#elderflower experiences

[elderflowerprince]

putting what i learnt in first semester programming class to "good" "use" by making some little buttons to count stats in my spreadsheet of ocs. clearly the most practical class i've ever taken

(still can't believe the final exam was on paper)

[elderflowerprince]

me when my university had a class on ableism and one of those involved an online lecture video about deaf/hard of hearing people

which

had no subtitles

MAN I HAVE AUDITORY PROCESSING DISORDER AND THEIR AUDIO QUALITY WAS SHIT. IT TOOK ME SO MUCH REWINDING OF THE VIDEO TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY WERE SAYING GHFHFHFFJGHFD I WASTED HOURS THAT I WOULDN'T HAVE NEEDED IF THEY HAD JUST POSTED THEIR SCRIPT FOR THE VIDEO OR EVEN ALLOWED AUTO SUBTITLES

"contract grading" "only 4 absences or you drop to an F" "in this class we will be teaching about disabilities. attendance is mandatory and i do not accept late work" "please respond to at least two of your peers in this discussion post" "people with autism need time to decompress in a classroom environment. your class is four hours long with a 7 minute break." "we like to let students learn the way THEY want to learn. please buy our 150 dollar textbook."

[elderflowerprince]

thinking about the time some guy in my class called hokkaido an unexplored tiny village so i was like haha nA MO NAI, JIDAI NO SHUURAKU NO, NA MO NAI, OSANAI SHOUNEN NO,

and the teacher said "hey [elderflower]-san that's nostalgic lol" and my brain Froze

"...se-sensei what do you mean nostalgic"

him: i used to listen to it in middle school a lot!

me: ...you know it?? why

him: yeah. i mean it's ten years old. why do YOU know it?

me:

him:

him: wait oh god did i say TEN YEARS? i feel so old oh shit

[fingertipsmp3]

The other thing that’s happened is I got sent the wrong deodorant so now I either have to contact customer service, or spend three months smelling like apple and cinnamon (which I didn’t even know was a scent they offered)

[drarryspecificrecs]

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[elderflowerprince]

oh no yeah this is true. i had amnesia either directly from a seizure or from hitting my head during the seizure once. it was awful talking to my friends afterwards because

your voice is familiar, but who are you again?

i know we love each other, but i can't remember why.

i have a folder full of screenshots of us chatting together, and that's my name in them, to be sure, but i don't feel like i was there.

parts of you are still in my head. i love you so much. the proof of the time we spent together is right there. but i just can't remember it.

there's only enough residue to recognise you. none of the memories themselves are left.

The most terrifying part of having memory issues is when you can feel something from 5 seconds ago be thrown out the window and there's an empty hole where it once was. You remember that you forgot something.

[foundress0fnothing]

what lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why

Summary: Elain and Lucien make a bargain. When it's time to call it in, however, neither of them remembers what it is—or that they made one in the first place.

Part 1/2. 4.5k words. Read here on ao3 or below the cut!

For Elucien Week 2024. Thanks to the organizers @elucienweekofficial for putting together such a wonderful event!

Title from Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem of the same name. So many thanks and hugs to @areyoudreaminof for betaing this and assuring me that the vibes were good!

By all accounts, it had been a perfect ceremony. Nesta looked beautiful in an elegant gown of ivory lace and silk and Cassian had gotten misty-eyed when he saw her. The two of them professed their love and fidelity in a heart-wrenchingly tender exchange of vows. They had commandeered the River House for the day, turning the front lawn into a lush expanse of trees and fae lights and flowers. There had been heartfelt speeches and strong drinks and delicious food, and now everyone was on the dance floor, celebrating all that they loved after coming so close to losing everything. Nesta and Cassian held each other as they danced slowly, lost to anyone other than their mate; Feyre and Rhys had left Nyx in the care of Nuala and Cerridwen, so they too were smiling happily (if tiredly) as they swayed to the music; even Nesta’s new friends Emerie and Gwyn had managed to make it to the ceremony despite all they had endured, apparently escorted by Mor and Azriel, both of whom hung closely to the females as they moved through the party, talking and laughing together easily. 

And there was Elain. Sweet, simple, quiet Elain, who, hovering at the edge of the dance floor by herself and looking at all the happy couples, wanted nothing more right then than a drink and to be miserable all by her sweet, simple, quiet self. 

No one had noticed her fade into the background of the party as she moved across the lawn, straightening the flower arrangements she had put together early that morning until she reached the doorway that would lead her back into the River House. She stepped through without looking back to see if anyone was watching. No one would be, but still—she didn’t want anyone to think her behavior strange if they did happen to glance her way. After all, there was nothing strange about her ducking into the house for a moment. Even if anyone saw her, they would forget her in a moment. As usual.

Once inside, she walked down the hall toward Rhys’ office. The door was closed over, but a quick push with her hip opened it easily. Rhys rarely locked it nowadays; the worst had happened and he still had his happy ending—why should he worry about an unlocked door?

But since he was the reason she didn’t have her own happy ending—not with Graysen, not with Azriel, not with anyone else—the least he could do was supply her with some disgustingly expensive alcohol of his to get through an evening of mated couples menacing her with their sheer presence.

He kept his best liquor in the shelf behind his orrery, and she let her fingers ghost over intricately wrought planets as she gently pushed the model aside to survey the bottles in his collection. They came from all across Prythian—ice wine from Winter, blackberry brandy from Summer, coffee liqueur from Dawn, fire whiskey from Autumn, honey mead from Day. He even had a few scant bottles of elderflower and lilac wine from Spring and a sloe gin from Illyria that she knew from past experience was better as an antiseptic than something to ingest.

Her eyes caught on a bottle in the corner. Its label was richly colored with maroons and browns and golds, and featured an illustration of a rushing waterfall in the middle of an autumnal forest. The bottle was mostly full, and the amber liquid inside seemed to burn with a fire that seemed to match the inferno Elain felt raging in her chest.

Making her decision, she grabbed the bottle by the neck and stalked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She wended her way through the house to a small staging room that was just off of the kitchen. It was very rarely used—what use was a staging room in a house where the food just appeared with a snap of the high lord’s fingers? But it was lovely—the walls were painted a soft, muted green, and there was a comfortable loveseat tucked into the back corner behind the counters and tables. Elain had quietly, unofficially, claimed it as her hiding place, shifting plants and a small vanity a few favorite books into it until it resembled an oasis that she could retreat to when Feyre’s nosiness and Rhys’ highandedness and Nyx’s infant chaos grew to be too much for her to handle. 

And today, more than ever, Elain wanted some sort of escape. 

She flopped ungracefully down on one of the loveseats, not caring if the silk of her dress got wrinkled. So what if it did? It’s not like Elain was going back out there to try and find some male for the night. With her luck, they would all be mated anyway. Sighing, she pulled out the stopper on the whiskey and lifted the bottle directly up to her lips, taking a long sip and relishing the way it burned as it went down her throat��fire and smoke and peat and honey all at once. 

She waited until the sensation went away, and then she took another sip. And then another one. And then—

“You’re missing the party.” A voice from the doorway stopped her from taking another drink.

Elain didn’t have to turn to look at who it was. She knew his voice, and his scent, and his heartbeat, alluring and intoxicating and branded into the very marrow of her bones.

And she was too tired to care to guard herself against his pull. 

“Well done.” Elain finally turned to look at her mate, her eyes taking a moment to focus after she stopped moving. Lucien was lovely, she acknowledged petulantly. He was tall and surprisingly broad, facts highlighted by the close cut of the forest green suit he wore in honor of the festivities. His hair had been pulled away from his face in an array of intricate braids, and she noticed a few earrings winking at the tips of his pointed ears. Even the scar that cut across his eye, brutal as it was, only added to his allure and gave him a rakish look whenever he smiled. All together it was unfairly disarming, and Elain channeled some of her frustration into her tone as she continued sarcastically. “You caught me.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Another brilliant observation.” For a male with one eye. Not that she would ever say that to his face. That would be rude.

He raised an eyebrow. …Had she said it aloud. She grimaced slightly. Maybe she was much drunker than she realized.

“Do you want me to—should I leave?”

“Everyone always does.” She raised the bottle in his direction before bringing it back to her mouth and taking a long pull, deciding that the sharp sting in her eyes was from the burn of the whiskey and nothing else.

He hesitated in the doorway, clearly uncertain. Not that Elain could imagine why—it’s not like he had made any effort to stay in the same room as her before, always flitting off to see Feyre or Rhys or the humans he knew outside of Prythian. “Is it better if I stay?”

“Do what you want, Lucien.” Elain said it dismissively, but she saw him shudder as the sound of his name washed over him. 

“And what do you want, Elain?” He whispered the question, but she still felt it resonate inside her, the sound of her name and the offer of a choice foreign and familiar and far too exhilarating all at once. Half-consciously, she rubbed at her chest where the resonance felt strongest.

She didn’t want to let go of that feeling. Not yet, at least.

“Have a drink.” She held the half-full bottle out to him as she shifted on the loveseat, making just enough room for his larger frame to perch on the chair without having to touch her.

He sat down and studied the bottle, huffing slightly in pleased surprise. “I haven’t had this in years.”

Elain didn’t say anything at all as he continued turning the bottle of whiskey over in his hand, lost in the past for a moment. It wasn’t her place—and she didn’t trust drunk Elain to approach any revelations that prying might reveal with anything even approximating tact.

He roused himself after a few moments. “Cheers.” He took a long sip, leaning against his side of the chair and closing his eyes as the whiskey hit his tongue to savor the flavors. She wondered if it tasted the same to him—a smoky, peaty, cleansing burn—or if it was more to him somehow. 

Elain thought about asking, but he interrupted her musings with a wry, “Tastes like home,” and she snorted. That was her question answered, then.

She waved for him to pass the liquor back to her, and they sat in silence for a while, taking turns with the whiskey until only a few fingers remained.      

It was easy being there with him—a fact that Elain relished and resented in equal measure. It was nice and objectively the best day she had had in far longer than she’d prefer to acknowledge. But it wasn’t fair—she had made her choices about love. Twice! And both times she had ended up with nothing but hardship and betrayal and shame. 

And this, sitting and sipping whiskey silently with Lucien, was easy. Because he was her ‘mate.’ Well, fuck that, Elain thought petulantly. She was sick of mates. And how annoying it was that he of all people was the only one to offer her any kind of choice? Honestly.

“It’s just that,” Elain started, feeling the need to voice some explanation as to why she had been hiding and drinking, “I wanted a choice. And this is what I get.” She held the bottle of whiskey in her hand and gestured vaguely in the direction of the party before taking another sip and slumping against the arm of the loveseat.

Lucien motioned for the bottle, and she passed it back. Her head swum as she leaned forward, and she giggled at the way the room seemed to shimmer golden at its edges. 

He raised an eyebrow and said, before taking a drink, “We’re alike in that, my lady.” He swayed slightly, and Elain was glad to see that he was catching up to her. “What choices have I ever had?”

“That’s very bleak,” Elain chided him.

“Sorry, did you expect that this,” he said, gesturing to his face, “came from a happy story?”

“I don’t know the story.”

“Surely you’ve heard—”

“Not from you.”

He paused for a moment, thinking. “Another time.”

She nodded easily, happy enough to let the story remain unspoken. She did know it—or knew as much as Feyre knew, anyway—and besides, she didn’t want to push if it would disturb the peace that had settled between them.

But she was still thinking about bonds and love and choices, and so she asked, quietly, “Would you choose this?”

Lucien tilted his head, blinking to focus his eyes as he tried to make sense of her question. “Choose what? You? The mating bond?”

Elain hummed in agreement.

“It’s a mating bond.” He looked at her like she was stupid, and she scowled slightly, irritated at his answer.

“But you…there have been—there are—others? Right?”

“I’m 300 years old. Of course—”

“And that’s another thing!” She exclaimed, unsteadily pushing herself to sit upright. “I’m only 24! What time have I had?” 

Lucien snorted and took another drink from the now almost-empty bottle, muttering, “Enough time to fuck it up twice, apparently.”

“Oh, fuck you.” She shoved his shoulder and yanked the whiskey out of his hands. She was done sharing if he was going to be like that.

But she wasn’t mad, not really. The whiskey had made her brain a little too floaty to harbor any real irritation. And it’s not like he was wrong exactly. Although she was mortified that he apparently knew about Azriel.

He smirked at her as she settled back against her side of the loveseat, aware that she was more amused than angry.

Elain wrinkled her nose at his smug expression and titled the bottle of whiskey up to finish off the last few swallows. It still burned going down, although the sensation had dulled since her first few sips. She lazily extended her arm to set it on the ground with a gentle clink, and when she looked up, she saw Lucien watching her curiously. 

“Would you be ready?” He asked.

“For what?”

“To accept the bond. If you’re tired of being alone.” He said it casually while looking up at the ceiling, as if he had no real stake in the answer. 

She wondered if he was trying to avoid scaring her off. She didn’t want to leave—she was too comfortably boneless and warm and hazy to really want to get up. And where would she go anyway? It’s not like she had anywhere else to be except the party. Besides, she couldn’t fault him for asking the question—she had brought up the topic of them being mates in the first place after all. But she didn’t know how to answer him. Was she ready? Tonight had been…good…but still. “I—would you?”

“I don’t want it gone. So–I could be.” Lucien glanced at her and shrugged.

Elain rolled her eyes. “But are you? Actually?” He opened his mouth to answer, and she sat up, raising her finger in his face and cutting him off before he could start. “And don’t lie, I’ll know.”

“I have—” He paused and looked away from her again. “There are the humans.”

“Oh?” Elain studied his face carefully. He still hadn’t looked back at her, but she could see something fond and hopeful in the corner of his eyes and the set of his mouth. His next words weren’t a surprise then.

“They make me happy.”

She wanted to be glad for him, truly. He had found love—he had chosen love. But his statement made something jealous and possessive spark in her chest. He was hers, that jealousy inside her seethed. And she hated that he made her feel this way because of the stupid mating bond. But she was drunk and bold and pissed, so she bit out, with a tone that would have made even Nesta cringe at its coldness, “Then why aren’t they here to celebrate with you?”

Lucien turned his gaze back to her and frowned. “You know why. It would be…impolite.”

“Because of me,” Elain finished, slumping backwards into the loveseat again until she was almost horizontal. She could feel the brush of his legs against hers from where she had splayed them out to encroach onto his side of the chair. The feral possessiveness ebbed slightly at his acknowledgement of their bond and the physical contact, but she was still angry. And she hated how good it felt to touch him. And, gods, she wanted another drink. The edges of her vision were still fuzzy, but she needed something that tasted like fire going down and could burn away the angry ache in her chest when she thought of Lucien and the humans.

He visibly swallowed, and Elain couldn’t tell if it was from their touching or some guilt about the humans in the face of her anger. Her stupid, mate-and-whiskey-clouded brain refused to move past them, and so she probed. “So you’re here alone.” 

She must have sounded too pleased at that fact, because Lucien raised a judgmental eyebrow and smiled meanly. “As alone as you are, my lady.”

Elain scowled at him. “Well, I’m tired of being aloneeeee.” She let herself draw out the last word into a whine, savoring the petulant tone that she knew her sisters would have smacked her for if they had been there in the room with them. It had always annoyed them when she used it to get her way growing up.

And it clearly had the same effect on Lucien, whose judgemental eyebrow shifted into a full sneer. “You’re telling me that you’re tired of being alone? I’m your mate. You could say the word and not be alone today.”

She sniffed at his tone. “That makes you sound pathetic.”

He shoved her legs away from his and said, as she tried to avoid slipping off the loveseat, “I thought you were supposed to be the nice one. You get mean when you’re drunk.”

She smiled fakely as she kicked her legs back out, making sure to connect with his shin before letting her calves settle against his. “Just with you.” And, she thought to herself as he scowled and rubbed at what would certainly be a bruise on his leg, that’s what you get for falling in love with someone else but coming to drink with me. 

A ribbon of satisfaction burned through her at the spiteful thought, while at the same time, some rational part of her brain cringed. She hated how nonsensical it all was—wanting a choice and wanting him all at once. 

And then she had a brilliant idea. She had read about it in one of the novels that Nesta had left lying around the townhouse—a couple that agreed to come back together after taking time apart. The book had been silly but the plan? It would be perfect for them.

“Okay, what if,” she said, hauling herself to a more normal sitting position, although she mourned the loss of contact between them. “What if we made a bargain?”

Lucien was still rubbing his leg, but he asked, “A bargain? Why?”

“For each other.” He looked at her skeptically, and she huffed. “And they call you the cunning one.”

“How would a bargain—we’re already mates, Elain. We can just accept the bond.”

She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips again, but ignored it to explain, “But we would choose it.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Well, you’re not listening.” She leaned over to him and put her hands on either side of his face to draw him in close to her until their noses were almost touching so she would know he was paying attention.

But seeing his face like this captivated her, stilling the words in her mouth for a moment. His right eye, although it was a little bleary from the whiskey, burned with a fire in its russet depths, and the golden one seemed to glow lightly in tandem. From this close, she could count the barely-there freckles that were dusted across the bridge of his nose, so light that they almost blended into the deep brown of his skin. And his scar—she could feel the grooved edges of it under her fingertips as she held his face, and she longed to raise her hand and cradle the damaged skin—

“Okay?” Lucien interrupted her enraptured perusal of his face, confusion lacing his question.

She blinked back to awareness, quickly shoving aside all thoughts of tenderly holding his face or seeing how hot his eyes could burn if she just—no. “So here’s the plan. Because—I want time, Lucien. Time to choose. Time to get to know other males. And you have whatever it is you have with your—with Vassa.”

“And Jurian.” 

Elain frowned at him. “Stay focused.”

He snorted but stayed quiet, so she continued. “And this—” she waved her hand between the two of them. “Gets forgotten. But not rejected.” She paused for a moment, and then said, quietly. “It’s just—I don’t want to be alone. At the end of it all. If—if…” She trailed off.

Lucien scoffed. “If you don’t find anyone better? Okay, princess.” He started to pull away. “I don’t want to be your last chance gamble because you’re drunk and lonely tonight, Elain.”

“No—no.” She kept her hands pressed to either side of his face, squeezing slightly until he stopped trying to move and just scowled at her. She knew he could shake her off if he really wanted to, if he decided to go back to the party or winnow home to his humans and laugh with them about his silly mate who came on to him because she was lonely and couldn’t find love on her own like them. But she didn’t want him to think that it was him she disliked. Then he could leave if he wanted to, and she would steal another bottle of Rhys’ to forget the whole humiliating affair.

He stayed, so she said, “It’s not that. It’s not you. Obviously. Don’t be an idiot. I just—I don’t like the obligation of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Do you like the obligation of me?”

“Not at this moment.”

Elain scowled and removed her hands from his face to gesture at the doorway. She had said what she needed to. “You can leave.”

But Lucien just looked at her for a few moments and sighed. “No, I really can’t. Not if this might be something—” He stopped himself from saying anything else, and impulsively, Elain grabbed his hand.  

“I just want a chance to choose. I just want time. Not to give it up completely. And I want—you to have time too. To choose.” That was a lie—Elain would much prefer it if he just waited for her to figure it out, but she couldn’t ask that of him. Not fairly. 

He nodded, so she continued. “So we make a bargain. For time. And then, if we reach the end of the time and we haven’t committed—officially—to someone else, we do it. The whole thing. Accepting the bond, the frenzy, the big ceremony and the family and all of it. Because maybe the Mother or the Cauldron or fate or whatever was right all along.”

“How long?” Lucien asked.

“How long what?”

“How long until we call in the bargain?”

Elain titled her head, considering.“Ten years.”

“And if there’s no one else—”

“Yes. We do it. Mates.”

Lucien hesitated for a moment, and Elain let go of his hand to grab his face again. “Say yes, Lucien.” Saying his name felt like magic and music and possibility, and as she watched the sound of it affect him again just like it had when he first came in the room, she knew he would agree.

Was it fair, using his name like this to get what she wanted? Maybe not. But it felt right—a way to bind them together without taking away their choices. Elain only hoped that it didn’t end with a repeat of her situation now—left alone while he found all that he was looking for. 

She hiccuped slightly.

Lucien smiled at that and then nodded. “Then, yes, Elain. It’s a bargain.” He leaned in and brought his hand up between hers to cup her chin, a smirk dancing across his face. “And sealed with a kiss.”

He tilted her lips up to meet his, and Elain burned.

She didn’t know what she had been expecting—something gentle, perhaps? Courtly and courteous, even.  But Lucien kissed with a fire that reminded her that he was a son of Autumn, his lips blisteringly hot and insatiable, searing through her until she felt herself melt into him.

There was a brief spark of pain in her head, just behind her ear, but she ignored it, lost as she was in his embrace. It was bliss and agony and ruination and heaven, and Elain privately wondered if she would ever feel something quite like it again.

After a few more moments, he pulled away, breathing heavily, and Elain too found herself gasping as she unconsciously lifted one hand to her lips as if it could soothe the bruising ache his kiss left behind.

They stared at each other, blinking. And then Elain smiled. “Wait here.”

She ran back to Rhys’ office, ignoring Lucien’s confused shout as she left the room. This—the bargain and the day and that kiss—required a drink. She grabbed one of the bottles at random, not really caring what it was, and then returned to the staging room. Lucien had spread out across the loveseat, with one arm thrown over his eyes.

She nudged him and he moved his arm. “Why did you—” But then he saw the bottle she grabbed—the mead, apparently—and smiled, understanding flashing in his eyes.

“Move over.” He shifted slightly, but not enough that she could sit upright on her own side of the bench, so she was forced to sit between his legs, leaning back into his chest.

“Happy, Lucien?”

He hummed in response. 

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see, and pulled the cork out of the bottle, savoring the honey-rich scent that immediately drenched the air around them. “A toast?”

Elain took a sip before passing the bottle backwards to Lucien, who laughed, “To stupid bargains with beautiful women.”

“To beautiful bargains with stupid men.”

She didn’t turn around to look at him, but she knew he was smiling. “Whatever you say, Elain.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Elain found herself sprawled out on the loveseat in her staging room with her feet dangling off the side. Her head was pounding and her tongue felt cottony and thick in her mouth as she blinked blearily awake and tried to remember what had happened last night.

She remembered leaving the party and stealing Rhys’ whiskey, and then Lucien!—she glanced around in a quiet panic. Was he here? What had she said to him? 

But she was alone—Lucien had apparently left at some point in the evening, although she couldn’t quite place when, and so she didn’t have to face him and whatever alcohol-fueled nonsense they had said to each other.

They had shared the whiskey—that she remembers. And they talked about…something. And she could feel the ghost of some fire on her lips—the whiskey, most likely. But everything else was lost in a blur of liquor and warmth and … pain? Had she gotten hurt somehow?

There was a small, pulsing burning behind her ear, and Elain tentatively raised her hand to it. It was slightly warm, but it didn’t feel like an injury.

She hauled herself up off the loveseat to walk across the room to the vanity, hoping she could see whatever it was in the mirror. She angled her neck and swept her tangled hair to the side and—there!—she could just make out the silhouette of a flower tattoo behind her ear. 

Leaning in closer, she tried to make out the details. It looked like … a larkspur, maybe? But why—

And then Elain gasped and closed her eyes. A bargain. Drunk Elain had made a bargain with someone—Lucien? Gods, she hoped not—and because it was the fucking Night Court, she bore the evidence of it on her skin. It was a small tattoo, and  she thanked the mother that it wasn’t some giant monstrosity like Feyre’s arm bargain tattoos—at least she could hide this. Whatever this was.

[accipio]

@absolutionem

Hawke awakens with great reluctance, squinting groggily at blurry red lines that slowly coalesce into the numbers on his bedside alarm clock. 7:56 AM. Far too early. He glares at the bars of sunlight streaming in from between the blinds and turns over to face the wall. Maybe if he falls back asleep now he can get back to that dream he was having, though his sleep-addled mind can’t recall quite what it was about. Something pleasant, to be sure—the scent of elderflower and moss mingling with the faintest hint of lyrium, rough stubble against his cheek, Cullen’s palm warm and steady against his—

Oh, shit. He bolts upright, the details of the dream flooding back. Every moment is rendered in perfect clarity, more akin to a memory of a real event than the hazy vestiges of a dream. In his mind’s eye, he sees it all—the Gallows, the desire demon, Cullen’s miraculous arrival, the… what came after that.

He groans, rubbing his eyes. You idiot, you’re lucky you’re not waking up an abomination. Like any mage, he’s no stranger to demonic temptation. He knows all the usual tricks, and he knows never to trust anyone he meets in his dreams, not even if they wear the face of someone he cares for. Especially not then. It’s plain to him now that Cullen could not have actually been in the Fade with him; therefore, what he encountered must have been another demon—a demon whose charade he fell for hook, line, and sinker. By all accounts, it ought to have possessed him. He can’t for the life of him understand why it didn’t, but he’s not one to question his own preternatural good luck.

He’s about to write off the experience as a lesson learned when he feels something cold and hard next to his leg. He reaches for it, wondering if he left his phone on the bed again. Instead of the familiar metal rectangle, his fingers close around smooth glass. No. It’s not possible. 

The makeshift phylactery sits in the palm of his shaking hand, the vial’s contents bright crimson in the morning sunlight. What the fuck? Did he make this in his sleep? Manifest it, somehow…? His mind supplies a half dozen possible explanations, each more far-fetched and disturbing than the last.

Then, because today is really not shaping up to be his day, the doorbell rings. He curses under his breath, throwing on a ratty bathrobe that he doesn’t bother to tie. He’s taken to sleeping only in boxer shorts, which make the heat more tolerable but aren't ideal attire for entertaining visitors. “Just a moment,” he calls, a trifle testily, wondering who in the Void would pay a social call at this hour. He stuffs the phylactery in his robe pocket, partly because he doesn’t know what else to do with it and partly because he’s paranoid that it’ll disappear back into the Fade once it’s no longer on his person.

He races to the door, knowing that he must look an utter mess—hair even more disheveled than usual, beard untrimmed and unoiled, robe just barely maintaining the pretense of decency. “Sorry for the—oh.” Standing in the doorway is quite possibly the last person in the universe he wants to face right now. What is he even supposed to say? Lovely morning, isn’t it? By the way, I just had a dream in which a demon wearing your face kissed me senseless right after I bared my soul to it. Or maybe: I think I might have feelings for you, and those feelings have physically manifested in my house in the form of a phylactery. Weird, right? 

Since saying any of that would likely result in him eating a Smite, he simply steps aside and opens the door a little wider. “Do you, uh, want to come in?”

[shouldaspunastory]

For @kiastirling and @dadrunkwriting

Emmrich Volkarin x Tobias Rook (SFW, pre-relationship, perceived one-sided pining) 491 words

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

It's quiet in the Lighthouse as Rook pads out into the shared living space on bare and silent feet, anxious dreams stirring them from sleep and spurring them to seek out some of their resident necromancer's homemade tea mixes to calm them. It began as a somewhat spiteful gesture to partake in. They and Solas sharing an accidental connection to one another, it had been amusing forcing Solas to experience things they were doing the ancient elf would have hated. But it's become something else now. A kind of ritual, grounding and soothing in a way Rook's not often known before.

Emmrich prepares the teas with care, the same attention to detail and thoughtfulness he brings to all things. There are teas tailored to each of his companion's various tastes, and several to specific needs or circumstances. A citrus blend for Lucanis, a floral one for Neve, An Elfroot and Lotus for healing from various cuts and poisons, an Elderflower and Crystal Grace for headache and inflammation... Were he not so entirely fascinated and committed to the dead, Emmrich might have made a more than decent run with an apothecary.

It's always better when they can share a kettle, of course, talking about his latest theories or their shared companions' latest antics. Rook can't seem to help but gravitate towards him, and, they realize, as they catch sight of a slumped form snoring softly on a nearby couch, book loosely clasped in one hand that dangles off the sofa, tonight seems to be no different.

Rook smiles fondly, changing course, crossing the room and gently taking the book before it falls from Emmrich's hand, marking the place and setting it down on the table beside them, before turning back to watch him for a moment. He looks so serene in sleep. Not that the necromancer cannot be in waking hours, but Rook isn't bold enough to make such a study of him then, too scared he'll notice, and they'll have made things awkward, or even untenable between them. They’re loathe to wake him, but surely if he sleeps out here all night his body will voice its complaints about it tomorrow. With utmost care the elf decides their course of action, grabbing and draping a blanket from the back of the sofa over him, before swiftly sliding their arms beneath the older man and lifting him up into their arms.

“Good morning,” Emmrich greets Rook cheerfully the following morning. “Ah, Manfred,” the necromancer smiles, beckoning for his skeletal assistant. “You know how much I appreciate you. Time got away from me last night, I’m afraid, but next time you may wake me. You needn’t trouble yourself carrying me to bed. I can’t imagine what a labor that must have been for you. ” Manfred looks puzzled, as much as one without muscles or skin is capable of doing so, at least, while Tobias smiles softly from behind their cup of tea.

[icksludge]

Tequila Sunset

-Recipe:

(Servings size - 3)

1 tsp London Dry Gin

1 tsp Bacardi Gold

1 tsp Bacardi Superior

1 tsp Tsantali Ouzo

1 tsp Don Puerto Rico Rum

1 tsp Skyy Citrus Infused Vodka

1 tsp Romano Sambuca Classico

1 tsp Arrow Creme De Cacao

1 tsp Triple Sec (Orange)

1 tsp Blue Curacao

1 tsp Peach Schnapps

1 tsp Absolut Kurant

1 tsp St. Elder Elderflower Liqueur

1 tsp Campari Bitter

1 tsp 99 Whipped (Whipped Cream Liqueur)

1 tsp Tito's Vodka

1 tsp Vermouth

1 TBSP Grenadine

1 TBSP Zapopan Tequila Blanco

1 TBSP Blue Agave Gold Tequila

1 TBSP Kirkland Silver Tequila

1 Shot of Malibu

4oz. Coca Cola

-Directions:

1. First, get a 12oz glass. You can get a larger glass, or even a mug, but thats around the size of the drink.

2. Measure all of your alcohol into the cup, if you don't feel like measuring, you can eyeball it, the first 17 alcohols + the grenadine will add up to about 3.5oz to 4.0oz. If you pour more than that, I'd recommend you balance the ratio between these and the Coke. But if you like a more alcohol-heavy drink, don't even bother!

3. Pour the Grenadine, Coke, and the rum.

4. Add some ice. Ideally, you'll have a large square ice cube because it doesn't melt as fast, but if not, just throw a handful of ice in.

5. Enjoy!

-Notes:

If you only have one type of tequila, you can just add the equivalent amount of one type.

I wouldn't recommend skimping on the variety - the full mixture has an indescribably unique flavor.

Recommended to drink this with cheap cigarettes and years of regret.

For optimal experience, drink through a bendy straw, silly straw, or a broken pen.

[mushroomgay]

I spent a lot of last week processing bags of elderflower, which absolutely cover the area I live.

Flowers were boiled in a strong sugar solution and then sealed in sterilised jars for the syrup - this will be shelf stable for a couple of years.

For the infused gin, flowers were soaked in gin for 48 hours then bottled in the clean jars - the alcohol will be enough to kill off any bugs.

I used a combination of sun-drying and my airfryer to dehydrate the flowers (these will be used for cough remedies in the winter) - there was no noticeable difference between the two methods.

I've also got some elderflower champagne fermenting, which is my first experiment in brewing alcohol. I've already had to discard one bottle which got contaminated (visible mould), but the other two look good and should be ready to be drunk in a few days!

[magicalshopping]

♡ Dark Spirit Ghoul Candle by Mayhem Made ♡

The Haunted Bookshop -  A rich & intoxicating accord reminiscent of an old library, where we experience dry dusty notes of paper & tobacco, onto hints of rock rose, dry black pepper, tobacco flower & roasted nutmeg, all supported by sandalwood & oak bookshelves, leather bindings, amber & musk.

Graveyard Wanderer - A rich mouth-watering infusion of gooseberry and elderflower sweetened with lashings of caramelised sugar and dried fruit. (Also available in unscented.)

[elderflowerprince]

this isn't me trying to comment on anyone else's story or perspective or circumstances, it's just my own venting

my medication is killing me. it's ruining me.

i used to have no trouble walking up a hill after flights and flights of stairs, with a backpack of ten kilograms on my back and an extra couple kilos in a separate bag, every day. i also used to have seizures every morning. so much spilt tea. so many broken plates. so many bruises.

after a while, my doctor finally told me she would put me on new medication. that'll make three kinds at once, but the other two alone aren't working. the new one, it's only just out of the trial stage, they know it works for a lot of people but they're not sure of all the side effects yet. it seems safe, though. that's fine. that's fine. いいですよ、なんでも。i can't keep doing this anyway. i hate sitting around for hours every morning, waiting for the twitching and jerking to stop, unable to even have a conversation because my thoughts are lost to the void of a seizure every few seconds.

now i can sleep a full eight hours at night. now i don't have to wake up a few hours early every morning just to make sure i don't have any accidents trying to get myself ready for the day. now i'm blurry and dizzy and stumbly all the time. now i can barely walk straight. now i can't climb a single flight of stairs without getting so out of breath it hurts. i'm no longer exhausted for a lack of sleep, but i am just as impaired anyway, in a permanent haze of inability to focus. worse, you used to be able to tell with the twitching of my arms when i'd lost my train of thought. these days, i look like an idiot for forgetting what i was doing, or rude for not paying attention to you. i feel hot and cold and like i'm going to throw up half the time. i feel distant. i feel like it's all falling apart and i could not tell you why.

i can't go back. epilepsy was killing me too. you can't really take days off in this country, and tonic-clonic seizures are incapacitating in that sense--i can't move right for about a day or two for the muscle pain, every time. and i can't convey how awkward it is to constantly look like you're throwing things and poking or punching people, unable to explain that it's an uncontrollable arm spasm, when you're around anyone who doesn't know what "juvenile myoclonic epilepsy" is... and why would they know? that's such a specific condition, it just got highlighted by my spellchecker as a misspelling of "cyclonic".

i can't go back off medication, because it would kill me from stress or suffocation or maybe i'd hit my head or drown. but this is killing me in a different way too. just, probably, slower.

“do you really wanna be on medication for the rest of your life” if you knew me unmedicated you’d want me to be on medication for the rest of my life too

[nightbunnysong]

Quick question

Would you like it if I started a daily series where I share what I eat and perhaps include some traditional recipes from my region or from Italy?

As I cook almost everything from scratch it might be even for me a way to experiment more.

Let me know what you think🥰🐻🦋..

In my valley, there is a longstanding tradition of foraging for fruit, wild plants, mushrooms, and chestnuts in the mountain forests during the right season. This practice has allowed me to become well-acquainted with many wild plants, their properties, and how to identify them.

In spring, I make pesto from Allium ursinum (wild garlic), which is known for its unique flavor and beneficial health properties, such as supporting the immune system and aiding digestion.

During forest walks, I often find mushrooms known as Auricularia auricula-judae (wood ear mushrooms), which only grow on decaying logs after rainfall. These mushrooms are highly beneficial due to their high iron content, which is essential for healthy blood.

One of my favorite preparations is Cornus mas [photo in the middle] (cornelian cherry) jam. The process is quite complex and time-consuming, but the end result is a deliciously rich and dense jam.

Other herbs I gather include rusclins and urticions.

In my region's official language, Friulano, which, while distinct from Italian, is recognized and influenced by Celtic and Slavic , these names refer to Ruscus aculeatus (butcher's broom) and Humulus lupulus (hop), respectively. Both are integral to our traditional cuisine and are valued for their distinctive flavors and unique properties.

In my daily foraging routine, I also gather a variety of plants to prepare herbal teas and syrups, each with its own unique benefits:

Urtica dioica (nettles) are a staple for their remineralizing properties, which help replenish essential nutrients in the body.

Sambucus nigra (elderflowers) are collected for their beneficial effects on the urinary system and kidneys, making them perfect for soothing and cleansing.

Plantago lanceolata (plantain) is used in remedies for coughs, providing natural relief with its soothing properties.

Hypericum perforatum (St. John’s Wort) is an essential plant for making an oil infusion that helps treat burns and skin irritations.

Juniperus communis (juniper berries) are foraged from high mountain areas to flavor meats, adding a unique, aromatic touch to my dishes.

Rosa canina (rose hips) are a vital ingredient for preventing winter colds and flu due to their high vitamin C content, which boosts the immune system.

Arctium lappa (burdock root) and Taraxacum officinale (dandelion root) are used for their detoxifying effects, helping to purify and cleanse the body.

Abies alba (silver fir buds) are collected to make a soothing expectorant syrup, which is beneficial for respiratory health.

Achillea millefolium (Yarrow) [first photo] very effective for regulating menstrual cycles and alleviating menstrual cramps, thanks to its antispasmodic and anti-inflammatory properties.

Centaurium erythraea (Centaury) [last photo] Used to stimulate appetite and improve digestion, known for its digestive and bitter properties.

These plants not only enhance my culinary creations but also provide natural remedies and health benefits throughout the year.

I hope I have piqued your curiosity and that the information contained here may be useful to you too.

- Nightbunny 🐻🦋🍂

[Photos are mine except for the painting]

[useless-englandfacts]

Where’s your favourite place in England? Or to be more specific, do you have a favourite wild place and a favourite town/ city?

My favourite places in England are my hometown here in West Yorkshire, and liverpool.

I grew up pretty rurally near the moors in Halifax, and I think it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.

There was a cherry blossom tree across the road, and in summer I could stick my head out of the skylight in my attic room and have cherry blossom petals swirl past me like a Van Gogh painting.

I could go foraging in the woods, and pet the horses in the field on the way.

I’d take my sister with me and we’d pick elderflower to make syrup, and put it in fancy tea I brought back from uni and have little tea parties in my mothers garden tbat was full of wildflowers, and a huuuge butterfly bush that smelled incredible, but if the butterfly bush didn’t overwhelm you, you could always smell the honeysuckle from the neighbours garden.

It is a village full of old winding Roman roads, and fields as far as the eye can see. In the summer it just bursts with colour, and in the winter it’s like a postcard of what Christmas should look like.

I think it’s the most beautiful place on earth.

I went to university in liverpool, and just absolutely fell in love with the city. People rag on it a lot, and like any place there are bad parts of it, but I loved how vibrant it was.

There was always somewhere new to go, and the places I went often, like the Walker art gallery, never lost their shine. I spent most of my days just wandering about, or sat in a coffee shop people watching. It was the most freedom I’ve ever felt, and it really opened my mind to new possibilities outside my rather narrow experience of the world so far.

I spent five years there and was always discovering something new in liverpool, and I just adored it.

I’d love to hear what other peoples fave places are!

[elderflowerprince]

aw man i had a dream that some people on the internet were fighting :[