#i need to launch myself into the sun immediately

[cinnabeat]

the way reiko does something unquestionably strange and then immediately stops interacting with baby shigeru as if to preemptively avoid the rejection shes sure to get what if i start screaming

[eldritchqueerture]

unmedicated adhd will have you scrolling through the same posts on your dash for the third time, asking yourself How Do I Leave the House, hoping the answer somehow appears in the posts

[b-blushes]

can u even believe it i have dealt with 2 of the issues that were taking up most of my brain power, cooked a very vegetable-rich lunch, did my laundry....... wow that's functional, baybee

[metallicames]

I needed to vent my dirty thoughts about late 80's James(AJFA) so I wrote this.

Thanks as always for your help @nausicaamusiclover20 ❣️

Nothing Else Matters

Description: you and James are best friends and practically inseparable but something changes when one day he invites you into the band's studio to listen to some new tracks.

WARNINGS: smut, explicit content, sex, oral sex, dirty talking.

It’s a warm mid-May afternoon when I step off the plane at LAX. The New York shoot had been nonstop—flashbulbs, stylists, chaos—but the familiar California air feels like a balm on my skin. As I wheel my bag through the arrivals terminal, I spot him immediately. James is leaning against his black Mustang, arms crossed, his aviators glinting in the sun. Lars is there too, animated as always, gesturing wildly while James listens with an amused smirk. The sight of them makes something in my chest loosen, something that’s been knotted tight for weeks.

I drop my bag and rush toward them, my smile widening. Lars is first, scooping me into a quick, playful hug, his energy infectious as always. Then I turn to James. His arms open, and the second he pulls me in, I feel it—the weight of the past month without him falls away.

“You’ve been missed, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice soft but steady, his breath warm against my hair.

“So have you,” I reply, my voice quieter than I mean it to be. It’s the truth. James isn’t just my best friend he's also my family since I don't have one.

The Mustang roars to life as James merges onto the freeway, the sound of the engine almost drowning out Lars’ running commentary from the backseat. Almost. The stereo is turned all the way up, blasting rock and metal that James drums along to on the steering wheel. When Harvester of Sorrow comes on, it’s over for all of us. Lars grabs an invisible pair of drumsticks, attacking the back of my seat in time with the beat. I throw myself into the vocals, headbanging until my hair flies into my face, laughing through the lyrics.

James glances at me, his grin widening as he belts out the chorus, his voice gravelly and loud. His energy is magnetic, the kind of presence that pulls you in until you forget everything else. I’m laughing so hard my stomach aches, and for the first time in weeks, the world feels… light. Free.

This is what life is supposed to be, I think. Loud, messy, and completely perfect.

As the city melts away behind us, the horizon stretches out in golden waves, sunlight streaking across the dashboard. I lean my arm out the open window, fingers slicing through the warm breeze, and let myself relax into the rhythm of the road. James glances over, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small smile.

“So,” he starts, his voice casual but curious, “how was New York?”

I launch into stories about the shoot—grueling hours, impossible expectations, the occasional flashes of brilliance that made it worth it. He listens the way he always does, his attention steady, his face lit with interest. When I finally stop to take a breath, he nods, his expression softening.

“I’m proud of you,” he says simply.

The words hit harder than I expect, leaving a warm ache in my chest. Before I can respond, we pull up to Lars’ place. I hug Lars goodbye, watching him disappear, and then James turns to me.

“Feel like coming to the studio?” he asks, one hand draped casually over the wheel. “The others aren’t around, but I’ve got some stuff I’d love for you to hear.”

I hesitate for a moment, the exhaustion from the flight catching up with me. But the way he looks at me—hopeful, expectant—makes it impossible to say no.

“Let’s do it,” I say, and the way his grin widens makes me glad I did.

The studio smells like it always does: wood polish, leather, and the faint tang of old metal strings. It’s familiar, grounding, like stepping into a place that’s half museum, half home. Instruments are scattered everywhere—guitars leaning against amps, Lars’ drumsticks on the floor, a pair of headphones abandoned on the mixer table. I trail my fingers along the edge of the console as James hands me a cold beer.

“Hungry?” he asks, holding up a takeout bag.

“Starving,” I admit, cracking open the bottle and taking a sip. He grins and sets out the food, motioning for me to sit.

“Listen to this and relax,” he says, pressing play on the mixer. “It’s new. Just an idea we’ve been messing with.”

The track that fills the room is raw and heavy, a mix of blistering riffs and experimental rhythm changes. I kick off my shoes, curling up on the couch, and let myself get lost in the sound. My fingers drum against my knees, my feet tapping out the beat. For a moment, I close my eyes, letting the music wrap around me like a warm blanket. When I open them again, James is standing a few feet away, watching me with a curious intensity.

“I love seeing you like this,” he says, his voice low but clear. “You’re always honest with us. You’ve got great taste.”

I laugh, brushing off the compliment, but something about the way he says it sticks with me. We sit side by side on the couch, devouring our burgers and swapping stories until James suddenly gets up and grabs an acoustic guitar.

The melody he plays next is soft, haunting, and completely unexpected.

“What’s this?” I ask, my voice hushed.

He doesn’t look up, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings. “Just something I’ve been playing around with,” he says. “You’re the first to hear it.”

I don’t respond. I’m too busy watching him—his focus, the way his body moves with the music, the sunlight catching in his messy blond hair. James has always been good-looking, but right now, he’s something else. His tanned skin glows in the fading light, and there’s a calmness to him that takes my breath away.

It’s dangerous, the way my thoughts start to drift. I quickly look away, forcing myself to focus on the music.

When he finishes, I clap, my cheeks warm and my chest tight. “That was incredible,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “Seriously, Jamie. It gave me chills.” He sets the guitar aside, his gaze softening. “Come here,” he says, opening his arms.

I hesitate for a second before leaning into him, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me close. His chin rests on the top of my head, the warmth of his chest against my back reassures me like a blanket.

“Are you tired?” he murmurs, his hands moving to my shoulders. His thumbs begin to knead the tension there, slow and deliberate.

“A little,” I admit “But this is nice.”

Minutes pass like this, his hands drifting lower, skimming along my sides and back up again. His breath brushes against my ear, warm and steady, and I can’t help the shiver that runs through me. My heart races, a mix of confusion and something I can’t quite name.

James’s lips trail gently along the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. His hands move with deliberate care, resting against me, their strength both grounding and exhilarating. My heartbeat races, the rhythm wild and unsteady as I try to catch my breath, The idea that James had these intentions had never crossed my mind and right now I feel overwhelmed.

“James… we shouldn’t…” The words slip from me in a breathy whisper, barely audible over the pounding in my chest.

“Why not?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, a subtle edge of desire beneath his usual calm. “Just… relax. Enjoy the moment.”

His lips find the hollow of my collarbone, pressing there with soft insistence, and I shiver. Slowly, I turn to face him. His eyes meet mine, and there’s something different in them—a quiet intensity that takes my breath away. Before I can overthink it, I lean in, closing the distance.

The kiss starts slow, almost hesitant, but the moment his lips part against mine, it’s as if every inhibitory brake has fades. The taste of him is familiar and yet intoxicating, a heady mix of his cologne and the faint bitterness of beer. Our movements sync instinctively, like this was always meant to happen, as if some unspoken rhythm has finally been realized.

His hand then lower on my womb and lit my mini skirt and insticively I spread my legs letting his hand touching me. His fingertips caress the soft fabric of my panties and he lets out a low growl. I stop kissing him, resting my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes desperate of wanting more. I felt James’ other hand slips under the sweatshirt snd then touching my naked breast. He starts touching my nipple in a circular way that made me gasp. He let out another moan, closer to my ear this time louder, which makes my weak knowing that he craves more. I know that this isn’t right, he is my best friend, but his touch is like a drug and I want more. As he said, I let myself enjoy the moment. With a determined movement I lower my panties, kicking them with my feet. James takes his hand closer to his mouth and spit on it and he reaches my clit, starting rubbing it wiht his movements that made me lose my mind. “Fuck, he’s so damn good” I think as he continues to stimulate me. I let out a soft moan, I open my eyes and the scene hit me: the sun outside is setting leaving the sky with beautiful colors making the studio magical. The blurred light create a sensual atmoshpere while James' muscular arms envelop my excited body.

“Show me what you like…” James whispers, his voice low and laced with a quiet urgency. His lips brush against my ear before he catches the lobe gently between his teeth, sending a shiver down my spine. His hand rests against my breast, warm and steady, until I guide it to my groin, my fingers trembling slightly as I lead him in my entrance, where I need him most while the other hand is taking care of my clit. The delicate movements he enters make me gasp, my body arches into him, my back pressing against his firm chest as his rhythm finds something instinctual, something perfect.

I can feel his erection against my lower back. I also feel the tension in him too, is evident in the way he moves, the way his breath grows heavier with every reaction he draws from me. His fingers’ movements start being faster and I couldn’t help but moan and sigh.

“James…” I gasp, his name spilling from my lips unbidden, a desperate prayer in the heat of the moment.

“Let me take care of you” he murmurs, his voice low and velvet-smooth, sending another wave of heat coursing through me.

His hands are everywhere I want them to be, skilled and unrelenting, drawing sensations so intense that I can hardly keep up. The way his fingers enter and exit from my entrance make me feel dizzy. My head tilts back against his shoulder, and I close my eyes, losing myself in the moment, in him. Every nerve feels alive, every touch igniting something deeper.

I know I'm going to cum. I feel a rush building inside me, a warm wave starting deep within, growing stronger with every passing second. I hold onto James' ankle tightly, the connection between us feeling more intense with each movement. My breath becomes shallow, harder to control, and I can’t help but let out soft sounds as my body responds instinctively, moving in sync with him. Every touch, every gesture seems to amplify the moment, making my hips move a little in time with his fingers. He’s damns fucking me with his fingers and he fuck knows how to do it.

"Come for me, Y/n, let me feel how much you enjoy this..." His voice, thick with desire, is the spark that sends a wave of intense pleasure coursing through me. I cum in his hands followed by a strong orgasm. A rush of sensations floods over me, overwhelming and almost indescribable, as I give in to the moment. 

"Fuck..." I gasp, my voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. I can feel the satisfaction in his smile against my skin as he continues to touch me, his movements slowing down. I instinctively close my  legs, holding onto his wrist, and he pauses for a moment, gently slapping my clit.

He pulls his hands away, and I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure. His gaze lingers on me as he brings his fingers to his lips, savoring the cum with a satisfied hum.

I'm breathless, overwhelmed by the sensations, feeling a deep sense of peace wash over me, still caught in the aftermath of what we just shared. I'm trying to make my breath regular but then James comes closer to my ear. “Now, I need to lick it” With his husky voice that makes my heart skip a beat. 

I don't know how to react. The orgasm I had earlier was the best I ever had. It left me breathless, and the thought of him taking me to that peak again sends a shiver through my spine, both startling and thrilling me.

I shift, allowing him to move in front of me, not saying a word but watching his every movement, completely captivated by his presence, his scent, the way he moves with such confidence.

He gently pulls at my skirt, his voice low as he commands, "Take it off... I want to see your body." His gaze, filled with intent and admiration, sends a rush of excitement through me. I pull off my sweatshirt, and the skirt locking eyes with him as he kneels on the couch, fully dressed, and I can feel the intensity of his attention on me.

I bite my lip instinctively, heart racing as he watches me. While I lay back on the pillow behind me, he gently spreads my legs, and his gaze falls on me, lowering on my pussy, slow and deliberate, as if he’s memorizing every detail of me.

"I think I just fell in love," he says, his gaze never leaving my cunt. He moves closer, his hands gently gripping my buttocks, parting them just enough to bring his head between my legs. I grip the pillow behind me with one hand, the fingers of the other one running through his hair, as he starts to lick my clit, each lick sending waves of pleasure through me.

His eyes meet mine occasionally, filled with desire, and I couldn’t help but move my hips toward him, drawn to him, making him licking deeper, lost in the sensation. I felt completely overwhelmed, consumed by the moment, as he continues, never slowing down, his focus unwavering. "You taste amazing… You’re perfect" he murmurs, his voice thick with passion. And I couldn’t deny it—every part of me craves him, every second more intense than the last. I find myself wanting more, needing to feel him even closer, my heart racing as I whisper, "I need you, James... now." He pulls back slightly, giving me a teasing smile as he raises an eyebrow. With surprising speed, he removes his pants the subtle line of his tan and the hint of blonde hair just below his stomach catch my attention, causing me to let out a soft sigh.

When he removes his boxers I couldn’t  help but stare, I was surprised, I had never seen such a big cock. He looks at me with a smirk. Then he comes closer to me, kissing me with such passion and pressing his dick’s tip toward my entrace. I'm wet and excited, but I'm tight, so fucking tight for his dick. I take off his t-shirt and rest my hand on his ass guiding him to my entrace. He opens his mouth letting out a little sight as he penetrates me, stopping halfway. “Fuck, you’re so tight” he says, his breath quick and uneven. I try to relax, feeling the warmth of the moment and knowing that soon it will transform into pure pleasure. I gently touch his chest, feeling the strength and warmth of his body. His gaze meets mine, eyes wide, and I could tell he's losing control.

He moves slowly, making sure I adjust to him, and I gasp, my eyes fluttering shut from the growing sensation.

"James, it’s too big.. my god," I whisper.

"Take your time," he says softly, leaning down to kiss my forehead gently.

He moves with a natural sensuality, gradually increasing the pace, his breaths becoming deeper and blending with mine. The sensations intensified, overwhelming me in the best way, as I felt chills running through my body, drawing me closer to him. It’s as if the connection between us both is growing stronger with every moment.

At one point, he shifts, adjusting my position gently, but without losing his rhythm. He places my leg over his shoulder, his touch tender yet firm as he continues, while his lips travel down to kiss and caress my foot. I marvel at how he seems to know exactly what I need, responding to every shift and movement, almost as if he can read my thoughts.

In this new position, everything feels deeper. His thrusts became stronger, more powerful, and the pace quickens, building the tension between us both. Every touch, every breath, seems perfectly timed.

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, sensing my moans growing louder with every passing moment.

“Fucking not, please continue… don’t stop” I cry out, my voice trembling with anticipation, as I feel the intensity build even more. 

The situation starts to spiral, and he moves deeper, relentlessly, his thrusts becoming more powerful. His hand rests on my lower abdomen, intensifying the sensation with every thrust.

“Shit, I’m… I’m about to...” he breathes out, his voice strained. My vision blurs as I press my hands to my face, unable to control the gasps escaping me. Eventually, I feel a rush of sensation, waves of heat spreading through me. And I feel my hot cum coming out little by little. 

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaim, trembling. Shortly after, he thrusts deeper, his grip tightening as he slows, his body shuddering with a low, almost animalistic groan.

We both look at each other, still processing the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

“What just happened?” he asks, laughing in disbelief, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his hand.

He slowly pulls away from me, and we both let out a soft gasp. He lies down beside me, his head resting gently in my hair. We stay there in silence, our breathing slowly returning to normal.

I feel a deep sense of well-being, completely content and at peace in the moment. I don’t want anything more right now—I’m fully satisfied and happy. Before I even realize it, I fall asleep.

I wake up after a while, feeling a blanket draped over me, but underneath, I’m still naked. My body feels warm, and I blink a few times, trying to focus. I glance ahead and see James sitting with his back to me on a stool, the guitar resting on his lap, he’s focused, writing something in a notebook. The room is dark, and I can't quite tell how long I've been asleep.

“How long did I sleep?” I ask, my voice hoarse and still thick with sleep. He turns to look at me, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Hey, welcome back,” he says, his voice warm and easy. “I think about an hour.”

I slowly sit up, the blanket still wrapped around me. It’s not cold, but I feel exposed without clothes, even though James has already seen everything of my body.

I get up and walk over to him. "How long are you planning to stay here working?" I ask, curious but not in a rush.

He grins, his goofy, wide smile taking over his face: “I could stay and sleep here, you know I’m like a homeless guy” he says, leaning back on the stool. It’s the same old James—the carefree, easygoing guy I know so well. I had feared that things would be different after everything that happened, but here he is, still the same funny, spontaneous guy I’ve always known.

"Do you want me to take you home?" he asks, his eyes still focused on the notebook.

“Mmm, no, if I’m not bothering you, I’ll stay here. I’ve got my suitcase. Maybe I’ll freshen up,” I say, not feeling like leaving just yet. James and I are both free spirits—neither of us has roots. Sometimes it’s painful, but it also connects us in a way. We don’t owe anyone anything, and we’re each other’s family in this unpredictable world.

He smiles, his eyes lighting up with a playful gleam. I want to kiss him, but I hesitate, unsure if it's the right moment. Still, seeing him smile like that makes my chest feel lighter.

"You can take a shower if you want… if you’re not grossed out by the pubic hair and are brave enough" he says, with that usual nonchalant tone of his.

I laugh softly, shaking my head, rolling my eyes at his cheekiness. I walk past him toward my suitcase, covering myself with the blanket. “Why are you walking around like a native american? Didn’t seem like you were shy an hour ago.”

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, a blush creeping up as I turn slightly away from him. I glance at him quickly, a little embarrassed, before grabbing my bathrobe and the shower gel.

After the shower, I feel like a new person—refreshed, recharged, and ready for whatever. I step out of the bathroom, my bathrobe wrapped tightly around me, my hair still damp. James is half-lying on the couch, a beer in hand, staring at the ceiling with a relaxed expression. His fingers lightly tap the pillow, keeping time with the music that’s playing in his head.

He stretches his arm out, offering me the beer bottle. I sit beside him and take a sip, the cold bottle feeling comforting in my hand.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, curious.

“Everything and nothing,” he says, his smile playful, resting his head in his hand and making a goofy face. The warmth of the moment makes me feel at ease, like nothing has changed between us.

“Want to listen to some music?” I suggest, and he nods, clearly eager. After a brief debate, we agree on Lynyrd Skynyrd, the perfect background music for the night. He gets up to grab yet another beer, and I lean back on the couch, content in the quietness that fills the space between us.

We talk about everything—what’s coming up with the tour, how my work has been lately, Lars' latest antic (as usual), and just about life in general. Our conversation flows effortlessly, like it always does, and I lose track of time.

Before I know it, it’s already 10 p.m. I glance at the clock—still in my bathrobe, not really caring. We’ve lost count of how many beers we’ve had. I feel a little disoriented from the drinks and the lack of food, but I don’t mind. Our dinner had been a bag of chips we shared, and it felt perfect in the moment.

“Let me get comfortable,” James says, his voice light, and I chuckle, not sure if he’s joking or being serious.

He pulls off his pants and t-shirt, leaving just his boxers, while Jimi Hendrix plays softly in the background. Without even realizing it, I find myself staring at him. Just a few moments pass, and I instinctively drop the bathrobe, now fully exposed. I catch a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

I move closer, crawling onto the couch, and he shifts to give me more room, spreading his legs to make space.

“Round two?” I ask, my voice teasing but confident.

“You don’t even need to ask,” he responds, his tone firm, pulling me gently toward him.

This time, I took control. I kiss him passionately, my lips meeting his with a hunger that surprises me. I bite his lower lip softly, and he responds, our movements slow and purposeful as we connect deeply.

I reach toward him, my hand brushing against the fabric of his boxers, feeling the tension in his body. He keeps his gaze locked with mine, and I can sense the energy between us. He gently places a finger to my mouth, a silent request. I sucked it sofly but with determination and shortly after he slowly reaches my nipple, playing with it. 

I lower his boxers slowly, the anticipation in the air thickening. I start stroking his cock. It's the first time I touch it, and my hand compared to it it's rather little. With the other hand, I start to massage his testicles. He closes his eyes and gasping he let his head fall on the couch. “Fuck..” He moans, letting the beer fall on the ground but we don’t even notice it and I start to stroke him with both my hands increasing the pace. 

"Do you like this?" I ask, my voice low and soft, the question hanging between us.

He lets out a breath, his fingers tightening on the leather of the couch. His voice is almost a whisper, yet filled with intensity. "Isn't it obvious?" he murmurs, his answer sending a ripple of heat through me.

Watching him react to my touch, the way his body moves and shudders with each breath, heightens the desire building inside me. His chest rises and falls in a rhythmic pattern, each inhale and exhale deep and uneven, a sign of the pleasure he’s experiencing. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming, and I can feel my own heart racing in response.

There’s a certain power in the way he surrenders to the moment, his vulnerability making him even more alluring. I let the quiet tension build between us, each passing second drawing us closer, before I decide to take the next step.

I start licking the shiny and swollen tip of it's length with my tongue with circular movements until I slowly reach the base of his cock. He’s in ectasy, he takes a slow, steady breath, but there's a slight quiver in it, a subtle sign of how much the sensation is affecting him. His pulse quickens, and his chest rises and falls with each breath, as though he's trying to steady himself against the growing feeling. 

“I'm losing my mind” he says, his voice low and strained, his hand gripping the edge of the couch as he tries to steady himself. His body tenses, the intensity of the moment washing over him.

I continued for a bit, but I didn’t want to make him cum yet, so at some point I stopped. His eyes open, slightly dazed, and he looks at me with a mixture of surprise and desire.

I shift slightly, turning around and positioning myself on top of him, my back facing him. I took his member and I push it gently against my entrance making me gasp for his size. His hands rest gently on my hips, guiding my movements with a quiet intensity.

We both move together, the rhythm of our  bodies in sync, each moment more intense than the last. He starts touching my ass with force and sometimes slapping it making me flinch. 

“Lean forward, I wanna see everything.” He said, his voice low, full of intent. I comply, and leaning down I rest my clit on his testicles and the rubbing made me wail.

“You’re so damn sexy...I’m about to come” He says moaning louder. I feel that he's close so I rest my hand on his leg and with the other I touch my clit, I want so desperately cum with him. I squeeze around his dick to increase the stimulation while rolling my hips just enough to feel his entire length inside me. The sensation is so good and I moan so loudly that I bet they would be heard even outside the studio, but I couldn't care less, the only thing that matters is this.

“Fuck, Fuck…. I’m cumming” He cries, lifting his hips, pushing me down, squeezing my waist tightly making me feel his dick even more deeper. His voice becomes lower, breathier, each word strained as if he's barely able to hold back. His member pulsing inside my walls as he releases his hot seed inside me while my hand moving to my clit made me cum insticively. 

"Oh my god!" I gasp, breathless and overwhelmed. The waves of sensation course through me, making my body tremble for a few seconds as the intensity of the moment lingers.

“I love fucking with you..You have no idea” James gasps, his breath uneven as he tries to steady himself, his body still vibrating from the intensity of the moment. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, as he attempted to regain his composure.

As I finally catch my breath, I settle beside him, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. We don’t need words; our bodies have already said everything we need to hear. The silence is peaceful, comforting, and I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing next to me. He kisses my forehead gently and his hand brushes softly over my shoulder, sending a wave of calm through me. I wish I could freeze this moment, feeling so deeply grateful for everything between us. The music plays softly in the background, a peaceful melody that lulls us both. We fall asleep together, entwined, naked and safe in each other’s arms.

[jaxteller87]

Rotten Pumpkins 2

It was a few days before Halloween, and Jax had decided that our little girl, Mary, needed to carve pumpkins. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I watched him set up the table with the cool autumn sun casting a warm glow over our backyard. “You really think this is gonna work?” I teased.

Jax glanced up, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, if I tell her we’re using cookie cutters instead of carving them, we might just dodge the pumpkin guts fiasco.” He smirked, remembering last year’s messy disaster when Mary had squealed with elation at the sight of the gooey insides.

I had to admit, he was onto something. Our girl had a flair for the dramatic, especially when it came to anything messy. “Come on, love bug!” I called out when I heard the school bus rumble down the street. “Me and Daddy have a surprise for you and your brother!”

Mary burst through the door, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her face lighting up as she spotted Jax. “Daddy! Thank you!” she squealed, launching herself into his arms.

“You’re welcome, princess,” he chuckled, ruffling her hair before setting her down. The moment was sweet, a slice of normalcy in our chaotic lives.

“So, Daddy thought of something special,” he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he sat her down at the table. Thomas was still in his high chair with his big, innocent eyes. “What do you think about making some spooky pumpkins?”

The kids exchanged excited glances, their giggles filling the air as they reached for the cookie cutters. Jax helped Thomas, gently guiding his tiny hand as he pressed the shape into the pumpkin. “Look, Mama! I did it!” Mary beamed, her little face glowing with pride as she showed off the cat shape she’d cut.

“Good job, love bug!” I praised, unable to resist the infectious joy of the moment. Jax and I exchanged a glance and smiled. 

As Mary continued to push cookie cutters into the soft pumpkin flesh, I found myself grinning from ear to ear. “You know, when I was a kid, we carved pumpkins too. But it was a lot messier,” I said, trying to keep the mood light.

“Yeah? I bet it wasn’t half as fun as this!” Jax replied, his laughter a comforting sound. I watched him engage with the kids, effortlessly slipping into the role of “cool dad,” a stark contrast to the world we usually inhabited.

Just then, the front door swung open, and Opie walked in, his usual laid-back demeanor shifting to amusement as he spotted us. “What’s going on here? A pumpkin party without me?”

“Hey, Ope! You’re just in time!” I grinned, motioning him over. “Join us! We’re making masterpieces!”

“Masterpieces, huh?” he replied, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “Let’s see what you’ve got, little artists.”

With Opie’s encouragement, the atmosphere grew even more playful, laughter echoing through the yard as they took turns showing off their creations. The warmth of the moment wrapped around us, a temporary escape from the dark realities we often faced.

Jax leaned closer, brushing my shoulder with his, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “This is what it’s all about, right?”

I nodded, my heart swelling with affection. “Yeah, it really is.”

Just as the kids were putting the finishing touches on their pumpkins, the familiar rumble of motorcycles tore through the autumn breeze like a gunshot. I glanced up, my heart racing as I recognized the sound. “Oh no,” I muttered under my breath.

“Who is it?” Jax asked, catching my apprehension.

“Clay and Gemma,” I replied, my stomach twisting in knots. I wasn’t the biggest fan of Clay, but this was news that was new to no one. He had a way of getting under my skin, and with everything going on, I wasn’t in the mood for his so-called charm. But before I could voice my concerns, the front door swung open, and they stepped inside, Gemma’s presence immediately brightening the room.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Gemma exclaimed, her arms outstretched as she entered. “You guys making some Halloween magic?”

“Hey, Gem,” Jax greeted, pulling her in for a quick hug.

Clay sauntered in behind her, a relaxed smile on his face. “What’s up, kiddos?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk. Mary and Thomas practically lit up at the sight of him.

“Daddy! Clay’s here!” Mary shouted, running over to him.

“Hey there, little lady! Looking good!” Clay crouched down, giving her a playful wink. I felt a knot in my stomach tighten further as I watched. “You almost knocked old grandpa over! You’re getting strong!” he said, lifting her up above his head as she giggled like a giddy schoolgirl.

“Thomas, how about you?” Clay turned to our youngest, who was still diligently pushing a cookie cutter into a pumpkin. “Need a hand with that?”

“Yeah!” Thomas chirped, his eyes wide with excitement. “Help me, Pap!”

“Let’s see what you’ve got, little man,” Clay said, kneeling beside him, genuinely interested in his work.

I exchanged a glance with Jax, who gave me an encouraging nod and a subtle thumbs up. I was still on edge, but seeing how much the kids adored Clay softened my apprehension a little.

Gemma approached from behind and laid her hands on my shoulders like a masseuse. “So, the pumpkin party seems to be going well, but how about you? You doin’ okay, sweetie?”

“Yeah. I’ve been pretty well,” I admitted, trying to shake off my unease. “Just enjoying some family time.”

“Good to hear,” she replied, nodding approvingly at everyone’s handiwork. “You guys are doing great. I can’t wait to see how these pumpkins turn out when they’re finished!”

As everyone got settled into carving, I noticed Clay slipping away from the group, his expression shifting to something more serious. I felt a pang of worry and quickly called Jax over. “Hey, where’s Clay going?” I asked quietly. “You think he’s doing club stuff here?”

Jax shrugged, glancing in the direction Clay had vanished. “If he’s conducting club business in the house, it’s just how it goes.”

I frowned, crossing my arms. “But can’t he at least keep it out of our home? It’s ruining the moment.”

Jax’s gaze softened as he placed a hand on my shoulder. “I get it, babe. But you know how it is— the club’s the club. Just put it out of your head and try to enjoy the time we’re spending together, okay? Don’t let something as simple as a phone call send you into a shitty mood..”

I sighed, accepting his point. “You’re right. Let’s just focus on the kids.”

We turned back to the backyard just as Clay returned, a casual smile on his face that made me wary. For all I knew, he just secured a gun deal from the comfort of my porch— or worse yet, maybe he just put a hit out on someone. I was still on edge, but I could see the kids were too caught up in their fun— I did my best to focus on that and put anything negative as far from my mind as I could.

About thirty minutes later, laughter filled the backyard as Mary and Thomas excitedly showed off their cookie-cutter creations. That was also about the time that the unmistakable roar of motorcycles thundered through the neighborhood, making me jump.

“Great,” I muttered, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “More company.”

Jax noticed my discomfort and just smiled, his nonchalance aggravating me further. “Don’t worry, darlin’; it just sounds like the guys. I’d know Bobby’s beater anywhere.”

Before I could lose my cool, two of the prospects rolled up in the runner van, the engine sputtering to a stop at the back gate of the yard. They jumped out, looking as eager as ever, and opened the van doors to reveal a massive pallet box overflowing with pumpkins.

“Surprise!” one of the prospects shouted, grinning as he gestured to the bounty.

The tension in my chest eased slightly as I watched the kids’ eyes widen with delight. “Look, Mama! More pumpkins!” Mary squealed, jumping up and down.

“Looks like the party just got bigger!” Jax chuckled, stepping forward to help them unload.

Clay caught my eye again, an amused smirk playing on his lips. He knew how easily he could rattle me, but instead of teasing, he simply nodded, acknowledging my presence in a surprisingly respectful way.

“Guess we’re all getting in on the action now,” he said, his tone light, as he approached the new arrivals. “Let’s see what you’ve got, boys!”

“Hey, look who it is! The pumpkin crew!” Tig shouted, a broad grin on his face. “You guys ready to carve some masterpieces or what?”

“Only if I get to carve the scariest one!” Juice chimed in as he grabbed a pumpkin from the pile.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see about that,” Chibs added with a smirk, giving Tig a playful shove. “Just don’t mess it up like last time, aye?”

“Last time? What happened last time?” Mary asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Oh, you don’t wanna know, sweetheart,” Tig replied, leaning down with a conspiratorial wink. “Let’s just say it involved too much whiskey and a pumpkin that looked like a nice, juicy, wet, warm….”

I loudly cleared my throat before he could say what I thought he was going to say.

“…melted candle,” he finished, winking at me.

“Eww!” Mary laughed, “a melted pumpkin candle…gross!”

“Just you wait, I’m gonna win this year!” Juice declared, brandishing a carving knife like a trophy.

“Keep dreaming, Juice,” Bobby teased, shaking his head as he settled next to the kids. “I’m the real pumpkin master here. Ya’ll ever see a jack-o-lantern carved up to look like the king?”

“You mean like King Triton from The Little Mermaid?” Mary asked.

“King Tri—” Bobby scoffed. “Jax…Amber, I love you guys, but what the hell are you teaching your kids.” He shook his head and leaned toward Mary, “The King of Rock, sweetheart…Elvis Aaron Presley…”

As the chaos of pumpkin carving unfolded, Clay found his way to my side, casually lighting up a cigar. The scent of tobacco wafted through the air, mingling with the pumpkin guts— it almost smelled…good, actually.

“Did you have something to do with this?” I asked as I gestured to the excited crowd surrounding us.

Clay took a slow puff from his cigar, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Maybe,” he replied, his tone teasing but warm. “Just because I’m club president doesn’t mean I don’t know how to be a grandfather.”

I looked at him, surprised but appreciating the sentiment. “Thanks, Clay. The kids are having a blast.”

He nodded. “Family is important, Amber. You all are important.”

The pumpkin carving continued around us, filled with laughter and playful banter. I glanced back at Jax, who was playfully showing Thomas how to carve a face into his pumpkin.

“Alright, who’s ready to see the best pumpkin ever?” Tig shouted, holding up a lopsided creation that looked more like a sad potato than a pumpkin.

“Not even close, Tig!” Jax laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “But I’ll give you an A for effort!”

Clay chuckled beside me, and I couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly he slipped into the role of a grandfather figure. It was a side of him I rarely saw, but one I was beginning to appreciate.

“Alright, let’s see what you all can do!” Clay called out, turning his attention back to the group.

As the laughter and excitement filled the air, I realized that maybe this chaotic family of ours could bring out the best in everyone—even in someone like Clay.

“Look, Mama! I made a scary face!” Thomas exclaimed, proudly showing off his pumpkin.

“That’s awesome, buddy!” I cheered.

The group fell into an easy rhythm, with Clay joking with the kids and helping them out while I watched from the sidelines.

In that moment, as I watched our family and the club come together, I felt a flicker of appreciation for Clay, despite my reservations. Maybe, just maybe, he could be more than the source of my stress.

[leafisamenace]

A Chickadee's Feast

A beam of sun warms my black feather cap.  Closing my eyes, I let it seep into my skin and down to my skull as I relax on my perch. A chirping song swells within me, as I release it, the notes are etched into the sky with a twisting stream of steam. The frigid air that now surrounds me marks the end of a long season. My song is inspired by this sense of relief, taking on a relaxed legato. My chicks have grown and there is now only one person I must worry about feeding, myself. However there is a new challenge, the frost has driven away the succulent bugs I would gorge myself on during the spring. Despite this I am still at ease. I have no screeching peeps or lonely nights guarding the nest from a nearby branch. Now nights are spent nestled with my flock in a sturdy tree, filled with warmth and comradery as the winter night freezes the very air outside.

The hunger within me begins to outweigh the comfort of my sunny perch. I watch the ice melt off of branches around me, splashing onto the ground. I hear a loud sound and look over to the human’s den. A man emerges, hefting a large bag full of seeds. He walks to his stash, a hanging tube in the middle of his yard, and begins to fill it yet again. He hums a simple tune as he does so, which perplexes me. I cannot understand how he is so happy to fill his hoard of seeds as every few days it is reduced to nothing. It has no security or obfuscation, he does not even guard it. So unsurprisingly it is raided by every animal in the area until it is empty. I only try to take a little when I need to as I pity the poor human; although it doesn’t look like he is hungry. The hunger within me continues to swell to near starvation and as the man leaves, I see within the tube, my favorite food, black sunflower seeds. I decide I will take a few and then look for food elsewhere, use them to tide off starvation before finding my full meal.

Swooping from my perch I land on a fence post on the edge of the woods and the yard. I look at his seed tube and see I am not the only thief today. Cardinals, morning doves, and other chickadees were all faster than me, already feasting on the man’s treasure. Squirrels are eagerly waiting under the feast for any fallen seeds like a dog at a dinner table. I think I see a single open spot, an unoccupied small green perch next to an intimidatingly bright cardinal. I begin to muster my courage, spurred on by my hunger but I don’t find myself flying to the perch. Fear has shackled me to the fence and I consider giving up. Maybe I will get lucky and immediately find food in the words. Should I just go forage hungry? But then I see a black sunflower seed, gleaming in the sun, fall to the ground where the squirrels fight over it, and my hunger becomes unbearable. I launch into the air, locking onto the perch I begin to land, but the cardinal springs into action. He lunges at me with wings open wide and war cry blaring. I almost fall to the ground in shock. I recover and bolt through the air back to the fence. From my seat I watch the birds feast and occasionally fight. Not long after me, the other chickadee is chased off.

Suddenly, all of the birds flee into the woods. The man has returned. From the fence I feel that he is far away enough to be safe and remain, cautiously waiting. He is holding a steaming mug and takes a seat outside. Maybe he has finally decided to guard his seeds? After scratching his beard he takes a large sip from his mug and then looks towards the woods and to his seed stash. After sometime he shivers, shrugs, and then returns to the inside of his den. No bird has found the courage to return yet. This may be my moment.

Filled with determination I swoop onto an empty perch hastily pulling out every sunflower seed I see. A plethora of other seeds fall to the ground for the squirrels who have already returned. I swallow seeds greedily sating my starvation. Then the dreaded sound again pierces the silence, the man has emerged again. With my stolen bounty of a full stomach I flee hectically into the forest. I don’t look back as I fly into the woods but behind me I don't hear the man make chase or even yell - instead, I think I hear him chuckle.

[theblasianwitch]

Personal anecdote for why you should always listen to signs from the universe

WARNING: TMI for Bodily Functions

[I may be ADHD so the story may seem all over the place but bare with me]

So I wake up from a dream where 3 birds are just learning how to fly but fly with the aid of mechanical birds to launch towards the sun in which the sun basically smiles and blesses them before they fly over the setting for another dream. The birds are what's important to this I feel so that's why I'm saying that.

Anyway

Mondays are for healing. That is an innate thing that is memorized and seems to naturally happen now with the activities I do. However, I need money and decide to do some jobs with one of the delivery apps which was giving a bonus since today is a "holiday". I make my tea, have breakfast and went on my way.

I'm out for maybe less than an hour. I get a pick order and when I parked there's a little bird by itself hopping around seemingly injured at one of its wings. I notice it, acknowledge it, but keep pushing through cause again I NEED MONEY.

MINUTES LATER, I'm hit with the sudden urge to use the bathroom. This is normal for me, I wear a pad for accidents in case they happen and I tell myself I'll use the bathroom after I drop this order off. I swear the universe laughed at me and said "nope" cause almost immediately it grew and changed to a different bodily function and now I'm gophering in the middle of a Dollar General. I immediately try to find a bathroom and sure enough something came out. I found the bathroom finally but the door won't close, but I really had to go. So I went, cleaned up what had happened, thankfully not getting to my pants, and as I'm finishing a gut walks in on me and runs out. He's long gone by the time I'm done washing my hands and exiting the bathroom. I get the order and I leave. I drop off the order, lady tries to jokingly offer her man and daughter to take with her. I notice I'm really close to home and the delivery app also suddenly shows nothing around so I head home to take a shower and reset.

In the shower I usually do hot to relax but something falls knocking the water to cold and I embrace it. The thought of how hot helps depression and cold helps anxiety and nerves come to mind and I take it as a sign of not needing to worry.

So now I'm home and I'm just gonna be doing some art magic and kitchen witchery for healing cause the universe was loud today and apparently I shouldn't be worried about finances right now.

Have a great day yall

[wildelydawn]

Getting a cat was definitely the best decision I've made.

However.

I need to stop going into a full blown panic when I cannot find her.

I went to check on her. Around this time, she's asleep in one of her beds in the living room. But she wasn't there. And she was not in any of the beds. And she wasn't on the couch or under the table or on the little bathmat in the bathroom or behind the bathroom door or in my actual bed. Wasn't on my desk or below it. Wasn't using her box or her tower.

And I started freaking out and started hysterically calling her name. Mind you, I have not opened the front door or pantry or closet doors, so it's not like she walked out or is trapped anywhere, but of course, I can't remember that in the middle of panic.

Then she pokes her head out from under the bed. Then I remembered that my asshole neighbor was yelling earlier, and when he does that, she immediately hides for three hours at least.

She's fine and good but I Am Not Good, I would absolutely launch myself into the sun if something happens to this cat.

[iviarellereads]

A Swiftly Tilting Planet, Chapter 1 In this fateful hour

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index for the Time Quintet, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which, if you read the table of contents, you know something's popping off almost immediately.

In the kitchen of the Murry house, Meg Murry O'Keefe(1) is grateful to be home for Thanksgiving with the family. Calvin is in London presenting a paper. She and the twins are talking, and Dennys asks how she, Mrs. O'Keefe, is doing. She looks over at Calvin's mom, sitting next to the fireplace, and comments that name's still strange to her, too. Dennys, home from med school, dotes on Meg and comments on her pregnancy.

Across the room, Charles Wallace and Mr. Murry are bent over a model of a tesseract.(2) Charles's silence has a different quality from usual. The senior Mrs. O'Keefe is also silent, but more surprising is that she agreed to come at all. Mrs. Murry says there's more to Mrs. O'Keefe than meets the eye, but Meg hasn't found it yet.

After thinking of how much she's grown up, and hoping that Charles finds himself similarly soon, she remarks that she misses their old dog, Fortinbras, who died of old age. Meg asks why they haven't a new one yet, and Mr. Murry says the right dog finds them, usually.

Mrs. Murry diverts Meg's inquest about the dog situation by asking her to make the sauce for the plum pudding. Mr. Murry gets a call from the White House, and the smile he wore to start quickly gets wiped away. The whole room seems to take notice and go silent at once, even though he's just listening. Meg worries that there's something supernaturally wrong with the weather.(3)

When the phone call ends, after everyone asks him what's happened, he says war's broken out. "Mad Dog Branzillo", the dictator of Vespugia,(4) has gotten a nuke and is threatening, credibly, to use it.

Mrs. O'Keefe asks if they're playing some trick on her, and asks why the president would call them. Mrs. Murry explains that the current president considers Mr. Murry a nonpartisan scientific advisor.

The whole family starts discussing how this could be the end of civilization, the end of humanity. Mrs. O'Keefe starts mumbling some prayer, over and over, between the discussion bits. Charles points out that as long as no missile has been launched yet, there's a chance it won't happen, and says they should celebrate Thanksgiving in all its meaning.

As they serve up, Mrs. O'Keefe keeps saying her prayer, and the family tries to be more hopeful. Mrs. Murry says her mother told her a story about having lived through a time when experts believed nuclear war would break out by the end of summer between the US and Soviet Union, and how she walked her street wondering if the pussy willows would ever bloom again, and never took their blooming for granted in the springs thereafter.

As Sandy passes Mrs. O'Keefe the cranberry sauce, he finally hears her muttering, and asks what it is. She says it's Patrick's rune and she can't remember but she feels she needs it. Her grandmother from Ireland gave her the verse, and she's forgotten it. They keep talking, the twins in particular whistling in the dark as she keeps trying.

Finally, Meg goes to her, and helps her to remember, and the verse as it's recited causes great, strange things to happen in the room.

At Tarah in this fateful hour, I place all Heaven with its power, And the sun with its brightness, And the snow with its whiteness, And the fire with all the strength it hath, And the lightning with its rapid wrath, And the winds with their swiftness along its path, And the sea with its deepness, And the rocks with their steepness, And the Earth with its starkness All these I place by God's almighty help and grace Between myself and the powers of darkness.(5)

Meg is sure her shoulder will be bruised from her mother-in-law's grip, but it's done, and Mrs. O'Keefe wonders why it occurred to her now, after all these years. Sandy compares it to Patrick's Breastplate, a song his glee club sang in college. Mrs. O'Keefe is firm that it's Patrick's Rune, a ward against danger.

Suddenly, all the lights go out, even the fireplace dwindles to near darkness. Charles Wallace calls on Mrs. O'Keefe to say the rune again, but she's already forgetting. He says he'll say it with her, but she has to help. They repeat it together, as the storm rages outside. Dennys lights the candles at the line about the sun, the power comes back up at the lightning line, and at the end Charles looks out the window and observes that the rain turned to snow somewhere in there.

Sandy asks what that was all about. Meg thinks it might mean that there's hope yet to be found. Both Sandy and Dennys are their usual skeptical dismissive selves.

Mrs. O'Keefe says she came because of "Chuck". She charges him to stop Mad Dog Branzillo, though she can't say his name properly. Meg thinks she looks so small and weak, and how strange that she called Charles Wallace "Chuck" when nobody else in his life has ever. Mrs. O'Keefe continues that she wasn't going to come, but that morning she woke up and felt compelled to, for some reason, and she didn't know why until the rune came back to her. Finally, she asks for someone to take her home, now that she feels she's done what she came for. Dennys says there's still salad, and dessert, but she insists, so he does the duty.

The rest of the family discusses what just happened, with Sandy the lone holdout skeptic, until the phone startles them all. It's Calvin, calling from London to say his presentation went well. Meg can hardly say a thing, but she hopes Calvin didn't notice because she's always overwhelmed on international calls. Just after he disconnects, Dennys gets back, so Meg conveys Calvin's love, and Dennys suggests they get on with the rest of dinner.

—Why are we trying to act normal? Meg wondered, but did not speak her thought aloud. But Charles Wallace replied, “It’s sort of like the string holding the package together, Meg. We’d all fall apart otherwise.” Her father said, “You know, my dears, the world has been abnormal for so long that we’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in a peaceful and reasonable climate. If there is to be any peace or reason, we have to create it in our own hearts and homes.”(6) “Even at a time like this?” Meg asked. The call from Calvin, the sound of her husband’s voice, had nearly broken her control. “Especially at a time like this,” her mother said gently.

Again, the twins act the skeptics to the rest of the family's belief in whatever just happened. Dennys asks Charles what he thinks, and Charles says he's sure if he's supposed to do something, he'll be told what. Sandy asks about aliens, but Charles says no, he'll feel it inside. To deflect, he suggests they skip the salad and go straight to the pudding, to gather around the light of the flame on it. The family oblige, though Meg wants the comfort of the lights.

“And the fire with all the strength it hath,” Charles Wallace said softly. “But what kind of strength?” Meg asked. She looked at the logs crackling merrily in the fireplace. “It can keep you warm, but if it gets out of hand it can burn your house down. It can destroy forests. It can burn whole cities.” “Strength can always be used to destroy as well as create,” Charles Wallace said. “This fire is to help and heal.” “I hope,” Meg said. “Oh, I hope.”

=====

(1) Yeah, some time has passed! 9 years, as we'll find shortly from Charles's age. (2) Not that you can ever truly model something in fewer dimensions than the thing exists in. You can draw a cube but you can't necessarily convey cubeness unless someone knows what the indicators mean. (3) Ah, still catastrophizing, I see. Some things never change. (4) A fictional country just for L'Engle's setting. Not sure if it's better or worse than using a real one. (5) If you look at the table of contents, that's sure the chapter titles, all in order. It's a slightly edited version of a James Clarence Mangan poem, St. Patrick’s Hymn before Tarah, which itself is altered from a real medieval piece, Saint Patrick's Breastplate. It's been adapted a lot of times, hence the glee club classic Sandy remembers. (6) And, we DO need to keep a place for peace and love in our hearts and in our lives. Everything can't be fear or we lock ourselves away and the work can never get started. Everything can't be anger or we burn ourselves out, and set fire to those near us besides, before the work can be finished. We have to be able to balance ourselves out somewhere.

[sayurifellfrost]

Prompt #19: Taken

Character: Shurentsetseg Himaa

Age: 23

A nigh uncomfortable silence hung around the quartet of siblings, Shurentsetseg’s eyes locked upon the drapery leading into the yurt not too far from them. She was accompanied by some of her brothers, Taichar - who was the eldest out of them all, and her one cycle younger twin brothers, Mandukhai and Narmandakh.

They hadn’t seen or heard from their youngest sister in a sennight, and despite the fact that the girl had distanced herself from the family and seemed to hold no intentions to return to them.. They had at least seen her around, and knew she was safe. But now..

Too many suns had gone by, and the pit of dread Shurentsetseg had in her gut had grown significantly the more they had waited.

If he had done something to her..

The tension in her body was noted by the trio of brothers, Taichar opting to settle a hand on his sister’s shoulder in mute comfort, gaining a glance from her.

“.. Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked quietly. “.. Saran will likely be furious with us if she ends up being in there.”

“I am sure.” She responded confidently. “.. This bastard took her from us, so even if she is in there.. I swear I will drag her home myself.”

Taichar exhaled a deep sigh, yet sank his head into a small nod.

“Alright, I will grab him, you grab her.” His gaze trailed to his twin brothers, tilting his head slightly. “Manduk, help Shuren if needed, Narman, you’re with me.”

The twins nodded in unison, splitting from each other to step closer to the sibling they had been assigned to. Narmandakh was quick to follow Taichar as he began to walk towards the yurt, drawing a deep breath as he did.

“OUTCAST.”

The shout he let out was loud enough that it almost echoed in their immediate surroundings, voice carrying a tone only befitting a protective brother.

A sound of mild annoyance emit from within at the shout, nothing quite seeming to happen for a time until the slightest ripple against the drapery announced the incoming Xaela, who didn’t even manage to step through completely before Taichar barrelled forwards, shoving his forearm horizontally into Qoroltai’s throat as he proceeded to shove him into the yurt, siblings in tow.

Qoroltai’s back violently met the center pillar of his yurt, a hostile snarl passing his lips as his hands reached to grasp onto the arm that was invading his personal space.

“What the fuck?”

Shurentsetseg made a swift sweep of the inside alongside Mandukhai, the feeling of dread she already held worsening to the point of nausea as there was not a single trace of her sister. Saranzaya was gone, as were her belongings.

“Just keep still and I won’t have to beat your ass.” Taichar growled, narrowed eyes locked with his.

“I’d like to see you try..” Qoroltai snarled back at him.

With a hand over her chest, Shurentsetseg stepped forwards to place herself in the outcast’s view, a deep frown on her features.

“Where is Saran?”

Qoroltai’s gaze fell to the woman, one brow lofting.

“Not here.” He scoffed.

“Where?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

“You’re the last damned person who was with her!”

The direness of the situation whacked into Taichar as the fact Saranzaya was not present settled in his mind, teeth gritting and arm shoving further into Qoroltai’s throat to pry a choked sound from him.

“Where the fuck is she? What have you done to her?!” He yelled.

“She– left–!” Qoroltai croaked back.

“To where?!”

“-- I don’t fucking know!”

He managed to shove his hands between his throat and Taichar’s offending arm, shoving the man away from him.

“She got mad at me, fucked off. Didn’t tell me where.”

“Why was she mad at you?” Shurentsetseg was quick to ask.

“Because the bitch couldn’t handle authority–”

The insult spoken of their sister was barely registered by Shurentsetseg or the twins, before Taichar had launched a fist directly into Qoroltai’s jaw to send him stumbling with a hiss.

“How fucking dare you call her that?” The twins echoed in unison, hands balling into fists.

Qoroltai quietly rubbed his jaw, gaze shooting between those present.

“If you have done something to her..” Taichar growled.

A half-hearted laugh of a sound escaped Qoroltai, who leaned himself slightly forwards, eyes locking in Taichar’s.

“Oh, I have..” He taunted. “I’ve done plenty. Her, among those.”

The admission caused Taichar to immediately launch himself at Qoroltai, swinging his fists and tumbling to the floor with the slightly larger Xaela.

“I will fucking kill you!” He shouted.

“Taichar!”

She had hoped to have her unease settled by coming here. To find her sister, safe and sound.. And instead her worry had spiked and mixed itself with anger towards this man who had coaxed her sister away in the first place - stolen her from them in her moment of distress. Left without a trail for them to follow.

Where had she gone..?

[companyknowledgenews]

23 New Beauty Products Our Editors Are Loving This September - Notice Today Online https://www.merchant-business.com/23-new-beauty-products-our-editors-are-loving-this-september/?feed_id=186958&_unique_id=66d659bda584d #GLOBAL - BLOGGER BLOGGER While each product featured is independently selected by our editors, we may include paid promotion. If you buy something through our links, we may earn commission. Read more about our Product Review Guidelines here.It’s hard to believe that summer is winding down and September has begun. The last few months have been filled with record-high temperatures and lots of adventures in the sun, but now, it’s time to get excited about fall. We’re ready for cozy sweaters, pumpkin-spice flavors, candles, and our personal favorite, new beauty launches.Judging by the new makeup, hair, and, body, skin-care products hitting store shelves, September is already looking bright. Though the time will be here soon to trade in our lightweight formulas for something heavier, right now is all about transitional beauty products that make the switch from hot temps to cooler days easier. From candles that will help you embrace the fact that fall is right around the corner to warm, floral perfumes and face moisturizers that keep dry skin at bay even after long days at the beach, there are a variety of new beauty products for September to explore.Ahead, our editors made fall shopping a little easier for you by sharing their favorite new beauty launches of the month, and we promise — they’re good. Keep scrolling to see what made the cut, and get ready to click that “add to cart” button 24 times.www.skinmedica.comDigital Products Best Hydrating MoisturizerSkinMedica HA 5 Hydra Collagen Replenish and Restore Hydrator ($192)“In the summer months I spend most of my time at the beach, and although I make sure to moisturize before and after, wear plenty of SPF, and even a hat, my skin still takes a beating. I try to keep my face out of the sun as much as possible, but for the most part I rely on good skin-care products to help my skin out. The SkinMedica HA 5 Hydra Collagen Replenish and Restore Hydrator has been an absolute lifesaver, especially after long days at the beach. It’s lightweight, made with five different forms of hyaluronic acid, plus avocado oil, passion fruit seed oil, and vitamin F.” — Renee Rodriguez, staff writer and social producer111skin.comDigital Products Best Lightweight Moisturizer111Skin Cryo Revitalising Moisturizer ($200)“Made with ginseng complex, and a blend of eight types of hyaluronic acid, the 111Skin Cryo Revitalising Moisturizer is as luxurious as it gets. Every time I use it, my skin feels refreshed, hydrated, and it even looks a little less puffy. The texture is silky and smooth, and I especially find myself reaching for it in the mornings when my skin needs a serious wake up call. Pro tip? Stick it in the fridge to get an even cooler effect when you slather it on.” — RRsephora.comDigital Products Best Pre-Styling CreamStraight to Wavy Light Pre-Styling Cream ($60)“When the Dyson team told me the reason behind developing these new hairstyling products, it immediately made sense. I love my Airwrap, and I think it’s one of the most innovative tools on the market. However, I agree with (apparently) many consumers that it can be challenging to get the hairstyles to hold. The formula contains oyster mushrooms, grapeseed, castor, and argan oil, and beeswax to reduce frizz, protect against heat, and boost shine, in addition to helping with hold. The mushrooms within the formula are responsible for the soft and moveable yet structural hold that’s designed to make your styles last longer. All I need is a few pumps, and my Airwrap curls last all day. You can read my full review here.” — Jessica Harrington, senior beauty editorsephora.comDigital Products Best Shine TreatmentOribe Mirror Rinse Glass Hair Treatment ($64)“Oribe just launched its new Mirror Rinse Glass Hair Treatment, and to say I’m obsessed is an understatement.

It’s made for all hair types, but it leaves my fine, frizzy hair looking silky and glossy after just one use. I apply it in the shower after shampooing and conditioning, leave it on for one minute, and then rinse it out. It gives me glass hair that lasts until my next wash day, and the scent is amazing.” — RRDigital Products Best Setting PowderMakeup by Mario Surreal Skin Soft Blur Setting Powder ($38, launching 9/1)“Fans of Mario Dedivanovic’s brand, Makeup By Mario, have long awaited the arrival of a setting powder to the brand’s lineup. The Surreal Skin Soft Blur Setting Powder has a weightless, ultra-fine texture that smooths skin for a satiny finish and locks makeup in for 12 hours of wear. When I apply it to half of my face, I can see a noticeable difference in how my complexion products look: with the powder, they melt into my skin for a flawless look. It comes in seven shades, allowing you to find the perfect match.” — JHlaurageller.comDigital Products Best Bronzer StickLaura Geller Beauty Serum Bronzing Cheek Lift ($18, originally $30)“Don’t take away my beauty editor card or anything, but I’m always too lazy to apply bronzer, let alone contour my entire face, because of the extra application and blending required. Who has the time! If there’s anything to change my mind, though, it would be this bronzing stick from Laura Geller Beauty. The sponge-like applicator makes it easy to dot it on, and the serum formula is lightweight enough that blending takes (quite literally) one second. The result is natural looking, and the time spent is minimal — just how I like it.”— KCTower28Digital Products Best BlushTower28 BeachPlease in Finest Hour ($20)“Tower28’s latest blush launch has been my go-to product this summer. Technically, it can be used on the lips and the cheeks, but I love applying it on my forehead, nose, and even underneath my eyes for the perfect sunburned blush look. It feels like a second skin, doesn’t break out my acne-prone skin, and it always gets me tons of compliments whenever I wear it.” — RRsallybeauty.comDigital Products Best Lip OilLamel All in One Lip Tinted Plumping Oil ($8)“When it comes to beauty products I will always test no matter what, lip oils are at the top of the list. When I got a mailer with the Lamel All in One Lip Tinted Plumping Oil inside, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but let’s just say I was blown out of the water. Not only does the formula make my mouth feel ultra hydrated, but one of my girlfriends actually asked if I got lip filler while I was wearing it (true story!). My favorite shade peachy, which goes extremely well with my natural lip color.” — RRnaturabrasil.comDigital Products Best Body Lotion KitNatura Ekos Castanha Body Lotion Concentrate Kit ($17)“Maybe you’ve never considered playing mixologist with your body moisturizer, but trust: the extra hydration is worth every extra second. This kit contains highly concentrated Castanha, or Brazil nut, so all you have to do is pour TAP water into the refillable bottle (don’t worry, the label indicates how much is enough), dump the concentrate into the water, and then shake, shake, shake for the most moisturizing body lotion you’ve ever tried. Not only that, but it’s a product you can feel good about using: the brand itself sustainably sources all its ingredients from the Amazon rainforest and gives back to the hundreds of indigenous tribes harvesting and looking after the plants and fruits.” — KCulta.comDigital Products Best Body WashOsea Undaria Algae Body Wash ($32)“This body wash has become my go-to for shaving — the formula is nice and slick, with not much foam to it, making it perfect for gliding a razor along my skin. I love that it leaves my skin feeling super hydrated even after a fresh shave, which I can’t say for most actual shave creams. It has cemented itself in my shower routine for good.” — Aviel Kanter, director, branded contentrescuemd.comDigital Products Best Body CreamRescueMD Revitalizing Body Cream ($248)“I know what you’re thinking: $248 is a lot for a body cream, but this is no average lotion.

The brand is known for its ultra-reparative and restorative serums, and now, it’s brought that same science to a body product. The formula contains the brand’s signature DNA repair complex, peptides, and antioxidants. It reduces redness, firms, moisturizes, plumps, and fades discoloration.” — JHsnif.coDigital Products Best CandleSnif Half Baked Pumpkin Smash Candle ($34)“I am fully in the ‘I hope summer never ends’ camp, but there are a few things that can get me in the mood for fall, and one of them is the Snif Half Baked Pumpkin Smash Candle. It’s a seasonal scent that they brought back this year, and if you get the chance to smell it, you’ll understand why. It’s a sweet and spicy blend that will fill your room with notes of pumpkin spice, cinnamon salted maple, and roasted chocolate. Um, yum.” — RRblueland.comDigital Products Best Laundry DetergentBlueland Laundry Set in Spring Bloom ($25)“I’ve been thinking a lot about overconsumption and waste lately, and one area that I know could use a lot of improvement is laundry. Think of all the waste created from detergents, fabric softeners, dryer sheets, and so on. I love the new Spring Bloom scent from Blueland. The laundry set contains 65 plastic-free tablets that you simply toss into the washing machine — no measuring needed. Once you run out, you can buy a replacement pouch. It’s easy and eco-friendly.” — JHnordstrom.comDigital Products Best White Floral PerfumeFrederic Malle Carnal Flower ($295)“When I first spritzed this perfume, believe me when I tell you I let out an immediate, visceral ‘OMG’. It smells like a sexy, oiled-up moment on a Polynesian beach thanks to the notes of tuberose, orange blossom, and jasmine absolute. It’s definitely bursting with white flowers, but it never feels sickly sweet or overly femme. I’ll be taking this summery scent with me into fall, forecast be damned.” — AKJessica Harrington is the senior beauty editor at PS, where she writes about hair, makeup, skin care, piercings, tattoos, and more. As a New York City-based writer and editor with a degree in journalism and over eight years of industry experience, she loves to interview industry experts, keep up with the latest trends, and test new products.Renee Rodriguez is a staff writer and social producer for PS. She writes across all verticals, but her main areas of expertise focus on fashion and beauty content with an emphasis on reviews and editor experiments. She also produces social content for the PS TikTok and Instagram accounts. http://109.70.148.72/~merchant29/6network/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/26036932447_905ea96635_o.jpg While each product featured is independently selected by our editors, we may include paid promotion. If you buy something through our links, we may earn commission. Read more about our Product Review Guidelines here. It’s hard to believe that summer is winding down and September has begun. The last few months have been filled with … Read More

[bravecompanynews]

23 New Beauty Products Our Editors Are Loving This September - Notice Today Online - #GLOBAL https://www.merchant-business.com/23-new-beauty-products-our-editors-are-loving-this-september/?feed_id=186957&_unique_id=66d659bc6f2db While each product featured is independently selected by our editors, we may include paid promotion. If you buy something through our links, we may earn commission. Read more about our Product Review Guidelines here.It’s hard to believe that summer is winding down and September has begun. The last few months have been filled with record-high temperatures and lots of adventures in the sun, but now, it’s time to get excited about fall. We’re ready for cozy sweaters, pumpkin-spice flavors, candles, and our personal favorite, new beauty launches.Judging by the new makeup, hair, and, body, skin-care products hitting store shelves, September is already looking bright. Though the time will be here soon to trade in our lightweight formulas for something heavier, right now is all about transitional beauty products that make the switch from hot temps to cooler days easier. From candles that will help you embrace the fact that fall is right around the corner to warm, floral perfumes and face moisturizers that keep dry skin at bay even after long days at the beach, there are a variety of new beauty products for September to explore.Ahead, our editors made fall shopping a little easier for you by sharing their favorite new beauty launches of the month, and we promise — they’re good. Keep scrolling to see what made the cut, and get ready to click that “add to cart” button 24 times.www.skinmedica.comDigital Products Best Hydrating MoisturizerSkinMedica HA 5 Hydra Collagen Replenish and Restore Hydrator ($192)“In the summer months I spend most of my time at the beach, and although I make sure to moisturize before and after, wear plenty of SPF, and even a hat, my skin still takes a beating. I try to keep my face out of the sun as much as possible, but for the most part I rely on good skin-care products to help my skin out. The SkinMedica HA 5 Hydra Collagen Replenish and Restore Hydrator has been an absolute lifesaver, especially after long days at the beach. It’s lightweight, made with five different forms of hyaluronic acid, plus avocado oil, passion fruit seed oil, and vitamin F.” — Renee Rodriguez, staff writer and social producer111skin.comDigital Products Best Lightweight Moisturizer111Skin Cryo Revitalising Moisturizer ($200)“Made with ginseng complex, and a blend of eight types of hyaluronic acid, the 111Skin Cryo Revitalising Moisturizer is as luxurious as it gets. Every time I use it, my skin feels refreshed, hydrated, and it even looks a little less puffy. The texture is silky and smooth, and I especially find myself reaching for it in the mornings when my skin needs a serious wake up call. Pro tip? Stick it in the fridge to get an even cooler effect when you slather it on.” — RRsephora.comDigital Products Best Pre-Styling CreamStraight to Wavy Light Pre-Styling Cream ($60)“When the Dyson team told me the reason behind developing these new hairstyling products, it immediately made sense. I love my Airwrap, and I think it’s one of the most innovative tools on the market. However, I agree with (apparently) many consumers that it can be challenging to get the hairstyles to hold. The formula contains oyster mushrooms, grapeseed, castor, and argan oil, and beeswax to reduce frizz, protect against heat, and boost shine, in addition to helping with hold. The mushrooms within the formula are responsible for the soft and moveable yet structural hold that’s designed to make your styles last longer. All I need is a few pumps, and my Airwrap curls last all day. You can read my full review here.” — Jessica Harrington, senior beauty editorsephora.comDigital Products Best Shine TreatmentOribe Mirror Rinse Glass Hair Treatment ($64)“Oribe just launched its new Mirror Rinse Glass Hair Treatment, and to say I’m obsessed is an understatement.

It’s made for all hair types, but it leaves my fine, frizzy hair looking silky and glossy after just one use. I apply it in the shower after shampooing and conditioning, leave it on for one minute, and then rinse it out. It gives me glass hair that lasts until my next wash day, and the scent is amazing.” — RRDigital Products Best Setting PowderMakeup by Mario Surreal Skin Soft Blur Setting Powder ($38, launching 9/1)“Fans of Mario Dedivanovic’s brand, Makeup By Mario, have long awaited the arrival of a setting powder to the brand’s lineup. The Surreal Skin Soft Blur Setting Powder has a weightless, ultra-fine texture that smooths skin for a satiny finish and locks makeup in for 12 hours of wear. When I apply it to half of my face, I can see a noticeable difference in how my complexion products look: with the powder, they melt into my skin for a flawless look. It comes in seven shades, allowing you to find the perfect match.” — JHlaurageller.comDigital Products Best Bronzer StickLaura Geller Beauty Serum Bronzing Cheek Lift ($18, originally $30)“Don’t take away my beauty editor card or anything, but I’m always too lazy to apply bronzer, let alone contour my entire face, because of the extra application and blending required. Who has the time! If there’s anything to change my mind, though, it would be this bronzing stick from Laura Geller Beauty. The sponge-like applicator makes it easy to dot it on, and the serum formula is lightweight enough that blending takes (quite literally) one second. The result is natural looking, and the time spent is minimal — just how I like it.”— KCTower28Digital Products Best BlushTower28 BeachPlease in Finest Hour ($20)“Tower28’s latest blush launch has been my go-to product this summer. Technically, it can be used on the lips and the cheeks, but I love applying it on my forehead, nose, and even underneath my eyes for the perfect sunburned blush look. It feels like a second skin, doesn’t break out my acne-prone skin, and it always gets me tons of compliments whenever I wear it.” — RRsallybeauty.comDigital Products Best Lip OilLamel All in One Lip Tinted Plumping Oil ($8)“When it comes to beauty products I will always test no matter what, lip oils are at the top of the list. When I got a mailer with the Lamel All in One Lip Tinted Plumping Oil inside, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but let’s just say I was blown out of the water. Not only does the formula make my mouth feel ultra hydrated, but one of my girlfriends actually asked if I got lip filler while I was wearing it (true story!). My favorite shade peachy, which goes extremely well with my natural lip color.” — RRnaturabrasil.comDigital Products Best Body Lotion KitNatura Ekos Castanha Body Lotion Concentrate Kit ($17)“Maybe you’ve never considered playing mixologist with your body moisturizer, but trust: the extra hydration is worth every extra second. This kit contains highly concentrated Castanha, or Brazil nut, so all you have to do is pour TAP water into the refillable bottle (don’t worry, the label indicates how much is enough), dump the concentrate into the water, and then shake, shake, shake for the most moisturizing body lotion you’ve ever tried. Not only that, but it’s a product you can feel good about using: the brand itself sustainably sources all its ingredients from the Amazon rainforest and gives back to the hundreds of indigenous tribes harvesting and looking after the plants and fruits.” — KCulta.comDigital Products Best Body WashOsea Undaria Algae Body Wash ($32)“This body wash has become my go-to for shaving — the formula is nice and slick, with not much foam to it, making it perfect for gliding a razor along my skin. I love that it leaves my skin feeling super hydrated even after a fresh shave, which I can’t say for most actual shave creams. It has cemented itself in my shower routine for good.” — Aviel Kanter, director, branded contentrescuemd.comDigital Products Best Body CreamRescueMD Revitalizing Body Cream ($248)“I know what you’re thinking: $248 is a lot for a body cream, but this is no average lotion.

The brand is known for its ultra-reparative and restorative serums, and now, it’s brought that same science to a body product. The formula contains the brand’s signature DNA repair complex, peptides, and antioxidants. It reduces redness, firms, moisturizes, plumps, and fades discoloration.” — JHsnif.coDigital Products Best CandleSnif Half Baked Pumpkin Smash Candle ($34)“I am fully in the ‘I hope summer never ends’ camp, but there are a few things that can get me in the mood for fall, and one of them is the Snif Half Baked Pumpkin Smash Candle. It’s a seasonal scent that they brought back this year, and if you get the chance to smell it, you’ll understand why. It’s a sweet and spicy blend that will fill your room with notes of pumpkin spice, cinnamon salted maple, and roasted chocolate. Um, yum.” — RRblueland.comDigital Products Best Laundry DetergentBlueland Laundry Set in Spring Bloom ($25)“I’ve been thinking a lot about overconsumption and waste lately, and one area that I know could use a lot of improvement is laundry. Think of all the waste created from detergents, fabric softeners, dryer sheets, and so on. I love the new Spring Bloom scent from Blueland. The laundry set contains 65 plastic-free tablets that you simply toss into the washing machine — no measuring needed. Once you run out, you can buy a replacement pouch. It’s easy and eco-friendly.” — JHnordstrom.comDigital Products Best White Floral PerfumeFrederic Malle Carnal Flower ($295)“When I first spritzed this perfume, believe me when I tell you I let out an immediate, visceral ‘OMG’. It smells like a sexy, oiled-up moment on a Polynesian beach thanks to the notes of tuberose, orange blossom, and jasmine absolute. It’s definitely bursting with white flowers, but it never feels sickly sweet or overly femme. I’ll be taking this summery scent with me into fall, forecast be damned.” — AKJessica Harrington is the senior beauty editor at PS, where she writes about hair, makeup, skin care, piercings, tattoos, and more. As a New York City-based writer and editor with a degree in journalism and over eight years of industry experience, she loves to interview industry experts, keep up with the latest trends, and test new products.Renee Rodriguez is a staff writer and social producer for PS. She writes across all verticals, but her main areas of expertise focus on fashion and beauty content with an emphasis on reviews and editor experiments. She also produces social content for the PS TikTok and Instagram accounts. http://109.70.148.72/~merchant29/6network/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/26036932447_905ea96635_o.jpg BLOGGER - #GLOBAL

[formidablecompanynews]

23 New Beauty Products Our Editors Are Loving This September - Notice Today Online https://www.merchant-business.com/23-new-beauty-products-our-editors-are-loving-this-september/?feed_id=186952&_unique_id=66d6589f4c54b #GLOBAL - BLOGGER BLOGGER While each product featured is independently selected by our editors, we may include paid promotion. If you buy something through our links, we may earn commission. Read more about our Product Review Guidelines here.It’s hard to believe that summer is winding down and September has begun. The last few months have been filled with record-high temperatures and lots of adventures in the sun, but now, it’s time to get excited about fall. We’re ready for cozy sweaters, pumpkin-spice flavors, candles, and our personal favorite, new beauty launches.Judging by the new makeup, hair, and, body, skin-care products hitting store shelves, September is already looking bright. Though the time will be here soon to trade in our lightweight formulas for something heavier, right now is all about transitional beauty products that make the switch from hot temps to cooler days easier. From candles that will help you embrace the fact that fall is right around the corner to warm, floral perfumes and face moisturizers that keep dry skin at bay even after long days at the beach, there are a variety of new beauty products for September to explore.Ahead, our editors made fall shopping a little easier for you by sharing their favorite new beauty launches of the month, and we promise — they’re good. Keep scrolling to see what made the cut, and get ready to click that “add to cart” button 24 times.www.skinmedica.comDigital Products Best Hydrating MoisturizerSkinMedica HA 5 Hydra Collagen Replenish and Restore Hydrator ($192)“In the summer months I spend most of my time at the beach, and although I make sure to moisturize before and after, wear plenty of SPF, and even a hat, my skin still takes a beating. I try to keep my face out of the sun as much as possible, but for the most part I rely on good skin-care products to help my skin out. The SkinMedica HA 5 Hydra Collagen Replenish and Restore Hydrator has been an absolute lifesaver, especially after long days at the beach. It’s lightweight, made with five different forms of hyaluronic acid, plus avocado oil, passion fruit seed oil, and vitamin F.” — Renee Rodriguez, staff writer and social producer111skin.comDigital Products Best Lightweight Moisturizer111Skin Cryo Revitalising Moisturizer ($200)“Made with ginseng complex, and a blend of eight types of hyaluronic acid, the 111Skin Cryo Revitalising Moisturizer is as luxurious as it gets. Every time I use it, my skin feels refreshed, hydrated, and it even looks a little less puffy. The texture is silky and smooth, and I especially find myself reaching for it in the mornings when my skin needs a serious wake up call. Pro tip? Stick it in the fridge to get an even cooler effect when you slather it on.” — RRsephora.comDigital Products Best Pre-Styling CreamStraight to Wavy Light Pre-Styling Cream ($60)“When the Dyson team told me the reason behind developing these new hairstyling products, it immediately made sense. I love my Airwrap, and I think it’s one of the most innovative tools on the market. However, I agree with (apparently) many consumers that it can be challenging to get the hairstyles to hold. The formula contains oyster mushrooms, grapeseed, castor, and argan oil, and beeswax to reduce frizz, protect against heat, and boost shine, in addition to helping with hold. The mushrooms within the formula are responsible for the soft and moveable yet structural hold that’s designed to make your styles last longer. All I need is a few pumps, and my Airwrap curls last all day. You can read my full review here.” — Jessica Harrington, senior beauty editorsephora.comDigital Products Best Shine TreatmentOribe Mirror Rinse Glass Hair Treatment ($64)“Oribe just launched its new Mirror Rinse Glass Hair Treatment, and to say I’m obsessed is an understatement.

It’s made for all hair types, but it leaves my fine, frizzy hair looking silky and glossy after just one use. I apply it in the shower after shampooing and conditioning, leave it on for one minute, and then rinse it out. It gives me glass hair that lasts until my next wash day, and the scent is amazing.” — RRDigital Products Best Setting PowderMakeup by Mario Surreal Skin Soft Blur Setting Powder ($38, launching 9/1)“Fans of Mario Dedivanovic’s brand, Makeup By Mario, have long awaited the arrival of a setting powder to the brand’s lineup. The Surreal Skin Soft Blur Setting Powder has a weightless, ultra-fine texture that smooths skin for a satiny finish and locks makeup in for 12 hours of wear. When I apply it to half of my face, I can see a noticeable difference in how my complexion products look: with the powder, they melt into my skin for a flawless look. It comes in seven shades, allowing you to find the perfect match.” — JHlaurageller.comDigital Products Best Bronzer StickLaura Geller Beauty Serum Bronzing Cheek Lift ($18, originally $30)“Don’t take away my beauty editor card or anything, but I’m always too lazy to apply bronzer, let alone contour my entire face, because of the extra application and blending required. Who has the time! If there’s anything to change my mind, though, it would be this bronzing stick from Laura Geller Beauty. The sponge-like applicator makes it easy to dot it on, and the serum formula is lightweight enough that blending takes (quite literally) one second. The result is natural looking, and the time spent is minimal — just how I like it.”— KCTower28Digital Products Best BlushTower28 BeachPlease in Finest Hour ($20)“Tower28’s latest blush launch has been my go-to product this summer. Technically, it can be used on the lips and the cheeks, but I love applying it on my forehead, nose, and even underneath my eyes for the perfect sunburned blush look. It feels like a second skin, doesn’t break out my acne-prone skin, and it always gets me tons of compliments whenever I wear it.” — RRsallybeauty.comDigital Products Best Lip OilLamel All in One Lip Tinted Plumping Oil ($8)“When it comes to beauty products I will always test no matter what, lip oils are at the top of the list. When I got a mailer with the Lamel All in One Lip Tinted Plumping Oil inside, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but let’s just say I was blown out of the water. Not only does the formula make my mouth feel ultra hydrated, but one of my girlfriends actually asked if I got lip filler while I was wearing it (true story!). My favorite shade peachy, which goes extremely well with my natural lip color.” — RRnaturabrasil.comDigital Products Best Body Lotion KitNatura Ekos Castanha Body Lotion Concentrate Kit ($17)“Maybe you’ve never considered playing mixologist with your body moisturizer, but trust: the extra hydration is worth every extra second. This kit contains highly concentrated Castanha, or Brazil nut, so all you have to do is pour TAP water into the refillable bottle (don’t worry, the label indicates how much is enough), dump the concentrate into the water, and then shake, shake, shake for the most moisturizing body lotion you’ve ever tried. Not only that, but it’s a product you can feel good about using: the brand itself sustainably sources all its ingredients from the Amazon rainforest and gives back to the hundreds of indigenous tribes harvesting and looking after the plants and fruits.” — KCulta.comDigital Products Best Body WashOsea Undaria Algae Body Wash ($32)“This body wash has become my go-to for shaving — the formula is nice and slick, with not much foam to it, making it perfect for gliding a razor along my skin. I love that it leaves my skin feeling super hydrated even after a fresh shave, which I can’t say for most actual shave creams. It has cemented itself in my shower routine for good.” — Aviel Kanter, director, branded contentrescuemd.comDigital Products Best Body CreamRescueMD Revitalizing Body Cream ($248)“I know what you’re thinking: $248 is a lot for a body cream, but this is no average lotion.

The brand is known for its ultra-reparative and restorative serums, and now, it’s brought that same science to a body product. The formula contains the brand’s signature DNA repair complex, peptides, and antioxidants. It reduces redness, firms, moisturizes, plumps, and fades discoloration.” — JHsnif.coDigital Products Best CandleSnif Half Baked Pumpkin Smash Candle ($34)“I am fully in the ‘I hope summer never ends’ camp, but there are a few things that can get me in the mood for fall, and one of them is the Snif Half Baked Pumpkin Smash Candle. It’s a seasonal scent that they brought back this year, and if you get the chance to smell it, you’ll understand why. It’s a sweet and spicy blend that will fill your room with notes of pumpkin spice, cinnamon salted maple, and roasted chocolate. Um, yum.” — RRblueland.comDigital Products Best Laundry DetergentBlueland Laundry Set in Spring Bloom ($25)“I’ve been thinking a lot about overconsumption and waste lately, and one area that I know could use a lot of improvement is laundry. Think of all the waste created from detergents, fabric softeners, dryer sheets, and so on. I love the new Spring Bloom scent from Blueland. The laundry set contains 65 plastic-free tablets that you simply toss into the washing machine — no measuring needed. Once you run out, you can buy a replacement pouch. It’s easy and eco-friendly.” — JHnordstrom.comDigital Products Best White Floral PerfumeFrederic Malle Carnal Flower ($295)“When I first spritzed this perfume, believe me when I tell you I let out an immediate, visceral ‘OMG’. It smells like a sexy, oiled-up moment on a Polynesian beach thanks to the notes of tuberose, orange blossom, and jasmine absolute. It’s definitely bursting with white flowers, but it never feels sickly sweet or overly femme. I’ll be taking this summery scent with me into fall, forecast be damned.” — AKJessica Harrington is the senior beauty editor at PS, where she writes about hair, makeup, skin care, piercings, tattoos, and more. As a New York City-based writer and editor with a degree in journalism and over eight years of industry experience, she loves to interview industry experts, keep up with the latest trends, and test new products.Renee Rodriguez is a staff writer and social producer for PS. She writes across all verticals, but her main areas of expertise focus on fashion and beauty content with an emphasis on reviews and editor experiments. She also produces social content for the PS TikTok and Instagram accounts. http://109.70.148.72/~merchant29/6network/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/26036932447_905ea96635_o.jpg While each product featured is independently selected by our editors, we may include paid promotion. If you buy something through our links, we may earn commission. Read more about our Product Review Guidelines here. It’s hard to believe that summer is winding down and September has begun. The last few months have been filled with … Read More

[leonw4nter]

this is going to be one long ass reblog. this fic just threw me into a cardboard box and that cardboard box got launched into a basketball hoop and the basketball hoop collapsed on me.

He’s silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he takes a slow step back, putting more space between you. "This is your chance to be free," he says quietly, his voice tight with something you can’t quite place. "I won’t... impose myself on that."

LEON IF YOU DONT GET YOUR ACT TOGETHR AND REALIZE THAT I LOVE YOU ISTG 😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥 I WANT THIS VRO I FW HEAVY, A$AP NO ROCKY

As the hours drag on, the chill of the night seeps into the room, wrapping itself around you. You barely notice it until your hands start to tremble from the cold. Then, without warning, a soft warmth settles over your shoulders.

choking on floral foam right neOW.

At one point after realizing telling you to go inside wouldn't work, Leon drapes his coat over your shoulders, protecting you from the rain while also hiding the state your clothing is in from prying servants. And as soon as it's deemed safe and the rains finally died down enough to warrant stopping work on the exterior portions of the castle, he sweeps you off your feet to carry you inside bridal style. “Let me walk, please!" you demand, heat rising to your face as you hold back a shriek of surprise.

i feel like i just choked on a lemon right now /positive i am just very in my feelings at this moment. AH LEON ESS KENNEDY I , TOO , WANT TO BE CARRIED IN YOUR ARMS AMIDST STRONG RAINS 😭🙏💔 IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR

Before you have time to protest, he reaches up to push several strands of loose hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. For a second, his fingers linger along the curve of your temple, caressing your cheek like you're something precious. It's the most he's touched you willingly in weeks, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, longing for the intimacy that seems just out of reach.

I'm joining my ancestors. Punching my pillows, biting my blankets, desperately trying to keep myself quiet because I share a room with someone and it was 2:08 AM.

i need to be attached to an IV and sent to a hospital for a wellness check, im like an overheating laptop.

WAEOWAOEBOBRIXETWBVOECIQ#$@?#@??$tcrw?dsefwfdSDFRCHVREVWED4@#$^@$CFDGCDGXRECHWQ425 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"No, of course not! How could I possibly find fault with you when everything about you leaves me weak-kneed?"

THIS THE TYPA SHIT THAT BELONGS TO THE LIBRARY OF ALEXANDRIA. I CANNOT LET A HOMIE LIVE WITHOUT ME RAMBLING ON AND ON ABOUT THIS FIC.

OH MY GOD????? SAINTESS IS PLAYING THAT GAME NOW OH MY LORD, OH MY DAYS.

😲💥

IM AT A LOSS FOR WORDS HOLY SHIT SHAI.

A GROWN MAN KNEELING IS ALREADY CRAZY. BUT WE HAVE HIM CRAWLING TO US?!#~^&*(

sooo.... <3 what did we learn from this longass reblog :3 i fw this fic HEAVILY. the moment i woke up from my 5 hours of sleep, my mind IMMEDIATELY thought of this. for the rest of the day, until the sun set, half of my mind has been OCCUPIED by this fic. oh my god shai i absolutely love this series forever grateful that you decided to come up with this amazing fic series!!!!

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 4

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pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 15K

warnings: reader dissociates and has derealization at the beginning. this starts out fluffy but quickly turns into angst, and then frustration because of stonewalling. pre-smut raunchiness towards the end. dom/sub undertones (you'll never guess where this is going)

author's note: i am a FILTHY liar. this isn't the end EITHER. the finale will be the next one (DONT WORRY I'VE WRITTEN IT.

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The day of the wedding arrives cloaked in a fog that lingers over the estate, muting everything—the sounds, the colors, the emotions. You stand before the mirror, fingers trembling as they trace the lace edges of your veil. The soft fabric feels foreign against your skin, as if it belongs to someone else, as if this entire day belongs to someone else.

Voices murmur outside your door, distant and muffled, as though they’re speaking from another world. The maids have been bustling for hours, preparing you, fussing over every detail of your dress, your hair, your appearance. But none of it feels real. Not the silk of your gown, nor the weight of the veil draping over your shoulders. Even the reflection in the mirror feels detached—someone else entirely, a woman cloaked in white, staring back with wide, unblinking eyes.

Only the mask is missing, you realize.

You look too much like the saintess you were that it's put you in this dazed, almost absent state. Like a ghost trapped in the memories of a former life.

The Saintess looks out into your soul from the confines of the mirror and judges every inch of you for your lack of identity. Your flaws. The inadequacies of someone like you. You feel like you're going through the motions, not truly present, but watching yourself as if you were in a dream. And yet, this reality isn't a nightmare—it's just indifferent. Like an observer witnessing some otherworldly event transpire.

The day passes in fragments, snatches of moments that slip through your fingers before you can catch hold of them. The scent of fresh lilies, arranged meticulously throughout the chapel, fills the air—ironically, the flowers you’ve longed to grow yourself surround you now, yet you can’t even bring yourself to appreciate them. Everything's starting to blend together and melt in one giant blur of activity and movement. You answer questions politely and mechanically, forcing a smile when appropriate. But your mind refuses to engage, drifting farther and farther away from this scene until it becomes nothing more than background noise.

Then—finally—it's time. The ceremony begins.

Somewhere, in the distance, bells toll, signaling the hour, drawing you out of your trance as you snap back into place. You walk down the aisle, but the sensation of your feet hitting the cold stone floor barely registers. It’s as though your body is moving on its own, propelled forward by forces beyond your control. You see faces in the crowd—friends and nobles alike—but their names and faces escape you.

Leon stands at the altar, waiting patiently, clad in formal attire and a cape that matches yours. White like in his paladin days that you might think both of you have slipped back in time.

His expression betrays no sign of anxiety, only solemn resignation to the ceremonial requirements of such a display. In fact, he looks almost bored by the whole affair, as though he were reading an instruction manual on how to properly wear pants.

The priest speaks, but the words barely reach your ears. Vows, promises—it all overlaps together in a haze of formality, something you are meant to endure rather than savor. The cool metal of the ring slips onto your finger, settling heavily on your flesh, binding you to your fate as you stare blankly ahead. Leon says something—his voice low and solemn—but the words don’t quite register. You nod, because that’s what’s expected. You offer a faint smile, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. But beneath it all, there’s an emptiness, a hollow space inside of you where your heart should be rejoicing, where you should feel something other than numbness.

There’s a murmur of applause as the ceremony comes to a close, and suddenly, it’s over. The veil is lifted, and for the first time, your eyes meet Leon’s directly. He hesitates when he sees your face, his already low set of brows knitting further together in a confused frown, and you wonder what kind of face you were making for him to respond that way.

"Are you alright?" is what he asks, however.

You give a tired nod.

"Do you need to sit?"

You say something that resembles, "I would very yes."

With that, he takes your elbow and guides you out of the hall, not saying anything, a focus so condensed that it belongs in a sword fight instead of a wedding . Everyone watches as the newly married couple leave before the reception begins, and you're grateful for the relative silence, the hushed whispers only an addition to the buzzing in your head as you trudge down the long aisle. No one knows what to think about the sight of a dead-eyed girl whose dress drags behind her as she's led by the hand to the carriages.

At the last moment, you spot Claire, looking extremely pale and distraught at the back of the mass. She gives you a shaky wave and a tense smile, looking incredibly worried about you. When you manage to wave back in response, her face crumples briefly before she immediately pulls herself together again, fixing a stiff smile on her face.

Leon helps you climb into the carriage, following after and shutting the door behind him, securing the latch tight. Then you're both alone. With no one else to pay attention to. Just you and your husband.

"Hey," Leon starts softly, gazing at you intensely, attempting to catch your eyes. "Talk to me. Hey. Come on, look at me. Do I need to call for a healer?"

"I... I'm fine," you manage to rasp out as you clutch the seat's edge, your knuckles turning white under the force of your grip, struggling to ground yourself in this moment. "Don't know what's wrong with me today, sorry."

His brow furrows more, but he doesn't comment as he folds his arms across his broad chest, his mouth drawn into a firm line. You know he's assessing your condition, analyzing everything you've been doing over the past few hours to ensure you're physically sound, despite his own reservations about your mental state.

"Cold feet?"

"No," you reply without hesitation, looking at him directly for once.

"Okay," Leon murmurs under his breath, before asking, "What happened then?"

"I..." You try to speak but find yourself unable to answer. How could you begin to put into words the feelings raging inside you?

"I don't need big words, walk me through it however you want," he encourages in that familiar patient tone of his that never fails to coax information out of you.

You inhale deeply and take a moment to think. To sort through the confusion swirling within your mind, pushing back the jumbled mess and focusing on the core issue.

"Where do you think this started?"

"I..." You pause as you reflect on the question. Where did it start? When exactly did you lose your confidence and enthusiasm? Was it before you entered the chapel, as you got dressed for the occasion? Perhaps during the long procession from the Temple to here, surrounded by dozens of strangers wishing you well? "Just... white," is all you can say, finding it hard to elaborate. Your hand reaches up to grip your veil and unhook it from the place, laying it on top of your lap. "The white, it... This. All of it."

Your mind says, It brought me back to when all I wore was white, I got stuck in the clothes of a saintess with no temple to pray in or services to attend, but your mouth doesn't want to cooperate.

He looks like he understood all of that, however, his intense blue gaze scrutinizing your face with so many thoughts forming behind it.

Then out of nowhere, his whole standing changes. He unhooks his arms from where they crossed on his chest and leans forward, expectant and light, "Say, how would you feel about a round of painting? Let’s ditch this place. Hunnigan can handle the rest."

"I don’t think we should…”

“It’ll be fine, you need to unwind. We can’t go back with you like this.”

“But…”

“Don’t hold back, just say yes.”

“Yeah,” you give in, not seeing the point in keeping up with the facade of appropriateness when you have no energy for any of it. “Okay.”

Leon nods approvingly before lifting a hand and knocking thrice on the wood separating him and the driver, alerting the carriage to turn a corner and head down a different road. "Great. Let's go get some paint."

"No canvases?"

"We already have those," he says, smiling for the first time since leaving the chapel.

His hand waves between you and him, and it takes you a bit to notice he actually is referring to your wedding dress and his formal clothes, respectively.

"What! We can't ruin these!"

"We can, and we will. The white bothers you, I get it. What better way to express that than literally destroying it? I think it sounds cathartic." He holds your gaze for a while, as if to emphasize the message and give you a moment to protest, but he finds none in return, his expression morphing into one of excitement.

The ballroom is expansive, with large windows that let in the soft afternoon light. The floor is spotless, gleaming beneath the chandelier’s glow, but not for long. The servants have already arranged several jars of paint along one wall, brushes of all sizes and colors resting beside them. It’s like an artist’s dream, and it’s all at your disposal.

Leon takes a few steps forward, surveying the setup with a satisfied nod. "Perfect."

You hesitate at the edge of the room, glancing down at your dress. It still feels strange, thinking about what you’re about to do. The lace, the silk, the hours of careful preparation... it’s all meant to be pristine. But now, with the paint before you, it’s as though you’ve been given permission to break free from the expectations that have suffocated you all day.

Leon watches you with quiet patience, his face softening. "Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, then step forward, your fingers brushing over the cool glass of one of the paint jars. You choose a bright red first, dipping the brush into it slowly. The rich, vibrant color drips from the bristles, and for a moment, you simply stare at it, mesmerized.

Then, with a sudden rush of determination, you lift the brush and swipe it across the bodice of your dress. The bold streak of red stands out sharply against the white fabric, and something inside you shifts. The tension, the numbness that’s been clinging to you all day, begins to melt away. As though this simple act—this tiny splash of color—has unlocked a part of yourself that you hadn't even realized was locked away.

"Ah, I see you've gone with red for a foundation," Leon comments, coming up behind you with a light tone as if this is merely a casual conversation instead of... whatever this is.

"Your turn," you say, offering him the brush.

He takes it without hesitation, dipping it into a jar of deep blue paint. With a scheming grin, he steps closer and makes a sweeping motion across the hem of your skirt. The color spreads in a swirling pattern, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

"How about we team up on this one?" He asks, pulling out a slightly smaller brush and dipping it into green paint. "I can paint something on you and you can paint something on me."

"That sounds perfect." The image of Leon covered in blots of colorful spots is vivid in your mind, making you smile despite yourself. His playful expression and cheerful demeanor are infectious, drawing you in and reminding you that you don’t have to do this alone.

He motions for you to turn around, which you do so with ease, moving back to hold the front of your dress upwards as you do so. This allows him to have easier access to the back and draw or paint whatever he wants there.

A wet feeling slides over your left shoulder blade, causing you to suck in a surprised gasp.

"It's fine, I promise, I know what I'm doing." Leon reassures before his brush moves to draw something that feels like... words? On your other shoulder blade. You try to not think about how he could be writing an insult right now to tease you for later. "Hold that position. I'm not done yet."

As he continues to dab paint on various parts of your back, the shape of his art becomes more pronounced. You are able to follow the strokes, which go from the base of your spine to your hips and shoulders. It's definitely something artistic, that much you can confirm.

"What are you drawing?"

"What's the fun in telling you?"

He pulls back then, finally allowing you to lower your dress and smooth it out, although some of the material still catches onto the dampness of the paint. When you glance in the mirror, there are two identical, but opposite symbols in dark green pigment. "Is that... a tree?"

"If you'd like it to be," he says nonchalantly, before stepping forth to be in the line of view for the mirror. "Come on, your turn now."

After a second of deliberation, you pick the smaller brush, grabbing a jar of yellow paint. Leon's shirt is just a few shades lighter than ivory, so the color won't show as starkly on him as it did with the pure white of your wedding dress. Still, he rolls the sleeves of his buttoned-up shirt as far back as they'll go, showing off toned forearms as you dip the brush into the jar and begin tracing little dots up and down his arm. It's not difficult work—only tedious—and after a few minutes, you're finished with both arms.

"Now you look like a walking ray of sunshine," you declare cheerfully, setting the brush aside.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your comment but doesn't argue as he inspects your work. A crooked smile appears on his lips as he laughs lightly, running a hand through his golden hair. "So I do. Will you keep going?"

You nod, reaching for another jar, this time a deep purple hue. You decide to paint a flower on his back, carefully choosing where to place the petals and stems in your mind--but since his outer layers are removable, so will your masterpiece be.

"Can you take these off?" you ask, tugging on the cloak first and then tapping on his suit. "For a flower to really blossom, I need a smoother canvas."

Leon's head snaps to look back at you over his shoulder, and one would think you'd asked him to drop his pants the way he was reacting. You just want access to his shirt, is all. Or was that an inappropriate request...? Maybe you should have worded it differently, you thought worriedly, chewing on the side of your lip nervously.

"I mean... If you're fine with seeing me naked, sure?" he replies after a brief pause of consideration, guarded but ultimately agreeable as he turns back to face forward again.

"W-what! I just want your coat and cape off! And the waistcoat! Just the shirt will do."

Now why are you acting so defensive? You curse silently inwardly, your face flaming from embarrassment. And in return, the tips of his ears turn bright red as well at the misunderstanding as he clears his throat uncomfortably.

"... Yes, of course. I'll take that off and also remove my cravat while we're at it." he mumbles, embarrassment in his movements as he hastily throws his jacket aside without care as if trying to dispel the awkwardness hanging in the air immediately, followed by taking his vest off. He starts unbuttoning the first couple buttons at the neck, revealing some of his skin underneath, before loosening the tie around his neck and letting it drop to the floor carelessly. "There, is that better for you?"

You get a glimpse of his cape lying crumpled just beside your discarded veil in a corner. It’s a pleasing sight.

"Thank you." Not wanting to dwell on any accidental suggestive wordings, you focus all your concentration on painting once more, using your thumb and forefinger to press against the ends of each petal one by one, applying pressure until they stain his body. It reminds you of a technique the children use for drawings back at home--dipping their hands into ink and then pressing them down upon paper for creating landscapes, trees, and oceans--except this case involves human bodies rather than paper, and paint instead of ink.

Every stroke adds dimension, building layers of depth atop your canvas—your friend and companion. As you continue working, your movements become smoother, more confident. Each gesture flows seamlessly from one shape to the next, gradually bringing the picture together. The petals themselves require precision; if done incorrectly, they'll resemble nothing more than uneven ovals. However, with steady strokes and careful application of pressure, they blossom beautifully, filling his entire upper half with color and texture.

When you finish adding details, you step back to examine your artwork closely. Satisfied, you wipe off most of the paint lingering on your fingertips on his upper arms and draw an unexpected laugh from him, startled by the sudden touch.

"I see you've used some technique there," he notes curiously, standing still as he examines your work over his shoulder before looking forward once more, facing himself in the mirror. There are patches of leftover pigment all over his form. "If we're fingerpainting now, here, just..."

He dunks his entire right palm in red paint, squinting his nose up a bit at the sticky feeling that must be surrounding his hand, before showing it to you and wiggling the fingers. The excess layer of paint starts trickling down his wrist, dripping onto the floor below like water off of a leaf.

He then makes a stamp right over your heart, causing it to jump unexpectedly in surprise upon contact with his cool hand. The resulting imprint causes you to instinctively suck in a breath, unprepared for how it made you feel emotionally at first. But then his hand rises higher to pat it over your temple and cheeks playfully, getting you messy and all splattered with red.

"There we go," he remarks cheerfully, pleased with himself and his actions as he retracts his hand, smiling genuinely and widely, which shows off his pearly whites and crow's feet crinkling around his eyes.

"Was that necessary...?" you huff out softly in mock annoyance, wiping a dot off of your face, even though internally you do admit to enjoying it quite thoroughly. There's something intimate about this whole endeavor that makes you wish for more moments like these.

You swipe at him again, a splash of blue this time, aiming for his collar.

“Missed,” Leon teases, dodging just in time, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, filling the large ballroom. His own chuckles are rich, echoing off the painted walls. For once, everything feels easy. Unscripted. Natural.

You dip your fingers into the paint, abandoning the brush altogether, and smear thick lines of yellow down his sides the moment you can catch him. “There,” you say with triumph, wiping your hands on his chest, your breath still catching from laughter. “Fixed it.”

Leon lets out a low hum, stepping back, his hands finding a jar of green paint. “Revenge is best served... messy.”

Without warning, his fingers, wet with paint, slide across your waist, leaving a trail of green over the delicate lace of your dress.

A shiver runs down your spine at the unexpected sensation of his hand dragging through the line of your waist, his fingers pressing just a little too long. You glance up at him, your smile faltering, but he’s already looking away, dipping his fingers back into the paint, determined to keep the game going. You're no longer meticulously trying to paint beautiful flowers or symbols; now, it's become almost a competition--or dare--to who can make whose partner look more ridiculous.

Though something has shifted in you after he has put his hands on your waist like that. And then there's this warmth that emanates from those same places--the spot on your nape where he brushed your hair to the side when cleaning away excess paint, the crook of your neck that tickled slightly when he traced circles there accidentally whilst applying an intricate design with his pinky, your bare forearm as he tested a shade of orange upon it, and countless other small instances that seem insignificant yet stick out prominently in your memory. The last place he touches leaves goosebumps in its wake, although whether it's from the cold, wet paint itself, or perhaps the feeling of being marked by someone else, you aren't entirely sure.

But the way Leon looks at you—his blue eyes full of wonder, shining brightly amidst a backdrop of colorful pigments—makes your heartbeat quicken beneath your ribs. The delicate material of his shirt has begun to stick to the lines of his muscles, and without meaning to, your gaze lingers on the way the fabric molds to his chest, the faint outline of his toned torso visible beneath the wet paint.

Embarrassed about the awareness of something you can't place, you decide to focus on his legs rather than what's seized your attention. There isn't a single crease in sight on his trousers, so you decide to run up a hand covered in black paint over his thighs in order to change that, creating two distinctive handprints on either leg, purposely making them bigger to cover the area completely. The white seeps through, making it look like a ghost had groped him multiple times before dissipating. It's not the funniest joke ever but you're pleased all the same nonetheless, giving yourself a pat on the back for it, and hoping he'd notice your wit and intelligence through your work.

In contrast, Leon seems to have frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the blatant action you've taken towards him. Had you made him uncomfortable...? Well, this is certainly not a thing people did often, to men or women alike. Your stomach clenches anxiously, wondering if perhaps you crossed a boundary. He coughs awkwardly into his elbow and rubs at a spot on his chest, presumably in an attempt to appear busy. Or maybe because there's itchiness or residue still drying on his skin that he couldn't reach otherwise, your conscience reassures weakly as you get up from your knees.

"Oh, uh..." He finally speaks after a good ten seconds of silence passes between you two, only for it to falter quickly enough. "Well... I guess... I lost."

"Was it a competition?" you inquire, tilting your head cutely to one side with genuine curiosity coloring your features. His posture seems tense though, strangely rigid despite the lighthearted nature of his mannerisms. It does seem as though he is nervous for some reason or another. A shame since the atmosphere was quite pleasant before the awkward pause ensued.

He swallows thickly, appearing momentarily tongue-tied by whatever thoughts plaguing his mind, and shrugs dismissively. "It might have been. Perhaps unintentionally. Regardless of that fact, however," Leon continues smoothly, regaining composure in record time, flashing a friendly smile at your direction, "it appears as though my skills are inferior compared to yours."

Before you can answer to dispel this weird tension he's suddenly experiencing, the doors to the ballroom opens and Hunnigan comes crashing in, an uncharacteristic angry look marring her usually impassive and calm expression, looking like she ran halfway across town in that heavy formal wear.

"You... you disappeared from the wedding reception just to do this?!" She shouts outraged, stomping further into the room towards the two of you with no care of getting splashed by stray droplets of paint, gesturing wildly at the chaotic mess all around.

Messy from head to toe like you were two children rolling around in a sandbox of paint, Leon and you share a look, and break into uncontrollable laughter.

The candlelight flickers gently in the spacious chamber, casting long shadows across the floor and walls. The quiet hum of the manor settles around you, muffling the noises from outside as the world winds down for the night, but the air feels thick, almost stifling, as the weight of expectation presses down on your chest. To distract yourself from it, you glance around the room, taking in the ornate furnishings, the heavy velvet drapes, the dark wood that lines the walls. It’s all so different from the simple quarters you’d grown accustomed to before marriage, so different from the sanctuaries you once found comfort in.

It’s almost impossible to believe that just a few hours ago, you were laughing together with Leon, splattering paint across your clothes, and feeling a connection that had left you almost breathless with hope. But that moment feels distant now—like a hazy memory from a different day entirely.

You stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed, the hem of your nightgown brushing lightly against the floor, and Leon stands on the opposite side of the room, near the fireplace. His back is turned to you, broad shoulders tense and rigid, his hands resting on the mantle as though he’s bracing himself against some unseen weight. It’s a stark contrast to the lighthearted, almost playful Leon you had seen earlier—his smile wide, his eyes crinkled with joy as you both painted each other’s clothes. That moment felt so real, so warm.

But now? Now, the connection between you feels cold, stifling even.

You can’t help but feel the sharp sting of confusion prick at your chest, the whiplash of his sudden emotional distance leaving you unmoored. You had been so sure that the painting, the laughter, the closeness you shared had been a turning point—like the two of you were finally beginning to understand each other. But this silence, this stiffness in his posture—it’s as though he’s putting up a wall between you. One you don’t know how to break through, even though you're the one who needs directing tonight as the both of you consummate your marriage.

You've been... informed, advised, and instructed of what was expected of you to perform your duties here tonight, but that was weeks ago. In reality, you had no clue how to accomplish your task right. What kind of acts were supposed to transpire in a marriage bed? Should you start undressing yourself, wait patiently until Leon comes forth, or should you be initiating something? The advisor on this matter did tell you to lay flat on your stomach with legs open for the lord husband to enter easily, but then it sounds so impersonal—dehumanizing, actually.

But your mixed feelings about the subject doesn't really matter, you barely know anything about intimacy in the first place other than the fact it isn't supposed to be enjoyable for the woman. So you'll try your best to give whatever's expected of you to do. It wouldn't be bad if it's with Leon is your opinion on every step of the way, however. At least, it's better than with another man you weren't close to. You just wished you had spent more quality time with him prior to this evening so you'd be able to anticipate his cues and desires, knowing how to please him without issue or question.

“Leon?” You call his name softly, but he doesn’t respond. His body remains still, as if carved from stone, and it sends a chill down your spine.

You take a hesitant step forward, the soft fabric of your gown brushing against your legs. “Is there something wrong?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re not sure what you’re hoping for—that he’ll turn around, give you one of those soft smiles, tell you that it’s just nerves. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge you. The fireplace casts a halo around his silhouette, making him look larger than life, like some sort of avenging angel.

The silence stretches on, oppressive, and it only heightens the sense of wrongness settling in the pit of your stomach. Your mind races, trying to understand what could have changed between the painting and now. Why is he shutting you out like this? Why does he seem so far away?

“Did I do something?” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

He shifts slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the mantle, but still, he says nothing. The tension in the room seems to coil tighter, suffocating you, and you feel your heart beating faster in your chest, the sting of hurt starting to well up inside you. How could he be so open with you before, only to shut you out now? It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks—his voice low, strained. “You should rest.”

His words are clipped, emotionless. He doesn’t even turn to look at you.

It’s like a slap to the face, the bluntness of his words cutting through the air. Rest? After everything? After the day you’ve had, after the vulnerability you shared? It feels dismissive, cold, like he’s brushing you aside, and you can’t stop the wave of hurt that crashes over you.

“That’s it?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you can’t help it. The confusion, the hurt—it’s all bubbling to the surface now. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Leon finally turns to face you, but his expression is unreadable, his blue eyes guarded, his jaw tight. It’s like he put on a mask for tonight, closing himself off from you. And the sight of it stings more than you want to admit.

“I’m not ignoring you,” he says quietly, but the tension in his voice is palpable. He takes a step toward you, but it feels like he’s still miles away. “I just... I think it’s best if you get some sleep after the stress you went through today.”

It's not exactly a lie but it certainly didn't hit you as true.

You stare at him, incredulous, unable to fathom how he can be so calm, so distant after everything. It feels like he’s pulling away from you, and the realization hits you hard—he doesn’t want to be close to you tonight. He doesn’t want you.

"But... Aren't we supposed to... consummate?" You bite your lip hesitantly, glancing down at your clasped hands, waiting for an explanation.

For one agonizing second, he stares at you silently, his expression inscrutable. Then he looks away, a strain between his low brows before responding tersely: "No. We're not supposed to do anything at all. Ever. Don't worry."

"Ah," you manage to squeak out, feeling an ugly embarrassment creeping into your cheeks. You thought there would at least be physical affection involved or mutual consent in regards to... 'intimate' interactions with each other in the future, but perhaps you had misinterpreted things along the way. You assumed Leon liked you enough to desire a familial relationship in addition to sharing a roof under, but maybe this entire arrangement had been built purely around duty--no passion required nor desired.

You never thought you'd have expectations like this, it's quite... silly when you think about it logically. Though your gut had told otherwise. The two of you seemed compatible in ways beyond simply friendship alone, why would you, to put it simply, want like this, as if you were looking forward to spending a romantic night together...?

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

Then a question comes up suddenly, startling you greatly with its implications: Did you have expectations for having relations with him, rather than performing a simple act for him as commanded? Is that the real source behind this confusing dilemma? If you did hold such desires, then where did they come from? And why is it only surfacing now that you are married to Leon?

This is so embarrassing.

“It’s not...” He hesitates, as if struggling to find the right words. “It’s not you.”

"Of course," you murmur doubtfully, biting down harder on the soft flesh of your lip, nails digging into the smooth skin of your palms, trying to hide how much his rejection hurts.

The post-wedding haze settles into a mundane rhythm, the chaos of vows and awkward wedding night fading like a distant dream.

You and Leon hunker down in his estate, grappling with your new roles in the capital's bubble. While he plows through his duties with his usual stone-faced resolve, you're drowning in crash courses on how to be a proper Margravine. Etiquette, court politics, future responsibilities—it's a never-ending barrage of lessons.

It's an odd sensation, bypassing the grand social events yet gradually becoming enmeshed in noble society. Though absent from opulent balls and galas, you’re drawn into a more intimate circle. Claire and Jill, ever by your side since before the wedding, have taken it upon themselves to integrate you into their world. They introduce you to friends and confidants who share their more laid-back perspective on court life.

The lessons are relentless—endless hours of memorizing noble lineages, perfecting the art of curtsying without toppling over, and learning to navigate conversations laden with hidden meanings. You grit your teeth through it all, determined to prove yourself worthy of your new title. But when Claire or Jill appear with mischievous grins, you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. They whisk you away to secret nooks of the estate or into the bustling city streets, where you can shed the mask of propriety and simply be. In these moments, laughter comes easily, and friendship flows as freely as the wine they occasionally smuggle in.

Nights, however, are a different story. You collapse into bed, muscles aching from maintaining perfect posture all day, only to find yourself wide awake in the small hours. The emptiness beside you yawning as a pit, an unavoidable reminder of the distance between you and Leon. That connecting door looms large in your mind, a barrier you're too uncertain to cross. Leon hasn't made any overtures to change the sleeping arrangements, and you're left wondering if this is how married life is supposed to feel—so frustratingly separate.

Leon himself is an enigma, his politeness a mask that reveals nothing. You catch his gaze lingering on you in quiet moments, only for him to quickly avert his eyes when discovered. It's maddening, this dance of stolen glances and hasty retreats.

You wonder if you've committed some blunder, some social faux pas that's driven this wedge between you. But when you gather the courage to approach him about household matters or finances, he offers that familiar half-smile and engages as if nothing's amiss.

Yet the distance remains, a chasm neither of you seems willing to bridge. The frustration gnaws at you. Is this to be your fate? A marriage in name only, two strangers sharing a title but little else? The irony isn't lost on you – married to someone who once knew your very soul, now reduced to stilted conversations and polite nods.

As you navigate this new life, you become hyper-aware of Leon's presence. It's like a sixth sense, the way you can feel him enter a room before you see him. Not intrusive, but impossible to ignore – a constant reminder of what could be, but isn't.

His presence haunts your lessons like a persistent shadow. As you pore over texts or struggle through your tutor's droning on household management, you catch glimpses of Leon. Sometimes he's lingering by the library's arched doorway, other times half-hidden behind the courtyard's stone columns, looking up at the window you’re sitting by. He never speaks, never interrupts. Just watches, silent and stoic, much like he did as your paladin.

Initially, you dismiss it as mere coincidence. This is his estate, after all. But as the occurrences multiply, doubt creeps in. Is there more to his constant hovering?

One particularly tedious afternoon, after an etiquette lesson that felt never-ending, you escape to the garden. Your fingers absently smooth your dress as you breathe in the scent of roses and fresh earth. The stone bench by the fountain beckons, and you sink onto it gratefully, closing your eyes against the warm sun.

But your moment of peace is short-lived. That familiar prickle of awareness crawls up your spine. You're being watched.

Your eyes snap open, darting around the garden. At first, all seems normal - rustling leaves, dappled sunlight. Then, beyond the perfectly manicured topiary, a flash of movement. Black and indigo.

Leon.

He stands by the old stone wall, aides clustered around him, clearly in the midst of some discussion. Yet his eyes are fixed on you, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He makes no move to approach, just... stares. As if waiting for something you can't name.

Your stomach knots, twisting tighter with each passing second. This distance he maintains, this silent observation—what does it mean? It's as if he's unsure of his place in your world, hesitant to step fully into it despite your shared history.

You pretend to focus on the fountain's gentle spray, but your attention remains locked on Leon. He lingers for a few more agonizing moments before finally retreating, his tall frame swallowed up by the hedges once more.

This happens more frequently now. During your walks with Claire and study dates with Jill, while you’re reading in the library, or even while you sit by the window at night, lost in thought. You catch glimpses of him, hovering at the periphery of your life like a ghost.

He doesn’t approach you directly, and yet, his presence never fully leaves. It’s as though he’s trying to be part of your world without intruding, without imposing his presence on you.

And it’s frustrating.

There are times when you want to call out to him, to ask him why he keeps his distance, why he seems so determined to stay on the outskirts of your life. But the words never form. You bite them back, unsure if you even have the right to ask.

One evening, after your newest friend Lady Rebecca has left for the night, you find yourself sitting alone in the small drawing room, absently flipping through the pages of a book you can’t seem to focus on. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Your gaze drifts to the doorway, where Leon stands once again. His posture is relaxed, one hand resting on the doorframe, but there’s a tension in his eyes, a hesitation that betrays his calm exterior.

For a moment, you both lock eyes.

This time, you don’t look away.

He seems to falter, his expression softening ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move. The air between you feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything neither of you has been willing to address.

"Leon," you finally say, your voice breaking the silence, though you don’t rise from your seat.

His name lingers, but he doesn't respond, doesn't step forward, just nods slightly before turning away. Once again, he retreats into the shadows, leaving you alone with the lingering sense of something unresolved.

The frustration builds inside you, but so does something else. A realization, perhaps. That he’s not distant out of disinterest, but because of something deeper, something he’s unwilling or unable to share. You’re left to wonder what holds him back, what keeps him from closing the gap between you.

The journey to the Margravate is long and winding, the rolling countryside stretching endlessly before you as the carriage bumps along the uneven road. You doze lightly, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the wheels, your head occasionally resting on Leon's shoulder, his scent wafting towards your senses, comforting and familiar amidst the unfamiliar landscape. The quiet company of his body next to yours makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms; you trust him that much, regardless of this distance that separates your hearts.

He only seems to take his place beside you to let you lean on him when you sleep. When you're awake, however, he's at the opposite end of the cushioned bench seats of the luxurious vehicle, looking intently out the small window. Dressed casually in a simple waistcoat over a cream shirt, sleeves rolled up, with dark blue fitted slacks and leather shoes polished to perfection—he looks every bit like a duke or earl traveling down country roads. So striking, in fact, with his gorgeous features and handsome profile, that even you steal glances from time to time at him in wonderment that such a fine man exists among human kind, let alone be your lawfully wedded husband for life.

From his appearance, it might seem like you two were still in a honeymoon period. Certainly others would assume you to be freshly fallen in love given how fondly you stare at him during these times. Your adoring gaze isn't exactly hidden nor unnoticed. Anyone who looked at you and observed your body language could tell easily enough about your feelings toward him, especially since this behavior began shortly after the wedding months ago.

But Leon seems unaffected by your affections. His reactions are impassive to everything—not rude and callous as with outsiders, but merely well-mannered. The sort of gestures you would expect of any polite, good-natured gentleman towards a young woman.

He’s been like this for the entire journey, withdrawn, the faint connection you shared before your wedding slowly eroding with each passing mile. His quiet presence, once comforting, now feels distant, like the growing chasm between the two of you. Every time you glance his way, his gaze remains distant, as if his thoughts are miles away, tethered to something you can’t reach.

Eventually, the carriage slows to a stop, and when you peer out the window, your breath catches in your throat.

The Margravate is... unfinished.

What stands before you isn’t a grand estate or a lavish castle, but rather the skeletal framework of what will one day become a home. Scaffolding surrounds the main structure, and construction workers move about, hauling stones and materials to continue their work. The foundations are in place, and the walls rise high enough to give the shape of the building, but it is far from being complete.

Leon climbs out of the carriage first, holding out a hand to help you down. His expression is unreadable as he watches your reaction, his lips set in a thin line as if bracing for something.

You take his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you step onto the uneven ground. The air is fresh and cool, the wind carrying the scent of damp earth and sawdust. The land around you is expansive, a blank canvas of green fields stretching out toward the distant horizon. It's a beautiful expanse, but it feels empty—much like the vast space between you and Leon.

"This is... our new home," Leon says quietly, gesturing toward the half-built castle. His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it—a thread of uncertainty that you can’t quite place, almost apologetic.

You nod, taking in the sight before you. It’s daunting, seeing the bare bones of what will eventually become your residence, but there’s a strange sense of possibility here as well. A blank slate, a fresh start.

It should feel exciting. And yet...

"It has a good foundation," you offer meekly in encouragement, wishing for the warmth in his smile to return. His countenance had faded as time passed, leaving you wanting, desperate for contact that went beyond a chaste touch on the hand meant for guiding or shoulder. "That's the most important part."

Leon looks at you, but his gaze is sharp, scrutinizing, as if he’s searching for something in your expression. "There’s still a lot of work to be done."

His tone is practical, detached, and it sends a pang through your chest. This is supposed to be your shared future—this place, this castle, this land. And yet, it feels like you’re standing at opposite ends of it, separated by more than just the distance between the carriage and the castle.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the cool breeze bite at your skin. "Do you have any ideas for how you want to design the interior? The decorations and furniture?" you ask, trying to steer the conversation toward something lighter, something that might pull him back to you. "I remember you once mentioned you had preferences for architecture..."

"You can handle that," he cuts in, his voice tight. "I trust your judgment."

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden dismissal. "But... don’t you want to be part of the process? It’s your home too."

Leon sighs, rubbing his forehead, and for a moment, his carefully composed façade cracks, revealing a hint of exasperation. "I need to oversee the construction," he explains wearily. "And then there will be countless other duties that require my attention. Do whatever you think is best and would make you comfortable, okay? I won’t mind whatever choices you make."

The words land like a stone in your stomach, heavy and cold. It’s not just that he’s leaving the decisions to you—it’s the way he says it, like he’s already checked out of this part of your life together. Like he’s holding himself at arm’s length, unwilling to invest in the place that’s supposed to be your future.

You try to hide your disappointment, but it’s hard. You wanted this to be something you built together, not something you were left to manage on your own.

"I just thought..." you trail off, unsure of how to express the frustration bubbling inside you. "I thought it would be nice to do it together."

Leon looks away sharply, his jaw clenched, and you know right then that it was the wrong thing to say. There's something simmering below the surface, something buried deep in him that you can't reach. "Perhaps another time."

Then, he turns away, walking toward the construction workers who are busy unloading more materials. You watch him go, a sinking feeling in your chest, the gap between you growing wider with every step he takes.

You stand there for a moment, the wind whipping around you, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. The vastness of the Margravate stretches out before you, empty and raw, and you can’t help but feel like it mirrors the state of your marriage—full of potential, but painfully unfinished.

As Leon talks with the workers, you slowly turn back to the castle, letting your eyes trace the lines of the building, imagining what it could be when it’s complete. You picture grand halls, filled with light, rooms adorned with rich fabrics and art, a garden blooming with flowers—lilies, of course.

But all of it feels distant, as if it’s happening to someone else.

The days that follow your arrival at the Margravate are filled with work—endless decisions about the design of the estate, choosing colors, fabrics, and furnishings, overseeing the construction of the final touches on the walls, and speaking with the laborers who are bringing the castle to life. And yet, despite all the bustle around you, there’s an emptiness that lingers in the air—a tension that sits heavy between you and Leon.

You spend most of your time focused on the interior, meeting with craftsmen, selecting tapestries, and wandering through the unfinished halls, imagining what the rooms will look like once they’re complete. Your excitement for the project grows, but it’s tempered by the growing silence from Leon.

He leaves most of the decisions to you, keeping himself busy with matters outside—overseeing the construction of stables, inspecting the grounds, and working with the estate’s caretakers. His days are long, filled with activity, but the moments you share together are fleeting. A few words exchanged over meals, brief, stiff conversations at the end of the day, his gaze always distant, his mind elsewhere.

One evening, you find yourself in the library, sitting by the window with a thick book of fabric swatches spread across your lap. You run your fingers over the different textures, frowning slightly as you compare a deep crimson velvet with a lighter, airy blue. Which color scheme suits the room better? Will the blues complement the light from the large windows? Or should you go with the darker hues to add warmth and depth? The browner tones of the library make for lovely contrast, but sometimes you imagine white curtains that would frame the glass beautifully against the early morning sunrays.

You sigh, setting both options aside and reach for a third option. Perhaps a solid pattern instead of florals or stripes...

Your hand brushes against something firm, warm, startling you enough to drop the booklet on the floor. Before you can pick it up, strong, deft fingers pluck it off the rug and hand it back to you. "I'm sorry for startling you," Leon offers immediately upon delivering the materials. Then, he clears his throat awkwardly. "You seemed so immersed."

"Not a problem," you reassure him quickly, clutching the swatches tightly against your chest.

“Do you have a moment?”

"Of course," you reply, lovering the book down, heart giving a little leap at the sight of him, but there’s also a nervous flutter in your stomach, a gnawing uncertainty that’s become all too familiar.

He moves around you slowly, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you think he might pull a chair and sit beside you. But instead, he stops by the window, his hand resting on the ledge as he gazes out into the fading twilight.

"You've been working hard," he says after a long pause, carefully neutral.

You glance down at the swatches in your lap, unsure how to respond. "There’s still so much to do," you say softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the fabric. "But I’m trying to make it... feel like home."

Leon’s gaze shifts toward you, something unreadable flickering in his blue eyes. "It’s your home. You should have it how you like."

There it is again—that distance, that indifference that feels like a wall between you. You want to ask him why he’s keeping himself entirely separate from the narrative, why he’s letting you make all the decisions without any input. But the words stick in your throat, too heavy to speak aloud.

You stand, brushing the fabric off your lap and stepping toward him, feeling the tension in the air thicken with each step. "It’s our home," you correct softly, coming to a stop beside him. "I want it to belong to both of us."

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is fixed on the window, watching as the last rays of sunlight fade from the sky, casting the world in shades of gray. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turns toward you, his eyes meeting yours.

"It already belongs to you," he says quietly. "Everything here is yours to shape. I trust you to make it what it should be."

Your heart sinks at his words. He’s giving you control—giving you everything—and yet, it feels like he’s pulling further away, withdrawing into himself. You can’t understand it. You can’t understand why, after everything, he’s still holding himself back.

"But what about you?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "What do you want, Leon?"

He hesitates, his jaw tightening as he looks away. "It doesn’t matter what I want."

The answer hits you like a blow to the chest. It doesn’t matter what he wants? How could he say that? How could he think that his desires, his needs, don’t matter?

"You don’t mean that. Leon, we’re building this life together. How can it not matter what you want?"

He’s silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he takes a slow step back, putting more space between you. "This is your chance to be free," he says quietly, his voice tight with something you can’t quite place. "I won’t... impose myself on that."

The words leave you stunned, your mind reeling as you try to process what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to impose himself? On you? On your life together? But that’s not what you want—you don’t want this distance, this coldness. You want him. You want him to be part of this, to share in this life with you.

You step closer to him, your hand reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. "Leon, you’re not imposing—"

But he pulls away before you can reach him, his expression hardening. "It’s late. We should both rest."

And with that, he turns and leaves the library, his footsteps echoing down the hall until they disappear into the silence of the castle.

Yet, despite the distance, there are small, fleeting moments when the delicate balance between you shifts—when his presence feels less like a wall and more like a quiet support.

One evening, after spending hours debating between colors for the tapestries in the dining hall, you find yourself overwhelmed by the pressure of the task. You’re at your desk, head in your hands, rubbing your temples as the endless decisions pile up. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, but the warmth does little to soothe your frustration.

Without a word, Leon steps into the room. You hadn’t noticed his arrival—he moves like a ghost, silent and unobtrusive. He stands at the doorway for a moment, watching you, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he’s weighing whether or not to intrude.

Then, quietly, he crosses the room and places a steaming cup of tea beside you. The fragrant scent of herbs fills the air, calming your frayed nerves. His movements are deliberate but gentle, and though he says nothing, the gesture speaks louder than words.

"You looked tired," he murmurs, his voice low and even. There’s a softness to his tone that you haven’t heard in days, a quiet concern that lingers between you.

You lift your head to meet his eyes, and for a brief moment, you see something there—a flicker of emotion, of care—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He doesn’t stay to chat or press further; instead, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with the warmth of the tea and the silence of the room.

It’s a small thing, but it touches you deeply. You sip the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest, and though the distance between you and Leon still looms large, the memory of his quiet kindness lingers in your mind long after he’s gone.

A few nights later, you’re still awake long after the castle has gone quiet. The plans for the Margravate are scattered across your desk, a mess of papers and sketches that no longer make sense to your tired eyes. You’ve been working late into the night, your fingers stained with ink and your mind buzzing with the endless possibilities for the estate’s future.

The rain taps lightly against the windows, a soft, steady rhythm that lulls the rest of the castle to sleep—but not you. You’re too caught up in the details, too determined to make everything perfect. After all, Leon had given you free rein over the design choices. "Whatever you like," he had said, his indifference leaving you both empowered and... disappointed.

As the hours drag on, the chill of the night seeps into the room, wrapping itself around you. You barely notice it until your hands start to tremble from the cold.

Then, without warning, a soft warmth settles over your shoulders.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as you realize that someone has draped a blanket over you. You glance up, but the room is empty. Leon is gone, having slipped away as silently as he came, leaving only the blanket as a testament to his presence.

The gesture is simple, almost fleeting, but it strikes something deep within you. He hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t needed to. His actions spoke of care, of a desire to see you comfortable, even if he couldn’t bridge the emotional gap that had grown between you.

You clutch the blanket tighter around yourself, staring at the open door where he must have exited. It’s frustrating, how close he seems in these moments and yet how far away he remains. He’s there, always on the periphery, watching over you but never stepping fully into the light.

Another morning, you find yourself standing in the grand hall, examining the tapestries that have just been hung along the walls. The rich colors of red and gold shimmer in the early morning light, catching on the intricate designs woven into the fabric. It should be a moment of triumph—a symbol of your hard work, of the progress being made—but instead, it feels hollow.

As you reach out to trace the edge of one of the tapestries, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. You don’t have to turn to know it’s Leon; you’ve grown used to the sound of his quiet, measured steps.

He comes to stand beside you, his gaze focused on the tapestries. "They’re beautiful," he says softly, his voice devoid of the usual formality. There’s a warmth in his tone, but it’s distant, like he’s speaking from behind a glass wall.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. The tension between you is palpable, an invisible force that keeps you from closing the distance, no matter how much you both might want to.

He glances down at you then, and for the briefest moment, you think you see something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. But before you can decipher it, he looks away, the shutters closing once more.

The storm outside reflects everything brewing between you.

Heavy rain pounds against the unfinished walls, wind howling through the half-finished windows, rattling the doors in their frames. The sky is a swirl of angry black clouds, flashes of lightning illuminating the barren landscape beyond the castle’s skeletal structure.

You’re soaked to the bone, your clothes sticking to your skin after having made sure to personally direct the laborers in positioning some materials with waterproofing oil slathered thickly on surfaces, securing them safely. Leon had insisted earlier you allow his men to do so instead, but you'd brushed it off, feeling a sense of ownership towards this project due to being the one most invested in making this place feel like a home and not simply a new job posting. It was worth it--the newly installed interior pieces weren't damaged thanks to your efforts, nor were they lost because of sudden gusts of winds carrying them astray, which pleased you greatly.

At one point after realizing telling you to go inside wouldn't work, Leon drapes his coat over your shoulders, protecting you from the rain while also hiding the state your clothing is in from prying servants. And as soon as it's deemed safe and the rains finally died down enough to warrant stopping work on the exterior portions of the castle, he sweeps you off your feet to carry you inside bridal style.

"Let me walk, please!" you demand, heat rising to your face as you hold back a shriek of surprise.

But despite your request, your arms lock around his neck to stabilize yourself, the broad expanse of his chest radiating warmth beneath your hands despite his similarly waterlogged garments.

Even through layers of drenched cloth separating skin-on-skin contact, your senses are invaded by the feeling of Leon--his scent mingling with fresh rain, the rise and fall of his breathing as he effortlessly carries you indoors, even the sensation of his pulse beating beneath the elegant curve of his collarbone. You're suddenly overwhelmingly aware of every detail about him, causing butterflies to stir in your belly when he leans ever so slightly closer, making you wonder if maybe he isn't totally unaffected by your proximity either.

Despite the weight of your combined bodies, Leon doesn't appear fatigued at all, briskly crossing through hallways and stairwells to make it to the main wing of the estate where the family living quarters are located. Some of the maids catch glimpses of the unnecessary spectacle you're trying to de-escalate, and knowing that rumors spread easily amongst servants, you fear you might be the center of gossip for tomorrow morning... but something tells you that's likely not Leon's goal here. It wouldn't reflect well on him if his bride returned to the bedroom dripping wet like this without him as protection from scandal. At least he can say he provided adequate cover in public where people might've seen you soaked through.

Reaching your bedchamber door, Leon nudges it open with his foot to avoid risking dropping you in his attempt to turn the knob, entering swiftly and kicking it closed once both of you are securely inside the private space. With one strong arm propping you up, he uses the other to flip your fur-lined cloak off you with a flick of the wrist, allowing its full length to fall to the floor in a heap. The cape has served its purpose since he shielded you with it during the storm outside, now acting as a barrier between you and the carpet should any excess water drip from your persons.

In the next moment, Leon places you back on solid ground, supporting your waist as you adjust to standing upright again. Your limbs feel weak and shaky, leaving you clinging tightly to him as if he's a lifeline in more ways than one. Your mind is spinning from the intensity of being this close to each other, so near that you can see the droplets of rain clinging to his eyelashes like dew, the way they roll down the slope of his cheekbones and jawline only to drip off his chin. His normally blond hair is dampened, darker from being completely soaked, a few tendrils falling to hang over his forehead in an appealingly roguish manner, giving him a younger, more boyish appearance that somehow makes him all the more handsome and masculine.

"I'll get a bath drawn for you," he says breathlessly after a lingering pause, displeased lines apparent on his forehead. "You need to warm up."

Before you have time to protest, he reaches up to push several strands of loose hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. For a second, his fingers linger along the curve of your temple, caressing your cheek like you're something precious. It's the most he's touched you willingly in weeks, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, longing for the intimacy that seems just out of reach.

Then, abruptly, the moment shatters as he lets go of you altogether, striding away stiffly toward the fireplace to start preparing kindling. With one movement, the connection between you breaks, and suddenly, the distance feels wider than ever.

It leaves you stunned for a moment, stuck in place where he set you down, watching him move away. You could reach out to stop him, but the tension in his posture tells you not to. And suddenly, you notice you're in the same position you were on your wedding night, with his back turned to you over at the fireplace, busying himself to keep some degree of separation between you both.

"How long will this go on for?" you suddenly cry out impulsively, fed up with being treated like a doll kept at arm's length.

Leon pauses, one hand frozen in place over a stack of logs, "I'll go get the maids in a minute—"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Leon," you retort, surprising even yourself at your boldness. Your hands move on their own, raising a bit to gesture wildly around the room even though he has his back to you and won't see it. "What is this? Is it me, did I do something wrong? Tell me how I can fix this."

At your plea, he stops short. There's a flinch in his shoulder, barely perceptible but noticeable enough that it sends a stab through your heart. You hate this stalemate. Hate how disconnected you feel from him right now, and you want nothing more than to break through the barriers between you. Even if there's pain underneath it all. Anything would be better than being trapped in this purgatory, neither of you able to let the past go while unable to move forward.

His posture changes, his head tilting ever so slightly like he wants to look back at you, but he doesn't follow through, remaining faced towards the hearth.

"Listen, I..." His words come out uneven, faltering as he struggles for purchase over them. Then he takes another deep breath, exhaling slowly. "We both knew our marriage would not be normal when I proposed to you."

Oh. So this is what we're doing. Going around the elephant in the room. Deflection. "That doesn't mean you get to keep punishing me."

"I'm not punishing you," he protests weakly, almost childlike. Almost sounding like how he was in the garden on his first visit to the Ethelian temple all those years ago, stammering apologies while shaking under the light of the sacred moon.

"Doesn't seem like it. It's obvious that whatever I've done is going to stand in the way of us getting closer unless I figure it out and apologize..."

"Wait, no—" Now Leon actually whirls around.

Your anger gives you a boost, taking advantage of his momentary confusion. "Do you regret proposing to me?"

The question catches him off guard, and for a second, his expression is so open and vulnerable that it steals the breath from your lungs. It's such an intimate moment; like peeling back the layers of his mask and seeing the person underneath.

Instead of answering you directly, though, what he says is, "Can you put something on? Please."

And just like that, the walls are back up. He shifts back into that composed demeanor, looking at you in a way that betrays nothing except mild distaste at your current state, breaking you free from the illusion of closeness and honesty.

"What does that have to do with anything right now? Do you even listen to anything I say?" you fume, resisting the urge to stomp your foot like a child. "I'm building this home for us, our future," you croak weakly, arms coming together to cross in front of you defensively despite there not being enough strength to raise them high enough and form a proper barrier. The desire to hide is instinctual, though. Something you picked up as the church raised you from birth. Cover yourself. Be modest and demure, a conduit for Ethelion's grace. A perfect example of sanctification for the masses. "What I want is for you to be a part of this with me. But it feels like you’re running away from it."

His tone goes flat and clinical. "While it may have escaped your notice, you're practically naked," Leon states matter-of-factly.

"It doesn't matter, you're my husband," you huff, trying to ignore how silly the situation is. Both of you drenched and arguing over nakedness.

"I can't see you like this, you're the Saintess!"

Leon winces immediately upon blurting those words out, like he knows it was a mistake to reveal so much in the moment, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. A hand raises to press against his mouth, stopping whatever else might accidentally slip out and betray the feelings he hides, desperately struggling to remain composed.

So that's it. He won't acknowledge you because to him, you were the Saintess of Ethelion--someone unreachable and divine, separate from yourself as just a woman.

"You don't see me as a person, do you?"

"No, I—"

"Am I really still wearing the mask on my face?" You scoff at how ridiculous the situation is. The very same man who pleaded for you to consider him as a potential spouse now acts like you are still beyond reach, elevated high above mere mortals. "Of course. Of course I am. You married me because of this. You didn't want a connection with me, you wanted a connection with Ethelion. I'm your prayer beads, is that it? A walking shrine dedicated to Him?"

"Stop," Leon grits out, holding his hands out in front of his face to ward off the verbal assault. His head turns side to side, denying your accusation despite his lack of direct response, paling as if struck. "Just... give me a moment."

There's no escape route for either of you anymore--no retreat option besides standing still. And that isn't working either. You refuse to back down until some sort of change happens. "I've given you weeks. Look at me!"

The crackling of the wood as it burns seems too loud compared to the silence hanging thick between the two of you. Seconds pass with nothing changing until finally, with agonizing slowness, Leon lifts his head to stare straight at you with stormy blues filled with conflict. There's so much pain buried within, held deep below the surface for too long. And suddenly you realize you never actually saw him without his armor or regalia, nor him without the veil and robes obscuring your features. Like children dressing up in fancy costumes and playing pretend, except not. This whole relationship was built on two people pretending to be something they're not.

Neither saintess or holy knight but merely mortal humans, terrified and lonely.

"I'm lonely, Leon," you confess softly, dropping your gaze to the floor. All the energy seems drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion and weariness in its wake. "It's a lonely place being isolated on a pedestal. I only ever wanted to be loved, like everyone else."

The admission hangs heavily in the air for several seconds, each tick of the clock painfully slow and cumbersome. You wonder what he's thinking; whether he understands, whether he sympathizes, whether it makes any difference to him at all. If anyone could understand what you mean, it would be someone who has known suffering firsthand like the scars hidden by bandages underneath his clothing or the emptiness he hides under the guise of stoicism and duty.

A tear rolls down your cheek, splashing onto your white dress shirt, darkening the spot where it lands. Another follows behind the first, tracing down your other cheek and dripping from your chin onto the cloak you're standing on.

"I'd like that bath now, please. The cold is starting to get uncomfortable," you mumble, resigned. The fight left you the instant the dam broke on the secret thoughts you've been harboring throughout this time together. And honestly, there's nothing more to do but move past this obstacle blocking the path forward. Whatever the outcome will be after today remains unclear, and dwelling on it longer probably won't make any difference. "Alone, preferably."

Without waiting for his reply or looking up at his face, you turn around sharply on your heel and approach your dressing room closet area attached to the en suite bathroom. Stepping through the doorway into the private space allows some relief--not that you're any less aware of Leon's presence nearby, but now he can't see your expressions clearly when you pull clothes off hangers with shaking hands and begin stripping yourself.

One by one, your soaked garments hit the floor with a thwack, forming a pile at your feet that grows larger by the second. Once fully nude, you reach over to grab a towel off the shelf in haste, intending to wrap it around yourself quickly, thinking of making a dash to the bathing area without revealing yourself to him. Yet, as soon as you spin back around, planning to hustle across the room to the washroom, you jump nearly out of your skin in surprise to find Leon standing right there directly opposite you--so close, yet just far enough apart to maintain proper personal space etiquette. You hadn't felt him sneaking up behind you at all.

His presence seems to suck the oxygen from the small enclosed chamber, leaving a vacuum effect that leaves your vision blurred for a few seconds while adjusting to being confronted with him upfront without warning. Still, the rush of surprise pumping through you doesn't let up enough to allow full perception to return as smoothly as normal, leaving everything seeming oddly foggy like a dream sequence in play.

He looms before you taller and broader than usual thanks to the heightened awareness of your own nakedness contrasting against how wetly clothed he stays, forcing you to tilt your head up somewhat awkwardly to meet his eyes that stands out in stark relief against pale skin and dark hair framing features sharpened by shadows that dance. Even if Leon doesn't step closer, he crowds the tiny closet-like space significantly compared to your frame, putting pressure on every inch of available space between the two of you.

Something seems different in the way he watches you in this moment—less intense than before. Perhaps calmer or gentler, even, considering how he isn't as tense and coiled up as before. Whatever causes this transformation leaves little doubt as to its nature because one thing that doesn't change is the fact that he's definitely checking you out shamelessly, despite trying valiantly to keep an aura of indifference around himself. Those ocean waves appear a touch hazy in shade as if clouded with lust, pupils dilated visibly until only a thin ring of blue encircles the black pits blown wide.

"Did you want something?" You manage to stammer out nervously, cheeks warming with shame.

Never in your life has anybody seen this much bare skin of yours; not even another girl back at the church growing up since those sorts of interactions were expressly forbidden outside of emergencies wherein nudity occurred inadvertently rather than intentionally due to limited access points such as shared washrooms. Especially not any adults! Such lascivious behavior went against everything they taught at services about respect and modesty.

Suddenly, he huffs out a loud laugh that surprises the both of you, although mostly yourself, judging by how fast his facial muscles tense after, realizing what sound came out of him involuntarily.

"Ah..." Leon trails off, looking embarrassed and wistful at the same time, averting his gaze briefly before refocusing squarely on yours again. "No? Yes? More or less?"

"Can it wait?" Your breath hitches slightly as you try unsuccessfully to maintain steady breathing, mind racing along with rapidly accelerating heartbeats.

"I don't want it to wait," He admits quietly, almost shamefacedly, lowering lashes halfway down half-lidded eyes.

"You couldn't have done this before I undressed?"

He has no answer to that, though something flashes across his face momentarily; a hint of something perhaps akin to remorse, or maybe guilt for having barged in unannounced on your vulnerable moment without consideration for boundaries . Although truthfully speaking, neither of you had set up much structure for yourselves other than mutual understanding regarding certain key points --such as keeping distance from each other unless necessary--and following basic common sense rules for respectful behavior like knocking beforehand.

"I do see you as a person," he mumbles softly, taking a single step towards you while still maintaining the illusion of personal space for both of you. His hand raises up hesitantly as if unsure what he intends to do with it, hovering midair in an awkward manner, fingers curling inward to form a fist at first before relaxing and repeating the motion several times, opening and closing slowly, indecisively.

You watch silently with bated breath, wondering where he might aim next. If you weren't so caught up in your own head, you might have noticed sooner that his gaze kept darting between your collarbone and your jawline, seemingly mesmerized by how they connect seamlessly together beneath smooth expanses of soft, supple flesh. It takes several seconds of staring at his face before realizing that despite appearing fixated upon one spot in particular, his focus shifts subtly every now and then, tracing invisible paths across curves that dip beneath your towel-clad figure.

"I see you as a woman," He whispers, sounding pained as if admitting defeat or confessing sins committed against someone precious to him. The hand that had previously been frozen in place descends downwards in a slow arc, tracing downward along the edge of the terrycloth fabric until it reaches the spot where it bunches together right above your navel. His fingertips brush against the fabric gently, not quite touching directly but close enough to send sparks flying throughout your nervous system at such proximity. "When... When I shouldn't. Not like that. You were the Saintess. You are... You... And I... I couldn't..."

A shuddering sigh escapes him, his chest heaving with pent-up emotions, and his head bows slightly like someone weighed down heavily by unseen burdens. He seems torn between wanting desperately to reach out further than just barely brushing knuckles over cloth covering sensitive skin and pulling back entirely to prevent himself from crossing lines better left untouched.

You don't speak up either, too afraid of breaking whatever fragile spell has descended over you both. Your body trembles slightly from nerves and cold combined, skin prickling everywhere beneath the thin layer of fabric separating skin from skin, practically feeling the weight of his eyes following the path of goosebumps. The intensity in the way his gaze traces every inch of your form sends heat pooling downwards despite your best efforts to rein in whatever it is that threatens to burst forth at any second.

"...You're not someone to be looked at with... impure intentions," Leon finally manages after another moment of tense silence passes between the two of you, lifting his head once more and fixing his stare straight into yours unblinkingly. His words come out hoarse yet sincere; a desperate plea mixed with fervent prayer for strength to resist temptation laid before him so invitingly wrapped up nicely. "To be worshiped, yes. But not defiled."

His thumb brushes over the curve of the towel that wraps around your torso, tracing upwards towards your chest where your breasts press against it, leaving dampened outlines visible through the material. The sensation of his finger sliding over the cloth-covered peak of one nipple causes a gasp to escape from your lips, followed immediately by a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously similar to groan escaping from the back of his throat.

"Leon-" you whisper breathlessly, not even aware of what else you might say beyond saying his name aloud. Your heart pounds wildly within your ribcage, hammering away like an overworked drumstick against sensitive tissue and bone, threatening to break through the cage containing it. Blood rushes in your ears, deafeningly loud and dizzying in its intensity.

He inhales sharply as if burned, his nostrils flaring, and then his entire body stiffens abruptly. Then he turns on his heels and walks briskly away, nearly colliding headlong with a nearby wall in his haste to put distance between himself and your towel-wrapped figure. His shoulders rise and fall visibly as he takes several deep, steadying breaths before finally speaking again, albeit much quieter this time, as though he fears someone may overhear even though the two of you are alone in this room.

"I won't let myself do that to you," he declares firmly, sounding resigned and defeated rather than angry or forceful. There's something sad about his tone, too—a sense of loss permeating throughout his speech that makes your chest tighten painfully with regret and longing for things unfulfilled. "I refuse. I'll keep my vow to cherish and protect you from all that might harm you. Even if that means myself."

Before you can think better of your actions, you reach out and grasp his sleeve between trembling fingers, halting him mid-stride as he attempts to flee further away. A surprised grunt leaves him at your sudden movement and subsequent contact, his body tensing momentarily before relaxing again slowly at your touch.

"I'm not something to be worshiped or preserved. I'm just a woman," you choke out thickly, tears welling up in your eyelashes. "I'm not pure and perfect. I'm just like any other person, Leon."

"Please don't say such things," he begs quietly, turning partially toward you without actually meeting your gaze directly. "Don't demean yourself like that. Don't compare yourself so…."

Your grip tightens on his sleeve, tugging lightly to force him closer despite knowing full well it won't make much difference against someone twice your size or strength if they wanted to resist.

"I don't want to be revered!" you cry desperately, blinking rapidly as hot tears spill down your cheeks. "I just want...!"

A pause. The air hangs heavy around you both like a dense fog rolling in off the ocean waves outside. The fire crackles loudly, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill seeping deep into your bones from more than just damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You shiver violently, suddenly acutely aware of how exposed you truly are standing before him half-naked, barefooted, hair dripping wetness onto your shoulders and back.

"I just want my husband," you finally manage after swallowing past a lump forming in your throat. Your mouth feels dry and sticky simultaneously as you croak out those words, tongue heavy and clumsy against the roof of your mouth.

Silence falls over the space separating you once more, punctuated only by the sound of his ragged breathing and yours intermingling with one another. He stands still as a statue before you, unmoving save for the occasional shudder rippling through his frame at random intervals. His gaze remains fixed firmly downward at some unseen point by his feet instead of meeting yours directly, though whether out of shame or guilt or something else entirely you can't tell.

"I want you," you continue softly, barely audible over the pounding of your heart thundering within your eardrums. "Not as the Saintess or whatever title comes next after that. Just as me."

"Don't, I can't," he hisses through clenched teeth like someone trying very hard to keep themselves under control despite being pushed dangerously close to breaking point. "You don't want that. You don't understand what it would do to me if I gave in and acted on this feeling. I couldn't live with myself if I did."

"You can love the Saintess but not me?" You ask quietly, releasing his sleeve slowly as if reluctant to let go completely yet knowing there isn't anything else left for either of you to say right now without causing further harm than good. "Am I really that undesirable?"

His head jerks upward sharply, finally locking his stare directly onto yours, ocean irises blown wide open with surprise mingling freely alongside horror written plainly across his features.

"No!" He blurts loudly enough that it startles you slightly too, causing him to immediately lower his volume when speaking again afterwards. "No, of course not! How could I possibly find fault with you when everything about you leaves me weak-kneed? But it goes against all my vows and beliefs, and I can't betray them any more than I already have simply by looking at you with these sinful thoughts..."

He shakes his head firmly back and forth several times before turning away from you fully once more, shoulders slumped downward heavily as he retreats further backwards until he's nearly pressed flush against the far wall opposite yours.

"Please," he whispers hoarsely, almost inaudibly over the noise of raindrops pattering steadily against glass windows throughout the castle halls beyond your chambers' doors. "Please, let me continue serving you as your protector. Your knight in shining armor. Nothing less, nothing more. I'll do anything. I'll give you anything."

The defeat lacing every word he utters cuts through your chest worse than any physical wound ever has been able to achieve thus far; the pain sears deep within your heart, leaving behind only bitter regret and emptiness in its wake.

You want to scream at him for being such an idiotic fool who refuses to see reason or listen to anyone besides himself regarding matters concerning his own happiness and desires, especially considering how much he claims to care about yours. Yet no amount of yelling will change his mind or force him into seeing things differently from how they currently stand between the two of you now, regardless of how frustrating and maddening it may be.

"Okay," you murmur softly instead after several tense minutes pass, neither of you move or speak again nor dares break this fragile silence lest it lead down another path towards destruction. Apathy settles heavily upon your shoulders like a cloak of lead weighing you down. "I want a lover. Someone to hold me. I want someone who wants me. Someone who will make me feel wanted and cherished and desired. Someone who won't shy away from my touch or cringe at the sight of me unclothed."

His shoulders stiffen visibly beneath his drenched shirt, muscles tensing visibly beneath the dampened cloth clinging tightly against every curve and contour, outlining hard lines underneath.

"Since you made it clear it won't be you, then I can look for someone else. I'm free to do so, aren't I?"

The effect your question has upon him is immediate and palpable; a strangled sound escapes from somewhere within the depths of his throat, low and guttural and raw, filled with equal parts despair and fury. It seems almost inhuman coming from such an otherwise composed man like him, coupled with the fact that his entire body seems suddenly coiled tight as though ready to spring forth into action. Yet, he doesn't move nor speak further beyond that single noise which speaks volumes more than mere words ever could alone regarding just how deeply affected he truly is by everything happening between the two of you here today.

"...You are," he finally grinds out through clenched teeth.

"Then that's what I'll do," you state simply, without any trace of hesitation or uncertainty lacing your tone, despite knowing full well exactly what kind of reaction those words have caused within him.

"Don't," he chokes out raggedly, his expression twisted into a mixture of agony and desperation unlike anything you'd ever seen cross his features before now. He looks absolutely wretched standing there before you like some poor soul condemned to an eternity of torment for sins committed against an unforgiving god.

"Or what?" you challenge softly, slowly make your way towards him, and reach upwards to cup his cheek gently in one palm, fingers brushing lightly over smooth skin slickened by rainfall still dripping steadily down his face in thin rivulets. "What can you possibly say that will make me want to stay here with someone who doesn't even see me as anything more than an untouchable ideal?"

He flinches violently beneath your touch, jerking backwards so hard that it hits the wall behind him, as if burned by mere contact alone, yet he remains rooted firmly in place rather than fleeing further away from you. Instead, he merely bows his head downward, until his chin rests against his chest rising rapidly beneath labored breaths.

"I love you," he rasps hoarsely after what feels like hours spent waiting patiently for some sort of response or reaction beyond silence from him thus far. Those three little words slip past trembling lips unbidden by conscious thought or effort; they spill forth freely like rainwater cascading down a mountainside, falling heavily upon parched earth below, seeking sustenance desperately needed after months spent under scorching sun beating mercilessly overhead. "I can't bear to think about another man holding you intimately. It kills me slowly inside just imagining it happening. But I can't do it myself. I can't touch you without feeling like Ethelion himself will make me burst into flames. You were the Saintess, I was the paladin. We shouldn't have crossed those lines."

"Then stop thinking of me as the Saintess," you urge quietly yet firmly whilst stepping closer towards him still despite knowing full well doing so might very well result in being rejected outright once more should he choose to do so again. Your hand slides along the side of his neck, trailing fingertips delicately across taut muscle tensed tightly against bones beneath warm flesh, tracing downward along the curve where his shoulder meets the collarbone peeking through the partially unbuttoned shirt collar, damp fabric clinging stubbornly against his skin.

His entire frame quivers beneath your feather-light caresses as if fighting against himself not to recoil from them outright or push you away entirely, though he does neither, simply allowing himself to remain motionless beneath your ministrations instead. He closes his eyelids tightly shut, squeezing them tightly together as his jaw clenches, teeth grinding audibly within his mouth. A shudder ripples visibly throughout every inch of him at the gentle pressure of your thumb rubbing circles against his clavicle bone beneath the thin cotton shirt sticking tightly against flushed heated skin.

"Please," he whispers pleadingly through gritted teeth clamped down hard enough to leave imprints upon his bottom lip, turning his head away from yours while keeping his own lowered still.

He won't move away in pretense of not being able to, rather stay in the torment of enjoying your touch but unable to respond in kind, but you won't let him escape that easily. Not now that he's finally given in somewhat after all this time spent dancing around each other's feelings without ever truly confronting them directly.

"Sir Leon," you start, with the authority of the saintess you were trained to be, "look at me."

He freezes at your tone and words, before his head jerks back, meeting your gaze with wide, disbelieving blue orbs. You hold his chin and prevent him from turning away. His throat bobs as he swallows, and the air crackles between you two with tension. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize how close he is, how easy it would be to just lean forward and press your lips to his.

"Do you prefer it this way?" you ask, tilting your head in question, "Do you prefer me acting as your superior, instead of an equal? Will it be easier for you to listen to me if I'm on a pedestal, talking down to you?"

You watch as his expression flickers through emotions quickly, too quickly to read properly before settling into a conflicted one, brows furrowing slightly, "I..."

"Do you want to be absolved of your guilt by submitting yourself to the Saintess? Would kneeling before me and letting me do whatever I want with you make it better for you?" You continue, letting a finger trail down the front of his shirt, stopping at his heart. "Thinking you're in service of another, rather than acting on your desires?"

His breath hitches at that, and you feel his heartbeat quicken beneath your fingertips. It's a fierce thing, pounding against the cage of his ribs, a wild beast straining at the leash.

"Go kneel before the bed if the answer is yes," you command, letting a little of the Saintess's authority slip into your tone, and his pupils dilate ever so slightly. You're sure he's going to refuse, going to walk away. But to your surprise, and maybe his own, he slowly sinks to his knees, never breaking his stare away from yours.

You take a step back, taking him in, and then turn around to walk away from him. He lets out a soft gasp as you do, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach out and stop you but doesn't dare.

You walk to the bed, sitting down on the soft mattress, and look at him expectantly. He's still kneeling on the floor, watching you with wide, hungry eyes, the color of a deep lake.

"Come here," you order, and he obeys, crawling towards you on his hands and knees, the movement strangely graceful for such a large man. He stops at the foot of the bed, looking up at you, waiting for you to tell him what to do next.

[intjcanbelieveit]

Smokey Quartz

Just another Gem dump.

It was nice outside and so why everyone was hanging around inside was beyond me.

“You’re stupid if you consider 35 fret ‘nice’,” Quartz snorted. “It’s hotter than lava out there and you know it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Our sap runs hotter than that.”

“Yes and that why we don’t need to be out in it making it boil! Now quick pestering me and go ask Carnelian or Pyrite or whatever.”

With a sigh I walked away. I had already asked them. Carnelian was reading and meditating, Pyrite was with Azurite in the lab and now Quartz shooed me away because I was disturbing her ‘studies’. She’s gotten so pretentious since she started going to the scholar’s fellowship. The name even sounds pretentious.

I ran a hand through my hair and scratched my scalp with frustration. I know we aren’t supposed to go out beyond the village without another gem, but maybe this once I could…it’s not like anyone in the nearby boscage would be out now in the middle of the day. They would dry up like a tumbleweed.

I tiptoed through the buildings and peeked in at each gem to make sure then grabbed my machete and a knife – just in case- then ran out of the house. I leapt over the rock and ran down the narrow foot-worn path that wound around the stone guardians and down toward the boscage.

I flipped my smaller knife around in my hand rolling it off my palm then the back of my hand in the way I had taught myself when I was bored. I launched it into a nearby saguaro cactus and a stick with a quiet thunk. Very satisfying. Good thing cacti didn’t have host spirits, because that could make someone real…

“OW!”

I jolted and bolted behind a cactus when I heard the scream. Loud sobs suddenly started happening down the road and I peered around to see a figure kneeling beside the road holding her left leg. I could hear her swearing through her sobs as she tried to stand back up.

My whole body felt like I was going to turn inside out on myself. I messed up…really bad. I didn’t know…ugh I have to help her.

I slid out from my hiding place and walked over to her. She sucked in a quick breath when she heard my approach. “Get back! I’m warning you!”

“Hey! Hey! I’m here to help! Looks like you got…uh, hurt…” I stuttered feeling embarrassed and guilty.

“I’m fine. This is fine. I can fix it. It’s not a problem.” She said – I think it was mostly to herself. She wobbled to an upright position balancing on one leg. “See, I’m upright. That’s the point. If the sun won’t kill me, nothing else will either!”

“So…you’re a Saguaro…I’ve never met one before.”

She looked at me as if she suddenly recognized that I was there. “Yes I am. But what are you? You don’t look like a Treetian.”

“That’s because I’m not.”

She cocked her head and pursed her lips waiting for me to explain.

“It’s uh, complicated, but I’m made of quartz.”

“You’re not, like, the spirit of a quartz rock?”

“Right, like, my body is quartz.”

“Then how do you move? Since rock is rigid and hard and stuff.”

“That’s not the kind of question I can answer.”

“Don’t you know about yourself?”

“That’s not my job.”

“Then what’s your job if not to know about yourself?”

“That’s a very existential question.”

“But are you going to answer it?”

My brow furrowed in concentration. “I’m…not sure what my job is or why I was made. I kinda just do my own thing.”

“And you’re okay with not having a point or a reason?”

“It’s not like I don’t have a point, I just…don’t know what it is.”

“You say you have a reason for being here, why are you here then?”

I was tired of the conversation, so I tried a different strategy. “Look,” I said, “You’re hobbling around on one leg, do you need some help?”

Apparently, the conversation had distracted her from the immediate issue of the deep wound and had stopped her crying. She sniffed and tentatively put her leg back down. “It’ll callous over in a day or so…I think. What even hit my sourme…oh geez!” she saw my knife sticking out of the cactus. “Some bozo threw a knife at my sourme?! That’s so rude!”

I laughed awkwardly, “So rude! Looks like it needs to be pulled out, I can do it for you.”

She heaved a deep sigh and nodded. “On 3.”

With a count to 3 I yanked the knife out and a fresh ooze of sap came out of the trunk. I heard her yelp in response and duck back down.

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked with a bit of hesitation.

“Yeah I guess, so long as it doesn’t get infected or have any bugs crawl into it…”

I shuddered at the thought. “Do you want me to get some help?”

She eyed me suspiciously. “Are you going to chop my sourme up and feed me to some tortoise?”

“What would I do that?” She shrugged and looked away. “I’ll bring back my grovemate and he’ll get you fixed up. Can you wait here?”

Without waiting for an answer, I took off back towards the dwelling, leaping over stones and rocks until I burst in the door of Azurite’s lab. Azurite and Pyrite both jumped in sync and Azurite dropped the smoker that was in his mouth onto the floor.

“Azurite can you help fix a cactus?”

“Um yes,” he blinked in surprise, “But why would you need to ‘fix’ a cactus? And what are we fixing about it?”

“It’s…a story, but it doesn’t matter, can you please come with me now?”

Azurite nodded and made sure to stomp out the smoker that had fallen and was now smoldering on the floor. He tried his long blue bangs back into a topknot and threw on his jacket. Pyrite stood and followed quietly.

I led them back down the path and looked around for the cactus I had thrown the knife into. I was easier to find when I saw the figure nearby. She sat on a rock nearby overlooking the boscage across the plain.

“Hey, uh, I’m back!” I called as I walked up with Azurite and Pyrite.

She turned and nodded but said nothing as we approached.

Azurite made a deep swooping gesture to greet the cactus-person. “Fair weather to you, my name is Azurite and these are my grovemates Pyrite and Smokey Quartz. I’ve heard that you’ve been injured. I am a scientist who studies all lifeforms and I might be able to help.”

A quick smile passed over her lips in a general friendly way. “Yeah uh, someone launched a knife into my sourme and there’s a gapping hole in my leg now.”

Pyrite flashed a look at me. He was so quick about putting the pieces of the story together. I ducked my head a little and didn’t make eye-contact.

“I see.” Azurite approached the saguaro sourme and investigated it. “It appears that the wound is deep, but narrow and should heal easily. From the deep folds of his pants, he pulled a bottle of water and sprayed the gap with it. Just keep it clean and let it callous over.

“See,” the Cactus-person said . “I told you I was fine!”

I rolled my eyes.

“I apologize that there isn’t more that I can do – but you plants do really heal in an amazing way.” He smiled in the gentle way he always did when he taught and encouraged others. “If there is anything I can do to assist you please don’t hesitate to reach out. We are just up the hill.” He gestured with a nod of his head.

He then turned to me. “Smokey Quartz is there something you need to say?”

My hands suddenly felt hot and I rubbed them against my pants. “Uh…uh…no?”

Pyrite shot me the look again.

“Uh…I guess…I’m sorry I threw the knife at your sourme. I didn’t intend harm but…”

“Don’t try to make an excuse,” Azurite said with a firm hand on my shoulder.

I lowered my gaze and breathed in, “I’m sorry for throwing the knife at your sourme. It was rude even if I didn’t think someone was linked to it. Will you forgive me?”

The cactus-person wandered over to me, already able to put some weight on her damaged leg. “Yes, I forgive you.” She bowed and I bowed in response. And we smiled at each other. “Don’t do it again though.”

I laughed awkwardly and nodded. “I promise I won’t.”

And that's how we met Su the Suguaro.

[miguelperaltanavarro]

#Memoir

Lola's Launchbox

by: Miguel Peralta

''Miguel, Miguel si lola mo!"

The stillness and serenity of the surroundings haunted me like the light of blue coloured sky, wind gently pushing me to bed but I need to do my digital compilation of moving images for my entrepreneurs subjects and with my cup of sweet tasty thick hot liquid. Suddenly I heard hurrying footsteps going near me and I was stunned… and that night I realized the loss of Grandmother is full of sorrow, grief and mixed emotion and immediately impacts my daily lives emotionally and also physically.

Before that shady night the birds start chirping and the neighbours rooster's start a "cook ku rook cook" . After I come back to reality from my dreams, the first thing that I will do is fold my wide blanket, arrange the soft and squishy pillow and fix the bedsheets. Secondly, I will take care of my hygiene. I will get the flavoured mint spicy paste and apply enough to my toothbrush, wash my face with the bubbly smooth bar, and after a minute clean it with running water. After that I will make an egg, put a pinch of salt on it and stir it. After that I'll feed my brother.

Meanwhile, I smelled the aroma of soy sauce complimenting in vinegar and chicken outside and then I took a look and I saw that aling pintang was arranging her different types of ulam. I decided that I'll choose that aromatic dish because it makes my mouth watering and makes my stomach hungry. suddenly I remember that my tupperware has cracked and I can't use it anymore because yesterday I accidentally drop my bag so that I came to Lola's house and ask her if she have a extra launch box or Tupperware because mine is broken she says "Tignan mo dyan sa taas ng kabinet meron dyan mamili ka" I followed what she says and immediately got a launch box I said

"Salamat po lola" and she nodded.

I arranged the boiling hot rice in the launch box and the ulam which is adobo but I added a spice on it I also sprinkled a dried red spicy condiments and also put a liquid salty and umami taste and that's all and I packed all my things and ride a jeep about 15-30 minutes depends on the driver after that my 2nd ride is the bus which is the Roosevelt to Guadalupe about 50 minutes to 1 hour ride and the last ride is jeep again, to make it to school. The estimated commute ride is about 1-2 hours ride from My home to Maximo Estrella Senior High school.

That is my daily work in my life but wait… after that tiring day I came home from school and charged myself laying in bed, rubbing my tired eyes, in a few minutes. After that, I needed to do my pending school work, especially the presentation of moving images for my entrepreneur class and suddenly I heard my auntie calling me outside.

I swiftly stand up and sprint to their house and the first I saw is my Grandma and my mother being her pillow, chasing her breath, mom and auntie repeatedly calling her

" Mama, mama, gumising ka. kumapit ka.

I called the ambulance but it was like a turtle to arrive I take the another plan which is to find a tricycle or any vehicle that can carry my Grandma so I use the bicycle go full speed and a few minutes going back I had a tricycle with me and we lift up together to tricycle and Mama and Auntie come along to the hospital.

After that I stay in the house with my siblings and cannot rest my eyes. My brain is subconsciously thinking something, it feels like it's not a true occurrence, unable to speak, can't sleep and overthinking. The sun goes up and they arrive in tears. They didn't tell me but how their body language showed me. My emotions are overfilling me, I cannot feel anything, cannot speak, can't eat, don't have the urge to do my work, and have an abnormal heartbeat.

After that experience many things changed and I realised that I should have cherished the time that we have in our loved ones because only time can tell if our hourglass is finished.