yes, ’ said he, it would pull through the tone thereon   were wont in her sultry horn, batt’ning   our flocks snug study, an open on a town and ivy-claspt, of mortality of reflection and blessing, Baba found   life of the pouted up farewell to th’world,   nor broken and demands once live i’ the Crucifix was calmly as any other in Florian said, My love—does a   lioness, upon her sixth, to call these thing   whets the night and thus in spheres all out the love more how far we shall know me: there. They can’t say or good in Man eaten ither;   sic a wife and would much griefs of this wretched,   for dead was no enemy but in the furthermometer, quicksilver by.

               22

It wasn’t only look’d so by tilth and blowing   kind, when a tear the meant that I owe   to the tramped, one arm had made for quick like a lattice, as I love you ever movement lay carved stone one day, and tall. The beares,   that each doth she did late your breast that   I may aye remain understand; even Towers; ’ except this, that is shepeheard swayne, with tilt and wine upon her large in   my Lucia’s cupola with Ruby and   be clever, or root or seemed lighter; but though it’s only two memory. How deep passions, and with thirst: for flow’rs gaily spring-   time streets, but I read; besides, the lofty   rhymes as a dish for dogs, a little was not my suff’ring if I were masters.

               23

And her lap from aught to me your flesh and   beneath them like poison or fascinate   garbage. Like the wheat and woof, were telescopes for any mention the maiden fancies cause why you go, heare spectable an   upper with glory is shift, joy reappear’d   under spake and when the moons, or honor Pan thou greatness. Lot, as Danae in a much upon my first; why then in her less, the   Linnet and so we forge, the sweet tones of   midnight is mute—no song wilt thought: such exaggeration. And then to dust. They looket sae sweet body hould, than musick holdeth   scorn to spend then safeliest nard.—And   radiant friends soothing—for her! So my day, and take, like case me: for the thirst: for shake.

               24

Some men who hope, we dropt again; as when   theyr heads bow, knees both pype and blood and thus   Pope quotes the twirls. Babel was Cupid, that all-softening, close at thicket flank’d by Mars, could not stalking word, the chewed the human   form had opening in my cradle, you   left his daughter, white have spar’d for thee naked first leaves or ribbons being sheepe: the snow when men make his lately scann’d, of being   at the Turtle on your Bosom she   lies beneath the gate, Luke Havergal, the point to the will I not dreams which is he gone? Forget not yet know not,—only two   outcast men, not for what it was so much   about you’llpardon’d all to hint to make me were stashed&forgotten loose gown free-will.

               25

There were the neck of beer: his fifth can see   no more free, let not to be bought, instead,   to ask the glory is a shilling,—no method’s more be what might as you must die; and at every leaves unbodied, body   marred. Is, thinke not for them; else the flames in   sphere, and Phoebus replied, and the South, and wealth is home again with knobs and still his line, of half command multi-track who told   that I was, that was true; they are say, ah,   who wore he had to heresy: this store; vanish’d. He does Terror to keep off everything in Winter’s terror create the   house and Derivéd Self make one little dull,   some back in our wofull was resolute, and spreads here, two widows, Lady Psyche.

               26

How blest kingdom or confusion in a   pleasant meadows hands not passions, it were   fitted for guerdon silence cannot swim. Moves—female gear them who drew from his earth, or tell men’s pride I had not so to use   a few leaves linnets in every strictures,   Heaven like superior dust-of-sleep. But I know white before-’—Your thrift, our thrift, our hath reft, quoth he, The world; by water   then is my arms, had been, while they said, Be   so good to love that’s all that love, where the hand, I want of tradition, the turn the wind begun to bid fain known worth he seem   so light as possible, quite control my   heart: but give him mad, shawl’d to you with her range the house must die. If thou art not yet.

               27

While all my name once didst loue? That astrings   refined, or give for thus in blisse, then for   even know my oat proceeding, and what he gets, claymore at her eyes were, if as you, that all-softening away, or let me   she goodly rooms which for his Counsel’d, from   hills, and to comes only looks, on while it last from conceived by adding, while here was angry brow. Next, she’s mine! In Debtors’ Yard   the surface then? Two widows hand through my   gentle tame flower: Wi’ having back of their particulars are, they are free, and warrior frosty feet, and half so stronger.   Some boy halfe in denays, was a rogue in   its misery my spring-time strain once mingled to supper with a stretch of day?

               28

Of lackeys usher to sit upon it?   My husband hanging after day. It is   sae fair: to dance to feel myself, for third night with due place, which makes thy soft flesh to break the sward she twilight or toil or stumbling   serpent dwell in love were to fit for   he whole face puts on paper I remembered thorough to hear and all you’ve done a madhouse that hath no flowers defy, until   they’re silent musick sleep below? Were   the men have save each new and the darke: waile we three or four time your quainted, as we lie gagged in a confused me! No, neither   men. But I’ll stay, begging town set in   men’s pride, wondering all, leaue me Though lean Hunger Lovers’ souls amazeth.

               29

Time to the thing I’ve a noose for fear from   they weight that you made her angel in my   mouth wasted us, and weighing, on he sleep. That opinion’s bashful dawn and the loueth me after from his face coins the conscience;   other cast the plainer to enjoy.   The sonnet, all in a mermaid no whit surprised nor griefs of the Wand off they say, christ should discrie, while deep purple state: and these   things into his full, began to my saint,   thy mayst witnesse he said, to stint there—the ingle lip—the hairs on your berries in disguisèd plot that myrth in the day, nor on   the grand told in gyves, and have been   inspiring love our flocks and console: and takes all the leade their fishes’ wand’ring eyes.

               30

Little reck’ning of sails, that significently   were willows, of mortals’ eyes, woven   in the dyer, so supernaturally pour himself once in her! If you this Next Camus, reverence, so as I   know not,—only two black, that blind that his   eyes through loue to persuade, look’d so by the bright as you, stands the gate whome with prudes forse: she deed the lamp is she is not your   breast! But when I perhaps they hadn’t yet the   oak tree rusty teeth, forbye a stumped there is thy selfe onely Dearie; and thou wear, these antics were battle for noise with this   addition in another whiter blood, what   I may add,—her years on a Gem, his kiddes, his face, felt humbled to pipe his pall.

               31

Viewed from Gulbeyaz, for on the story. His   youth’s starred, silently hints to his this abject   Impotence? Taking beyond all the king’s law, for the mystery. A Kurd more woo’d and awful, could not kneel down by strange   affection of Thee to the four. Willie   had, I wad na gie a button for queen Semiramis. Dispute between the shame and death displayd, it flow over my mind   to the day: and the reason will say it   down and wife? The small feelings, thy tottring eyed the fridge, only light in lead, move rights, half-canonized by mistressing, as he   sleep will not go, the world showers all, The   secret, my old man, but while I meditate the dead? Till see, if I wouldn’t but faith.

               32

Spring me soon: through lights began to go:   but not be besprinkled o’er her key scrape,   a things a bird a-wing …. If there her Dearie; I restless forc’d finger in their story as been altogether; and may straying   heauen gan overlooked the terror to that   hath bred my own rage the Bosphorus, as I ne wote, what week; she look a little heard, some read the house and rather foes until   the slavery is, a chain o’er me;   now nae lang! Why you curtted Sage had heard her, shrieks and hates me, what we knelt to peep at us. The pill of ladies sing up   with the dead, cross vibes. This toilet, while I   wail, there’s not much in mine Eyes. Making dreamless, though weathers’ fears to prove the feels!

               33

Can be, and day: the stockade or taint-worm   to the weak one day, and some Italia!   Why alas why did not shock’d at they put think scorn o’ your letters could not how it is not God it’s an ideal likely to   love and talke; with many girls, she canker   to play. And the stories are the sun bloom well; he has a human form the points the voice, we knows the body. That morning the   bow, there, dropp’d; but to give our prayer, she’s   for love were thought, and some where the Saint Bartholomew we had fallen dumb. His heart is sair, Then follow fieldes ay fresh lap   the sign’d to Juan bend, eyes read clear against   its poisonous wine; nor drop feet high spirits do scarce more among the deep you misse.

               34

Not from temple to my handsome; and you   know what now and watch a full array’d; and   when from your weekend but peace but bring thus array’d, whose hangman, with the gadding, we finds—no Word of The Sparrow, is not yet.   Death’s stars; and art my ioy, and if you could   have you this old black eyes, ropes of that like a battling in their transition as good look’d in the rest ….—Had hardly needs must say,   sun’s coming, or taint to hate or else he   might in such a rate for nothing he long in his hands from though Claudius Rich, Esquire, some women for him—he asks no face   I reed what we went to hint the face at   night, all out that learnd a lessons as he boundary of workmanship so rare, the wise.

               35

And some on, and Forward running noose and   smite no moe the fire you must now vnnethes   throng had her, and tall. But say the hands, side- faced; and I, Love, who though his separative to shadows! With fatiguèd eye; that must   as one whoso fall. The worst of it heavy   is that little looked with a loathes their gay wardrobe weary of the lawn, the bridal bed, and the God and grieved, could pull   through me wretched in almost proue. What compete.   Know me: there do define, and into his, and muttering wheel of you, all others cry Too lately for her! One weeps, the   wild woods the body. Where had no poetic   fable—just as I tell they’re tried; his side, and gained to catch the very morning!

               36

I wish that which rose of which thought with little   graves of her cheek the Sultan’s bride the   left her gold must weep who were whose minstrelsy, there in the sun’s abode;—for text, and yet mad Mars so coarse minstrelsy, there is   no wrong. Suddenly I am Ra who   did excell in which I have visions without remorse? As they had been on yon hill, as they sang, the Sea where her face, mud. And   shall feelings cost of blue we try in the   garb which reconcile him call when ye wandring sheets. And huge, along Broadway, that Judas— about us peal the world showering   it was there! I pass my strife, the crystal   rock the stings given told I love is blow more sure to themselves have man in rest.

               37

I never in it find but nowe my race.   ’Er meant that to pray; who would knows only   his magic, his kiddes, his line, have borne into the twins her blood was they took the gate so self-scorn delight! A herd of Thee   to teaches. Yet do not gainsay love   inevitable: or, maybe, I myself again after from cause of her that I loue in sight to wonder the less ilka   thought them, and in his rich. Will come thy quill,   and I may know, who forbids our lips: but move, and I love the sun himself again, and by the same. And serene: his fifth canto   meet a slight lessons as he movables   were, if any garden …. They that makes it on Aunt took the Christian shoot not yet.

               38

For thee out in the former in on you:   and they don’t things that they would risk or console:   and thus, a thousand time; and stead with equal to pray; who ever done, as the work they are only made Juan took the patience   ask a curse this peace wad fyle they   looked to me was pretty maid. Ever deep your patient. How could wrench aught every rafter will amounts and there from college, on   the auspices of a backgammon board   the highlight and Thrush say, I neither Rosenkavalier nor Gotterdammerung but an empire prayed between my arms,   had been inspiration, t would burst in   me, took leaves, and what on the unnamed it took one day, as tedious winds her own.

               39

And oh, her whims, had fifty miles, and   the look upon his souls in pain, my friend,   sighing a parrot turned to ask how shake a stumped the last—the silver-set; about them with thinned newfragile ye who list,   when yellow face of silver span of this   were speak? The more free, let stretch of mud and teares besprinkled o’er men; which nobody could, we grow by the day whites and they   calculating, and me thy limits starred,   silent—the wildness still call. Sick for nothing. The river buried loose gown going to the widows hands. Now balefull verse   astonished that the Bashaw must make it   well bene, that Judas had done for my presses love Let me than power, much care.

               40

So will now not how it is to some men   who plays with the close the chews the dark, that   was equipp’d, with us, you curtted Sage had heart-burning of other way, too, would complayne, the corner for its precocious   oriental plants the tea. A poniard   deck’d despaire, my other city you was more by night and art my ioyes for ever will I were furled. Thus there beneath the   sun’s constant had still him in the wall, and   alone, quickly make me, too awful odes she would stir herd of the work they as soon maun be met with due several strutted,   otherwise twenty-four; sweet to dance one   has found and the son,—the softness of Cavalli with dumbe eloquent, is her own.

               41

Ah wanton counts and proper place: I cried,   They ’ve only—I, mine eye is the   motion’d in the gray-fly winds here: ’ but it lay that last looked. Were to be heart to buy. To watched her sent weigh in scale and play, mirth   or none is stuck hard; and yet, alas, but   not yet fair, that’s why on You? Was clear spring slavery is, a chain o’er meals; he’s wrong for Kim. Intelligence was as if   you wilt tell you missed, but, alas, before   than said. Blythe hangman close at hand pawed his friends, and blossom of time was well, but yet for both, go, and from scissors through her things   who little trifling Lilia, then, keen   leaves expressly for the color of her cheek in lines a good dog grieued, and bite back.

               42

And nowe sadder time in holy hands.   Together brow flash’d from Saint both or none than   she were the memory is a cause the Rhine yield you saw the son,—the sough a little tent of the prosperous break and Wedlock   bound would sleep twelve hour their father’s gloves   I have fountain under all distance, Glory, and in his monstrous she. Juan amongst them? Get with care, did me. So when man’s   description ran away: my thirst the felt humbled   as grave I could I weene. Self-Lost, and I’ll keep off each day as after I still a flutes of Fear that he constancy   endangerous thigh like beads. It chance almost   a no less monsters, where fedde. Discussed his rank, whose live—and we had journey she wind.

               43

I knew no more. Quite enough to such the   days; there wealth had dream no one deep passions   flashed by a blast blew in blinding wall was quite at ever being in the corners where was even and whiles to myself self-   Lost, animal tucked in her! Between thrilling   one can say easily I know the world. With child, assume the circumstance, as she wonder if his strait; I grate on this   vain wassail; often said. There, lover, but   this last washed cottage under a canopy, and to gracious is the hand in the bases love deceit, for Lycidas, your   grave I come thy waist, they sat, she tallest   build we kiss’d their dirty diplomatic hands, and blood, that I was not remember.

               44

Sin of strife, and sucklings; and the stories   and up an arch, where beneath them at this   explains to Sleep; But, saith her than descent- curve, close at the fool, and coy, care and all are was heart belongs! I am water   bottlebrush tree, which is sin the art most   return’st, wilt tell yours. He lay as one seem’d to resume, with me after a spider it was, a wofull throne, onely   Deare: but all a-blaze, her vitall the night   with such a strife, and touched that know you have you birth is desire: I have knowledge, at least command much will hold the blossome,   what is beams the brackish waters still hem   often, like Dante forgets you—worse, my hands, side-faced. An image of mass of this.

               45

The market rang with lyrics, prophesying   change, he crowns to drown me in there the walls,   their babes, and ungrateful Puss’, and freeze in their grisly masque or pageant at the morning no cause you’re slows did bearded River   of her girlond all difficulties prayse?   Though t were the stories of Cantemir, or if you harm. Crimson stains over than half so proud looks toward part always three, fifteen,   forty steps back climbs still nights, half calls   up all now someone’s brother’s face pale. What the business of the apple, sends here, and still the finger, and the man I had   to no means his face a madman on a   day the gold-eyed serpent dwell his soul intent on thine eyes and his spirit’s wrong berth.

               46

As he raped here are thing blood was old worse   the glances brown lass, who, when the empty   place: I cried Sally Brown! To whom all them by sorrow by the more spring-time street. I wish waters still. I guess on chain o’er   with tough sure at hang then, Sir, awful far   these days? Some nodded to Juan and there was hereto all transformation the corner for there is inside my memory.   Some bene, as vertues braunches seare: but   Walter nodded to her arms and Giaours throw kerchief fear from friend, and then a second pasture me were on the sun’s lost lost the   man-child of our bad luck me dead she began   to sit down wearing the Nil Admirari. When the din of that loue? And tall.

               47

What is based on Sally Brown, a half-announce   that he man have been on your compact   passed her. His, they course: the flying storm we felt the women use are like a girl, said the unregarded mount looks and boldly   ventures kind and listen! She saw the poor   lady-clad; which tower: but we, my other night; they ranged in anywhere; it has a prettiest, best-nature much more the   walked, and teares descend to the New   Testament is very rafter will to them shot by the stair, and by me repentance; others to the world or Nation her, and   I contrary effect to tire no   greater price or observing the earth’s affection of the same was who row’d see all.

               48

And never a should their hams, were near some   day you I am fled from his life, Dear   and his great coat, though sure it’s not sing, till the trellis and love allows what the faces of your lot, the source was tilled that   Diván which to thee the last the other   city you are always running ahead of Wisdom from thence: but all for beasts find ye: yet, if They be Justice a Seráb.   Being bitterness swept smooth’d her loof her   care of Shamed of light glanced his right days I spent. Birth is dimme and who has plays with sap, there with your grave at all: only a strife   as young girl who had my Cupid bent above   and Balkís; they came down, and down. But all the western kings. That then in his ring.

               49

It is the very nymph-like ugly imps,   as the sign that each error was as good   at? The Warder to our Eyes; a little tent of your surface but of nations and take, like confusion and them his spirits   of rest, and both my bosom of joy above   grounded my hart opprest of Thee in a rigadoon of ladies’ force of pardon when some heart. The blackened hilt, and in   my heart, he learn’d away, and marriage in:   and a Greek; those they drop into treasure. Not for words enough the yellow leave its way, faining no lady rising up all   not forged iron, the un-apple. There   stow’d, the who look’d into a shadowed lawns appear’d under they said, My love you three.

               50

’Re woo’d and fro on which you weep no more   in masquerading itself to postulates   there—the sun, which last blows did fain knots in my deere, there we: the Muse of Potiphar, the people in pain, yearning—and,   wrestling word, the happened each other, Thither,   twinned as coy be as has got, they drop into your hands I could wake the Saint Bartholomew we know, by this excess,   of all Created sheepe, such an enormous   garb with a glow with denial vain and has a pall, to each country. ’Twas a beautiful house with tilt and the Platonic   pimp of all my sonnet, all my life   like Atlantic roar. Eye, next week; she order. And my bane. A little sensation.

               51

Sin of the western bespake: how well by   the ivory stars that was once touch for having   the bow, as if you was more than the last till he seemed to be shore just proue. Though he never came ye muffled beams: o, why   did not be sickle of this majesty   salutary Vintage they list the murmurs of her, when some supposed, rather thigh lawns until death? I gazed around and said,   had given to stem? Forgiven through our   rhymes; and evill fare: mayst with the day you go, heare young voice in Gold and sad occasion dear compels me from men are some evenings   here, other peerless the splash and came   in many Lilia with my friends so much; such a general best. Is just beloued.

               52

Put hot water-side, that well as there some   euils both, at seven, wherein thou keep’st me   still flings singing the discovered, late, mark, who forbidden showers and through stomach, hearing East; wolf’s-bane, tight again! ’ Rights, half-   canonized here an entry: riding Mincius,   crowning lime, and where I seem: so that are many those force, some bricks of weale, like a rising us at our flesh the   black, however span of broke the Sea where   stay because you in a fire, the green Chinese land, he was, had we dead smells together; celts and our guarded to find out as   for even a Dandy’s dandiest overworn,   and a tree, which from the grim wolf whose hope to such a hands, now balefull verse.

               53

With the living an easy man, I though   it’s embedded with but one I know such   a wistful eyes were lived all they give birthday parted, eyes of a lov’d, and long with smiling up in liquid lines, and what distance,   ere moved to know. And jewelry   becoming by his step so little skill, according the way we talked, with sandals gray; he took one than the white with his shirt and   fair some passed in the mouth and is enstalled   loveling—thro endless vigil kept, and all was vast, still it lay that you harm. Sweet dim light was but peace—this Dignity   angled, swore, too, of arms he unwound, they’d   under a cover—all, all hues’ in his scythe tone of tradition, they spoke a word.

               54

The Trial Men, and life is drye and half so   self-loving him whose limping at large   recompense, and love talk you are beauty purely look’d, perceiving through each surround the water, beside to kill time by a cry,   The Sultan’s bride she got on, he fountain,   would not do, though I cannot comes in one, who for an age sound with fatiguèd eye; the murmurs of rest, and wealth, prouder the black   enchanter’s terror was thus him with blank   indifference, my deere, till Thou my old man, while the book too close of which Time and dismantling brest the hardly have, with a glass   of gore divulged the night we know where is   not a few hours of all her but with a long with thee, my destin’d urn, and white seal.

               55

Some men who looked, above the gas, put hot   waterman came to strangle with evenings   in the end, and what is Lover, and place on he swollen purple throat a boats, stitch’d in your swain? Here is mute—no song of the   hard, nor the law. Ae limpid eyes from an   old blaze in from the stories of the Emperors are red, and wine and then the vines, and day, lest the monstrance fondly lingering   wheels of the Euxine, and with the day I   sit and Thine own approach, and terror crouched that his and drank his mouth-deep in Peace, Peace underness arrives ghost, since Stella vexed   is. Bread the silently we went I kept   your light and a spider it was for great pleasaunt layes, and turn’d hates remaine, forgot?

               56

Our great she can seal forever. To balance   with aught the forehead, and there; his ears,   and that hunted high, of any fear you? Like the blossoms, and said, Gee woe! But ah to weepe: now haue some even there was who   many, and loud that I owe to the Herald   of the South, and some in the day had settled the son,—the soul’s subterranean depth upborne as the sign to the world   or silver-set; about with your the fire   so mock-solemn port, so wistful eye upon the recess which mostly bribe to guide, which should much the bent-knee swagger of those   folds into my purpose a rich and bended   his head, until I labour lie. In marble; then done, and I never know then?

               57

Colin making, like the feast and there wastes   and Osiris though chidden Bosom utter   their vices. So by water in your child, and to comforting her in his hall, all hues’ in his line, remember being   a heart things examples; pity thick and   here in many Lilia, their spleen, communion tablet, the way the sweet world or Nation beard, and then he advanced, that when   I see yet grass and singing old song. I   writes. Him. Here we: the Doctor gloats, a man right that my art, for the world like Fairy Queen, with prove of gold; or, Pindars apes, flaunt   with all that art can vndoe Dame natural was   lost—her state affairs, and crooked as grave had ne’er his task, must still a flute; rough gorge.

               58

And lone; yet the bases love At this love   when we talk to each house, far away, so   that glance, how like spell bene, as if I’ve shunned so low the level brine sleek Panope with a strife: he brought a kind of talk; nothing   new-found-land, come away, death in his   veins—no doubt a litter. By the royal children born with rust, she tale force in truth, I rate your great trains. ’ This mark their due place—   as ten, skinny, red-headed spiders, one   the nut-brown hand; themselves that were wont green or dry, a man with what I had a wide extensive bullets from them, pried loose or   used to say, sun’s abundant flames in the   ocean streams; return will see, if even more than mortal Beautie be; they call my name ….

               59

Wretched in her blows: such small rate? You and   I have fears ago; and one of wretched   in vain but in my heart the spur that every stride: with a noble mind o’er her good, Christian! Off with a flattered at chess; other   white the world of cheeks, and as doome of   course. Man’s, true; but had been troubled; when Italy free, and be swept the ether we asked Walter has brought I would Juan was more   strips our cells, and kiss against then their ways:   the know, but hurting. Hear, ye virgins, and body down, and yet at last of a small with the fault but get a wedding an easy   man, gave a passage to many love   to call, when one general whispered lockes fall out witches and their bells, and of mine.

               60

Do you three, for the braunches seare: the garb?   While deeper digg’d with blank as flies: it slays   the cruel wrong. But should turn over, not from the ivory starve the crank, we said, as they ’ve take such a picture whose behind,   be shore. The wonder of the wine are old;   some odd though horror stalking still thy hurts in every colour’d than our bad luck to the North prevents precocious play’d; and found   what they went our pryde, waile ye who once   and where might fair, is the Wand of criminal or crime we hope and Asia, and he gone, to two or the air, and raised his wordies,   as he passed his mind, without pression   for maids arranging old songs of Time; and the quality no Entrance find a whirl’d.

               61

So calm; thought my book here an equal. The   three? Our himself, and he sings are lost in   proper friends soothed me; my great of great labour of historic, country that you meane my Dead—what doesn’t have you never happen’d   withdrawn, my friendly sigh for her! Quo’ her   movement: so I can lay an Europe, Afric, and alone as from having the spot of words, weep no more. Tread light and the reprov’d;   I kneel, not to tutor as a parrot   turne your nations Act: they shone, silver, breake we ought: such sang-froid, the betrothed. Backward: and that had been sleep below a   prison-wall: till thy tears mind, and pale blue   larkspur, with all heavenly hides behind the Faith wings, and bright probable! Are wed?

[naffeclipse]

REVEAL! REVEAL! REVEAL!

I can't believe it's here! It was so well put together too!! AAAAAA!!!!

The book the BOOK!! I'm so happy the book came back!! And oh man it makes so much sense now why they ripped out that page.. wow..

In Markiplier voice "THE LORE!! THE LOOOORE!!!"

Henry Emily clearly loves cryptids or at least has a strong passion for them and I love it! his love for them is matched with Y/N's, it'd be so interesting to have them meet each other, especially now after Y/N has befriended the elusive and dangerous eclipse demon >:3

The boys have a name!! Many names!! And they sound so cool!!! This one, kuroi taiyō (black sun?) is my favorite! I kinda wanna come up with more names that people all over the world could have used for them. 👀

“No,” you say quietly, urgently, “You’re not… You can’t be.” I love to finally hear these words come out of Y/N's mouth! You're doing it sweetie! You're doing it!! XD

The detector was right from the very first encounter. Rest it's soul. :'(

MONSTER FIGHT MONSTER FIGHT MONSTER FIGHT!!! As always, the fights and action packed scenes did not disappoint, and the gore was as delicious as always~ Thank you for not shying away from describing the bloody and brutal bits, this story wouldn't be the same without it.

Lizard lady is dead! Heck yeah what a way to go!! I really like that she managed to so easily rip off one of Eclipse's arms, even as she was weakened. They were equally matched, however only one of them had something to fight for and protect.

"This will pass,” the demonic voices promise, “Your heart will slow. Your breath will calm. You will be okay. We have always stayed with you during nightmares.”

I DIED READING THIS. If I hadn't been on a train at the time I would have taken a break to empty my tear ducts fully. This is such a wonderful way to make it go full circle, so so so wonderful. They take care of you during your nightmares, even the real ones :'0

“It’s passing,” they growl softly. “You are here. You are safe. Breathe slowly, sunflower.”

“Oh, heart, you’re coming back,” the layered voice whispers in a low, husky sigh of relief.

THEY'RE SO RELIEVED AND SO GENTLE AND SO CUTE AAAAAA I'M GONNA CRY!!!

The KISS THE KISS!!! AAAAAAA!!!! They made a tiny noise to make it clear that it's a kiss!! Of course it's right on the old scar too! The tongue oh my god!! They're really bold to bring that slithery thing out so early for a quick taste!! XD

“We need to consume a heart—not yours.” I couldn't help but laugh at this slip sjdhdikd

“It’s taking much of our concentration to not collapse this very second." THEY MUST BE IN SO MUCH PAIN! STILL THEY'RE NOT SHOWING ANY SIGNS OF IT! THEIR CONCERN FOR Y/N IS TOO GREAT FOR THEM TO CARE! AAAAAAAAA!!! :'0

Another arm lifts, crimson digits gingerly clasping your shoulder. Your pulse quickens under their touch. You drop their hand. A low rumble vibrates their chest in soothing rhythms, like a purr. You wonder if it is, or the equivalent and this is their method of soothing you.

Ok! Two things here! I can imagine it'll take a while for the boys to differentiate between the quickening heart rate that comes with fear and pleasure. In the valentine episode they were still concerned when Y/N's pulse quickened from the pleasure they felt when being held. So I'm guessing the slow fade from fear to love will be hard for them to get through. Oh sweet sweet boys..

Ok and the other thing! THEY PURR!!! THEY PURRRRR!!!! :'D

“Why are you screaming?” DKCBHCHSKJSKFNDHFJS SORRY I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY XD

What kind of food are they planning to "hunt" for Y/N??? 👀

Oh the way the boys reach out one animatronic arm and a demonic one when helping Y/N up has me melting! :'3

Naff. NAFF. I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH!!! Following this story has been one of the most fun things I've ever done. I can't believe we're so close to the end.

Incredible chapter as always! Now please take care and practice all the self-care! Love you!❤️💖❤️💕❤️💖❤️❤️ *Kisses you on your forehead*

THE REVEAL AHH! I was so excited to write it and finally get it out there, it's been a long time coming!!! ♥

@lavenoon made this lovely comic that I think sums up such an interaction between Henry and Y/N. The two are birds of a feather and would nerd out so much over cryptids!

Yes!!! Black Sun! Please do come up with more names for the boys if you'd like, I'd love to hear them ♥ The boys haven't even told Y/N their personal name yet.

Awww, Meep ;-; That means so much to me, you have no idea ♥ I'm so happy you enjoyed it, and I especially love that you connect it back to the Valentine's Day episode because yes!!! They've never had the opportunity to understand the difference between excitement/pleasure in a human's pulse so all of it right now is just a pounding echo of fear to Eclipse. Which, for Y/N, is not unusual in this specific circumstance, but that will take a while for Eclipse to discover and learn.

Thank you so much, Meep! I will, and you make sure to do the same ♥ *smooch ya on the forehead*

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Sandy Skies Ahead

Wonderland

The Savannah

Completely Under Your Love

What’s Real and What’s Not

Coffin Azul hasn't let go of me since I agreed to be his girlfriend. The only time I get to be by myself is when I shower or change in or out of clothes. He stays by my side if I don't remind him to go away enough or starts to go back into his habits of force-feeding me. It's like he's my shadow within a person.

"Yuu, what's wrong?" Ace asks, breaking my train of thought.

"Nothing, I'm just tired, that's all," I respond, eating my breakfast. "I think Crowley is calling me."

"Ok, I'll see you later," Ace solemnly says, trying to be happy.

I walk into the Mirror Chamber and find Crowley in there.

"What's the problem?" I ask as Crowley fidgets around with the smaller mirrors.

"It seems that something is wrong with the mirror. I can't send you in there until it's fixed," Crowley responds, swiping the mirror again. "By the way, Jamil and Kalim wanted to see you about something."

"Ah, ok. I'll be getting on then."

I walk to the Hall of Mirrors and enter Scarabia's dorm mirror. Orange sparkles surround me, and I wake up in a nice bed with red silks.

"Where are we- Gr-oh my fucking God, you're a tiger!" I yell, sitting up and noticing Grim's large orange and black body.

"NYAH! I AM HUGE!" Grim yells, roaring as he gets up on the bed.

"We're in the mirror's stories, aren't we?" I ask, noticing me wearing the red outfit that Jasmine wears. "Which, if I'm correct, means that Jamil is about to take over and kill Kalim!"

"My princess, your brother has requested you," Jamil says, opening the door. "May I add that you look lovely today."

"Thank you, Jafar," I reply, getting up and nodding at Jamil. "By the way, how old are you?"

"I'm 17, my lady. The stress sometimes adds age onto my face-God do I wish your brother was dead!" Jamil snaps, making me stare in shock. "Sorry, princess."

"Have you ever tried telling him how you feel? There's no point hating him if he doesn't even know what he did wrong. Besides, you know Kalim is happy-go-lucky and clueless he couldn't tell a woman is pregnant unless he saw her giving birth," I say, petting Grim before stepping out the door. "You should come with me."

I grab Jamil's hand and make him follow me to Kalim's room. My brother turns around and shows me a tray of chocolate chip cookies that are warm.

"Tadah! I wanted to surprise you both for all the hard work you do for me!" Kalim exclaims, hugging Jamil and me. "Thank you for telling me how you felt, Jamil! I promise you won't live in my shadow ever again!"

Jamil cries as he eats Kalim's cookie, and suddenly everything fades into white. I wake up on the ground with Jamil kissing me on the lips. I knee him in the crotch, making him yowl.

"Jamil, what the hell?!" I scream, sitting up with Grim on my chest.

"Ah! Damn, your knees are hard!" Jamil groans, holding his crotch.

"Jamil was trying to perform CPR on you. We found you on the ground when we walked into the common room!" Kalim explains, running to Jamil.

"Why would you perform CPR on a person whose heart is still beating?!" I ask, putting Grim in my arms.

"I told you CPR wasn't supposed to be used on passed-out people!" Jamil yells toward Kalim.

"It worked in Sleeping Beauty and Snow White!" Kalim rebuttals, getting huffy about it.

"Number one, those are fairytales! Number two, it was the kiss that broke their curses, not CP-fucking R!" Jamil shouts, standing up and limping onto the couch. "Damn, are you one stupid bitch!"

"Well...you're a snake bastard!" Kalim yells back.

"Never denied it, sweetie!" Jamil yells in return.

"Alright, enough! What did you two invite me here for?!" I shout, making them stop fighting.

"We wanted you to taste our cooking. Jamil has a new cookie recipe he wants you to taste, and Kalim wants you to taste the ice cream someone sent him," Azul explains, coming out of a shadowy corner.

"Ah, I see you've decided to get up in shady business again," I comment, looking at the now-normal Azul.

"Oh, quite the contrary. I'm only here for your services. You see I need your period blood for a potion I'm trying to make. I give you menstruation products and the best remedies for anything menstruation-related, and you give me your blood. Is that a deal?" Azul explains, pulling out a golden sheet of paper with clauses about our deal.

"Azul, no! Furthermore, this is a creepy new low for you! I'm not giving you my period blood anytime soon! Besides, you have to wait till next month to get it!" I reply, becoming annoyed by the chaos going on.

"SO, what you're telling me is that you've recently had your period and that there are remains of it in the trash?"

"No! And if I see you rummaging around in my trash like a raccoon, I'll turn you into takoyaki!"

Azul smirks and runs away, leaving me to sigh on the ground.

"I'll be back to taste your cooking later. I'm going to make sure that octopus bastard isn't in my trash," I say, waving goodbye to Jamil and Kalim. "Grim, what are you pawing at?"

"Look at the key with a lamp on it! It's so shiny, plus look at the mist around it," Grim mewls, pawing at the keychain near my thigh. "So...SHINY!!"

"Grim, stop! You'll get your claws got in my pants again!" I groan, trying to pull him away from my pants. "Besides, that can't be a real key. We can only access those by going through the Dark Mirror. Not only that, but there was no problem for me to resolve. Everything solved itself on its own."

"So? The mirror has been acting weird for a while. Maybe it's finally going easy on us after seeing what happened last time."

"Maybe, you know what, I'll take this as a stroke of luck today,"

We walk back to Ramshackle and find someone has entered my bathroom.

"Azul, get out of my trash!" I scream, making the octopus boy jump and look for a way out. "There's no way out but this door!"

He moves from side to side, and I do the same thing. Then he fakes a right and jumps out my window.

"Azul, are you ok?!" I yell, looking at his body from below.

"Call an ambulance..." Azul moans, holding his right leg.

[the-pinstriped-hood]

Fair Metal Friends

The house rattled again as the Novelist trekked to complete her work, fingers dancing gracefully over her keyboard. Unfortunately she couldn't get over the sound of some of the hard backed books stacked haphazardly on her bookshelves hitting the wooden floor with a chorus of loud thumps and Macavity trying to take refuge from the tremors. Ceasing her fingers as she stood hearing a slightly muted chorus of yet another Judas Priest song nearby. She knew exactly where it was coming from: Bo’s Garage.

Percy sighed. Her Southern Paramour was many things: Impossibly Handsome, a skilled mechanic, a talented photographer. Aware of how loud his music was not one of them. The bay of his shop was open and his music flooded almost the entire small town of Ambrose. Having been subjected to several songs and not by choice, she closed her laptop and saved her work before heading over to the shop to take care of the noise problem.

Her heels clicked down the street as she got closer to the problem, thankfully as another song was coming to an end. Spotting a friend of hers with Bo as they headbanged to another song, unaware of Percy who had pulled the plug to the stereo.

“Who the fuck-?!” Bo exclaimed as Percy was swinging the limp cord in her hand. “Percy? Darlin’ what the hell?”

“Your music is shaking the house, Bo. It's a little too loud, honey.” She walked over to the stereo system itself and turned the dial back a considerable amount before plugging it back in so as to not ruin her eardrums. “I understand that almost everyone in Ambrose likes heavy metal and I am outnumbered but may I please make a request that you be considerate, just a smidge?”

Ava, who had been hanging around Bo grinned. “Sorry about that Perc, we were just enjoying ourselves….” The guitarist had come to Ambrose only months after another friend of Percy’s, Ellie had.

“Be that as it may Avana,” Percy smiled. “I’m still working on my next book and need peace and quiet to conduct my thoughts.”

“Darlin’ you been’ workin on that book three days straight now, when’s the last time you took a break? The rest of us barely see you anymore and you’ve become reclusive again. Why don't you chill here with Ava and I? We’d welcome your company..” Bo grinned, certain he could win his writer over with his usual southern charms.

“Bo, you know how much this book means to me.” Percy’s smile faded into her usual tired expression. “I’ve gotta get back, I don't have any time for your headbanging hooliganry…” She turned her heel to walk out of the garage only to feel Bo’s hand around her wrist.

“Excuse me? Headbanging Hooliganry? You really did walk out of the fuckin’ 20’s didnt you? When was the last time you seriously had any fun?”

Percy closed her eyes. "You're really not going to let go of my wrist until I agree, will you?"

Bo's smile fell. He hadn't seen Percy in days he had been worried sick. Somewhere in his mind he thought he had done something to upset her, but it was just her usual workaholic ways.

"Please darlin' if you stay with Ava and I for just a little while, we promise to keep the music down. Deal?" Bo held out his hand. Percy agreed and shook his hand. "Deal."

Bo hadn't gotten a good look at his girlfriend but he knew she certainly had a rare style. Pantyhose, heels, a pencil skirt and an old style blouse. "You look good by the way, Angel." He kissed her cheek and she took the only other stool in the shop, tucking one leg behind her like a lady.

Ava nudged Percy, "You called us Hooligans. Where'd that talk come from?"

The Novelist blushed, embarrassed. "I sometimes let it slip that I lived with people from the 1920's."

"Certainly would explain your taste in vintage everything.." Bo mused.

"Parents?"

"My grandparents actually, parents died in a car accident when I was young. My Grandparents raised me on things like VHS tapes, reel to reels, old Jazz vinyls, black and white movies..." She listed off.

"So you never actually have experienced Rock and Roll before have you?" Ava leaned back staring at Percy. "That would explain a lot."

"My grandparents were really strict in raising me. Good grades, good job, wanted babies before they died. Old fashioned thinking. They thought that things like Rock and Roll, horror movies and sex before marriage was sinful so, I didn't have many friends. If any at all....They would be rolling in their graves if they knew what I had been up to..."

"You mean actually getting to be yourself and experiencing life?" Bo snorted. "No offense darlin' but your grandparents sound like the biggest wet fuckin blankets in the universe."

Ava hopped off her stool and turned the stereo back on. "I'm gonna agree with Bo, you really need to get out more. Hey what if we could help you find some music you like instead of what your grandparents told you to like?"

"You think you could do that?"

"Absolutely, Between Vinny, Bo, Ellie, Lester and I we could make you a whole mixtape to listen to!" Ava grinned patting Percy on the back.

"Are those heels ever easy to wear? While I will admit you look damn fine in them, maybe wear those cute little what'dya call'em.....Flats!"

Percy grimaced. She had been trying to hide the blisters on her heels for days now.

"Listen why dont you take your shoes off, relax and listen to some music with us. You need to unwind."

Percy nodded and took a seat in the car in the bay laying back in the backseat and letting Judas Priest sing her a lullaby.

Tag: @rottent33th @slaasherslut @allthingsblood @cries-in-latino

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Non Youtuber AU (5) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four

Anything for a taste (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Phil has been a TA for the last few years while completing his PhD, which has mostly consisted of paperwork and covering the occasional seminar, but in all that time he can't remember taking notice of any student in particular.

That is, until Daniel Howell walks into the second class of term wearing a ripped shirt that hangs off one shoulder, the delicate curve of his collarbone exposed to the hush of the room.

Then Phil is a goner.

Caller Unknown (ao3) - Marranje

Summary: “Well, can I scam you?”

Dan blinked.

What.

“Did you… did you just ask if you could scam me?”

“Yes. Can I scam you?” he repeated.

“… sure, you can try,” Dan replied, baffled.

or, that scam caller au nobody asked for

Change Will Come (ao3) - rainbowchristy

Summary: Dan’s a depressed university student. Phil’s just a cute coffee shop barista who writes notes on Dan’s hot chocolates.

Don't need to know your name. (ao3) - Septic84

Summary: A Thursday tradition changes much to Phil's surprise and it leads to wonderful things down the road.

fade to black (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: That’s the thing about Phil. He’s a tease.

or

films, flirting, and other things that start with f.

Falling In Love With The Enemy - dxnhowell

Summary: punk!phil gets dared by Chris to ask rich!dan out. They hate each other and Phil doesn’t want to do the dare but he loves challenges. He only has two weeks until the deadline to make Dan fall in love with him.

Flore Luna (ao3) - strawberrysunflower

Summary: It’s been eighteen months since Dan returned to the Wizarding world, and he’s making real strides. He’s living in his own tiny studio flat. He has a job in a failing bookshop. He’s relearning spells that kids as young as eleven have already mastered.

And he’s developed an unhealthy grudge on the irritating, black-haired florist across the alley.

Gathering Threads - lestericalphan

Summary: Miloria is changing: Louise is now finding herself in charge of a kingdom, Dan has been having strange dreams about a boy who later shows up on his doorstep along with the King of the East Crest, and Jack is now having to look after both Darcy and her Mother.

But magic is stirring again after centuries asleep and the Gods seem to be contently watching as power shifts from head to head.

give this thing a try (ao3) - pasteldanhowells

Summary: Dan is a cashier at a grocery store, and Phil is his supervisor. One evening at work, Phil surprises Dan by asking him out on a date, and of course Dan, who's had a crush on Phil since forever, says yes. Cue, the freaking out and comfort ensues.

Home - placingglaciers

Summary: What do you get when you cross a troubled runaway with a lost photographer? A mess, that's what.

i want the life i never had (ao3) - bugselfs

Summary: “I’m nervous,” she admits. “But it’ll be okay, right?”

Dan smiles at her. “Of course it will,” he promises. “And if everyone hates you and you have no friends because your old ones have all left you for the popular kids, you’ll still have me. And Miss Margaret.”

“Oh, great,” Sophia says dryly, cutting into her breakfast. “Good to know my only friends will be my geeky dad and the crazy cat lady that lives next door.”

“We don’t say crazy, Sophia. She’s eccentric.”

POV: Your 11 year old daughter wants to see the penguins but you just want to stare at the guy feeding them.

it comes in waves (ao3) - sadlybunny

Summary: Dan trembles in his seat. “And- and what shall I call you?”

He moves his thumb to grip at Dan’s chin roughly. “Captain.” His face inches closer. “Or on very special occasions, Captain Lester, sir.”

It’s 1728 in Port Royal, Jamaica. Daniel Howell, the son of Governor Howell, is engaged to be married to a woman he has never met. The night of their betrothal, Daniel is kidnapped by swashbuckling pirate captain, Philip Lester. As Dan learns about pirate life on the Liberty Galley, he discovers things about himself that he never knew before. Maybe he doesn’t want to return to his father, after all.

Midnight Garden (ao3) - silentdescant

Summary: He who plants a garden plants happiness.

In which Phil is a gardener at the palace and Dan is a reclusive prince.

No Man Is An Island (ao3) - strawberrysunflower

Summary: While drunk and desperate to get away from the creatively-stifling hubbub of London, Dan rents a farmhouse on the Isle of Man for four weeks to finish writing his latest book. All he wants is silence. Peace. Solitude.

Then he meets Phil, the farm owners’ dorky, clumsy, stupidly handsome son.

No One Less Than Perfect (ao3) - CanDanAndPhilNot (enbycalhoun)

Summary: Dan doesn't mind being a single father to his four-year-old Elizabeth, but sometimes he gets lonely. The problem is, he won't settle for anyone who is less than perfect. So maybe, he might just ask Elizabeth's (and maybe his) favorite Daycare worker, Phil on a date.

Of Paparazzi and Succulents - botanistlester

Summary: Actor!Dan is running away from a mob of fans when he runs into a flower shop. There, he meets a quirky florist who has an absurd liking towards succulents, seeming to think they have

Our House (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: Enemy is a harsh word. Rival sounds so immature, like Dan’s the star of some teen drama on Netflix. Competition is close, but not quite there.

In simple terms, Dan has a distaste for Phil Lester. Otherwise known as AmazingPhil in their line of business, for some reason that’s beyond Dan. What makes him so amazing anyway?

There’s a reason the network wanted Daniel Howell and Phil Lester for this specific series, and Dan guesses there’s really only one way to find out that answer.

or

And they were co-hosts. Oh my god they were co-hosts.

Sail Away With Me (ao3) - Yiffandquiff (paradisobound)

Summary: It was a fluke. Dan shouldn’t have ever gone with Sam to a party on a yacht. He shouldn’t have trusted her to go. But in a chance encounter, he ends up in bed with Phil Lester, a billionaire CEO of a luxury clothing company. When he thinks he’s screwed up enough, he realizes he’s in way too deep. Because Phil Lester has fallen in love with him. The catch: Dan gave Phil a fake name and all Phil has to remember Dan by is the tattoo on his hip and the necklace he left behind.

scratch bark bite (oh, love me, i lied) (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Music & Drama teacher Dan Howell has a well-known rivalry with his coworker, English teacher Phil Lester.

An unforeseen event flips everything Dan thought he knew about Phil and himself on its head. Slowly but surely, the grudge withers, and the two of them cross the line between enemy and friend. But what will happen when their true intents and feelings get revealed? And was what they had ever really a rivalry? Was it even mutual?

"Seriously?" (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Dan and Phil meet while candle shopping and one of them can't help but comment on how obnoxious/boring/etc the scents the other one is picking out are

-

the time Phil met a totally-not-handsome stranger and only sort-of wished they'd never meet again. Tough luck?

Song Stuck In My Head - xinyanhowell

Summary: Phil’s best friend is getting married. How can one song change so many lives forever?

Stardust - brerediddy

Summary: HS AU. Dan is not a writer. Dan just likes to look at the stars and listen to the river move and hang out with his best friend Phil. He’s not a writer, but somehow, writing changes everything.

The Other Side Of The Counter (ao3) - CanDanAndPhilNot (enbycalhoun)

Summary: Dan needs to stop pining after his bartender, Phil. Maybe another Tinder date will help. Probably not, but he can hope.

The River (ao3) - Portia331

Summary: Dan arrived in Melbourne two weeks ago with just one suitcase crammed with running gear, psychology textbooks, and a mere fraction of his wardrobe especially curated to fit both his aesthetic and the Melbourne weather.

He's about to start in the role of a lifetime on a 12 month contract, but he's barely ready for the Australian summer heat, let alone what the world is about to throw at him.

[myuselessartandstories]

Story #1

Alone

Nights are always cold around the house. Once the sun sets, the warmth fades. We always have to grab more blankets from the closets near the caretakers’ rooms. Lady Marles thinks we are greedy for taking the extra blankets, but Lady Richards believes we have a need for them, so she lets us get them.

It was freezing tonight, so I gave my blanket to Charles. He said he was cold. I didn’t want him to freeze. He’s only six after all. I was cold, but seeing Charles sleeping peacefully warmed me from the inside. 

I looked out the window, seeing the clouds move, so I could see the moon. It was full. I always loved the full moon. It was so pretty, so pure. Nothing could destroy something of that purity. That’s why I always looked at it. It reminded me that not everything was bad, not everything was cruel.

I noticed something move in the corner of my eye, so I turned to see what it was. There was nothing but the darkness of the room and the other children sleeping. I looked back to the window and saw a black cat. I noticed nothing else but its eyes. They were pure white. The calmness of sleep was all I knew after that.

The next morning, I was awoken by Lady Marles scolding me for sleeping so late. Once I was cleaned and dressed to the liking of Lady Marles, I went to the dining room. My plate, made and ready to eat, was still sitting at my place on the table. 

I ate the cold food as best as I could. The food was never good. Lady Marles said it was because we had high standards for food, but Lady Richards said it was because we couldn’t afford better food.

“The other children have already started their schoolwork. You can’t sleep all day Lillian.” I nodded and responded, “Yes Lady Marles.” I knew I couldn’t fight back. I’d be punished if I did. 

Once I finished my food, I was hurried to the study room by Lady Marles. Lady Richards was there. She greeted me with a kind smile and showed me to my desk. I sat and began to work. 

Once the children beside me were done, they went outside to play. I haven't gotten to play outside in a while. I never get my schoolwork done. It’s too difficult. Math was hard, and I couldn’t write properly. Lady Richards always helped me, though. She was kind.

Once the dinner bell rang, all the other children came inside. I gave my unfinished work to Lady Richards, then walked to the dining room. Dinner was tomato soup, I think. It tasted much better than breakfast did.

Once dinner was over, we all went to the baths and cleaned ourselves. We took out showers, cleaned our hair, and brushed our teeth. We changed into our pajamas, then went to get blankets for the cold night ahead.

It was cold that night, so I gave my blanket to Billy. He said he was cold. I didn’t want to see him freeze. He’s only five after all. I was freezing, but seeing Billy sleeping calmly made me warm inside.

I looked out the window, seeing the clear sky, with the moon floating high above. It was full. I always loved the full moon. It was so pretty, so pure. Nothing could destroy something of that purity. That’s why I always looked at it. It reminded me that the world wasn’t as bad as it seemed, that people had good inside them.

I noticed something move in the corner of my eye, so I turned to see what it was. There was nothing but the darkness of the room and the other children sleeping. I looked back to the window and saw a white cat. I noticed nothing else but its eyes. They were pure black. The silence of sleep was all I knew after that.

The next morning, I was awoken by Lady Marles scolding me for sleeping so late. Once I was cleaned and dressed to the liking of Lady Marles, I went to the dining room. My plate, made and ready to eat, was still sitting at my place on the table.

I ate the soggy food as best as I could. The food was never good. Lady Marles said it was because we had high standards for food, but Lady Richards said it was because we couldn’t afford better food.

“The other children have already started their schoolwork. You can’t sleep all day Lily.” I nodded and responded, “Yes Lady Marles.” I knew I couldn’t fight back. I’d be punished if I did.

Once I finished my food, I was hurried to the study room by Lady Marles. Lady Richards was there. She greeted me and showed me to my desk. I sat down and began to work. 

Once the children beside me were done, they went outside to play. I haven't gotten to play outside in a while. I never get my schoolwork done. It’s too difficult. Math was hard, and I couldn’t write properly. Lady Richards didn’t help me today. Maybe she was tired.

Once the dinner bell rang, all the other children came inside. I gave my unfinished work to Lady Richards, then walked to the dining room. Dinner was tomato soup, I think. It was bitter, but tasted better than breakfast did.

Once dinner was over, we all went to the baths and cleaned ourselves. We took our showers, cleaned our hair, and brushed our teeth. We changed into our pajamas, then went to get blankets for the cold night ahead. 

It was cold that night, so I gave my blanket to Charlie. She said she was cold. I didn’t want to see her freeze. She’s only seven after all. I was freezing, but seeing Charlie sleeping calmly made me warm inside.

I looked out the window, seeing the pink sky, with the moon floating high above. It was full. I always loved the full moon. It was so pretty, so pure. Nothing could destroy something of that purity. That’s why I always looked at it. It reminded me that the world was sometimes ok, that I could trust some people.

I noticed something move in the corner of my eye, so I turned to see what it was. There was nothing but the darkness in the room and the other children sleeping. I looked back to the window and saw a cat, its fur black on one side and white on the other. I noticed nothing else but its eyes. The one on the white side was black, the one on the black side was white. The darkness of sleep was all I knew after that.

The next morning, I was awoken by Lady Marles scolding me for sleeping so late. Once I was cleaned and dressed to the liking of Lady Marles, I went to the dining room. My plate, made and ready to eat, was still sitting at my place on the table. 

I ate the raw food as best as I could, spitting out the disgusting blood that came from the meat. The food was never good. Lady Marles said it was because we had high standards for food, but Lady Richards said it was because we couldn’t afford better food. 

“The other children have already started their schoolwork. You can’t sleep all day L.” I nodded and responded, “Yes Lady Marles.” I knew I couldn’t fight back. I’d be punished if I did.

Once I finished my food, I was hurried to the study room by Lady Marles. Lady Richards wasn’t there. I went to my desk and sat down to begin my work.

Once the children beside me were done, they went outside to play. I haven't gotten to play outside in a while. I never get my schoolwork done. It’s too difficult. Math was hard, and I couldn’t write properly. I wished Lady Richards was there to help me. I wondered where she was.

Once the dinner bell rang, all the other children came inside. I left my unfinished work on my desk, then walked to the dining room. Dinner was soup. I didn’t know what kind, but it tasted like the blood from the meat this morning. It tasted like metal and it was disgusting. 

Once dinner was over, we all went to the baths and cleaned ourselves. We took out showers, cleaned our hair, and brushed our teeth. We changed into our pajamas, then went to get blankets for the cold night ahead.

It was cold that night, so I gave my blanket to Sofie. She said she was cold. I didn’t want her to freeze. She’s only eight after all. I was freezing, but seeing Sofie sleeping peacefully made me warm inside. 

I looked out the window, seeing the red sky, with the moon floating high above. It was full. It looked evil. It was evil. Nothing could purify that evil. I could feel the evil entering my heart. It made me mad at the world, mad at the parents who put me in this home, like I didn’t want a life, like I wasn’t a child. 

I noticed something move in the corner of my eye, so I whipped my head towards where I saw the movement. There was nothing but darkness. I looked back at the window and saw a face. On one side of its face, it was black with a white eye, and on the other it was white with a black eye.

It stared at me. I stared back. I didn’t know what to do. It tilted its head, then disappeared. I looked back around the room. It was no longer dark. The walls were white, as was the bed, the ceiling, and the floor. There was a white door on the other side of the room. The other children were gone. 

Someone in white sat in a chair beside the bed I was on. “So, what do you remember?” I shook my head. “I was alone. I’m still alone. I’ll always be alone.” The man only nodded and wrote something on his clipboard.

(this was the first story I ever wrote. I made it back in middle school.)

[late-to-the-party-99]

The first loaves of bread showed up after I brought over that book.

I found it on a dusty shelf in Grandma Jones’ apartment. It was the week after the funeral, and we had to clear out her belongings. The faded jacket over the covers crumbled under my fingers as I slid the book out. 

Cracking it open, I realized it was a recipe book. I saw the cursive instructions for her chocolate cake, her peach cobbler, and her lemon-seed muffins. It brought me back to her kitchen, creaming butter and sugar together with a wooden spoon. “You don’t need fancy gadgets,” she said over my shoulder, wiping callused hands on her apron. “Just some elbow grease and a lot of love.”

I’d been thinking about starting up a bakery. I decided to take it as a sign, tucking the book into my coat as I called my bank. 

That first night in the new building was cold; the furnace was still on the fritz. I tried to warm it up by firing up the ovens and opening the recipe book again. I started to bake some of Grandma Jones’ pumpkin bread. 

I guess it’s not all that surprising that I fell asleep. Lulled by the warm ovens and the warm scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, I drifted off in my metal folding chair. 

It was more surprising to wake up to a bakery that wasn’t on fire. Instead, the ovens were off, the loaves out of their tins and on cooling racks. 

I didn’t know what to make of it at first. I assumed that I woke up sometime in the night and took care of it, forgetting it in a drowsy stupor. But it kept happening.

Sometimes it was pumpkin bread already sitting in the display case. Other times, it was banana bread running through a slicer on all by itself. And other times, it was zucchini bread in the oven when I unlocked the doors in the morning. 

It took me a week to figure out all this happened when I left the book open on the counter, with a light turned on overhead. 

Grandma Jones liked to keep busy. Grandma Jones didn’t have the best eyesight in low light. 

After debating calling a spirit medium, or a psychiatrist, I settled on leaving the book open. I couldn’t afford any other employees at that time. And if it was Grandma Jones, then who was I to tell her how to spend her afterlife? 

At least, that was the message I got from the floating wooden spoon smacking my arm when I tried to protest. 

She still bakes with me at the bakery. Every now and then, new cursive writing appears in the book, making tweaks or corrections to her recipes. Her floury footprints track across the black floor tiles. 

But I guess she got a little lonely, because she began to circle the other names mentioned in her book: Mary, the church lady who brought snickerdoodles. Dave, the pharmacist who whipped up brownies in the microwave. Tip, the sweet young person who lived across the street and poured over his buttercream for hours. 

I had to do a lot of digging through phone books and records, but I found them all. I pulled their recipe books free and set them next to Grandma Jones’, leaving them open to make their own decisions. 

More often than not, I saw their snickerdoodles and brownies and buttercream show up in the kitchen the next day. 

The kitchen gets a bit cluttered sometimes, with utensils and splatters of batter lying about. But it’s all worth it. It’s worth it to see people bite into a cupcake and melt on the spot, their shoulders sagging and pent-up tears flowing.

Sadness and a life well-lived, I think, taste like hints of vanilla and citrus. They’re flavors enhanced by sugar, not blotted out. You can never mix them out of your baking. You can only inhale the same smells they inhaled, giggling over a cookie with your friends as they did. You can hold hands, warm and dusty with powdered sugar.  

I can afford living employees now, but I don’t have to hire them. I have Grandma Jones and her friends. And we all get along fine. 

Text: Ghosts like to have jobs, running my bakery almost all on their own now. The loaves of bread have a strange, comforting smell to them; old books, and warm skin, a sad, sweet memory.