#i was too lazy to come up with a proper dress or more. we are watching jojos

[yuri-is-online]

I hereby curse thee with thought of Victorian romantic goth Fem Riddle

So when it comes to gender bending twst I always lean back in my chair and have a think about whether or not it would change the character arc/personality of the individual character. In the case of Riddle, would a Fem Riddle feel even more pressure from her mother? She's not just a status symbol anymore, she's literally another version of her mother... would she find it even harder to escape the abusive cycle because of that? Her clothes are all picked out for her, she's so strict about the rules of her style she barely has any fun with her clothes. Would she come to resent the color black, would her overblot allow her to finally let her friends in and slowly allow them to add more color? Or would she find a way to empower herself by taking control of her clothes and thinking of them as just hers?

Vil's whole thing is that he is a man who dresses in a more feminine manner, but still identifies as a man while rebelling against concepts being "gendered." He is who he is and he will not allow anyone or anything other than himself define what that is. If this was Fem Vil, would she lean more into masculine clothing? I tend to see Fem Vil as being kind of butch? She's still really bougie and elegant but she wears her hair shorter than canon Vil and leans towards plainer looking suits. I could see her pulling off cooperate goth really well (or perhaps I am just projecting because I think that style is so fucking cool)

Leona is too lazy to be into alt fashion. The only thing Fem Leona wears is expensive athleisure clothes and she's not sorry about it. She's walking around Savanaclaw in a sports bra, sweats, and those birkenstock sandals canon Leona wears. Fem Ruggie could totally be punk, but I also see her as not bothering with alt fashion in favor of thrifting whatever she can. She's wearing those clothes, not styling them that's for people who don't have 20 jobs. Jamil probably doesn't have much freedom to express himself??? And I could see it being worse with Fem Jamil, I could see her loving punk and alt fashions and looking forward to getting to be herself at NRC until Fem Kalim shows up and she has to take off the piercings and make up to be a proper retainer again.

Fem Deuce is a delinquent pretending to be a prep. She is failing miserably and we love that for her.

[sc11vb]

I was too lazy to edit so let me know if there’s any errors.

Here it is!! Juliette’s POV of the Defy Me shower scene. Much love; please enjoy!! <33

tw: non-explicit sex

word count: too lazy sorry :))

The bed is so comfortable that it takes Aaron’s soft footsteps on the tiled floor of the bathroom to get me to sit up.

“Aaron?” I call, my voice low. I’m thirsty.

“Yes?” Aaron’s voice never fails to delight me. Rich and proper and always so loving. It’s amazing that he’s mine, and I’m his. It’s like holding my hand to the sky and realising I can finally touch the stars. So satisfying.

“Where’d you go?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“I thought I might take a shower,” comes his almost-shout. I here the spray of water against the shower wall and decided that now, now, now is the time to be brave.

I step out of bed, our bed, and walk to the bathroom. Aaron’s body is bare and I think he’s never been more beautiful. I always think that. I don’t think I said enough, though. Does he know? That he’s the most beautiful person I’ve seen?

He turns off the spray of the shower and takes a step back and nearly falls into me. His warm skin brushes against my braced hands and I swallow a mouthful that familiar-unfamiliar feeling that I know now to greet and welcome into my being as desire. Aaron’s eyes fly open and maybe he’s surprised and maybe he’s embarrassed and maybe every step to close to a line, a line in dark black pens that says keep out and no trespassing, because he grabs a towel and hold it to himself. I can’t see his tattoo. I want to see his tattoo.

“Hi, love,” he says, breathless. He gives me a faint smile. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

Brave, I remember. I wanted something and I still want it.

I pout, crossing my arms to my chest. I’m trying to hold back a smile and I know Aaron can tell but he doesn’t say anything. “Aaron,” I scold, “you were going to take a shower without me?”

There. I’ve said it. 1 2 3 guesses and he knows what I want.

Aaron raises an eyebrow and my cheeks warm and I want to run back to bed and bury myself under the covers and maybe a rock or too will roll over me.

“Would you like to join me?” he asks, in that low, low voice and I like the sound of that, very, very much. I wrap my arms around him and smile and it’s quiet smile because we have a secret, he and I. His eyes are dark and he’s whispering a name and it’s mine.

I touch my lips to his chest and he stiffens, and I wonder if I should stop, but then he’s pulling me closer and my lips are moving and the towel is somewhere on the floor, forgotten.

Aaron pulls me closer, cupping his hand at my jaw and then he kisses me, and it’s hot hot hot. This fire is so slow and sweet. He pushes me up against the wall and his hands are shoving up my dress, gripping my hips and maybe I’m trembling and maybe it’s because of him.

All I know is that his leg is sliding between my own and they’re falling apart and I let out a loan. I know he heard it and I know he liked what he’s doing to me and I like it to.

I love it. I love him.

He buried his face in my neck and I’m panting because, dear God, he’s stolen my breath away. Then he’s kissing my neck and I’m wondering what breathing is anyway.

“How - how do you always feel so good?” I’m going to leave marks on his skin from how tightly I’m gripping him, but I don’t care. My face is hot and we’re melting together, he and I. One person. Two hearts, one rhythm. “How do you always do this to me?”

How indeed.

He breaks away from me and I’m worried again, taking 3 4 5 breaths before I speak again. Maybe he doesn’t want this.

“Aaron?” I ask tentatively. “What’s -”

He doesn’t even let me finish speaking. “Take off your dress,” he says. There’s an only if you want to but there’s also a now. He does want this. So much. Maybe even more than me, though that’s hard to imagine.

I’m shaking again but I slide my fingers under the straps and shove them down and the material falls to my feet and I’m melting under his heated gaze, I think. I step out of my dress, barely clothed. My bra and underwear do little to hide me.

Then they’re gone, too. I flex my fingers, telling them that they don’t need to cover me anymore.

In one swift, smooth movement, he’s picked me up. I gasp - or maybe it’s a moan, I can’t tell. He molds my legs to his waist and I grip him tightly. My arms are around his neck, tracing the river of scars on his back. My chest is pressed so firmly to his and he’s relaxing into my touch, his eyes closed, then open because I’m talking again.

“You’re so gorgeous. I’m always surprised.” What I’m surprised is how quickly these words are draining out of my mouth. But I keep talking. “It doesn’t matter how many times I see you without your clothes, I’m always surprised. It doesn’t seem fair that anyone should be this gorgeous.”

I don’t need an answer, but I look at him anyway. And then he’s moving, we’re in the shower; he’s fiddling with the knows and dials and hot water is hitting our skin.

Aaron pressed me against the wall again and I can’t even think before he’s -

Oh.

I have no words for this feeling. Even after all those years, scrawling down letters that made words that were my thoughts, I still can’t -

God, I can’t even form an entire -

He’s so deep inside, and the water is sliding between us and he’s so fast and why, why does it feel so good? His breaths are heavy and his hair is wet and I dig my fingers into it, needing something to anchor me to this world. I fear I might become a bird, grow wings, because why does it feel like I’m flying -?

I’m gasping and maybe I’m screaming and maybe the droplets rolling down my face are tears. I’m too lost in this feeling, steady and then oh my God -

I’m definitely screaming now.

Release pounds inside of me and I’ve gone limp in Aaron’s arms and he’s telling me oh-so-gently just to hold on a little longer and -

I slide out of his hold, weak. My legs are shaking and I think I’m going to need to sit down. But Aaron keeps holding me up, hugging me and I hold him back, still breathless.

“I love you so much,” he pants. “You have no idea, Ella.”

And all I can do is give him a half-smile, because my throat is raw and I can barely stand and I don’t think he’d be able to hear me over the pounding of the water, anyway.

[tc-doherty]

Book One | Chapter Nineteen

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @bloodlessheirbyjacques @magefaery @did-i-do-this-write @marrowwife

@muddshadow @outpost51 @full-on-sam @bluberimufim

@unclear-contributions @talesfromtheunknowable @guessillcallitart @flowerprose

@ashirisu @xarrixii @the-letterbox-archives

(ask to be added)

Her suite in the summer palace was much smaller than the room she had been given before. There was a cozy sitting area, and a small bathing chamber, but no proper bedroom. Instead the room was curtained off. Therefore there was nothing to stifle the sound of someone knocking on the door much too early for Patrice's taste. She also heard Maria moving towards the door from her own connected room.

"She’s still asleep," the maid said.

There was a swish of the door brushing against the rug as it swung wide open. "I doubt it," Felisjyta said cheerfully.

At the sound of the knight's voice, the cat jumped down from the foot of the bed and ran to meet her. Patrice followed more slowly, pausing to wrap herself in an indigo robe before making her way to the sitting area. "I was asleep until someone so rudely intruded."

Felisjyta was scratching the cat under the chin. When Patrice arrived, Felisjyta looked up at her and grinned. "No reason to let yourself get lazy just because it's summer. You ought to come join Errys and me in the garden. We're going to be practicing together. You do still want to learn how to fight, correct?"

"Is there not some tedious breakfast to attend?" Patrice asked. Maria stifled a giggle.

Felisjyta gave the cat one last scratch and stood up. "No, our mornings are our own, apparently. Court doesn't start properly until lunch. Come on, come join us. It'll be good for you to vent your frustration and tire yourself out before we join the others again."

"Well, she can't get ready with you standing around here taking up space," Maria said briskly. "Off with you. I'll send her out when she's dressed."

Felisjyta laughed, as she so often did. "It's not as if I'm a man. She hasn't got anything I haven't got, except maybe a few scales." Even so, the knight let herself be pushed out of the room. "Come find us in the garden when you're done!"

Fortunately, Maria went easy on her. In just a quarter of an hour she turned Patrice out of the room in a linen kirtle and belt, with nothing more elaborate about her hair than a braid. That done, Patrice and the cat went looking for the gardens.

Unlike her rooms in New Iber, this did not have a convenient door to the outside. However, such doors were almost as common as windows in the summer palace. It did not take her long to find one. And since Felisjyta had not said where in the gardens she and Errys would be, Patrice wandered about the rows of bushes and flowers, knowing she would be able to see them easily above the waist high plants.

They were already deeply engaged by the time Patrice found the wide, paved grotto they had taken over for practice that morning. For a moment she simply stood on the path, watching the two fight. This was different from their fight during the tournament. That time both women had been overheated and exhausted from earlier matches during the day, plus they had been weighed down by the heavy jousting armor. Now, neither of those things were true.

They moved with a grace that they hadn't been able to reach on the sandy tournament field that day, and once again Patrice was struck with just how beautiful human fighting could be. Performed atop a colorful mosaic of a shining sun and surrounded by fragrant roses, it was even more striking to the eye, even if they were moving more slowly than they would with armor to protect them. She would have simply watched them all morning if Errys hadn't caught sight of her.

"Ah, Patrice. Come join us."

"I had almost hoped you would take no notice of me. I like watching you fight, both of you." Patrice entered the grotto and moved to stand near the two knights. Felisjyta handed her a wooden sword, which had been leaning up against a stone bench at the edge of the clearing. It was the same wooden sword Patrice had used before – evident by the scorch marks on the leather grip.

"You'll never forget where to put your hands," Felisjyta joked again.

Patricia shook her head, then told the cat to sit to one side. With him out of the way, she picked up the sword and fell into the first stance Felisjyta had been teaching her.

"Not bad," Errys said. She turned to Felisjyta. "So you can teach after all."

"I told you so," the redheaded knight said. "How about we show her what you can do so far?"

Patrice said, "I thought this lesson was supposed to be about me learning, not you showing off. Perhaps I will ask Errys to teach me instead."

Felisjyta put a hand over her heart. "Traitor! You wound me!"

Errys just rolled her eyes and moved to stand in front of Patrice. "Why don't you try a high attack and we'll see how well she taught you."

Patrice did as she was bid and soon the sound of wood clacking on wood echoed around the grotto once more. Errys did not fight the way Felisjyta did. She held herself differently, moved differently, held her sword at different angles. Patrice could only assume it was a difference between Runerian and Serzek fighting styles.

She had scarcely adjusted to that when Felisjyta inserted herself into the pattern as well and began giving Patrice her own set of commands.

The two knights didn't fight one another, but worked together seamlessly to force Patrice to divide her attention between them. When she became distracted, a sharp rap from the unattended sword would bring her attention back to the other knight. This awkward dance went on for half an hour, until Errys managed to twist Patrice's wooden sword out of her hands. It landed on the cobblestone path with a clatter.

Patrice smiled and rubbed a particularly sore spot on her hip where Felisjyta had smacked her. "That, I think, is enough for me today. I'm not ready for such a thing."

"You did well enough," Felisjyta said, retrieving the sword and leaning it back against the bench along with her own. "I think your hearing helps you more than ours helps us. Still, I'm famished, and there's breakfast to eat as well. I'm all for stopping."

"We've barely been here an hour, and you already want to stop? You Serzeks are always thinking with your stomachs," Errys chided, wagging her finger at Felisjyta. But she too put her blade against the bench. Under the bench sat a plain wicker basket, which the knight removed.

There was no blanket to sit upon, but they hardly needed one with the well-kept mosaic underfoot. The three women arranged themselves on the stone and split the food that had been provided for them: a few sweet rolls, fresh fruit, boiled eggs, and a carafe of cool, sweet tea. The cat joined them, lounging on the stones next to Patrice.

"Did the cooks prepare this for you to bring out here?" Patrice asked.

Errys shook her head. "There's just a board in the dining room loaded with food. I grabbed what I thought we might want to eat after exercising a bit. There is more variety inside if you want something else."

"This is fine for me, for now."

"It's a nice breakfast for a beautiful summer morning," Felisjyta said, helping herself to the eggs.

"Not so beautiful," Errys said. "Blue skies now, but it will be raining by lunchtime. You can tell from the direction of the wind. We'll all be stuck inside with one another for the day."

"A little rain never hurt anyone," Patrice said. She took a sip of the tea. It was much sweeter than she expected, but still refreshing.

"Humans catch sick easier than dragons, I fear," said Errys. "They won't want to risk the lives of the royal family to a rainfall. And it would be beyond rude of us not to attend to them. Thus, we'll be inside."

Patrice sighed and took her time eating a roll. She still didn't understand why humans felt the need to flock together like crows.

"We could still run," Felisjyta said wistfully. "Take off in the rain and not stop till we hit the border. I want to go home again, without Rozhalea's leash around my neck."

Felisjyta looked as trapped as Patrice often felt. Patrice sympathized, but as dissatisfied and irritated as she could get, she wasn't quite ready to give up on Runeria yet. "If we were to run," she said, turning the roll around and around in her hands, "we ought to have done it before we arrived. Now, for better or worse, we are all committed."

Errys gave a great sigh and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I just wanted to be in the tournament. My parents did marry legally, no matter how displeased my grandparents were." She paused. "I just wanted to be acknowledged as a legitimate knight, that's all."

Patrice looked from one knight to the other. "I think of all the people to win, you two may have been the worst choices of all. None of us wants to be here."

Errys shook her head. "None of us want to be here, but we must all play the game now that we are. It's only a few months."

Patrice said nothing and instead concentrated on feeding bits of egg to the cat, who took the food from her hands with surprising delicacy. Only a few months to a dragon was a very short amount of time indeed.

Felisjyta was less graceful. She laid down on the ground and stared at the sky. "Only a few months, ha! I've been here over a year now and other than a short trip back for my sister's wedding, I haven't been home at all. And that's still better than the other knights have got."

Errys shrugged. "I didn't know we were going that general. But the wedding will happen once the new season starts, and then you might be allowed to leave."

"I hope so. I long for mountains and cool weather and decent beer," Felisjyta sighed.

"And you Patrice?" Errys asked. "What is it that you want?"

"Not this," she said. "I too long for wilderness and freedom. Beyond that, I truly don't know."

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[farfromstrange]

I made it back from my little comic con getaway! I’m semi-alive.

I come bearing pics (though not as many as I would’ve liked). So, I’ll put them under the cut for those of you who want to see them. Anyone else, feel free to keep scrolling. This is just me rambling. And showing off my cosplay and Daredevil merch I bought. With a lot of text. Sorry.

I didn’t have the time to take a pic of my Day One Matt Cosplay, but I do have pics from the test run I did a couple of days back.

(I didn’t have the time to put on the fake blood on Saturday, but that was kind of how I wanted it to look when I first tried it on, minus the added blood on the nose, that was just a stupid attempt at making it look more… gore-y? I think. I don’t know. My brain is tired and I’m just typing this on my phone and I don’t have the brain cells to form a coherent thought.)

Anyway, the first two is a (kind of) look at how I looked at the con on Saturday. It was a very slutty version of lawyer!Matt and the Season 1 promo poster. I tried. Also, I have no idea how to take proper pictures of myself. I apologize 😭

NOW moving on to my look on Day Two (today). That was a lot easier because I already had the sweater, and there was no way I wouldn’t pull up in the iconic “I’m Not Daredevil” Comic!Matt look. It was the obvious choice.

(Excuse the crusty-ass hotel selfie quality.)

I really enjoyed dressing up, and I think I might invest even more time and money for next year and go all out. As much as I can, anyway.

It was fun, but it was definitely different than last year. A lot less crowded, too. I still think it was amazing and I’ve loved seeing everyone dress up as their favorite characters and just feel welcome because everyone was there for the same reason. That’s why I love these conventions so much. It really is a judgement free zone.

And there is always a lot of shopping, which I did. I secured a lot of goods, and of course, I am going to share them with you now.

I got this amazing Elektra Funko.

AND THIS?!?! I FUCKING LOVE IT!!

And the girl selling this was so excited someone finally bought one of her Matt prints, we both geeked out. I still can’t believe I found this.

And then I got these pins…

AND THIS AMAZING GINORMOUS SWEATER/HOODIE/BLANKET

And a Barbie poster (It says “Hi Barbie” but I was too lazy to unroll it completely)

Overall, I think I found some amazing stuff! I just had to share it with you.

Can’t wait for spring next year, honestly.

[donnerpartyofone]

It's the overshare hour on this bright and breezy Tuesday morning

and I'm just thinking about how some of my main skills--making finely detailed drawings and writing really small to the point that it's an aesthetic device unto itself--developed because of my crippling childhood fear of having anyone notice me in any way. So starting in kindergarten I learned to write with a pencil that was totally worn down to the nub because I couldn't stand to raise my hand, or get up to use the pencil sharpener, because if I did that then people might look at me. And then if I broke a pencil, I would collect the microscopic splintered tip and write with that, and I wound up with this ziplock bag full of little pencil tips that I could cycle through to avoid calling attention to myself (I think a certain teacher took this away from me at some point because it seemed kind of unsanitary). And then for the same reason I wouldn't go to the bathroom like a normal kid, and I was routinely holding it until I had to piss my pants, which somehow seemed preferable to raising my hand in class and standing up to do something, and throughout my childhood it seemed like I basically had one long continuous UTI because of this behavior. Recently I learned something about how neurodivergent people often have this faulty bodily signaling going on such that, for instance, they might not realize they have to go to the bathroom until it's like a total crisis, and I think there must have been some of that going on too, which would also account for certain alarming masochistic behaviors that I don't feel like listing right now. But that's sort of the point I'm coming to, that it seems really obvious that there was something wrong with me from the jump, and that it wasn't just about being shy or lazy or stubborn or whatever other convenient thing I was accused of. And then to this day I have to have these arguments with people based on the premise that my only real problem is my bad attitude and low self-esteem, and I can't possibly have anything that might count as a disability because I'm so "smart" or perhaps high functioning, is a term we might use if we were to admit that I'm functioning highly relative to having certain problems. I can't even talk about this stuff to friends who are more stereotypically autistic or whatever, because I don't have the outward problems they do as an adult. And at times I just want to shout into a megaphone, right into people's faces, Guys I am pretty fucked actually, maybe I don't know the proper medical term for it, and it may not seem obvious to you, but if I could show you a videotape of my life we would not disagree about my fuckedness.

The End, time to get dressed, get on my bike, and run a couple of errands around town like an apparently normal person before I get ready for work.

[antheiantics]

Things I would do as an ENTJ parent

Educate them on "The Art Of War" from an early age. If it's hard for them to get it, I would go as far as publishing a children's version of it.

Teach them proper manners and etiquette.

Gift each of them a plant, they must keep alive to develop a caring mechanism.

As soon as they prove to me they can take care of it, I'll get them a pet of their own choosing. Preferably a dog, if our household doesn't have one already. An animal of whatever kind, teaches responsibility

Read them fairy tales and mimic the voice of the characters for a full-blown experience.

Drink tea/fresh juice with them every morning and ask how they plan to spend their day. Later when they grow up, we'll have coffee.

Family dinners. That's a must.

Always urge them to communicate with me and their father about their feelings. It's important to me that they realize that we're not exactly mind readers and neither are other people.

Make sure they know what sarcasm is from an early age. That ages well, I promise you. And besides with me being their mother, they can't escape it either. Better get used to it.

Teach them to always fight for what they want and achieve it through any means necessary. Killing is off the table (we're not in The Purge, darlings, it's still illegal) Unfair play is off limits too - we honour truth and justice in this house. Otherwise, there are no limits whatsoever.

Talk with them like they are adults. The dog doesn't say "woof woof", it barks.

No matter what anyone says, they'll get their first phones when they turn 6 or 7 (meaning when they enter school). Before that, screen time will be minimized to certain movies and tv shows that I may make a separate list for (comment down below what movies and tv shows you would play for your kids so I can include them; would be nice if you write your MBTI and enneagram as well)

On the subject of phones: if they don't pick up the first time, I can take it. But if they don't pick up after 30 minutes when I call them again, I will come to the school or wherever they are and they will be grounded for life ( That's extreme, I know, maybe not grounded but definitely scolded)

I will make sure they know how to observe their surroundings.

Teach them to take charge when they believe is necessary. They don't have to be leaders but they must know how to be ones in case of need. This ages well, I promise, pt.2.

Make sure that they know that for school projects everyone must do their portion of the work unless their teammates are incompetent and lazy. Then, they would have to push themselves more to make the project succeed. Doesn't have to be perfect or the best one but if my kids are doing it, it probably will be *hair flip*

Teach them to handle money wisely. I didn't develop that habit even though my parents advised me a lot and at 20 I still find it difficult.

Introduce them to basic medicines they sell at pharmacies as soon as they can understand me. I grew up in a family where at 6, I knew what homeopathic medicine to take, depending on my symptoms. My mother and grandmother have medical backgrounds so I always knew what to do and therefore was calm. My children will definitely know that too.

If I have more than one kid as I wish, I will teach them to look after one another and protect each other. They must understand that a brother or a sister is the mightiest weapon anyone could have.

Get their aunt aka my best friend to teach them martial arts or at least basic self-defence.

Make sure they read a lot. Any kind of book, whatever book they are interested in. I'm all up for it. Not liking books isn't an option because in my opinion there is a book for any taste.

Make sure they forge their own style but still dress with taste and elegance.

[gvfgal]

Bound- Chapter Two

Chapter One

A/n: Chapter 2 is here!!!! This chapter is pretty fluffy, I know you guys are waiting on the good stuff *wink wink* but it’s coming, trust me!

No warnings for this chapter.

Word Count: 3.1k

You were definitely hung over the next day. The sun had you shielding your eyes with a lazy hand, groaning with exhaustion as you awakened from your deep slumber.

Turning over on your back, you let out a huff as you blinked to adjust your eyes. As you remembered the night that you spent with Jake, a blush began to creep up on your face.

But your thoughts were cut short as the sound of tires coming up the driveway snapped you back to reality. You sat straight up to look out the window, and upon seeing Jake's truck approaching, you sprang out of bed. Both of your parents were at work, so you were obligated to answer the door for him, you couldn’t leave him standing out there right?

Or could you…?

You quickly shook away the thought, rushing to look yourself over in the mirror. Mascara was smeared across your cheekbones, and your hair was a tangled mess. A quick fix, you used the heel of your palms to wipe the smudged mascara away, then grabbed a scrunchy from your vanity and tied your hair up in a high bun.

Dashing into the bathroom, you swished around a mouthful of mouthwash, spitting it into the sink before splashing cold water on your face.

Jake's knuckles rapped against the door just as you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

You flung the door open, and Jake flinched slightly.

“Jake! Hey, what are you doing here?” you rushed out.

Stopping dead in your tracks, your eyes fell to the beautiful bouquet of lavender hydrangeas and coral bells that he was holding.

Jake smiled at you as you stared wide eyed, eyes darting back and forth between his face and the flowers.

“Well I um, wanted to come check on you, make sure you weren’t too hungover after last night,” he chuckled, then willed your eyes to look at his, “and I also wanted to… well I just… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ever since I dropped you off last night I just, I wanted to be near you again. No, I needed to be near you again. I don’t know, I feel like I can’t be away from you for too long or I’ll go crazy.”

He was much more serious now as he extended the bouquet of flowers out to you, and you took them hesitantly.

You wanted to thank him for the beautiful bouquet, but your heart was lodged in your throat upon his revelation, and words couldn’t be formed.

But you needn’t worry, Jake spoke up again to break through the lingering silence.

“And I was wondering if I could take you out… on a date. A proper one.”

“Right… right now?” You surveyed your attire then glanced back up at him.

“Well yeah,” he was growing increasingly uneasy, reaching a hand up to rub over the back of his neck, “I thought maybe we could go grab breakfast at the diner in town, maybe see where the day takes us?”

Shock was an understatement for what you were feeling in the moment. Here was your life long crush, the one you never thought you’d get to have, standing on your porch, bearing gifts, asking to take you on a date. You pondered momentarily if you were dreaming in your drunken state from the night before, but you quickly realized the feelings that buzzed inside felt all too real for this to be a dream.

You also realized that if you didn’t say something soon, you may lose this opportunity forever.

“I’m… not dressed,” you mumbled, “I’d need a little time to get ready.”

He grinned, “don’t worry, I can wait. I’m a patient man.”

You stepped aside to let him in, and his heavy boots clamped down on the wood as he made slow steps through the threshold.

You led him to the kitchen where he took a seat at the small table, then began busying yourself preparing a pot of coffee and getting water for your flowers, silent as you did so.

“You can help yourself to some coffee once it’s done brewin’,” you instructed once you finished the tasks, “I’m gonna go get ready… for our date.”

The corners of Jake’s mouth turned upward, “okay.”

You excused yourself, then awkwardly turned on your heels to ascend the stairs, silently scolding yourself for being so weird.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

30 minutes later you returned, dressed now in a pair of high waisted shorts and a white button down linen shirt tucked on one side, your Keds that you’ve had since highschool tied securely on your feet. You redid the bun on your head, it was much more presentable now, and you carried your same saddle bag.

Jake’s eyes followed you as you entered the kitchen, sipping the remaining coffee in his mug as you came and stood directly in front of him.

“Ready?” he questioned, standing from his seat.

You nodded, “ready.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The diner was busy as usual, it being one of the only places in town to get a good breakfast.

Being very familiar with the menu, Jake and you ordered as soon as the waitress was at your table, and you found yourself grinning at the fact that he still ordered the same thing he did when you were kids. Three buttermilk pancakes (it used to be only two, but that just wasn’t enough anymore), two slices of applewood bacon (extra crispy), sunny side up eggs, and a large bowl of grits.

You made small talk as you waited for your food to arrive, and your nerves quickly faded away as you and Jake fell into your old ways. He’d tease you, you’d blush, then shoot back a smart response.

But soon enough, your mood began to shift. You were enjoying your date, but you were suddenly confused. You’d spent years pining over Jake, laying in bed at night dreaming about the day he’d finally ask you on a date, but it seemed so out of reach.

Yet here you were, and it was a simple timeline of events that led you to this point, much more simple than you thought it’d be. If it were really this easy, why hadn’t you done this years ago? What changed in that time you two spent apart that brought you to this point?

Jake noticed your shift in mood, watching the way you played with the food on your plate as he fed himself a forkful of pancakes drowning in syrup. He furrowed his brow, “what’s on your mind, darlin’?”

The nickname sent shockwaves through your body, but you didn’t let that stop you from responding, you needed answers.

“Why now?”

He looked confused as he chewed, so you clarified the question.

“Why all of a sudden you decide to take me on a date? After all these years, why now? What’s changed?”

He looked reflective as he let your words sink in, gnawing at a piece of bacon.

“Well that’s the thing. Nothings changed at all.”

You were confused now, and Jake smiled.

“I don’t think it’s any secret that I like you. I’ve always liked you, I mean how could I not?”

“But what about high school? You hardly acknowledged my existence then.”

Jake dropped his head and shook it, “yeah I uh… I guess I was pretty stupid back then. I should’ve never let you slip away like that, caught up in my own world, but that never changed how I felt about you. And when you left for Berkeley… I was kinda heartbroken to be honest. Didn’t realize how much I’d miss you until you were gone. I promised if I ever got the chance to see you again I’d do it right, you know make up for lost time. And then when I saw you in the square a few weeks back, then just yesterday, being able to hang out with you like we used to… I knew I had to have you around me again. I couldn’t let you get away again. I won’t let you get away again.”

You were an absolute puddle at that point. It was no use hiding how flushed your face had become, and you’d shrunken into yourself in the booth you were sitting in.

Jake was smirking at you now, “was that answer good enough for you?”

Slowly, you nodded, and he picked up his fork, still smirking as he pointed it towards your plate, “you gonna eat your food now?”

Your mouth curled into a smile as you sat up a little straighter and grabbed your utensils from the table, “yeah, I am.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After your meal, Jake said he had somewhere else he wanted to take you. 10 minutes later, you guys were at the old abandoned windmill farm that you used to frequent as kids.

Still ever a kid at heart, Jake climbed one of the old rickety structures, perching himself at the top before helping you up. You guys talked for a while, the tension from earlier having long disappeared. It was comfortable again, the way it usually was, and was always supposed to be.

You found yourself talking more than you ever had before, telling him anything and everything, and just as he always had, Jake listened, unable to take his eyes off of you as he did so, too absorbed in the fact that he had you by his side again.

Once you grew tired of sitting, the two of you headed back into town, hitting up the old thrift store then the record store. Jake couldn’t help but select The Who’s My Generation album to add to his collection.

The ice cream parlor was the next stop, you selecting a strawberry cone with rainbow sprinkles, and Jake deciding on a simple vanilla cone of his own. You sat outside in the sweltering heat, racing to finish off your treats before the sun consumed it.

Jake insisted on showing you how he and his brothers had transformed the old garage tucked away on their parents land into a bachelor pad of their own, and you couldn’t say no.

You were well aware that the Kiszka boys were good at working with their hands, but the construction was beyond impressive. Off to the right side of the garage was a small living and kitchen area, to the left, Sam’s modestly sized bedroom and bathroom. The top floor was a simple hallway with three doors, one to the left, Josh’s room, one to the right, Jake’s, and in the middle, a bathroom the two shared.

But what was most amazing to you, was the fact that the old garage still stood in the middle, reinforced in a few areas, but other than that, it was exactly as you remembered it. Full of posters and flyers, their accumulation of instruments and equipment organized in a chaotic way (it worked for them). As you studied the space, you even noticed that your name was still carved into one of the wooden planks, Jake’s idea one winter after receiving a Swiss Army knife for Christmas.

“So you’ll always be here with us, even when you aren’t,” he’d said.

The memory made your cheeks glow.

But the day didn’t end there.

After giving you a tour, Jake snatched up his acoustic from it’s stand, a blanket from the foot of his bed, and you guys loaded back into the car.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was now sunset as you and Jake relaxed in the bed of his truck at the creek, blanket spread beneath you as he strummed a pretty melody on his guitar. You were sprawled out on your back, eyes closed as you listened to him play. If you had to guess, this is what heaven would be like.

You turned your head to look over at Jake, shielding your eyes from the blinding sun, “you know I never thanked you for my flowers earlier.”

He continued to play as he glanced down at you, “ forgot all about that, I was too busy having fun with you today.”

A teasing look graced his face, “but it would be nice to hear you say it.”

You giggled, “thank you, Jacob, for my beautiful, beautiful flowers. I love them. And I had fun with you today too. Most fun I’ve had in awhile.”

He turned to look back over the sparkling water, “seems like we’re always having fun, you and I.”

“Yeah, seems like it,” you beamed.

Turning over on your stomach, you placed your chin in your palms, ogling him, “so you like me, huh?”

Jake threw his head back in laughter before shaking his head at you, “you’re something else, you know that? Yeah, I like you. Ain’t it obvious?”

You shoved him playfully, “only took you sixteen years to tell me.”

It grew quiet between you two again, the only sound to be heard was the crickets chirping around you.

“Why did it take you so long, Jake? If you really did care about me like that all these years, why wait until now?” you implored, more serious now than you were before.

Again, he pondered, sitting his guitar beside him.

He cleared his throat, “I’m the first to admit that I’m not the best at expressing how I’m feelin’ all the time, though I have gotten better with age. But it’s like I said earlier, it felt like now or never. I got a taste of what it was like to live without you around, and I didn’t like livin’ that way. You with me, it just feels right, like that’s how it’s supposed to be. It’s different than anything I’ve felt before, and I don’t wanna stop feelin’ it. Ever.”

You laid your head on his lap, feeling bolder now than ever after the confirmation. Without missing a beat, Jake began rubbing your back soothingly.

“Ever?” You repeated.

He shook his head, emphasizing his point, “ever.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Quiet again, only this time, it was warm and inviting. It seemed to hug you and Jake, pushing you further into each other.

The sun had just disappeared now, and Jake picked his guitar back up, switching the melody as you continued to lay your head on him, not ready to give up his touch just yet.

Out of the darkness, an orb of light illuminated in front of you before disappearing again.

You sat up as it flashed again, growing excited.

“Jake, look! A lightning bug!” you pointed.

Another two joined the first, and you hopped down from the bed of the truck and began chasing them around.

Jake was nothing but smiles as he recalled one of his fondest memories with you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

July 17th, 1959

Townsend, Tennessee

It was a long day spent at the creek with your parents and the Kiszka family. You and the boys had been in the water all day, only getting out to eat the lunch that was packed.

But now that it was dark, and your parents deemed the water unsafe, you guys had resorted to chasing around lightning bugs with mason jars, hoping to be lucky enough to catch one to take home.

After trying (and failing) multiple times to catch one of the flying creatures, you decided to bench yourself from the activity. You took a seat on a nearby rock and watched as the twins leaped around behind the bugs, lunging at them with jar and vented lid in hand.

You admired the glimpses of Jake’s face you got every time a light went off near his face, an eight year old you had never seen anyone so perfect.

When Jake noticed you sitting out, he jogged over to you, confusion spread on his face.

“Why ain’t you playin’ anymore?” he asked as he took a seat next to you.

You shrugged, “just got tired, I guess. I couldn’t catch any.”

One thing Jake always loved about you was how soft and sweet your voice was. Every time you spoke his senses heightened, and he had no choice but to give you his full attention.

“So you’re giving’ up?” he teased you.

You shoved his shoulder with your own, “I ain’t givin’ up. I’m just tired. I told you that.”

Jake smiled at the way you were sulking, before he grabbed your jar and stood up.

You straightened your back as you watched him zero in on one of the bugs, stalking behind it slowly.

“What are you doin—”

“Shh,” he cut you off, “you’re gonna scare it away.”

Following his command, you sat silently and watched as he continued to track the creature. After several moments, it began floating in his direction, and with calculated movements, Jake ushered it into the jar, closing the lid behind it.

He screwed it shut and brought it back over to you, handing it off casually, “for you.”

You eyed him as you took the jar, “thank you. But you know I didn’t need you to catch one for me. I coulda done it myself.”

“I know,” Jake nodded with a smize, “but I wanted to.”

You started blushing, he loved making you blush.

“What are you gonna name him?”

Taking a moment to marvel at the creature, you gave the question serious consideration.

“I’m gonna name him Jake Jr.”

He smiled, “I like the sound of that.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Jake could hardly contain the emotions that crashed into him.

For so long, you’d held a special place in his heart that could never be compromised, not even by the Gods themselves, the memory confirming that to be true.

Love.

It was love.

He didn’t care if someone saw it as too soon, for him, it wasn’t soon enough.

He hated the time he lost with you, but he decided from that moment on, that he’d lose no more.

As you continued to prance around the field, Jake came and joined you. You were wearing a smile when you turned to him, but upon seeing the look on his face, it dropped.

“Jake, what—”

“Can I kiss you?” the question was abrupt.

You could tell he was slightly nervous, but you had never felt more at home in your life.

Stepping forward, you wrapped your arms around his torso, looking up at him with a goofy grin, “only if I can kiss you.”

Jake chuckled before bringing his hands to your face to pull you into his lips.

Your bodies melted into each other’s as the kiss lingered on, never heating up but never slowing down.

The kiss you two shared that night could’ve easily healed the entire world. It was momentous, life changing, the first kiss every girl dreamed of.

As you tasted Jake’s lips on your own, you knew this was it, you were sure of it. There was no going back.

It was absolutely, unreservedly, without a doubt, endgame.

Jacob Thomas Kiszka had you through and through, and by the way he kissed you, you were almost positive you had him too.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Chapter Three

Taglist: @jakesgrapejuice

[futurequibblerjournalist]

Bro could we PLEASE get some non-piss Igor and/or Gilderoy?

I would like to state for the record that I never mentioned the piss again,,,, blame other anon not me

I’ve got another yap on Gilderoy in my drafts so I’ll save the individual stuff and feed the shippers lol

I do 100% believe Gilderoy would have a spray bottle to spray Igor with when he’s being too much

Igor is a very handy person and for the most part Gilderoy enjoys that

Muggle au Gilderoy had a very fancy, expensive car and while he’d let Igor fix it I doubt he’d let him drive it, at least not more than necessary

Igor finally getting to drive the car and he does that arm around the passenger seat while reserving thing 🤤

I feel like Gilderoy would enjoy playing dress up with Igor,,, like finding nicer outfits for him, getting him to use proper shampoo and conditioner rather than his 8-in-one lmao

Following that if they ever get to the point of being somewhat domestic (this is a very loose term, I’m thinking Igor staying over for more than five minutes after they fuck) I could see them enjoying long showers together. The shower in Igor’s apartment is broken half the time so he’s just in there soaking like a wet dog lmao

Lazy sofa cuddles,,, Gilderoy is reading a magazine and Igor is watching some stupid shit on the tv

I could see Gilderoy convincing Igor to pierce one of his ears idk why fjfnjcnf

Igor uses nicknames for Gilderoy most of the time cause I think he’d stumble slightly over having to pronounce Gilderoy but also he’s just a nickname person

Alright I think that’s all I can come up with for now cnncjcnf hopefully that’s more enjoyable than the “kink” that shall not be named lmao

[abronzeagegod]

Writing prompt: a flower in a garden wakes up one day, in a red dress.

[Thanks for the ask and the prompt! I know it took a while to get done but work has been kicking my ass lately. Also this one got away from me, as most of these things do! If anyone has any more prompts feel free to send them my way, i might not get to them in a timely fashion though.]

Well, she thought, this is not right.

One minute she was standing in the dirt, trees and sky overhead anxiously awaiting the dawning of the sun, of the warmth, the light, the energy all around her.

Now she's laying in the dirt, looking up at the trees and the sky and the bright sun of the early morning and instead of feeling alive and invigorated and bright and happy, she feels alive and warm, and kind of sticky and that's not very comfortable.

"DA!" came a sudden and loud voice from nearby. Before such a voice from the family that lived in the nearby cottage would be mere background noise, but now it was loud, screeching, and demanding attention. "There's a weird lady laying in the dirt outside!"

There was a pause of blessed silence before a new voice yelled from nearby.

"JONATHAN I'M FIXIN TA GROUND YA FER A YEAR!"

Immediately following this new declaration there was the sound of something loud and clanging, as the one in trouble tried to make good an escape.

A few moments later there came a cloud that covered the sun.

"Ok, up ya get," said the voice.

Standing over her was a man, dark skin, lovely looking, but tired.

The woman shook her head. She just kind of instinctively knew that it meant 'no'.

"Ya likely ta burn out here, let me fix ya something ta eat n drink and we'll fix ya right up."

"I can't move. My root are in the ground. I get my nourishment from the sun and the rain."

"Ya, that mighta been the case, but my daft son emptied the potion vat on ya pretty head and now yer a woman and not a plant. So up ya git. Come in the house, we'll fix ya up in a bit."

She knew her body was wrong, she knew that it had changed and was different, but she didn't want to acknowledge it until this moment. She wanted to still be a plant.

"Come on now."

Reluctantly, she tried to get the body to move correctly. It was hard and odd and getting used to having a body full of blood and muscle, sinew and bone, was not something that came easily. Coordination was tricky.

"Like trickin' a drunk to come home with a biscuit," muttered the man.

Getting into the small cottage and sitting down took entirely too long.

"Samuel," the father said to his youngest, "fetch some water and make our guest sommin ta eat. I hafta fix this mess."

The young boy ran off to fetch some water from the nearby well.

The woman sat (sitting was decidedly a strange sensation, so many things had to bend in just the right ways and they only bend in certain ways) at the table, and with a glass of water in front of her, was delighted. She needed water, she loved water. She stuck her hand in the glass and sat there contented.

"Ya don't absorb water like that," the father said as he worked over a small cauldron. "Ya hafta use yer mouth."

The youngest son had to then help the woman learn to use this stupid mouth appendage thing to consume water. How inefficient and gross.

"I must apologize fer my son," the father said. "His chores taday were to clean up after our business. We make n sell potions. Magic n such in the form of liquid. Tha other day, ya see, we had an order fer some potions of polymorph, tha magic of turnin things inta other things. Insteada disposin of it all proper like, my idiot spawn Jon was a wee bit lazy, an dumped it all out in ta garten, which had the unfortunate side affect of turning you from a lovely lil rose bush into this her young woman ya are now."

The youngest child also tried to show the woman how to eat some of the bread that they had made the day before. It was a bit of a challenge to be sure, but there was also something so special and delicious and amazing about the texture, the feel, and the taste of the bread that she had never before experienced.

"Right. This here potion to put ya back is going ta take a few hours or so. Wanna make good use of those legs yer got there and see the world outside tha garten?"

The woman who was once a flower was intrigued by the idea of the world beyond what her limited perceptions could see in her normal form. She agreed, and following the older man she followed him out of the house and beyond the realm of the garden that she had spent all of her life in.

The world outside the house and the garden was vast and strange and so deeply interesting. The trees were all different and interesting! There were more birds and squirrels and other things that she never could have imagined existing outside after she walked for just a little bit.

There was a small river with fish! They walked across a waterfall! They saw things of so many different colors! They even saw the man's neighbor who spoke loudly and with a strange accent that the woman could barely understand. The man had a horse with him that was so large and beautiful that if she was still a flower she would have been terrified of being trampled.

"The world is so beautiful," she remarked to the man as they walked back towards the cottage.

"Aye, it is. But it's also dangerous and strange and violent sumtimes. There's a great beauty out there. But also great pain."

"What if I didn't want to go back to being a flower?"

The man sighed, resting his hands in his pockets. "Aye. Well we could leave ya be. Teach ya how to live, to survive. Bein a human is hard. Ya can't just feed off tha sun, live off tha rain. There's work ya gotta do to live. It's hard."

He paused for a long time.

"The longer ya stay a human or a bird or whatever ya like, the harder it is ta go back. After a time ya can't go back. Ya saw more than you would have as a plant, aye, that's true. But with all tha good comes all tha bad. You love tha people you love, sometimes they leave, sometimes you leave. Sometimes nothing much happens but change occurs and ya aren't the same person they loved so much. With tha heat comes tha burning. With tha cold comes tha freezing. Ya grow, ya age, ya eventually die. It's not something I wanna put on you, just because ya saw some pretty nature outside yer little plot. Bein human ain't nothing I wanna put on another bein if they got a choice in the matter."

"So what is going to happen to me?"

"I think... I think... we're gonna put ya back. I think it's fer the best. And if ya still dream of bein a person, the next time we make some potion we'll save some fer ya and turn ya back." There was a long silence as they approached the house and the familiar garden. "It's always easy to see tha new and tha excitin as the best thing, but I wouldn't wantta ta make the choice without knowin how good yer old life will feel when ya return to the dirt."

"Yes, I can see how that would be nice."

"If ya'd like I can put ya in the house, so you can be close by and watch er whatever ya do."

"I think I'd like that. Thank you for everything. You didn't have to do any of this to help me. But I appreciate it."

"Of course," the man said. "Now let's get ya back."

"I hope it won't be too long before I see you again."

"If you come back, we'll be happy ta have ya again."

After the potion was administered and the woman returned to being a rose bush once more, the man worked on replanting her in a large pot.

"If you come back and fall in love wit either of me sons I'm gonna have ta turn ya right back inta a plant. Can't have this nonsense happenin again."

i have a kofi

[raptorsaurusmelain]

Let me show you... Youtube - chapter 13

Little chapter as we are Sunday and I am lazy. I hope you all have a wonderful day !

Warning : no proof reading, English is not my mother tongue.

If you are interested in reading this fic, the tag "#twst lmsyy" will give you all the chapters.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Later that evening, Ace and Deuce came to do a little sleep over. Before the fun began, she asked them to clean a room so everyone could sleep on a bed. They cleaned a room with four beds, corresponding to a room for the first year from what the woman understood.

Kidding, the woman asked if they needed to be tucked in, to which Yuu laughed, Deuce was flustered and Ace answered “Get out !!”. Ah la la, teenagers Imma right ?

When Victoria was back in her room, she couldn’t help but feel anxious. She didn’t know what was the proper reaction to have when a kid witnesses an overblot. Overblots didn’t exist in her world. Was she supposed to smother them with love ? To leave them a little bit so they can digest their emotions ? To cry with them because everything was a traumatic event ? Everything at once ?

She was lost.

She just hoped that the night would help her in her dilemma.

The morning was like always but with more teenagers, arguing about how they will make Riddle apologize. Victoria looked at them over her mug of hot tea, chatting happily. It wasn’t long since they were here, but a kind of routine was already in place.

She got up, prepared the table, Yuu and Grim got down, still sleepy in their PJs. Then they ate, they dressed up and they went to school.

The woman was happy. Despite everything that would happen, they at least had a warm home in the making. Maybe… Maybe Victoria could do a GikTok chain on ‘how to renovate your old busted home’ ? That was… Quite a good idea. She would ask Yuu later. Maybe the Child would love to be a part of it ?

The day at school began quietly. Today her janitor work brought her to the gym. She was impressed, amazed and surprised by seeing the brooms in action. They were flying !! Like really flying ! Without ropes or any kind of help ! Damn, so cool !

She was welcomed by a mountain of muscles clothed in a red track suit. “Hello, Mrs Devi ! I was expecting you ! We have a bit of a situation in the locker room !”

[I don’t like where this is going…]

Aaaand like she thought, the showers were broken. She pinched her nose en sighed. From the look of the pipes, someone was playing roughly next to it and kicked it. How was she going to repair this… Time to bust out the good old WeTube.

After an hour long of research, watching multiple tutorials and reassuring Vargas that yes, the repairs were going along well, she finally had an idea on how to do that. With the help of a good old wench, she bent back the pipe with a lot of tears, curse and effort.

At the end of the class, Vargas came to congratulate her. “It wasn’t easy to bend back the pipe, you could have asked for my help !” Flexing his muscles at the end.

Victoria laughed, cleaning her tears full of mascara. “Yes but you were occupied with teaching. It is a dangerous sport, you need to watch them as much as you can to ensure minimal accidents.”

Vargas smiled. “It is dangerous indeed, but it is worth the effort. The feeling of being free and the wind against your skin is exhilarating !”

Victoria blinked. “Like wearing a skirt or a dress ? You feel the wind like this too.”

The man didn’t know what to answer. After a few seconds, he pulled himself together. “How can you compare such an honorable sport to wearing a dress ?”

She shrugged. “The nerve. And the fact that I never flew except thanks to a plane.”

Vargas huffed. “We need to fix that right now ! Come with me, we will fly on my broom.”

Victoria smiled widely. “REALLY ? Damn, life is GOOD.”

Tag : @boba-tea-fish @hipsterteller

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @keltii-tea

Chapter 19: A Miracle

That spring and early summer, Miranda thought, was the happiest time of her life. Each day came with blue skies and sunlight shimmering on the fields, the mountains bathed in butter light. The drone of insects in the grass; the sound of goats' bells ringing from the village, not a soul mourning nor heavy-hearted, not a death that was not expected.

Oh, there were folk buried, of course- a venerat grandmother, a hunter who had been attacked by a wolf on the slopes and succumbed to his wounds- but these were taken in stride, as they had been before, and consecrated in the proper way, given back to the Black God, in the care of the Saints. They did not rise again; their graves stayed silent. Miranda, standing in the crowd at the funerals, Eva under her hand fidgeting in her too-hot black dress, did not think of her mother rising from the dirt. For the first time, her mind was on the present, her sorrows for the recent dead, not those whom she had lost more than a decade before.

"What does it mean?" Eva had asked her as they walked home after a funeral, taking the long way, down by the river. It was Eva's favorite way; she loved to watch the dragonflies dart over the water, loved to crouch by a river bend where the water swirled still and deep, dark as peat, and watch the fish swim their lazy circles. "When the priest says...um..."

She screwed up her small face, imitating the elderly priest's droning way of speaking. "May she walk through the endless dark..."

"It means that the Black God will always watch over her, sweet girl. Venerat Violeta will be protected in the afterlife by the priest's prayers." She'd knocked her elbow against Eva's. "That's what the priest says, anyway."

Eva giggled, then, in an instant, became grave. "What if we didn't pray?"

"What do you mean?"

"If she died somewhere far away and the priest didn't pray. Would the Saints not walk with her then? Would the Black God forget about her?"

Miranda lifted her head, watching the sunlight's glitter off the surface of the river, the seams of snow clinging to the mountain peaks, never melting, not even in this late-May heat. "I don't know, Evie."

"It doesn't seem very nice if they don't."

"No, it doesn't."

"Uncle Sal was telling me some stuff." She kicked a stone into the water, then hurried over to watch it sink. "I found some of his old books and I asked him about them."

"Oh? What sort of stuff?"

"Well. There was this one book. It had pictures of a cave wall. It had some carvings." Eva shrugged, ambling back over, pulling at her black dress. Her blonde hair had begun to spring from her braids.

Miranda had to stifle a smile; had she looked that much like a hedgehog when she was a little girl?

"There was a picture of a mermaid," Eva said."And a horse! And some other ones too. They were the crests of the four kings who made this valley."

"I doubt they made the valley."

"That's what the book said! They prayed and the Saints came down and they made the whole valley with their powers! Or maybe the Black God made the valley. It sang and the song was so powerful the earth hollowed out between the mountains so the people from the crystal city could have a place to live." "Well. Wouldn't that be a sight to see."

"It said the kings married some of the people and they ruled over here and their families are still around to this day. Can we go see the four kings? Maybe they would tell us who their families are." Her eyes got big. "What if we're one of the four families!"

"I don't think so, Evie."

"But what if. I want to be a princess."

Miranda had caught her up in a hug, pressing a kiss to the little girl's sticky cheek. "You're already my princess. Want to go see the kings? Maybe you're right, and you'll be lucky enough to hear them speak."

"Can we?"

"Come on. Follow me. It's a climb," Miranda warned. "And you're getting too big to carry, like last time."

"I won't stumble."

She squeezed her hand. "I know."

They wound away from the river, taking a narrow, rocky goat-path up the side of the crag that overlooked the village. They crossed a bridge, a crude stone thing used by shepherds and hunters, mostly, that led to a tree-lined slope. The path wound up, and up, switched back on itself, disappeared a few times, but Miranda kept her eyes on the bare crag overhead, and didn't lose her way.

She kept Eva's hand tight in her own; the girl kept looking around at birds and insects, jabbering away about the other stories in Salvatore's books. Wonderful pictures, and strange monsters, and scary things, too, people that had been taken by the wolf-sickness and twisted into creatures that barely looked human anymore.

"Those pictures sound a little too spooky for you," Miranda said.

"No!" Her voice conveyed the heights of her indignation. "They're fine."

"Can't you find something in your schoolbooks to read instead?"

"Nothing as good. There was a fairy-tale too. About four creatures..." She launched into a retelling of the fairy tale as switchbacked and meandering as the path. Miranda knew the story anyway. It had been one of her father's, told to her in turn when she was a child. Four monsters of antiquity; a little girl lost in the woods. A witch; a mother and father, searching for the lost girl. Sometimes the mother and the witch were one and the same, two aspects of the same being, at once searching for her daughter and luring her deeper and deeper into the forest's heart.

Sometimes the monsters were bat lords and fish kings, a great iron horse snorting flames, a deathly shadow spinning illusions to tempt the girl into danger. Sometimes they were sorcerers, shape-shifters, eaters of flesh, people twisted by the witch into creatures to do her bidding. Sometimes they gave the girl gifts, and sometimes they took her memories, piece by piece, until she was an empty shell the witch could do with as she wished.

The story was one of the valley's oldest, from, some said, the days of the Cataclysm, the crystal city's doom. There were as many ways it was told as there were mouths to tell it. Miranda listened to Eva struggle through it, and by the time she was done, the girl found and rescued by her mother, the father burned to ashes by the witch's power, they had broken through the trees and onto the lonely rock crag beyond.

It overlooked the entire village, the tallest thing within the town limits aside from the castle: a great amphitheater surrounded by rock walls, though whether the settlers had found it this way, or whether it was naturally formed, none knew. Nevertheless, it had been carved at some point. Four statues ringed a dais in the middle, four great, melancholy kings in crowns and robes, staring over the dais with baleful eyes and hunched shoulders. Miranda put her hands on her hips, breathing hard from the climb, but Eva wandered over to the fenced-off cliffside, to stare down into the ravine on the far side.

A collection of old barns was visible in the field on the other side of the ravine; it had been converted into a munitions factory at some point by the village family who ran it, shipping guns and bullets down into parts unknown to fight the great war that had raged four years ago, far, far away from Miranda and Eva, far away from this time, this place.

To Miranda, such horrors were inconceivable, the world beyond inconceivable. Too many terrors, too many griefs too vast to comprehend. How did the people in the world outside the village cope? Far too much to feel, far too much to know. Salvatore, with his wandering mind, was fascinated by such things, though he was too connected to his practice in the village to ever leave it. But Miranda would never leave even if she could. There was little, she thought, that would draw her away. If Eva was in trouble, and the solution lay outside the valley, perhaps.

But as she breathed the sweet, warm air, as she watched her daughter in the sunlight, the strands of flyaway hair lit golden, such trouble seemed as far away as war, as far away as the dead walking the endless dark, as far away as winter, and wolves, and sorrow.

"There's a horse," Eva called.

"What was that?" Miranda joined her at the fence.

"A horse." She pointed. It was painted on the side of the barn- a horse head enclosed by a shoe. "Like in the book."

"Is that so?"

"I wonder if they're one of the families. They don't look like kings."

"Well, I doubt they would, now. It's been a long, long time since the Cataclysm. Sal said his dad always bragged they came from the oldest stock in town."

"Maybe he's a prince."

"You think Sal's a prince? Hmm. He'd look pretty silly in a crown."

Eva didn't laugh. She stared down at the factory, her hands gripping the fence bars. "Maybe..." she said. "Maybe the Black God would know."

"Maybe you should go to the priest and ask him to ask the Black God."

"Hmm." This worked. Eva let go of the bars. "I don't want to do that." She tipped her head back to examine the four kings, her eyes wide. She walked on her toes around the dais, her arms held out straight, a little bird about to take flight.

Miranda walked behind her, just in case she fell. She'd be there to catch her.

"If I got stolen would you come get me?" Eva said suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"By a witch. If a witch stole me and I got taken by monsters would you come and get me."

"Of course I would."

"Really?"

"I'd fight every single one of those spooky monsters to come get you. And then-" She swooped in and began to tickle Eva. The girl burst out into helpless giggles, the sound echoing through the amphitheater, off the somber statues of the four kings. "And then I'd give you porridge with no honey or cream for being such a naughty girl, running off like that, and then I'd send you straight to bed!"

"No! No! No!" Eva managed between giggles. "I don't like porridge!" "Well, then you shouldn't have run away!" She looped her arms over Eva's shoulders, pressing her chin to the top of her head. "Your hair is a mess. Let's go home and fix those braids, sweet girl."

"I want to stay a little longer."

"A little longer or a lot?"

"A little."

"All right, then. A little longer. Just a little."

***

"Strange thing I heard today," Salvatore said, that night. Miranda emerged from Eva's bedroom where she'd just put the girl to bed.

She gently closed the bedroom door. "What kind of strange thing? Another four-eyed fish you found in the lake?"

"No, no..." He was sitting at his desk, ostensibly writing in one of his medical logbooks. He hadn't written a word in a few minutes, but rather sat, tapping his pen against the desk, staring out the window. "No, a...couple of travelers in a nearby village. Dying. I received a shipment of aether today and the merchant told me all about it."

"What did they die of?" Miranda fixed a couple books that had fallen over on a nearby shelf.

"A sickness, the merchant said. Some sort of illness that attacked the respiratory system. They died soon after they arrived, and there was little sign they were ill before they..." He drew his thumb over his throat.

"Have some respect for the dead, Dr. Moreau," Miranda said dryly. "If it wasn't wolf-sickness, there's nothing to be afraid of. You can cure anything, right?"

"Yes, of course, I...I only wish I could see the bodies, get a better picture of what it was...for posterity's sake, you see..."

"Right."

"Eva's well?"

Miranda looked at him, sharp. "Why wouldn't she be?"

"No reason! Simply the funeral can be alarming for a child. I certainly know that I-" He stopped. The silence hung, heavy and cold, in the air between them. There was no forgetting what they had experienced together, no matter how many years went by, no matter how Miranda had learned to put it far behind her.

Always the wolf. Always the cold. And always, always, the miracle, the strange, savage thing that had transpired within her mother, the baby that was not a baby. The gift, given by the Black God. The gift that had failed her.

"It's nothing to be afraid of," he echoed. "Simply a curiosity. Like the rest." He rose, closing his book and setting his pen back in the stand. He went to Miranda and set his hand on her shoulder. In the lamplight, his face was kindly, a small smile on his mouth.

"It'll be all right," he told her, and left her, his hand slipping from her shoulder, Miranda catching it for a moment, a brush of her fingertips against his.

She heard his bedroom door shut. She waited a moment, listening to the soft tick of the clock on the mantel, the wind against the window. Then she went to the bookshelf, to the section of cracked spines and worn leather, of titles written in languages that had not been spoken save by scholars for hundreds of years.

Strange things. Strange tales. She drew the heavy books forth, one by one, setting them on Sal's desk. Sitting, she began to look through them. She found the one Eva must have been talking about, a massive tome bound in deep black hide, filled with etchings. The cave wall was near the middle, marked by a piece of paper. It looked like a tomb carving- four crests, like Eva had said, the mermaid, the horse, a sun-and-moon, a flower impaled by swords. And in the middle, a curious design of light and dark rays.

She flipped through more of the book, read the strange names. The families, ancient and venerated, descended from the four founders of the village. The kings had done many strange things, so the book said, had dug deep within the earth to search for their gods, and had been blessed in turn. Affinity for power; abilities beyond belief. Healing, and long life. And above all, holiness. A connection to the Black God itself. A connection to the divine.

Miranda would have scoffed in company. Now, alone, the room dark save for the single lamp on the desk, she began to wonder. The folk in the munitions factory; Claude Moreau's claim to nobility.  Wolf-sickness. Perhaps her mother had become a monster because she was not...right, because her affinity was not strong enough. If she had been from one of the families who had escaped the Cataclysm, perhaps she would have become divine, like them.

Well, Eva would certainly be disappointed she wasn't a princess. Miranda kept leafing through the books. Monsters, wolves. Tales of the crystal city. Tales she knew. But one thing persisted, through fairy-tale and myth, through legend and holy writ. That the Black God remembered all. That the Black God never forgot the dead. That it dreamed of them, sleeping thing, and that it would remember them forever.

Miranda hoped it would remember the travelers who had died in the next village over, that they would walk in its dream until the end of the world. And she sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Black God that they had not come here, that they had not entered her small, safe world, that they had not destroyed this happiness that felt, at once, to her, like a sphere of glass.

Perfect, and breakable.

***

Nothing to be afraid of. Both of them had said that. They said it in the way of hunters scoffing the wolves would never find them in the dark, and wearing a warding amulet anyway, and glancing behind them at every step, watching the woods for the first green glimmer of eyes. And when the baker and his wife woke in the night to the strained coughs of their youngest son, and rushed in to find his skin blue and his breathing strangled, they knew the wolves had come anyway, that they had crept in their footsteps, that they had been clever, and stealthy, and silent.

Salvatore was away for days on end, not sleeping, barely eating; the baker's son died, and then his sister, and then the baker himself, and the coughing was replaced with weeping, his wife kneeling in the village square as her entire family was taken from their house and given to the dirt.

Her wails had filled the night before she was gathered up and taken inside by a neighbor. Miranda, standing awake at the window, had heard them. She would never forget them, as long as she lived, just like she would never forget her father's pleas to the priests, to the gods.

Has the Black God abandoned us? she'd cried. We were good. We were devout. Saints, please, tell me why. Why. Why would you do this to us?

Why would you betray us like this?

Miranda watched the baker and his children be buried. This time there was no sense of the natural turn of things. The skies were still blue, the sunlight still dense and golden. But she no longer took the river path home. She rushed straight back to her door, to Eva, whom she did not let attend the funerals. She didn't let her go to school. She taught her herself in Sal's study, and there, watching her daughter industriously study in her books, watching her learn and grow and make connections and understandings, she was almost able to forget her fears.

This will all be over soon, anyway, she told herself, told Sal, who paused, then agreed with her. "There are less this week than last," he said. "A temporary illness. A summer flu."

"It can't be wolf-sickness-"

"It isn't," he said. "It came from the next village over. I asked the farmers there about it. The travelers came through and after they died, several of their people did as well."

"How are they faring now?"

Another pause. Sal had looked out the window, his brow creased, his clothes rumpled. He looked older, Miranda thought, far older than he had just a few weeks before.

"Salvatore," Miranda said, more loudly. "How are they now?"

"I haven't heard from them," he admitted. He scraped his hand over his hair, lowering his head. "Not for...not since...what day is it? What month? Remind me..."

She did so gently. "July."

He looked up at her and smiled. "July," he said. "This should be a good time for you. For Eva. For all of us."

"The Black God has strange ways," Miranda said, with a wry smile of her own.

"I never knew you to be devout."

"I'm trying it on for size. What do you think? Shall I put on robes, hide my hair, spout out nonsense about saints and devotion?"

"If it would help this..." His gaze drifted, becoming hard and hollow.

"Sal." She took his face in her hand and turned it to hers. She smoothed her thumb beneath his eyes, one at a time. "Sal. This will all be made better. You'll make it better. I know you will."

"I will." He clasped her hands in his own. "Tomorrow. We'll go to the fields and spend the day in the sunlight. You, and me, and Eva. It's been too long since I've seen your face by daylight. What do you think?"

"I think that would be good for us all."

The next day's sun hung heavy and golden as an egg yolk, its light melting. The field by the lake shimmered. Miranda had packed a hamper, and together, she and Eva and Sal left the house, skirting the village, staying well away from the other townsfolk. They spread their blankets in the grass; they ate bread and goats' cheese and honey; they lay back, all three of them with hands clasped, to watch the wind move the clouds through the sky.

They spoke about anything but the sickness, about anything but the darkness, about anything but the wolves.

The light became heavy, became golden as the honey. The drone of bees grew louder. Miranda watched one crawl over their hamper, its legs laden with pollen. It seemed impossible, once again, that malady could enter their lives.

But she could not forget the baker's wife's wails. How could the Black God have done this? How could it betray them?

Eva was sleeping. She'd dozed off a while before, her hands curled under her face, her eyes flickering behind her lids. A restless dreamer. Miranda sat by her side, careful not to disturb her as she slept. She stroked her cheek, her hair, delicate as porcelain.

"I hope she's having good dreams," Salvatore said.

He knelt on Eva's other side. He still looked exhausted, worn-down, but in this light he might have simply been tired. He watched Eva, too, his brow slightly creased.

"She will," Miranda said. "This will all seem like a dream to her, one day."

"Will it?"

"Yes. Of course it will. A dream to us all."

Sal lifted his head. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were bright. "It's getting worse," Sal whispered. "The herbs...the remedies...they don't work. It's...strong. Strange. I don't know if..."

His voice crumbled. He took a ragged breath. "If I'm good enough for it, if I'm...clever enough..."

He shook his head. "Saints," he muttered.

"Oh, Sal." Miranda brushed a fleck of pollen off his cheek. "Sal, you are good enough. You'll make this right. I have faith in you. More than I have in any saints or gods."

"That's blasphemy," he said, lightly teasing.

"Then call me a heretic."

"Miranda...if it all...becomes worse..." He seemed to want to say more, then shook his head again. "No, no, I don't want to invite bad spirits."

"No. Say it."

He fastened his gaze on her once more. "Very well," he said. "If you, or if Eva, becomes ill. I will do everything in my power to cure you."

"I don't matter," Miranda said quickly. "If I become ill, do what you've done for the others. But if Eva does...please. Help her. Cure her."

"She won't become ill-"

"If she does, promise me," Miranda said. She took his hand and gripped it, hard. "Promise me, Sal. If Eva gets ill, you will go to the ends of the earth to get her back. You will do anything it takes. Anything!"

"Miranda-"

"Promise me," she said again. "Promise me."

"I promise," Sal said. "Miranda-"

She realized she was gripping his hand too tight. He winced as she let go, as she pulled back, as she stared at him across the blanket. Her mouth tasted bitter. Her heart pulsed in her throat, so fast it made her feel ill.

It was a while before either could speak again.

"I promise," Salvatore said, at last. "I will do anything. But it won't come to that. We're here, Miranda. We're all right. And we'll make it through this together."

Miranda watched the grass, the clouds. The summer sun on the lake, more brilliant a gold than the gilt icons in the church. Eva woke, and looked up at her, and smiled. This is the place, Miranda thought, where what we love will never die.

A dream, a memory. A promise.

Please, O Black God.

Please, please, please, please.

***

And when Eva woke in the night, and when Eva began to cough, and did not stop, Miranda prayed again. Please. Please. Please. She watched Salvatore by Eva's bedside, watched him cover her daughter's face with a damp cloth to relieve the pain of her coughs, watched him mix his herbs and medicines with shaking hands. She watched Eva twist and thrash on the bed when the medicines failed, watched her skin turn blue. She held her daughter's hands. She felt them clutch at hers, as if to life, as if they could hold one another hard enough, as if their will could be strong enough, they might thwart even God itself.

But they were, all of them, only human.

And when the dawn broke, and touched Miranda's face with the faint warmth of day, Eva was already gone.

***

She dreamed in the dark. Still, and cold.

The priests came, and they lay silver and aconite and mountain ash over her crossed hands. And Miranda came, and she knelt by the bedside, by her daughter's body.

Fix your braids, sweet girl. Let's go home.

She went away for a while. Inside, it was good, it was warm. A dream. This was a dream. You promised, Papa. You promised this was the place. When Salvatore and the others found her screaming, they took her somewhere else. Like the baker's wife.

That was what Sal told her, anyway. She didn't remember. It was all dark. Eva wasn't there. Sometimes it would be all right. Sometimes she could eat, or drink tea, or even walk around the yard. But then she would remember.

"You promised," she told him, and his face would crumple, and she wanted to rake her nails down it. You promised. You promised.

You lied.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, every time.

"You were right," she said. "You weren't good enough." And he would leave her, and close the door, and the door between them would close, too, and every time, she wished it would never open again, that he would leave her alone forever, that everything would.

It could, she thought.

So she made her body move. She made herself crawl- through the window, to the dirt. She didn't know when it was. The wind had a bite to it. Autumn, perhaps. The whole village was silent. Most everyone had died, she gathered, and the churchyard was too small for them, so they had to be buried on the hills, in potter's fields and in the dark forests, ten to a grave. It didn't matter anymore. She walked, as dead as the rest of them, her body simply refusing to believe it.

The stars shone overhead; Miranda tipped up her face to look at them. The dirt changed to grass under her bare feet, changed to stones. The lights of the village slid away around her, and the dark came in, endless and absolute. She didn't know where she was going, just that she didn't want to stop until she fell.

The trees enclosed her. She was wandering toward the crag, she realized, the four kings on their hill. She kept walking. The cave mouth was there, just an axe split between two stones. She didn't slow. She stepped inside.

She didn't know this cave. She'd never seen it before. The echoes of her footsteps rang away, and away, and away before her. Somewhere in the depths ran water, perhaps; it might have been voices, a crowd of whispers far, far away.

Her feet slipped over a carved lip. Steps, she realized, feeling her way by touch. Crude steps hacked into the cave floor. Faint points of light glowed on the walls. She touched one- a crystal, the kind that was common to the valley. Good. They would guide her way.

They thickened as she wound down, and down, and down, the stairway a narrow shaft plunging deeper and deeper into the earth. No one would ever find her down here. That was good. That was right.

Pulse.

And when the whispering of water rose to surround her, she knew she had found a place further away than anything, further away than her mind had the capacity to grasp.

Pulse.

It was there. In the darkness. There were statues of saints peering from niches in the cave walls, and then there it was. She felt it. Inside her. Inside everything. It was inevitable, she understood. She stopped. Her feet found the last step, then- the cave floor. A thin sheet of water covered it, weeping from some hidden source deeper underground still. Her footsteps were silent on it. She was silent: her own heartbeat, the singing wonder in her nerves, her aching feet, abraded by her barefoot walk over the stony ground above. Even her thoughts were drowned out by its sheer force. The pulse was too great, a vibration that hummed through her, through the cave, through the very matter of the air, down to the deepest whorl of her brain.

Pulse.

"Mother?"

She was there.

"Eva?" Miranda whispered.

She took form in the darkness. A little girl. Blonde braids mussed, eyes wide and bright. "Mother," Eva said, and behind her- the thing. Immense. Each pulse thrummed from it. Swollen and vast, meaty and raw as one of Salvatore's wet specimens, but huge, a hundred times the size of any creature she'd seen before, a thousand, hanging before her from the heights of the cavern.

Her vision swam, her mind struggling to comprehend it. She couldn't take it in, not fully. It couldn't be a child. But it was, it was, curled before her, so huge it seemed to fill her vision, a weight on her mind. A tide of whispers. Endless. A holy cave. Sacred air. Somewhere on it she tasted incense, tasted flowers, tasted mold, bitter as regret.

That place is here, Miranda.

She knew it like she knew her own face, like she knew her father's voice, like she knew what it was to lose and lose and lose again.

This is the place where what we love will never die.

"The Black God," Miranda said. Her voice broke into sobs, into echoes. She pressed her trembling hand over her mouth. Her legs shook.

She'd found it. Glory, glory. The thing the refugees of the crystal city had searched for in vain for so many long years, had followed their saints toward, had believed in when there was nothing else to believe. It was here. It was real.

And she was too late.

She fell to her knees.

"You have to get up, Mother," Eva said. She knelt by her. She stroked Miranda's hair. "It's time for you to be strong."

"I can't. You're gone. It's all gone."

"No." Her cold fingers touched Miranda's chin, gently tilting her head up. Her eyes were dark, sorrowful. "Don't you feel it? Its heart. Your heart. You can change it. You can change everything. Don't you understand?"

"I don't want to," Miranda whispered.

"Yes, you do. The Black God dreams, Mother. Even now. Of you. And of me." She smiled, small and sweet. "Everything can come back. Everything can live again. If only you do what I know you can do. For me."

Miranda reached up, cupping her hand around Eva's small face, the yearning unbearable. "How?" she breathed.

"Come with me."

"I...I don't understand..."

"You don't have to." The pulse strengthened. It seemed to emanate from beneath her now, from behind her, from inside her. "You just have to love me. You just have to remember."

"I will," Miranda said. "Forever."

"You just have to promise."

"Anything."

"I love you, too," Eva whispered, and she stood, and held out her hand, and Miranda took it. The darkness rose around her, the pulse almost as unbearable as the pain, the grief, taking it, replacing it. Eva's hand became slick, ropy flesh. Warm, and wet. Unfurling, and grasping. Pulling her in. Deeper, and deeper.

It took her mind in its grip, easy as she'd taken her daughter's hand, and cracked it open.

In it-

Thick. Organic. Something living, surrounding her, suffocating her; it forced its way down her throat and she choked. It stopped her scream. This was nothing, it reassured her. Temporary. Her mind was bigger than that, cracked into pieces and spilling out and out and out. Stories. Monsters. The howl of a blizzard. Gunshots in the cold. A faraway sunrise. A mountain range, hiding ghastly secrets. A city consumed in flames. The dead, rising again. A child, black-haired and pale, summoning wave after wave of monsters from the depths of her grief. A vast stirring of black wings. They burst from her back, from her arms, from her throat, tearing their way out of her.

They took her further, higher. The world spread beneath her. The monsters lurked behind the trees, in the shadows. A girl ran from them, blonde hair whipping behind her, searching, searching, reaching for the golden light on a metal horse's forehead, her fingers brushing it as if to grasp it and tear it free.

Eva! Miranda reached for her, like the girl reached for the golden light, but the girl ran on, deeper and deeper into the trees. Miranda broke into a run to follow her, but she was so fast, and the Black God was there, speaking to her, its voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere, from her own tongue, burning her lips under its indomitable power.

Gifts we gave-

Take them. Take them, and do as I say, and I will be yours. I will bring your salvation. I will give you everything you lost, returned anew.

As the midnight moon rises on black wings-

There is no death. There is only my dream. And you are one with my dream.

There is someone who will love us in another time. There is always someone waiting for us. I was waiting, Mother. A long, long time. For you.

Where was she? Where was Eva?

She is waiting for you, too.

Give her to me- please, I will do anything-

Little prophet.

I know you will.

It all shattered like glass, and before her- an abyss. An endlessness of stars. She was in them, flying, or maybe falling. She reached out, clawing, searching. She slipped between the stars. And on the far side, beyond the darkness-

-For a moment-

-For just a moment-

Eva-

***

"Miranda!"

She heard the voice from a long way off, echoing down the steps. She kept walking, silent, breathing hard, each one searing down her throat and into her lungs like fire. It didn't matter. She held the bundle in her arms, feeling it shift and squirm in her arms.

She rocked it a little. "Hush, now," she whispered. "It's all right. Isn't it? Everything's going to be all right now."

"Miranda!"

She saw the scrap of sky above. Cool wind brushed her tear-abraded face. She stepped from the cave a few minutes later, from cold stone and onto grass and loose stones. A lamp burned in the darkness, and in it she made out Salvatore's face, sweet and familiar and haggard with worry. He saw her, too, and let out a half-laugh, half-sob of pure, pathetic relief.

"Saints," he choked. He set the lantern down and rushed to her, hands outstretched. He grabbed her; he pulled her in. "Miranda- I...I thought you were gone, I thought-"

"I'm here, Sal," Miranda whispered.

Maybe it was something in her voice. He set her back, looking her up and down. Taking in, perhaps, the sticky black liquid that covered her, matting her hair and dripping behind her. The ragged remnants of her clothes. The new, unnatural color of her eyes, gold as gilt. The bundle in her arms, her overskirt torn away to swaddle the form within. "Are you...are you all right? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head back and forth. "No, Sal. I'm not hurt."

"What happened to you? Where did you go?"

"I found her."

"...What?"

"She's alive. Eva. She's alive. It's going to be all right." She smiled, suddenly. Tears slid down her face. "Look, Sal. Look."

She lifted the bundle, pulling the fabric away from the thing inside. Curled. Fetal. Tentacles unfurled; they grasped at the air, winding around Miranda's hands, her throat, her torso, as if trying to pull itself to her, as if trying to hold her in their embrace. A baby that was not a baby. A high, thin keen filled the air; Salvatore recoiled, his face drained of color, his hands shaking.

"What is that?" he stammered. "Miranda, what the hell is that?"

"You should have had faith." She covered the miraculous child's face again. "The Black God is real. It was always real. All the stories. And now I know what to do. All the bad things must end. And I will make it right again."

"You...you need to come back to the village-" He half-turned from her, going back for the lantern. "You need to rest, you need medicine..."

"There was a time for that, Sal. And you could have saved her. You said. You promised. But you didn't." She bent. There were loose stones on the ground. She found one about the size of a fist, with a sharp, jagged edge. "She died because of you. But it's all right. She'll live again because of you, too."

"Miranda?" Salvatore said, looking up. "Why-?"

His next word cut off in a cry of pain as she brought the rock down against his head.

He dropped, like a puppet with its strings cut. Miranda smashed the rock into his head again. Again. Again. The sound was wet. He'd stopped moving after the first few blows, but she kept going. The pain sets you free. Soon she was drenched in blood as well as the Black God's fluids. She didn't stop. Not until the starlight shone cold and bright, not until the blood was black beneath it.

Miranda dropped the rock. The bundle in her arms wriggled. "Shh," she said to it. "It's all right, sweet creature. Mother's here." She rocked it until it was quiet again.

She knelt by Salvatore's side. His hands were splayed; she took one. Cold, but there was still a faint pulse in his wrist, struggling.

Failing.

"I loved you, Sal," she whispered to him. "I really did. And I know you loved me. So you must understand now. You must understand that this is a gift."

He always carried a pocket knife. She found it in his coat, and unfolded it. The blade was sharp. It would do.

She lay him on his back. She folded his hands over his heart. There was no aconite, no silver, no mountain ash, but the starlight would make a fine anointment enough. She smoothed her palm down his limbs, over his lips. There was little left of the rest of his face to touch and sanctify. Methodically, she unbuttoned his waistcoat, his shirt, exposing the smooth plane of skin beneath.

She bent to his face, and she kissed him, and she straightened, and she set the knife to the clean skin, and as the Black God's gift in her arms began to keen and writhe again, as the pressure in her mind clenched down, as she tasted blood and mold and the bitter howl of agony and hope, she plunged the knife in.

[myimaginedcorner]

HAPPY NEW YEAR: A/MC

WARNING: Potential spoilers for one of A's Good Endings. Non-explicit but steamy romantic content.

“Shit, it’s so late!!”

I haven’t realised how lunchtime found us still lying in bed, the winter sun too weak to wake my southern instincts. Covering up my skin with a thick sheet, I check upon the clock with an annoyed sigh, asking myself where have I lost my sense of time and schedule. For my whole life, there was one reason or another to follow an agenda, waking at dawn only to leave as stars filled up the sky. Call it boring – I call it a survival trick of mine.

And yet, since my regular stays at Nadya’s main palace, many of my habits changed.

“Urgh.”

Including sleeping alone.

I turn my head to see a blonde, dishevelled monarch, whose green eyes dare not open to the passing day. Enjoying their first night of proper rest, A seems to take them just as seriously as they take their work, squeezing every last bit of sleep that they can get from every passing moment. It’s cute, to see futile resistance to the life ahead. However, I cannot let them lose on experiences out of a lazy wish.

“Wake up. We’re going to be very, very late.”

My insistence does little effect, as does my brief touch of their warm, pale nose. Wrinkling their forefront, A turns around, escaping my attempts, a blanket covering their head in a protective manner. I roll my eyes, my smile growing wider, slier. Oh well, you’ve started it.

With a big oof, the Leader greets my leg upon their side, followed by other parts of my warm body. As needy as a cat, I stretch around them, head upon their arm, my fingers carefully gripping sides of their warm sheet.

“A….” I warn them one last time, sweetly, threateningly.

“Leave me, tell them I died…” is all I hear as answer. Wrong answer, obviously.

With a quick jerk, I pull their blanket from their head, forcing the light to touch their pretty face.

“Uh-uh, if you die, I’ll have to do everything. And I don’t want to,” I point out with a laugh, enjoying the view of their squinting face.

“How nice of you… now I see your reasons to keep me alive…” they mumble back, and I laugh louder.

“Of course! I want you to do aaaall the work, while I enjoy the pleasures.”

Two emeralds finally open, looking into my eyes. Locking our sights, I smile, shameless in my position, bold in my words we both know are quite fake. I love to tease them. They’re so cute and funny. And best of all, they never can resist my smile.

“So, you’re just leeching from me?” stretching their arms, A leaves their muscles on display, their forms perfectly shaped under their skin.

I pass my fingers over them, sketching their shapes, enjoying the tight feeling of a body made by Nature’s best designers.

“Exactly,” I purr, nodding.

Big mistake.

With a brief gesture, effortless and simple, the Leader pins me to the bed, now being one to land upon me. Their pupils are fixated on my lips, their heated chest revealing a fast heartbeat. Their arms, holding my own against the mattress, need little effort to make me behave, for I’m more than willing to stay still and quiet. My own lungs shrink, my heart forgetting how to beat. Even now, it still awes me, how beautiful my partner is.  

“And what’s the gain for me?”

Their whispers sounds near my closed lips, their breathes melting my thoughts and leaving my mind blank. For a brief moment, I forget how to react, how to speak, even how to think. All I know is their presence close to me, and how I want them to get closer.

Alas, I bite my lip, bringing back sour reality.

“Currently, a reminder that we’re still late.”

Indeed, we are. We need to get out of our bed, dress up and have some food. Then, we must get prepared for the big night ahead, a celebration common for all human people. Once in a year, our moon predicts the coming of new cycles, its surface painted gold by our star. Once in a year, the night becomes day, refusing to give back the light it steals from its bright sibling. Once in a year, all turns around, Nature preparing for a new beginning. Once in a year, all humans go outside to watch the world go back in time.

In Hero, it’s the time for new predictions, monarchs giving speech about what Seers have said. Vannais, however, follows no such traditions… instead, it’s a memorial of a full year of freedom. Of people that they’ve lost this year, and who they’ve gained. Of failures that they suffered, and victories they claimed. Of strategies, of history. Of voluntary choices, taken by each mind. That’s what Vannais sees themselves doing. And with that, a speech to Memory is given by the Leader, this time, highlighted by the end of war.

Yes, that’s right, no more war. Vannais is entering a peaceful existence. And with it, us. Together.

“But we can spare ourselves a couple of minutes, can’t we?”

A brief, passing kiss brings me back, erasing from my mind the epic thoughts of our achievements. Lying in bed, it’s only them and me, two hearts tied by a love that has survived all struggles. No Leader, and no Saviour. Just us.

I smile, passing my hands over their arms. Well, if we’re swift at changing…

“Yes… yes, we can spare some time,” I purr back, leaning for a kiss that I’m gladly given.

A little more, from a whole life to spend next to each other’s side.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Feathers to Fly

Prompt: if you ever felt like continuing Feathers for the Pillows, I'd love to see the knights finding out about Merlin's wings, maybe he finally tells them... and then everyone helping him take care of his wings and exercise them (maybe flying?) I love this story so much and reread it constantly! - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none!

Pairings: merthur

Word Count: 2802

Be extremely careful what you promise the heirs of Camelot, Merlin has learned, for once you've given them your word, they will hunt you down to the ends of the earth to ensure you keep it.

That's how he feels at least when it's Arthur waking him up the next morning, insisting that they go and find out if Merlin can fly.

"Alright, alright, you great prat," Merlin grumbles as he drags himself upright, "I'm up. Now piss off."

"You never piss off in the mornings when I tell you, I don't see why I should piss off now."

"Maybe you'd have a bit more sympathy for me."

"Perhaps this will be the push you need to start showing me the proper respect in the morning."

Merlin snorts, flexing a wing and plucking a stray feather from the ground. "If I started showing you the 'proper respect,' you'd drag me to Gaius and insist something was wrong."

Arthur huffs and flicks Merlin's forehead but doesn't deny it. Smart. "Come on. Let's get some food in you."

"Why are you down here? You're the one that gets all the better food and I'm the one who has to go get it."

"Exactly. So get your lazy arse out of bed and fetch our breakfast."

Despite the arrogance and superiority oozing from his words, Arthur's hands are gentle and sure as he helps Merlin stand, motionless as Merlin re-orients himself on the floor and shakes his head a few times to clear it. His wings twitch, still not quite used to being seen so blatantly. Arthur notices—Arthur notices a lot of things, apparently—and rests a hand on his spine.

"Alright?"

"Yeah. Just give me a moment."

"Of course."

And just like that, there's no more teasing. No more roughness, no more brashness. Just Arthur, standing there, quiet as you please, letting Merlin get himself used to having someone here.

It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

"Okay," he says a few moments later, "clothes."

"Right."

Merlin stifles a noise at watching Arthur stare down the wardrobe like it's an oncoming army. "Tell you what, I'll get dressed and you can go get the food from the kitchens."

"Are you the prince now?"

"I'm the one who actually knows how to dress himself." He shoos Arthur out of the room and takes a deep breath.

Okay. Okay.

He's shown Arthur his wings. His wings that he knew about already. The wings that Arthur and Morgana and Gwen and Gaius all know about. His wings. The wings they want to see if he can fly with. The wings that he—

"Ah!"

"Merlin?" A few short footsteps later and Arthur's back, crouching down to hover around Merlin as he grabs for his shoulders.

"Sorry," Merlin gasps, "sorry, sorry."

"Don't apologize," Arthur scolds with far more concern than heat, "just let me help you. What's the matter? Do they hurt very much?"

"I molted not too long ago, they're still—" he stifles another noise— "they're still sore."

"Do you need to be carried?"

Merlin stares at him like he's grown two heads. "Who are you and what have you done with the world's biggest prat?"

Arthur cuffs him halfheartedly across the shoulder. "I'm serious, Merlin. Can you walk? Do we need to get Gaius in here so he can have a look at you? What's wrong?"

"Yeah, I'm serious too."

"What, don't think I'd care?"

"No!"

The instant the word leaves his lips, he wants to claw it back, especially when Arthur looks at him like he's just gutted a newborn pup right in front of him. He swallows, feeling the weight of Arthur's gaze and ducks away.

"…sorry."

"Oh, Merlin," Arthur's voice sighs, reaching out and carding his hand through his hair. "I don't blame you. I've not…I really messed things up, didn't I?"

"What?"

"By not telling you I knew. Or not acting on it in any meaningful way." The hand in his hair moves to tuck stray bits back from his face. "I…I didn't mean to."

Merlin takes a deep breath, slightly pushing into the touch. "I know."

"Come on," Arthur says in a much softer voice, reaching down to offer Merlin his hand, "hold on to me. I'll get you upstairs."

Standing up on its own is alright, and so is walking—once Merlin gets dressed properly, that is. Still, there is a certain kind of relief that fills him once they're out of the way of the castle halls and safely behind the doors to Arthur's chambers. Merlin lets out a long breath and his wings twitch, pulling slightly against the fabric of his tunic.

"You can let them out again if you want."

"I swear you just want to see me shirtless."

Arthur chuckles into his ear and Merlin startles. When did Arthur get that close?

"If that was all I wanted, you'd know it." And before Merlin can unpack that sentence anymore than he already is, Arthur turns to the table where the food has appeared. Has it been here the whole time? "I had another servant fetch it."

"Wait, when did you tell them to do that?"

Arthur gives him a strange look. "We passed Malwen not five minutes ago. You were standing right next to me. Did you not hear me?"

Merlin just gestures helplessly at his back. "The pain…"

Arthur sobers. "Right. Come here and sit, then, let's get food in your belly."

A strange thing, it is, to sit at the table he's served for so long and get to eat from it too. Arthur keeps eyeing his plate disapprovingly and putting more food on it.

"No wonder you're so skinny," he grumbles once when Merlin looks at him in shock after receiving two of his sausages, "just eat."

"I'm perfectly fine, actually."

"Oh, is that why I see you almost faint when you stand up too quickly on cold days?"

"Well…"

"Eat, Merlin," Arthur says, prodding him with the handle of his fork, "that's an order."

"Oh, it's an order, is it?"

But the smell of the food is intoxicating and Merlin can't exactly hide the way his mouth waters as he keeps eating. Arthur grumbles something that sounds like I told you so, but he can't quite hide the way he smiles when he thinks Merlin isn't looking.

Before they've even finished breakfast, there's a cursory knock on the door and in burst Morgana and Gwen, each looking more excited by the moment as they bustle into the room.

"So," Morgana says, throwing herself into the chair next to Merlin and ignoring Arthur's squawk of surprise, "are you excited to learn if you can fly?"

"Uh…"

"Let him eat, Morgana," Gwen says softly, even as she reaches out to ruffle Merlin's hair, "it's not every day you figure out if you can fly."

"Oh, no, please," Arthur says dryly as Morgana shrugs and helps herself to some of the food, "by all means, have what you want."

"Why, thank you. It seems your court manners are improving by the day."

"You poured your wine onto the last noble that visited, you can't talk."

"Only because he insinuated that I'd be of no use other than something to look at."

Gwen glances at Merlin and the two roll their eyes at the siblings as Merlin finishes his breakfast. No sooner has he pushed the plate away and drained the last of his goblet do all of them perk up eagerly. He scoffs. "You'd think I were coming to the kennels with a slice of meat."

"You're not a piece of meat, Merlin."

"You're a winged piece of meat. Hey!" Arthur swats at Morgana as she hits his arm. "Don't hit me!"

"Children," Gwen scolds, standing and helping Merlin clear away the dishes, "now, Merlin, is there somewhere you'd like to go?"

"Go?"

"To test your wings, of course."

"There's a large field about a league from here," Arthur says as he and Morgana stand up too, "it was supposed to be a farming field but the soil isn't quite ready yet. That should be big enough."

Another twinge in Merlin's back as the three of them begin planning. His wings shift about uncomfortably. Something coils and curdles in his stomach.

"Merlin?"

Arthur's voice comes from beside him again, his hand suddenly warm and solid on his back.

"Merlin," he asks gently, "are you alright? You don't look so good."

"I…" He swallows. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Morgana says, her attention turning to him as well, "is something wrong? Let us help."

"Why—why is this happening?"

"Why is what happening?"

"Why are you all being…so nice to me?" He fiddles with his hands as Arthur begins to rub soothing circles into his back. "This—this doesn't happen. You don't do this. Not—not like this."

"Do what, Merlin," Arthur says softly, "take care of you?"

"You're not taking care of me," Merlin spits, irritation sharpening his tongue, "you're talking about me like I'm some—some—some exotic beast brought in to be a spectacle. Like I'm some thing that you want to see perform."

"Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry," Gwen says, reahcing out for his hands. He takes hers and squeezes. "I didn't—I didn't mean for it to come off that way."

"No, neither did I." Morgana comes closer too. "I just wanted you to see that it wasn't bad. That you didn't feel like you had to hide it from us. That we accept you for what you are, you don't have to shave bits and pieces off so we'll tolerate you."

"You're my Merlin," Arthur agrees, an arm wrapping gently around his waist, "wings or no wings."

Merlin turns and buries his head in Arthur's shoulder, taking a shaky breath. His wings twitch and he winces, feathers hooking into the fabric of his tunic and pulling until it groans. Arthur makes a noise and reaches for the hem, carefully freeing it from the worst of the hangups and smoothing it down without touching the wings.

"You don't have to try flying if you don't want," he says, "but let's at least get you somewhere you can stretch, okay?"

"Okay."

"It's settled, then. Off we go."

Merlin stays close by Arthur's side as the women lead the way, chattering on about picnics and food and baskets. Arthur keeps a hand out for Merlin to take if he needs to, wary of how close others get so as not to accidentally brush against Merlin's back. They manage to get all the way down to the staircase outside the kitchens before they suddenly run into the knights.

"Sire," Leon says, taking in the four of them, "My Lady. Where are you rushing off to this morning?"

"A picnic," Morgana says, "the weather is simply perfect for it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin sees Lancelot staring at him. He looks over and nods once. Lancelot smiles and steps a tad closer.

"Would you be terribly opposed," he asks in a voice meant only for him, "if you were to travel with an escort?"

"A-all of you?"

"Only if you want."

Leon, through whatever magic he has to always be perfectly observant of everything that goes on, turns to look at him. "It would be terribly remiss of us to allow the heirs of Camelot to leave the safety of the city without proper protection. Not that they could not protect themselves, of course."

"Good save, mate," Elyan mutters as Morgana raises an eyebrow.

"U-um—" Merlin glances around— "sure."

"Excellent!" Gwaine claps his hands. "I've been craving a good sandwich."

"You literally had one last night."

"Yes, and I woke up craving it again."

By the time they actually set out from Camelot, it's a proper caravan. All the knights are mounted in their signature red cloaks, Gwen and Morgana ride in the center with Gwaine and Percival behind them, Lancelot and Elyan either side. Arthur is in front, as always, with Merlin by his side, Leon just behind. The soft and sweet smell of a forest after rain follows them as they trek underneath the trees to a wide open field.

"Shall we eat first?" Gwaine takes the reins from Morgana. "I'm starving."

"You're always starving."

"Nothing wrong with putting food in a grown man's belly."

Gwen rolls her eyes fondly and helps Merlin set up the picnic as the knights tend to the horses. Soon enough everyone's sat under the sprawling canopy of a large tree, talking about everything and nothing at all.

It's…nice.

But soon enough, Gwaine tosses aside an apple core and stretches, leaning back on his hands. "So, why'd you actually want to come out here?"

Merlin chokes on his water. "Well…"

He looks up to see expectant eyes on him.

"…so I could stretch."

"Stretch?" Percival tilts his head. "Stretch what?"

"My—my wings."

Silence.

Then Gwaine smacks Percival's shoulder. "I knew it! Pay up!"

"Wait, wait, you—you what?"

Percival grumbles as he hands over two coins. "I thought it'd just be the magic, okay?"

"Magic that leaves feathers lying everywhere?"

"Merlin," Lancelot says softly when poor Merlin looks terrified that all of these people somehow figured out that he has wings, what is he going to do? "Merlin, it's alright. We only had hunches, nothing firm."

"Your secret is safe with us," Leon agrees, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder, "I swear it."

Gwaine snorts. "Yeah, don't think anyone's going to be a big enough idiot to try and mess with you."

Merlin can't help but scoff at that, only to see deadly serious looks on each and every face. Suddenly a few sudden ends to visits from nearby nobles make a little more sense. "You…don't care?"

"What, that you've got wings? No, not particularly."

"Nah."

"You're you, Merlin, weird comes with it."

"You are still the same man I've grown to trust."

Leon simply shakes his head.

"…oh."

"Go on, then," Morgana encourages, "stretch if you need to."

Merlin takes a deep breath and the air thrums with energy. Slowly, carefully he reaches back and pulls the outer tunic over his head and his wings unfurl, soft motes of golden light emerging too as the air ripples around them. A few stray feathers drift down to the ground.

"Blimey," Gwaine mumbles, "that's brilliant."

"They're stunning," Elyan agrees, "really stunning, Merlin."

Percival silently hands another coin to Gwaine.

"Magnificent," Lancelot says.

"There you are," Leon hums, smiling as Merlin grins sheepishly at him, "I was wondering where you'd sent your magic off to."

"Wait, can you fly?"

"Gwaine!"

"What? The man has wings, I'm not allowed to ask if he can fly?"

"I don't know if I can fly," Merlin says before they can devolve into another argument, "I've—I've never tried."

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

What, indeed.

Filled with a burst of energy, Merlin stands and walks a few paces away from the blanket. Muffled whispers and shushing sounds come from behind him as he's sure everyone jockeys for a better view. It's surprisingly endearing.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Magic swirls around him, the tips of his fingers beginning to tingle. He opens his hands slowly, letting it pool in the center of his palms and swirl out again, back up his arms, to his shoulders, down into the wings. They twitch and turn, flaring out in the warm sun.

He flaps them once, twice.

The magic thrums and he opens his eyes, looking up at the sky.

When he was little, a bird fell from the sky and taught him what it was like to look up.

Now, standing in a field with his wings bared for all to see, he takes a step and launches himself upward.

Gwaine hollers as his wings beat against the wind, carrying him higher, higher, higher into the bright blue sky. He stretches out his arms to feel the air rushing against them, wings brushing the top of his skin as he swirls and dives, his magic telling him when he needs to pull up, when to tuck and roll, when to spread his wings and just feel.

He can tell he's smiling by the ache in his cheeks but he can't bring himself to care.

Every little child has dreams of flying at least once. This is so much better than anything he could've imagined.

[tenebristhequeen]

// A small silly thing for @the-delightful-temptation while you recover! :3 //

The music will start playing all over the stage room, and two spotlights will move around, before meeting at the center of the curtain.

She usually tries her number alone, in her room..this time she's using the stage..

And there she is, coming out from there and starting to sing, dressed in a rather familiar shade of blue with azure glitters scattered around to make her ahine even more.

“🎶When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more~🎶 ”

Her smile seems more radiant than any other day, moving her body as she follows the rhythm of the music, twirling around.

“🎶Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance, you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with meee~🎶 ”

Her hands crawl on her own body, sensually dancing like a snake.

“🎶Other dancers may be on the floor...🎶”

Her eyes move, glancing towards Ozzie usually sits, just for a moment, out of instinct before continuing..

“🎶Dear, but my eyes will see only you..🎶”

Her eyes close, but her body faces the "public" once again.

“🎶Only you have that magic technique..

When we sway, I go weeeeak!~ 🎶”

As her eyes stay closd, for she knows that stage as herself now, her dancing moves are soon matched and followed by a shadow that ahe had subconsciously created to help her during her number.

“🎶I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now🎶”

Tenebris voice is passionate and yet kind, as her hands meet the ones of the shadow's, dancing with her little creation, her eyes still closed, just following her instinct.

”🎶Other dancers may be on the floor🎶”

As those words return, she makes the shadow take a rather familiar shape..

“🎶Dear, but my eyes will see only you🎶”

Wide shoulders, a bit taller than her since she's still not at her full height..and also what looks like a mane.

“🎶Only you have the magic technique...

When we sway I go weak!🎶”

The Queen seems to not realize anything, too deep in her oh so dear music and singing, so focused on her passion, but this only makes her act more instinctively, allowing the shadow to move along with her, making her swing from side to side, twirling with her, letting her step away as she sings the next part, with open arms for she'll return.

“🎶I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now🎶”

Her hand move with confidence, meeting the shadow's one, letting it pull her close as they start dancing again.

“ 🎶When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more...🎶”

The shadow makes her twirl, before pulling her close again.

“🎶Like a flower bending in the breeze!

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me..🎶”

Her body moves forward, as the shadow holds her leg up a bit, as if making a tango dance move, before letting Tenebris up once again, but this time without letting her go.

“🎶 When marimbas start to play

Hold me close, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more...

Like a flower bending in the breeze!

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance, you have a way with me....🎶”

The Queen lets her body fall to the side, but the shadow quickly holds her, turning around while standing on the spot, to smoothly let her land and lay at the edge of the stage.

“🎶Stay with me, sway with me🎶”

The music ends and the lights go off, making the "familiar-shaped" shadow disappear.

The Queen opens her eyes, pulling herself up.

“ Oh my...I got a bit carried away -”

She'll then turn around, so that she can head to her room, clearing her throat as her intent of "trying her number without making too muvh noise" wasn't a proper success-

[jovrien]

I’m the kind of dirty you can’t wash off. 🤣

I kinda felt randomly slutty today so I wore this ten year old shirt that I’ve only worn twice maybe thrice lol idk but with the right lighting one can see my back, chest, nips, tummy, underwear band and belt buckle it just sucks that this mirror selfie failed to capture what I mean lol and oh it’s so breezy just like my green underwear made of the same material lol one day I’m gonna post my photo wearing it, here on tumblr lol

I just love how mahalay this shirt is lol istg

me to myself 😄

Idk man.. back in college I kind of not repeat an outfit or even a shirt more than four times every semester but now my idea of dressing up when going to the mall is just a t-shirt, khaki shorts and slides like a proper daddy with a 3-year old son and a comely wife who sucks in the kitchen but great at sucking dick lmao I’m 34 so I guess not giving a fuck is my way of life now? Believe it or don’t, since the pandemic I have never worn jeans when going out (or maybe once? idk) so I guess the pandy also made me lazy idk I remember going to 711 to buy siopao and Sprite and I was wearing the sluttiest football shorts that I wear to bed. It was real quiet at the store and the whorey cashier jokingly told the other cashier in Bisaya “hayyy sarap ng karne” and the other one said “sir oh!” tas we all kind of laughed lmao people were extra horny during the height of the pandemic so I wasn’t offended.

There in a dimly lit car, parked facing the unusually quiet town square and highway because of the pandemic, with tears running down my face, I ate my siopao after I have been sexually objectified 😌😞😡 CHZ lang 🤣

idk man.. idk anymore

Now that the world is slowly moving back to pre-pandemic vibes, I honestly miss the lockdowns and shit. Next pandemic when? Jk 😂

By the way I’m doing intermittent fasting (IF) for real for real and god at first it was so hard that I was this 🤏🏼 close to eating the bar of soap in the bathroom because it looked so yummy and I was starving but wow I never thought I could actually tame the glutton in me. From 70kg I’m now down to 65. Not too heavy now when I’m skull fuck*ng someone or sitting on their face jk JK jk 😉

Psalm 51:10 Create in me a clean heart, o God, and renew a right spirit within me.

[somewhereinthepines]

Random thought, what kind of clothes does Chris wear outside of camp? The other week when I was playing the game I got to the bit where Dylan is poking around Chris's private rooms. It was hard to see the clothes on the hangers properly because the lighting was kind of dingy. So I wondered what you thought Chris would wear on a regular day. I was thinking he's maybe not fashionable, which makes sense, because of Dylan's "fashion icon" comment while snooping. I did catch a glimpse of what looked like black trousers maybe and some kind of beige or yellow top? Which were mix match looking garments to see there. I did see he had a brown jacket in his office hanging off one of the hooks too. Then theres the picture of him with his kids, blue hoodie. It got me thinking about Ryan seeing him wearing something other than his uniform. What kind of pjs does he have, and are they just boxers or maybe those "dad" kind of pjs yk? Either way, I think Ryan would low-key eat up that vision of him (based on your fics).

Ahh imagine, early mornings, grumpy Chris out of bed with a bed head trying to take some of his pills in the bathroom. Ryan sleepily stumbling in behind him, watching him through the cabinet mirror, clinging to him from around his middle. Chris feeling agitated that morning (needs his coffee fix), but a little less so with Ryan's smell there. Knowing what he's waiting for but too shy to ask for. Morning kiss(es), which he would indulge him with, since Ryan doesn't give two shits about morning breath apparently (he wants his kisses, owed them, pay up old man, haha). Omg imagine if Chris managed to convince him to try wearing pj shorts to bed? I remember in ASB chapter 4, he liked that Ryan was wearing sports shorts. Imagine the kinds of excuses Chris could come up with "It's hot out, you don't want to over heat, do ya?" Sorry for the rambling of imagines there, they're fun to think about, haha.

i agree, he’s prob not very imaginative in that regard. i think, that his most ‘badass’ outfit will be some flannel shirt, jeans and cowboy boots lol. chris doesn’t strike me as a guy, who cares too deeply about his appearance. fully agree on that one. and like, he came from a ‘hillbilly’ (as laura put it) working family. they were implied to be wealthy at some point, but seemingly less so now. and chris most likely worked, since he was young (odd jobs and such), so he would be more practical in that sense, vs fashionable. tho he totally has some corny t-shirt or a baseball cap with some ‘dad joke’ on it. smth straight from the gift shop. a thing, that his kids always make fun of, but ryan is oddly gentle about. and oh, part of me wants to say it would totally be a ‘dad’ kind pjs, but i picture that chris got sort of ‘lazy’ about it, and just sleeps in boxers and shirt. we don’t have a lot of background on his private habits, but with time, i imagine, that chris’s mental health got worse and worse, so even putting on a proper pjs feels like a chore. an unnecessary thing to put up with. his routine rituals got more ‘simple’, and the faster he can get from one clothes into another, the better. but if ryan or his children had brought him a new set of pjs, he would have made sure to wear it to sleep everytime lol. and sure enough, ryan would have been very invested in seeing mister h wearing smth different for once. it would make a bit of a striking difference between what chris picks to wear at work and outside of it. another bit of personal info, that ryan is so hungry about. and it doesn’t even matter, if chris’s choices would have been ‘plain’ lol. like most southern dudes are indeed far from being fashion icons, haha. ryan will have to dress ‘cool’ for both of them. 

daww, ryan persistently wanting attention from chris in the morning is hella cute, esp bc he can distract chris from doing anything else. just ryan lol. and yeah, he wouldn’t really care if the morning kiss would taste like mint or not. he’s prob digs chris’s natural taste, more than mint even. and chris must have some extra taste buds, so him being hang up on kissing ryan without any other ‘fake’ flavor is very much on the table too. also funny enough, i think, that ryan would attempt to make chris coffee a few times (if he wakes up first), but it would be a hella awful one. chris would naturally endure, and drink it anyways. being like yeah, good stuff, all while slightly cringing and masking it into a smile. but ryan making awful coffee is one of those weird lil hcs, that i have lol. the kid doesn’t drink coffee himself, so he doesn’t really know how to make it properly. 

oh, the shorts. dang. if only ryan knew how much power those things hold over chris hackett, haha. if only he knew, that wearing shorts would be enough to break the camel’s back. and man, yeah, haha. it’s beyond hilarious imagining chris attempting to justify his request. all while ryan be uhhhhh wut. chris would go far and beyond just to not ask him about it openly. instead, he would hope, that ryan will either do it and don’t think about it too much. or will actually catch on and do it just to tease him. i picture, that ryan’s own pjs might be actually a pair of shorts and a long, oversized t-shirt. prob long enough to cover most of the shorts, and it’s only more oblivious that he wears them, when he stretches and t-shirt rides up. chris will be a sweaty mess from just glimpsing it once tho, haha.

and no worries! i love when you share ideas/visions! or ask questions. it's always engaging. and it’s indeed fun to think about them!