#cherry slab doors

[garfi774]

Detroit Contemporary Kitchen Typical mid-sized modern eat-in kitchen design with flat-panel cabinets, medium-tone wood cabinets, granite countertops, an undermount sink, a black backsplash, paneled appliances, and gray countertops. The kitchen is l-shaped with a brown floor and medium-tone wood flooring.

[xbabyjah]

Modern Kitchen in Boston Ideas for a mid-sized, contemporary, l-shaped, eat-in kitchen remodel with stainless steel appliances, an undermount sink, flat-panel cabinets, medium-tone wood cabinets, granite countertops, multicolored backsplash, glass tile backsplash, and an island.

[kurare13]

Enclosed in San Francisco Example of a mid-sized trendy l-shaped light wood floor and beige floor enclosed kitchen design with an integrated sink, flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, granite countertops, gray backsplash, slate backsplash, stainless steel appliances and an island

[passionoverfashion]

Cleveland Kitchen Enclosed Example of a mid-sized minimalist u-shaped porcelain tile enclosed kitchen design with a double-bowl sink, flat-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, quartz countertops, beige backsplash, porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances and a peninsula

[januaryembrs]

MAGIC BROWNIE | Eddie Munson x Sunshine!Reader

Description: Sunshine girl accidentally eats one of Eddie’s “Magic Brownies” and he takes care of his baked girlfriend.

Word count: 3.3k

Trigger Warnings: weed obviously, accidental drug usage, quick mention of child neglect when talking about Eddie as a kid not eating enough. Reader gets undressed but no sex (eddie has a horny thought however)

main masterlist

This was not how he had expected their day to go. She loved baking for him and Wayne, loved making sure her scrawny, lanky boyfriend was fed, and boy could he eat. Wayne swore he had the stomach(s) of a cow. Any food left on his plate? Give it to Eds. Food ready to go out of date? Nope, Eds is already scarfing it down. Weekly food shop was just brought in? Munson is dining like a king before the fridge door is even open.

Maybe it was from when he lived with his dad and he would forget to feed the little, jet black haired boy for days on end and he would have to be given half his teacher’s lunch when they saw how gaunt he was through his mop of curls. Maybe he had yet to adjust to the idea that he would still have food without storing it for winter like a damn bear, either way she never dared to think about her sweet Eds and his kind uncle going hungry on weeks when money was tight.

But when dessert became an option, Eddie’s sweet tooth was in heaven.

They had the house to themselves on Sundays; Wayne was always pulling doubles on a weekend to make up the extra cash, the garage was always busiest then. They already had leftovers from last night to sort them for the evening, so what else better than to cook than a thick tray of rich brownies she’d practised not even a week earlier.

Unbeknownst to her, Eddie had done his own kind of baking.

“Okay, be there for seven,” He said into the corded phone, biting at his nail as he thought. Nodding to himself, before remembering they couldn’t see him, he hummed a goodbye and hung up the phone.

“Who was that?” She asked, emerging from the loo with freshly wet hands, wiping them on her jeans as she tied the pretty little pink apron around her waist again. Watching her lean down to open the oven door, he smiled to himself, handing her the matching oven mitts.

“No one,” He muttered, shamelessly watching her ass as she bent down to pick out the hot tray, “Just got a package to drop off later,”

“What, like to the post office?” She asked, her eyes flicking to him innocently, shoving the pan out for him to smell.

Smiling toothily at her, as if he knew a secret she didn’t, he kissed her forehead sweetly. “Where else would I take a package, sweet girl?” He murmured, before shoving his finger in the centre of the chocolatey goodness with a childish raspberry blown through his cherry lips.

Hissing when his finger met the hot sugar in the centre, he shoved the digit into his mouth with a groan of delight and pain.

“It’s still hot, honey,” She scolded, putting the tray onto the side to assist the frowning boy.

“You’re still hot, baby,” He said, his words distorted by his finger being in the way of his tongue. Pulling it from his mouth, she inspected the spit covered skin carefully, seeing where it raised red slightly.

Giggling at his words, she kissed the tip gently, unaware of the way his eyes seemed to follow the way her mouth pressed to his burn so carefully, feeling his tummy shiver at his girlfriend's pure actions.

“Feel better Eds?” She asked, looking up at him with hopeful eyes, his tongue going dry immediately. His chin bobbed for a second, scrambling for words, before he nodded wordlessly, turning away from her before she could see the way his cheeks blazed a rosy heat of their own.

“Um, I just gotta-” He stammered, heading for his room as she pulled out a sharp knife to cut the slab into segments. His mouth was dry as he dug out the brownies he’d made himself two days prior, though these weren’t as chocolatey as his sweet girlfriend’s and more rammed to high (ha) heavens full of weed.

Did he prefer the taste of hers? Yes, any day of the week she was an amazing cook. Had he burnt the top and left a thick crust whilst somehow managing to undercook the middle? Yes, though he was still at odds with himself just how he’d done so. But were his little gooey creations going to see him and Wayne through two weeks of rent? Absolutely.

Dashing back to the kitchen with the blue tupperware under his arm, he stopped long enough to see her transferring them into some kitchen paper inside her own container, her fingers gentle enough to carve ice let alone handle confectionery.

“I’ll be right back, just gotta take care of some things. How about I swing by Family Video on the way back and rent us The Shining?” He asked, a large, scuffed hand coming up to her face to cup her cheek, brushing away the flour that dusted her eyebrow.

She scrunched up her nose, but kept his doe gaze nevertheless, big, Bambi browns staring down at her, entranced.

“I dunno, Eds. I like those films but they always make me wanna puke afterwards,” She said, lips twisting in disgust, “Plus I get kinda scared when Wayne’s not home anyway, I don’t wanna be thinking of crazy axe wielders. Hawkins is crazy enough as it is,”

Putting the tupperware on the side, next to her pretty pink one, he took her warm cheeks in his grasp and tugged her face closer.

“Which is where I come and hold your hair back and protect you from the intruders, silly girl,” He asked, a kiss going to the tip of her nose, “What does my lady want instead then? Gremlins?” Another to her forehead, “The Lost Boys?” There goes another to her chin of all places, “Labyrinth? Come on, I know you have the hots for Bowie as a Goblin King ya’ little freak,” He blew a raspberry on the apple of her cheek, a big wet kiss following it.

Giggling some more and shoving him away, rubbing her face on her shoulder, “How about E.T?” She asked, her hands coming to rest on his wrists.

He stilled, eyes wide with his own grimace. “E.T? Now that’s a scary movie,” He said, watching his girlfriend roll her eyes and smirk, “I’m serious. That wrinkly mother fucker gave me nightmares, with his extendable neck and his weird eyes and shit-”

“Alright, alright, Labyrinth it is.” She conceded, leaning on her toes to kiss him sweetly on the mouth, “I’ll still need you to hold my hand all night, alright Goblin King?” She asked, watching his cheeks flush as she leaned in closer to him, “Movie night rules, unfortunately,”

He couldn’t remember if he’d said anything, just that his mouth had moved in some kind of agreeing motion, his eyes trained on the way she licked her pretty lips as she leaned in for another kiss. Two years together and she still had his heart hammering away behind his ribcage whenever she kissed him.

He barely remembered getting in his van with the package, its hot pink lip staring at him from the passenger seat, the thought of her shampoo smell invading his nose whenever she got so close he could see each individual pigment in her eye. He barely remembered dropping it off, other than taking the money and wishing his customer a good evening, “I know I will be,” He said under his breath, flooring it to Family Video.

“One Goblin King and empty hand at your request, fair maiden,” Eddie said, practically tumbling through the door, his van all but ditched in the driveway. Looking around for his sweet girlfriend, he furrowed his brow when he heard not even a peep in response. Usually she would be bouncing over to him with a kiss ready on her lips made just for him, maybe even a bowl of warm, buttery popcorn if he was really lucky.

But nothing.

Twitching the curtains, he made sure her car was in the drive, and just as he’d thought, she’d not left. So where in hell's gates was she?

“Baby?” He called through the small trailer, his panic starting to set in. Surely an intruder would have taken jewellery or money, not a whole woman for christ sakes. Maybe it was the past few years with the Lab being shut down for its dangerous radiation, or the talk of the Russian’s invading their little town, or even that Summer kids went missing from their friend’s pool party, he didn’t know. She was probably just waiting behind the door to jump out at him, or some dumb trick like that. She probably was just in his bedroom getting changed or something like that.

He had never moved through the little hallway so fast, hating how quiet it was.

His heart dropped when he saw his tiny room empty. His unmade bed that he had never seen looking smart sent him over the edge. Was there a struggle? Had his wardrobe door always open? Of course it was, he was a master of leaving things unfinished. He’d leave a sandwich without filling if he wasn’t always so damn hungry. No, he was being silly. There was nothing off about his room, nothing that screamed kidnap other than the god damn silence- why was it so damn quiet-

Then he heard a creak from the bathroom, and it was like his chest took a xanax. “You in there, honey?” He called, doubling back on himself to stand outside the white door, leaning in closer to hear inside. Hearing still no response, he practically melded with the wood, cheek squished against the cold wall, “Baby?”

Nothing, nothing but slight movement from the other side.

Huffing, he reached for the handle, “I’m gonna come in, alright? I’m just checking you’re okay, I’m not a peeping Tom or anything-“

Their bathroom was tiny, was only there for usage over luxury, but it was cosy. Yet, it couldn’t have prepared Eddie for the odd sight. His girlfriend, seemingly playing with something in her hands, fully clothed in a half filled bath, her denim jeans submerged, socks still on her feet, top floating riding up to her chest with the water pressure.

Staring at the back of her head for a moment, the confusion clear on his face, he looked around for anything that could help explain the odd situation, before his eyes fell back on her.

“You alright, honey?” He asked, approaching her carefully, though it took all of one step to make it to the small, PVC tub. Her head lolled to rest against the wall, and she seemed to have only just noticed him standing there.

“Edsy!” She said, smiling dopily up at him, “I was wondering where you got off to,”

Chuckling unsurely, he rested his hand on top of her head, giving her a gentle stroke. “You alright there, Little Mermaid?”

She snorted, reaching up to show him her hands, “I was just painting my nails, see?” Except all he saw was red marker pen drawn over her fingertips, the nails more akin to a toddler coming home from preschool. Thinking she was kidding, he smirked.

“Beautiful baby-” He stopped himself, the smile dropping in an instant when he finally met her eyes. She went to look away, her hand holding the red crayola pen tightly to continue her artwork, but his hand shot out to grab her chin. “Wait, wait, wait. Look at me,” He swore he had never sounded so serious.

She blinked up at him after a moment, again as if taking a second to compute his order, and looked up at him with droopy lids. Smiling at him sweetly, his gaze locked in on her red corneas, bloodshot and absolutely baked expression.

“Baby, are you high? Did you go under my bed?” He asked seriously, turning her head to the streetlight filtering through the window to get a better look.

“Why would I do that, Eds?” She asked, her words drawling, quieting as she ended her sentence as if she hadn’t the energy to finish. “I just had a couple of the brownies I made and started feeling warm and didn’t wanna be sweaty when you got home-”

Hand flying to stroke his temple, he gently caressed his girlfriend’s face, understanding her issue. He must have taken the wrong fucking box.

“Oh baby, oh my sweet girl. I am so sorry.” Taking her head into his chest, he pressed a kiss to her parting. “I’ve spiked my own girlfriend, new fucking low Munson,”

“-ddie,” Her voice was muffled from his Hellfire shirt, “We gonna watch Jared?”

“Jareth, honey,” He sighed, looking down at his stoned girlfriend with a concealed smile. He felt guiltier than a sinner in church but god was she cute high. “Come on, let’s get you dry,”

Hoisting her out of the tub with his hands under her arms, he got her to take off her jeans and top as he held up a large bath towel as a curtain between the two of them, wanting to give her some level of privacy. Hearing her clothes hit the floor with a heavy thud, he wrapped her body with the big towel, feeling her hands in his hair as he helped her into his room, her feet shuffling obediently.

“Now the movie?” She asked, plopping herself down on the bed, her eyes lazily scanning over his walls of posters as if she wasn’t here three times a week. Digging around in his bottom draw for spare clothes, he tried to hide his snort as she nudged at his butt with her foot. “Eddie, now the movie?”

“Nearly, baby,” He said, handing her a grey shirt and boxers big enough to fit comfily on her. “Gonna get you a bit comfier first, I’ll make you some mac and cheese,”

“But I’m not hungry,” She said, tugging the shirt over her head with a whine, before flopping back, feeling dizzy, “You do the legs for me,”

“Huh?” Eddie asked, blushing when she spread her legs and gestured to him with the boxers in her hand.

“You do the legs, my head feels funny,” She mumbled, spreading her arms out on the bed, fingers digging into the fluffy duvet. He knew it was probably soft under her dulled touch.

Eddie and her had been intimate many times before. Hell, they’d had sex before they’d even reached the one month mark, but having her ask him to take her underwear off, even so innocently, had his face red as a saint.

“Alright, honey. I’m gonna make you feel better, get you some water.” He said, hoping she couldn’t feel how his hands shook as he slipped her underwear down her legs, avoiding looking at her private parts for her dignity’s sake, “And trust me you’ll want something to eat in an hour or two,”

“If you say so, Eds,” She murmured as he gently held her ankle to put her foot through the leg hole, doing the same to the other and pulling them over the meat of her thighs that had his mouth watering. Giving her knee a little kiss (he tried to stop himself, he did) he asked her to sit up a little so he could bring the underwear all the way up.

He couldn’t help give the softness of her stomach a kiss too as he rose to see how she was doing, smiling softly when he saw her sleepy eyes regard him with a little smile of her own.

“Tired?” He near whispered, stroking her warm cheeky with his knuckle gently. She shook her head, blinking harshly when it made her vision blurry.

“No, just feel funny,” She said, grabbing onto his wrist to keep his cool hands on her face, “But good funny. I think. Just funny,”

“How many did you have, baby?” He asked, holding onto her hand as she sat up, watching her head tip slightly at the movement, as if he could tell how heavy every part of her felt. He knew the stages of edible high well; he and Keith had been hooked on them in tenth grade, but his sweet girlfriend knew nothing about any of his ‘Magic Brownies’ he sold, and he’d intended to keep it that way until now.

“Two, I think. I think I had a bite of a third and I started feeling weird so I stopped. I thought I just had a lot of chocolate.” She said, head pressed against his shoulder as he led her to the kitchen, “Eddie, my feet are cold,”

“Oh, shit, your socks,” He cursed, heading towards the sofa. “I’ll fix you up, don’t worry honey,” He said, gently helping her sit down, her body all but dead weight.

She murmured something as he pulled away, and he could only give her hand a peck before he was rushing around, grabbing her things that would make her feel better. Fluffy socks to calm her, make her comfy, water for when her mouth got dry, plain tortilla chips for when she started getting hungry while he’d cook her some real food. He all but scowled at the weed confectionary as he passed it, hating the fact he had unknowingly gotten his girlfriend into such a state.

He took barely five minutes before he gently rolled the socks onto her cold feet, throwing himself back down next to her, her head lolling to look up at him through heavy lids.

“We watch Jared now?” She asked, burrowing her face into his shirt.

“We watch Jared now.” He confirmed, chuckling when he felt her try to press herself even further into him, her nose jabbing into his ribs, “What are you doing?”

“Wanna crawl inside your skin, I’m not close enough out here,” She murmured, and Eddie smiled widely down at her, pressing play on the remote.

“I’m gonna pretend that wasn’t mildly creepy, baby,” He said, his arm wrapping around her to keep her close, feeling her melt into his side, “I got you some water for when your mouth goes cottony,”

“Huh?” She said, though her eyes were zeroed in on the screen, his words a jumble in her ears. Nosing her hair line, he chuckled, kissing the tip of her ear and stroking her arm.

“Nothing, just watch your film, honey,” He said, his words a sugary glaze as he looked down at her zombie-like expression.

He had a lot of ass kissing to do in the morning.

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@greeneyedblondie44 @liadamerondjarin @pedrosgirlx @andy-rocks @musicartmayheminmyheart @howlerwolfmax @ciarra–mae @lou-la-lou

[elodiegendreau]

Enclosed Kitchen

[saisa-sound]

Walk Out - Basement

[betweenstorms]

Chapter 3/1 of Skin Of Thunder To Be Known (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

"I’ve longed for you to tear me apart, not in cruelty, but in yearning. Sink your teeth into my truths, let the taste of me linger. If knowing means pain, then I’ll bear the bleeding for you."

The early morning air hung crisp and quiet, pressing against Ghost’s skin as he leaned against the cold metal railing by the designated smoking area—a modest patch of concrete, barely more than a slab, with ashtrays and rusting benches scattered like afterthoughts.

The sun just barely breached the horizon, casting long shadows on the concrete. Hardly a retreat, but here, away from the maddening sterility of his office, it felt like a reprieve. He rolled his balaclava up, just enough to free his mouth, taking a long, welcome drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke crawl through his lungs and chase the tension from his jaw. The stillness of dawn hung heavy, blanketing his restless thoughts, urging them into submission.

Just then, the sharp creak of the door jolted him back, a small irritation prickling through him.

Likely just some officer, off to grab a smoke or call it a morning. But when he looked over, his eyes snagged on a familiar, almost absurd splash of colour amid the grey.

You.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, too low for you to hear as he clocked the delicate pearls on the collar of your oversized navy blue shirt.

He turned away, taking another drag, hoping to hide the way his shoulders tensed under your approach.

Fuck.

He’d been craving a smoke, not company.

He couldn’t quite grasp the pull you had on him, the strange and soft ache that made him long to be in your presence, though he refused to bend to such foolish desires. So he kept his gaze fixed elsewhere, resisting the urge to let his eyes find your face, lovely and haunting, a temptation he was determined to deny.

But God, how he wanted to look at you—more than anything, he wanted to drink the light of your eyes, to study every soft curve of your face and carry it with him in the dark corners of his mind. There was nothing he craved more than that simple indulgence, yet it was the very thing he denied himself. So he exhaled another plume of smoke, letting it rise like a prayer, an offering to the distance he had forced between you.

Discipline, he reminded himself.

A soldier’s creed built for sacrifice.

You waved, a shy, endearing gesture, and though he didn’t return it, the sight lingered, casting a magnetic warmth he couldn’t quite shake.

The thrilling sweetness of your perfume drifted over, a delicate contrast to the smoke curling around him, and he found himself absorbing it in through skin and flesh, letting it settle over him like a gentle rain easing his frayed edges.

He glanced back, catching you falling into step right beside him—a respectful distance, careful yet inviting, close enough to let him feel your presence but far enough that he could imagine, if he chose, that he was still alone.

Ghost felt grateful for it, for the silent understanding woven between you, the way you stayed without imposing.

It was a kindness he hadn’t realised he craved.

“Good morning, sir,” you offered quietly, voice bright but tentative. “Captain Price said you requested some help with the paperwork, and, well… here I am.”

An irritated grunt was all he gave at first, still focused on the end of his cigarette, the cherry glinting as he took another drag.

“That was an hour ago,” he said, voice rough and steady. He didn’t look at you, but he could sense the nervous shift in your posture.

“Yeah, well, about that—” you faltered, an embarrassed little smile flickering across your lips as a soft blush crept over your cheeks, delicate as the first light of dawn. “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant, I might have accidentally slept in, but I’m here now. Ready to help with whatever you need. Really.”

With whatever you needed, the words echoed bitterly in his mind.

Bold words. Quietly spoken, but not without weight. 

He scoffed, letting out a slow breath, watching the smoke coil lazily into the space between you—a ghostly wall, thin and unyielding, that whispered the distance he couldn't close. It was a tension he both cherished and despised, a bittersweet ache that twisted in his chest. A cruel kind of ambivalence that he wasn’t accustomed to, a raging storm of contradictions swirling where his pragmatism used to reign. He was a man of precision, of order. There was no room for chaos, no tolerance for hesitation. His life was a series of clean lines and clear directives, a moral code etched in iron.

And then there was you.

He hated it—this loss of control.

But God help him, he loved it too.

“Lieutenant Riley?” you asked gently, breaking the silence. There was something hesitant in your tone, as if you were unsure whether he’d answer or simply walk away.

“Gimme a minute.”

The cigarette burned low, the ash crumbling like the remnants of his resolve as Ghost tipped it into the rusted tray beside him.

The morning air lingered cool against his exposed skin, the stillness between you both stretching thin, delicate as spider silk in the rain. Your hesitant words hung unanswered, their soft cadence brushing against him like the flutter of wings. For a short moment, the only sounds were the distant screech of tyres, the rhythmic cadence of soldiers on duty, and the faint hum of the wind curling through the base.

He let the silence stand, pretending not to notice the way your gaze lingered too long, tracing the curve of his jaw, the faint scar carved near his lips, the line of his neck disappearing beneath his raised collar. He knew you were staring.

Of course, he did.

And yet, there was something disarming about being seen, not the fleeting glances of soldiers or the wary stares of strangers, but this. Your gaze wasn’t too heavy with judgement or fear. It was shy, but it was also unassuming, almost tender, and it did something to him he couldn’t quite explain, like a warm hand pressed to his bare skin. Vulnerability wasn’t a feeling he entertained often, but here, under your watchful eyes, it didn’t make him want to pull away.

Ghost shifted as he exhaled a final curl of smoke, watching it spiral into the crisp morning air before dissipating. His thoughts had grown as hazy as the cloud he’d just released, and the stillness between you hung heavy, each second stretching taut with unsaid words. He should leave it there—should stub out the ember of whatever this was before it grew into something unmanageable, something dangerous.

But then, the words tumbled from his mouth, unbidden and unpolished.

“I like your perfume.”

The second they left him, he felt a rush of something that burned hot and fast, searing through his chest. Fucking sod. What the hell had possessed him to say that? Compliments weren’t in his arsenal, not ones like this, not here, not anywhere and definitely not for you—not when he was supposed to be keeping you at bloody arm’s length. And yet, there they were, laid bare between you, vulnerable and exposed like an open wound.

Your reaction was immediate.

A soft, startled inhale as your cheeks flushed, the colour rising high and fierce, blooming like dawn breaking over the horizon in front of them. But then, there it was. The sweetest fucking smile he’d ever seen. A simple smile that made something stir in him—something warm and reckless, something that shouldn’t belong to a man like him. Somehow the regret he expected never came, only the faint satisfaction of seeing that smile, of knowing his words had drawn it out. He felt like he’d stepped over an invisible line, into territory he didn’t belong in, but for the life of him, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Not when you were looking at him like that.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice carrying an edge of disbelief, as though the admission had caught you as off guard as it had him. “Thank you. It’s, uhm—” You faltered, biting your lip for a moment before murmuring the name of the brand.

He didn’t catch it. Couldn’t, really.

He was way too focused on the way your lips moved, the way your beautiful eyes flicked up to meet his, shy and luminous beneath your lashes. That look—it undid him. Made his heart pick up its pace, a steady thrum that he felt low and deep in his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that. He felt it deep within, an ache older than reason, a pulse in his marrow where instincts drowned out logic. 

Ghost knew the effect he had on women but he wasn’t a womaniser, not by disposition nor by choice.

Relationships, fleeting or deep, were uncharted waters he’d chosen to avoid. Hostile territories he refused to traverse, landscapes where desire turned men into ruins. It was a trap of his own making. He had learned, long ago, the cost of being known, the unbearable weight of letting someone too close. Most women recoiled from him, as they should. His profession, his mannerisms, his unflinching detachment—they cast a shadow too long and too sharp for most to cross. The sharp edges of him were designed to cut.

But then there was that look—it was undeniable, a silent confession offered in the flicker of a woman’s eyes, something soft and terrifying in equal measure. It wasn’t the look itself that unnerved him, it was the way it came from you. Because that look meant the promise of trust. That look meant potential desire. Moreover, that look meant the possibility of being known, of being understood, and in his world, that was the gravest vulnerability of all.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His hands flexed at his sides, itching for the cigarette he’d already put out. “Shouldn’t’ve said that,” he huffed, the words rough and self-directed. He didn’t mean to be cruel, but his voice held an edge that might have been mistaken for anger. “Not my fuckin’ place.”

“No, it’s—” You trailed off, your fingers fidgeting nervously with your tablet. “It’s nice. I mean, it’s nice that you said something. I don’t get compliments like that often.”

He wasn’t prepared for that.

His head turned, almost reflexively, just enough to catch the flicker of your expression in the dim light.

You weren’t searching for validation, there was no grasping plea in your eyes, no desperate bid for comfort. Instead, you looked a bit startled, as though your own words had betrayed you. Just like his betrayed him a moment ago.

“Shame. You should.”

Simple, direct, and raw words that left him exposed.

Your lips parted, surprise flickering across your lovely face like a flame caught in the wind.

For a seemingly endless moment, neither of you spoke. The cold autumn air between you felt fragile, precarious, as if the wrong word could shatter whatever tentative bridge had formed. The blush on your cheeks deepened, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you held his gaze, steady despite the uncertainty, as though searching for something unspoken in the depths of his hazel eyes. And in that moment, Ghost knew—

—you were the braver one.

While he stood tethered to the weight of his scars, his silence, his bloody self-inflicted exile, you had leapt. You had chosen to meet him halfway, to reach out despite the walls he’d spent years fortifying. And God, how he wanted to catch you. To let himself fall with you into the unknown, into the warmth of whatever this was.

But Simon Riley wasn’t a man who fell.

He was a man who endured.

His gaze flickered away, his sharp jaw tightening beneath the fabric of his mask as he turned his head toward the door.

“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, laced with a detached finality. “Still got a shit ton of paperwork to get through.”

"Strip me bare, wound me if you must, so long as you reach the marrow of my soul. If it takes bloodshed for you to understand me, then let it flow. I’d rather be your scar than your mystery." Skin of Thunder Chapters

[merakimoonglade]

The Night They Met

Summary:

Hours ago the sister Elain Archeron thought dead showed up at the door to their home, alive but turned into a High Fae, with a High Lord and two faerie warriors in tow warning of a possible war.

Elain never thought she’d see her sister again, never thought four Fae would be sleeping down the hall from her. She never thought she’d run into one of them in the middle of the night.

The full story can be found on A03.

Excerpt:

Elain Archeron knew she should stay in her room.

She stared at the cherry wood door unhelpfully lit by the trail of moonlight peeking between the heavy jacquard curtains she never completely closed. She normally liked the sliver of its light. It worked just as well as candles for what she wanted, and after eight years of scarcity Elain couldn’t bring herself to be wasteful even if her family could now light the entire chateau and nearby village each night with barely a dent to their coffers. Tonight though the moon’s glow taunted her. She wanted nothing more than to go to the kitchen and make herself a cup of the tea blend that sometimes helped her sleep.

Propped up against pillows that were almost too fluffy, Elain stared at the glass doorknob that sparkled in the silvery light and the brass lock and key beneath it that gave off a flat shine. Hours ago in a voice as commanding as a queen her older sister Nesta told her not to leave her room, to only unlock the door in the morning when she came for her. Elain had easily agreed; the measure of security comforted Nesta and while she hated being treated like a child it wasn’t worth the argument. She hadn’t been surprised when her sister said she wasn’t leaving until she heard Elain snap the key into place. It was a surprise when Nesta tested the lock, rattling the knob and pushing against the door so hard Elain thought her older sister might force the solid slab of wood open herself or break the doorknob, trapping her in her room. As quickly as if she’d been stung by a bee Elain had slapped her hand over her mouth to cover the near hysterical laugh that burbled in her throat. If Nesta broke her door then they’d need the help of the very people, were they called people or something else?, that her sister was trying to protect her from. 

Elain still thought it all a bit unnecessary. Three, no four she corrected herself as she began to twist the ring on her finger, Fae were sleeping a ways down the hall in some of the chateau's finest guest rooms. They were so much stronger than humans. If they wanted to they could have the door down before she jerked completely upright. And who knew what magic they possessed? An ice cold chill skittered across her shoulders and down her spine. The man, male, her younger sister wouldn’t yet admit to herself she was falling in love with was a High Lord. Elain couldn’t begin to imagine what sort of power he wielded. He could probably blink and appear anywhere he wished.

Image by Oleksandr Ryzhkov on Freepik

[ravenwriter16]

Creative Minds Think Alike

Episode One---Episode Two---Episode Three---Episode Four---Episode Five (Here)---Episode Six

Featuring the Amazing: @lets-zofifi-stuff

Reminder! If the Content Creator doesn't approve of how I represent them, or their AUs/OCs then I will edit my work or DELETE it.

It not my intention to mock or belittle anyone's work. This series is supposed to showcase amazing creators! Also, heads up, the creator I've featured in this episode goes by she/them. This is my first time writing with pronouns like this so I'M SORRY IF I MESSED UP OR IF IT'S CONFUSING!!!

I do not beta read! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!! ENJOY!

The tower’s marble walls reflect the candle light. Casting the surroundings in a soft glow. The smell of fresh lily flowers and fresh water tickles my nose. I was currently standing on a floating stone slab with a golden rune of some kind. The slab transporting me to the top with ease. I mumble to myself while reviewing my notes. I lift one page up and moving it behind the others.

I stop, looking to the side. My left wing was tracing the wall of the tower, assuring me that it was there. The right wing is folded close to my back. The feathers bristle at the smallest puff of air from some cold draft.

“Troll attacks are at an all time high…I need to double patrol shifts for the Defenders. And this time I should tell them to arrest first ask questions later…”

I snap my fingers and a pen appears out of thing air, it hovers over my notepad, scribbling more notes down. I hum and bite my lip, “Okay, I also need to check in with…No I can’t.” I groan, “They’re on sabbatical.”

The slab stops and buzzes underneath me. I yelp and jump off it and onto the awaiting platform. I huff and drag a hand through my hair, brushing down the downy feathers that puffed up when I was startled. I roll my eyes, placing a hand on my hip while I stare down at the slab.

“Rude.”

It glows pink and shakes a bit, chuckling in its own way. It zooms down the tower and I watch it leave with an annoyed expression.

I sigh and snap my fingers again. The pen disappearing and the notepad flying to my satchel. I turn around and face the dual wooden doors.

This was a sight to behold and again this castle leaves me speechless.

The door was a dark wood and smooth to perfection. It arched towards the top, giving it an ancient kind of vibe. Carved into the wood were a plethora of moonflowers, balloon flowers, and carnations. Taking up most of the doors were beautiful and intricate cravings of cherry blossom trees. Along the bottom of the door were ferns of various kinds. All encrusted in gold.

I smile and brush my fingers over some of the carvings. They felt like the real thing, regardless of their shinny coat of metal. Though they did feel cold to the touch. I watch as I pluck a petal of a cherry blossom petal from the door.

I hold it in my palm, taking in its beauty before it dissolves into sand. The grains slip between my gloved fingers. I hum, using my magic to clean up after myself before raising my fist to knock on the door.

I hear the muffled sound of someone shouting, “Be right there!”

The loud clanking of metal locks unlocking follow shortly after, as well as some more muffled shouts. The doors are then pulled open by the creator I came to see.

I give a small bow, a hand over my chest, “Lets-Zofifi-Stuff. How are you this fine morning?”

The human rolls their blue eyes, blowing some strands of their light brown hair out of their eyes. She puts a hand on their hip while the other keeps a hold on the door, “Busy, but I make do.”

She turns around and gestures with their hand, “Come in. Come in.”

Their purple cloak swishes with each step she takes, the glittering yellow stars moving across the fabric like it. Their wizard hat is of the same material, stars and all. But it had a softly glowing crescent moon stitched into the side. Red ribbons keep their cloak from falling their shoulders and the small bell hanging from said ribbons chimes with each step she takes.

I follow in after them, closing the doors behind me out of courtesy. Turning around I take in the room. As with all castle rooms, the inside was bigger than the outside would have you believe. It was still a tower, but the width was wider and the height of the ceiling was increased as well.

The walls were lined with bookshelves and the books themselves ranged from new to old, small to OH MY GOODNESS THIS BOOK IS HUGE!

…not joking. That is a size in this world…anyways.

Vines wrap around the shelves and small little patches of leaves and flowers were growing out of the wood. The wooden planks underfoot were in the same state. While trekking further into the room, I could hear the distinct sound of water flowing.

Stacks of books start coming into my line of sight as well. Along with stacks of papers and scrolls. Must be what is keeping Zofifi busy…

I gasp at the sight of a great willow tree, standing tall in the middle of the room. It’s trunk thick and sturdy and its branches extended to the corners of the room. Giving the courtesy for people, without the ability to fly, the path to reach the higher shelves.

From a hollowed knot on the trunk of the tree, a waterfall flows down. I follow the stream of water down the small…well streams! They were like veins along the floor, helping maintain live on all the plants in the room.

At the base of the tree was a lectern, holding up a book. The cover was purple with golden highlights. Zofifi steps up to the book, waving their hand over it. The book opens, pages fluttering as they rapidly turn.

She hums before snapping their fingers. The parchment stops moving and on the open pages were two sketches with elegant writing beneath them. “There you are!”

She blows on the pages then turns to face me. “I need to go fetch my key to the vault. I’ll only be a minute!”

I nod my head, “No hurry!”

She smiles, taking a step to the side. The air lifts them up and takes them up the length of the tower. I watch them until she leaves my line of sight. A large thump startles me and I face the book once more, wing out spread and ready to fight.

In front of me was a large golden construct. Leather sandals that had dried (What I hope was) mud encase his feet. An apron of thick leather strips covesr his waist, the length stopping at his right before his knees.

I crane my neck up to better view his form. The metal making up his form was of golden with small glowing veins of the bronze that were itched into the metal like tattoos. Around his face-plate were sharp and magnificent rays.

“Hello?”

I flinch, my eyes darting to meet pure white eyes. The being moves, taking a step closer. He looks down at me as if I was the strangest thing he’s ever seen. “Who are you?”

 I blink, before shaking my shoulders and bowing before, what I would assume is, a Sun variant. “I am Ravenwriter. The Archivist.”

Sun nods his head, a look of realization dawning over him. “Oh! Zofifi has told me about you! Are you here to view the Vault?”

“That’s right!” I smile, crossing my arms, “Are you by chance the gladiator Sun?”

Sun puffs out his chest, hands on his hips, “That’s me!”

“How are things going in your world?” I ask, walking closer to the tree to sit in one of the seats the branches made up.

Sun beams, “Great! Before I was summoned, I was being rescued by my light—*Ahem* by Y/n! Hahahaha…”

I chuckle, “It’s alright Sun. I’m not one to judge—,”

“Oh Good!” Sun quickly walks over and sits next to me, “Because my light is so sweet! You know they gave me their oil lamp? They didn’t want me to be alone in the dark! They even used their robe to clean my metal!”

I laugh as he sighs dreamily. “They sound very sweet.”

“THEY ARE!”

I laugh harder at that and Sun joins me. Then a sharp whistle grabs my attention. I look up to see the lunar assassin. He must have been watching us the entire time by hiding up in the tree. He slinks down, making a show as he gracefully lands on his feet.

“Hello Moon.”

“Archivist~.” Moon gives a small bow, “Come to pay us a visit?”

“Yep. Your creator has graciously allowed me some time in vault. I also got to meet your brother Sun.”

Moon gives a raspy chuckle, “Then while you wait, are you up for some sparing practice?”

“Oh, ho, ho.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m not falling for that again. Last time I spared with you, I couldn’t fly for weeks…”

Moon shrugs, inspecting his fingers, “Should’ve been faster…”

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda, Moon…” I chuckle. “I hope you both haven’t been giving Zofifi any trouble.”

Sun gasps and shakes his head, “No, no, no NEVER! We’ve been VERY helpful to our Starfire! Isn’t that right Moon?”

“Yes~.” Moon pulls out a dagger, twirling it, “We’ve both been having a blast scaring away...UNWANTED guests~.”

I nod my head, “Thank you both for defending them. I’m sorry you have to deal with this at all. Once I get my answers from the records in the vault, I should be able to boost up defensives.”

They both nod, “We understand.”

I smile at them, “Please keep up the fantastic work.”

“You guys getting along?” Zofifi hovers down, a staff in hand. The staff was made of Sakura wood, golden veins swirling down to the bronze plated tip. On top of the staff was a white glowing crystal with five points sticking out.

Sun smiles, rays shaking slightly in his joy.

Zofifi nods their head, snapping their fingers as she remembers something. “Could you two go check on your Y/n, please? I haven’t heard from them in a while and I’m starting to get worried. Oh! And could you both pick up some baked goods from Chica’s place? I’m in a snacking mood.”

Sun perks up and even Moon smiles a bit. They get up and head back to the book, fading into nothing the closer they get. They images appearing on the pages as drawings. I watch in wonder.

Zofifi lands in front of me, pulling out a bronze key from their pocket. “Found it! Left it near the azalea bushes. I really should trim around here. It’s starting to get annoying finding random objects out of the blue. Anyway…Are you still up to go to the vault?”

“Yes.”

“Good!” She gestures for me to follow them.

She zooms up into the branches of the tree. The leaves obscuring them. I spread my wings and spread my feet out a bit. After taking some deep breaths, I beat my wings. I follow after here, trying to avoid hitting stray branches

I reach the small hidden balcony, setting down right next to Zofifi.

The doors in front of me were imposing. Unlike the rest of the room, these giant, rusty metal doors were anything but warm and inviting. They were daunting and ominous. It felt like the grim reaper was breathing down my neck.

“Now!” Zofifi turns and faces me, “Before we continue, I need to give my whole ‘Record Keeper Spiel’. Protocol, you know?”

I nod my head, turning to face them, “oka—,” I freeze.

My face pales and my wings start flapping nervously.  She was holding their staff out towards me. The star-shaped stone was brightly glowing and hovering above it, made from pure light was a…

“Is…is that a Glock?” I ask nervously, taking a step back.

She just smiles, “I stand before you as this Castle’s Vault Keeper. I protect precious Records, all ancient and new.”

Their Auora ripples though me. The feeling of vines wrapping around my limbs and squeeze me takes over. I look down at my feet but find no vines in sight. I felt as though my heart was beating a mile a minute and there was nothing I could do to calm it down.

“I am giving you special access into the vault. Under my supervision, you will review the records you were sent to look over. If you dare to destroy these precious documents, or attempt to steal anything, I will not hesitate to terminate you. Do you understand?”

I’m quick to nod my head.

The Glock gets absorbed back into the star-shaped gem. Zofifi beams, tossing me the key.

I scramble to catch it, clutching it close to my chest. My wings tremble and I swallow my nerves. Their Auroa lets up and I feel my heart begin to calm down.

“I-I…” I point to the doors, “I’m going to—,”

“Yeah you go on right ahead!” She nods their head, walking towards the edge of the balcony, “Just tell me when your done! Can’t let you walk out with anything.”

“R-right…”

Zofifi waves as they step off and float back down to the ground. I take a few deep breaths and head towards the vault doors.  

“Why do I keep forgetting that these Creators aren’t just normal people…” I mumble to myself, inserting the key into the lock. “Every time…Every time…”

The doors unlock and loudly creak open. I roll my shoulders and walk into the vault. “It’s not even funny anymore…Maybe I should reread the Archivist Manual…”

“HAVE FUN!” Zofifi’s voice calls out. “I’LL CHCEK ON YOU IN A BIT! OH! That reminds me! I have to dust the shelves and double check on the reports before I send them in. And I need to pay a visit to some of my Aus…”

“Wait, Wha—,” I whip around only for the doors to close behind me. I blink before laughing out loud, the sound echoing around the chamber. I turn around, feeling better and a lot calmer.

I roll up my sleeves, “Guess I should get started!”

***

That's Episode Five! Thank you so much @lets-zofifi-stuff for letting me feature you and your gladiator boys! It's one of my favorite fics! If you guys haven't checked it out, it's on AO3 and it's called 'Death Games and Robots'! You can find the link on their pinned post on their blog!

You will not be disappointed!

Signing off for now! Have a wonderful rest of your day or night!

[the-introverted-writer-for-life]

Whumpcember Day 1: Broken bones + Day 26: Falling

Fandom: Hermitcraft SMP (MCYT)

Word count: 785

Summary: Grian falls off his season 10 base, and breaks his arm.

“Let's see what profits we have in here, shall we?” Grian said to no one in particular as he pushed open the spruce doors of his red sand and mushroom shop.

As predicted, the red sand had no sales.

“Mushroom?”

The regular mushroom blocks again had no sales, but he found a nice surprise when he opened the mushroom stem chest.

He whistled. “Sold out. Right! Back to the mushroom farm.” Grabbing the diamonds, he slammed the lid of the chest shut and stuffed his profits away in his inventory, before exiting the shop and taking off back to his base.

The flight wasn't too long, thankfully, and he got to see a lot of the other Hermit's bases through taking the quickest route: Ren’s armadillo scuteball arena, False’s huge circular structure, and then the bright pink leaves of the cherry trees on top Magic Mountain, the huge hill around which seven of them had built. After circling a little way around, he saw the familiar blue and red houses sticking out from the mountainside - and the harbour and docks and barn beside it.

Ooo, there was a window design he had seen a few days ago. He could try it on the barn…

No, Grian told himself firmly. There will be other times.

Oh, but it would look so lovely…

Grian moaned at himself. He was going to be unable to rest until he'd tried it out. It would only take a minute, and then he could farm as much mushroom as he needed.

Grabbing some deepslate slabs and a couple of spruce stairs, he used the pre-existing scaffolding he'd used to block in the windows to climb up and start working on the top. One slab here… a stair there…

Soon, he was able to step back and see how it looked.

He hadn't been wrong. The design fitted perfectly, but with the empty window, there was something he didn't like.

It didn't take him long to work out that the thing that was bugging him was on the interior - he'd somehow managed to place a stair wrong on the big metal beam that ran across the width of the barn high up, forming the lowest level of the rafters. It would only take a second! Then he'd farm the mushroom, rest assured, but he couldn't leave such a blatant error unattended for long.

He flew in through the open window and straight up to the beam, not bothering to scaffold up. Trying to keep his balance, he swung his pickaxe, breaking the stair that was placed wrong. It dropped, and he picked it up and crouched down to slot it back in. He didn't care too much about if he fell - there was water beneath him, so he didn't even need to use his wings if he didn't want to.

Of course, with many things like this, thoughts like these are exactly what cause accidents. Grian was no longer worried about balance, and as he slotted the stair back in the right way, he could feel himself tipping - but realised it too late.

He fell.

His gaze whipped to the ground, and there was water beneath him, wasn't there?

Oh void no there isn't I'm too far over I'm gonna hit the sidewalk -

A sickening crunch tore through the air at the same time as a wave of agony bloomed in Grian's right arm. He had landed on it - hard.

Why didn't he use his wings?

Well this isn't good.

The pain wasn't necessarily anything he hadn't felt before, but it still hurt. A lot.

Then he found himself slipping… or was that just his imagination?

Then he was falling.

And all of a sudden he was wet and he had fallen into the water and he couldn't swim with one arm out of action and he couldn't keep himself up and he was going to drown and have the worst respawn ever and he -

Strong arms grasped his outstretched hand and pulled. Pulled, pulled him up, out of the water, into the air, the beautiful air, oh, the air…

“Grian! Grian, G! What the heck!?”

“Hey, G… you're ok, alright? I've got you…”

He was back on solid ground. Somehow. And though his arm felt like it might drop off, and his stomach felt ready to empty the entire contents of the universe out into the world, he was ok. He was gonna be ok.

“Pearl…”

“Hey! G, I'm here. We're gonna get you all patched up, ok?”

Grian gave a tiny nod, too exhausted to do anything else. He felt Pearl begin to shift his position, but his brain decided it would be better to black out.

So he did.

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2023.12.11

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. Curiosity Killed Everything by @xx-thedarklord-xx [T, 1k]

►Harry was used to getting love letters after the war, but this? This one didn’t quite count. 'I can't stand you.' Rudeness aside, Harry found it funny. He continued to find it funny as his last year of Hogwarts was filled with more and more hate mail from an anonymous admirer.

2. How the Light Gets In by 13434x [G, 1k]

►Draco has a mission. He is conditioned to fail.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. The Best Laid Plans by Anonymous [G, 2k]

►Harry and Draco attempt to "break the news" that they're dating to their respective children. It does not go as planned. /// In which Harry is embarrassed, Draco is exasperated, Albus and Scorpius are vindicated, and Blaise owes Hermione 10 galleons. ★ Harry/Draco Owlpost 2023 | @hdowlpost

2. Sugarplum by Anonymous [E, 27k]

►The air crackled as it busied itself shifting around molecules, making way for a hefty slab of magic, and then there it was: the Knight Bus, squeezed neatly into a pocket of Wizarding space among stagnant Muggle buses, vibrant violet amidst a string of cherry red. The door sprang open. [...] ★ H/D Erised 2023 | @hd-erised

[siberat]

chubby drables- SG Rat/chet

(Warning- force feeding, tube feeding, minor medical stuff). So, if anyone follows me or sees my posts, you know I am a big chub Rat/chet fan. But I will take this drabble in a different direction- in a couple different ways. First, our dear medic isn’t gonna get chubbed this time, and second…. while normal Rat/chet is a bit grumpy… what about Shatt/ered Gl/ass Rat/chet?

So, SG Rat/chet definitely has a mean streak that goes above and beyond grumpy. Yes, he is still a doctor, but he loves to experiment with new drugs, surgeries, and techniques- with or without patient consent. Come on, it’s in the name of medical advancement!

At least, that is what he tells his victim, anyway.

So, imagine a bot captured by the evil Auto/bots. Of course, I will pick Dri/ft in my scenario because I lack variety big time. Okay, a better choice would be Dead/lock. So, the gun mech is captured by the Auto/bots, and he wakes up on Rat/chet’s medical slab. His optics are wide, darting back and forth in fear, but he feels fine. He runs a diagnostic check, and everything seems in order.

He clambers off the slab and tries the door. Yeah. It’s locked. But don’t worry, Rat/chet soon enters. And he brings in a heaping meal. Naturally, Dead/lock questions the food, but the Doctor simply leaves it, and eventually, Dead/lock gets hungry enough to eat it.

The meals start out average size but eventually grow. And Rat/chet will be upset if the dish is not cleared. Dri/ft found that out the hard way. So, he clears the plates. And the meals keep getting bigger. Rat/chet joins him for the meal, not out of care and consideration, but to ensure the gunmech eats every crumb.

And when he does, he is rewarded with dessert. Sometimes, it’s sweet cherry pies fresh from the oven. Other times, it's moist cakes slathered with rich, sweet frosting and geode crumbles. And Dead/lock must eat every bite. And I am not talking about slices here: I’m talking about the entire pie/cake.

Naturally, the Decep/ticon’s once strong, slim frame grows soft and plump. First is his belly; it swells and droops over his hip plating. Then his thighs ballon out, puffing up nicely and rubbing against each other as he paces around his cell of a room. And yes, that aft grows thick, his arms expand, and his cheeks grow ever so cute and chubby.

And measurements kept getting logged. Dead/lock is subjected to having the Doctor wrap a measuring tape around his growing belly, thickening thighs, and round arms. Calipers are used to measure the deepness of his flab rolls. Every measurement is carefully recorded in detailed chart notes. Being the ever-professional, Rat/chet takes in-depth notes on the softness and squishiness of the chub, all taken by his hands.

But the day comes when Dead/lock sighs in relief at the regular-sized meal. But alas, Rat/chet demands the ‘Con to sit down. And once Dead/lock obeys, he is belted in. His hands are bound next to his sides, and try as he might, the gunmech cannot escape.

Rat/chet sneers a toothy grin as he sets a box beside his captive mech. First, he pulls out a jug of this pink liquid and slams it on the table. Then, a funnel. Finally, the tubing is fished from the box.

Dead/lock stares with wide optics as the Doctor connects the tubing to the funnel, then turns to his prey.

“Open up,” Rat/chet growls, but Dead/lock does not obey. “Open up voluntarily, or I will force you to open up.”

With much chagrin and fear, Dead/lock’s mouth opens, and the medic’s fingers are jammed inside, forcing those maws to open as wide as they can. The end of the tube is guided between teeth and shoved inside the throat. There is some resistance. Getting the tubing past the mech’s intakes was a challenge- at least while they were conscious.

“Swallow,” Rat/chet demands, and a second attempt is made. Same results. “Why must you make things harder for yourself, Dead/lock?” Without warning, that tube presses deeper, forcing its way past the spasming intake without any care in the world for the pain the plastic causes as it scrapes its way down. Dead/lock gags at the intrusion as the tube is fed down his throat until the funnel is just above his lips.

“There’s a good little pup.” Rat/chet coos, but not in kindness. “Now, there have been talks about how much a bot’s fuel tanks can hold. Many think it’s only a certain amount, no matter what. I think, with careful preparations, the chambers can hold much more.”

The cap to the jug was flicked off with a thumb. “I think it is time we found out. What do you think?” The jug is lifted, and Dead/lock's optics widen as he watches the liquid pour in. Thankfully, it’s just a little bit. And Dead/lock doesn’t even have to swallow for that pink fluid to fill his belly- it automatically slides down the tubing.

Once the funnel is drained, more is poured in. Rat/chet keenly logs how much liquid is consumed and compares it to the swell of the tummy. Measurements are taken, and the ever-so-reliable poke test is performed. This continues, but soon, Dead/lock’s belly is taunt and growling with pain. He moans in protest, but all that is heard is the whining, not the begging for the feeding to stop.

“We are almost done.” Rat/chet sharply states, lifting the jug once more, “We are at the point where other doctors claim is the max capacity. I beg to differ. And now, I can prove my theory is correct.”

Dead/lock’s optics well up with tears as he attempts to shake his helm no. However, Rat/chet is not persuaded to stop. Instead, he grins, looking at his captive in the optics.

“Don’t worry. I’m a Doctor,” The remaining liquid in the jug is poured in, and Rat/chet watches as it flows down the funnel. “If you do pop, I’ll be able to fix you up.”

All Dead/lock could do was clench his optics shut and wine as he felt his belly grow uncomfortably full, stretching past normal compacity

[thelustybraavosimaid]

In the past fortnight the royal party had been in Winterfell, Aemon was not without either Robb or Arya.

The latter always promised him some grand adventure, and more often than not the two of them burned the day away by playing silly games in the godswood until they were breathless and sweaty and dirty and succumbed to laughing fits, or giggling to themselves as they nick hot fresh loaves of bread or scones from the kitchens, but this day was different.

Today she led him to Winterfell's glass gardens, and he inspected the outside of it. Panes of glass were wedged between the thick slabs of granite stone that matched the castle. Aemon had been told before that Winterfell had been built upon a system of hot springs that fed through the stone like blood pumping in a man's body, and that seemed to be the case here as well. Moisture misted the inside of the garden, and the silhouettes of the workers within were distorted and darker shades of the green and yellow of the glass panels. Utterly unbothered by the presence of others, Arya held onto his hand and led him to the door, the glitter in her grey eyes as she looked back a little promise of adventure.

Who was he to deny his cousin on her name day?

The prince passed the threshold, and was taken with the deceptive size of the inside. Rows of assorted trees, fruits, vegetables, and flowers were sectioned off. Cherries and apples and squash, tulips and blueberries and raspberries, much and more spanned the length of the area. Cooks were tending to the vegetables in one section. Baskets of various sizes were filled with carrots and leeks and onions. They spared them a furtive glance from time to time, but generally paid them no mind.

Two things truly caught him. The first was the scent of the room itself, familiar and comforting, though this was his first tour of the gardens. It was warm and earthy, and it hit him that this was the smell that clung to Arya's skin. Wind and water and freshly tilled earth, blended into one as if the gardens themselves formed her. He took a deep breath, relaxing.

The second was how hot it was in here. Not hot enough to stifle one's breathing, but warm enough for perspiration to dot his brow. But despite the sweat on his hand, Arya's grip was still on his, tight and sure, and he continued to follow.

The air was very sweet here, and they stopped before a little field of shrubs. Blackberries, he thought, his mouth watering. Did she know the fruits were his favourite? Some of the five-petaled flowers were still in bloom, while fruit bore in other spots—some pink and red, unripe and sure to be sour, while others still were dark and ready for picking. Arya filled her hand with those, and offered them to him with a shy smile.

Aemon scooped up half with eager greed and shoveled them all into his mouth, relishing the taste. He felt the liquid dotting the seam of his lips. This is not princely, he thought, unbidden as his tongue subconsciously darted out, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Arya's cheeks were puffed with fresh fruit and the juice was already staining her lips a deep purple, a stream threatening to escape further and down to her chin, and he wanted to laugh at the sight. It didn't help that one of the cooks chased them off, slow and lumbering, telling them that they needed those berries for pies.

She wiped her mouth with the back of the hand. "I want you to see the flowers," she declared, jutting out her chin in a stubborn pout.

He nodded his assent.

Arya led him to the section of flowers, the sweet smell mingling with earth.

"I love the smell of this place," she confessed. "The covered bridge where you can see the whole of the yard is my second favourite spot."

He quirked a dark brow. "You never told me that you liked flowers."

"Why would I bring you here if I hated flowers, stupid?"

"Because you enjoy spending time with me, little cousin. The longer the better." He snorted, following her as she named more. Red flowers, blue, pink and purple, the colours of the rainbow were on full display. She plucked a sweet-smelling blue flower and brought it to her nose before reaching to tuck it behind his ear. "You are holding me hostage with games and adventure because you know how impossible it is to deny you anything. I can see right through you, Arya."

"It's my name day!" A ghost of a smile traced her lips. "Why wouldn't I want to show you my favourite spots?"

He ruined her hair further with a ruffle. "And that's why I'm here, little cousin." Though I'd still be here even if it weren't your name day.

Aemon's gaze travelled until he spotted a rosebush off in the distance. Now it was him leading her somewhere; he inspected the bush until he found one to his liking. Smiling, he withdrew the little blade his queen mother had gifted him and sliced it off with ease.

"What are you doing?" Curiosity littered her voice. The smile was still plastered on his face when he slanted his head.

"As thanks for the berries, allow me to make something for you." He ran the blade down the stem, slicing a few thorns off before he looked back up at her, raising a brow. "Do you object?"

She sucked her lip between her teeth and chewed. He took her silence for acceptance, and so he continued his work.

As his fingers danced, he had launched into a tale of how the Queen Lyanna taught him the names of various flowers, and he had committed them all to memory—gillyflowers and poppies, dragon's breaths and thistles and everything in between until she eventually plucked a red rose for him. Back then, he had taken the petals off, one by one, carefully twisting the stem to impale them on the thorns to mimic the one she wore, but then she picked another one and showed him how to make a flower crown proper. The queen's hands were strong as she cut off the thorns and twisted and wove, feeding one and then another through the weave. By the time she had finished, there were four fat roses sturdily braided in a thick tangle of stems, one for each side.

And remember, her lilting voice softened as she put the crown on him, no one wants to be pricked by thorns, Aemon. Make sure you remove every one.

Lost in his memory, Aemon followed her old instructions until it was well-fashioned enough for him to rest it on Arya's head, the weight making it sink in dark tufts. Instead of one on each side, he had made a crown of three roses littering in the front.

"My mother was my father's Queen of Love and Beauty," he said absently. "Father says she does her duty well, but sometimes I think she prefers the first crown he gave her."

His hand found her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Was it just him or was she...glowing? He was caught by surprise, and he found himself watching her. Sparkling grey eyes, a pink flush to the cheeks, a rough tumble of dark hair in loose northern braids, a smile as wild as she herself...she is pretty.

Very pretty.

He broke from his thoughts with a blink and a cleared throat. "There," he said, straightening. "Now you are my Queen of Love and Beauty."

[saturniidae-served-cold]

Are you working on any interesting minecraft builds?

so far I've just added a few houses to this cool villiage I found. It already had quite a few but then they had babies so I needed more rooms for beds.

^this one is concrete, its the newest. I should have made the blue line more zigzaggy lol.

^this one has petals falling down inside all the time :) I was woried the cherry leaves would despawn over time but theyve stayed so far. It doesnt have windows but I put some glowing lichen inside.

This one is cut sandstone slabs, I was trying to make chisled sandstone, but you can't do that after you make it cut, apparently. Originally I had the door infront where the cherry wood is now, but that was making the windows look weird since it was adjacent to them. I moved it to the back. also I put rainbow beds in here but it became nighttime between the time I took these screenshots.

Also I have some weathered copper blocks and amethyst I think I can build something pretty out of. :)

[daily-mc-block]

Just seen cherry blossom leaves are already coming! Have pink petals already been requested? (Assuming they count as blocks) if so could I get those for June 28th instead? :D

hello! a few cherry type blocks have already been taken. here's what's available:

cherry button, door, fence, fence gate, pressure plate, sapling, sign, slab, stairs, trapdoor, cherry wood, stripped cherry wood