#it’s like being mesmerized by a lava lamp

[wildsaltair]

[les4elliewilliams]

can you pls write ellie talking reader through her first time having sex and just being really gentle? thank u!!

first time with loser!ellie ౨ৎ

✩ wc/cw: around 4k words ! tribbing bc😌, fingering + oral (r!receiving), corny pick up lines bc ellie's a nerd, happy trail and bushes<3 (i love body hair srry)...also shy reader??

!!mdni please!!

idk why but all i can think of is loser Ellie, so this is what you're gonna get. it sucks ass but it was fun to write so idc.

daily click・palestine masterpost・neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks.

She's such a huge women's lover, worshipping your body like it's the only and the best thing she has ever seen in her entire life, and she's so gentle with you that it makes you go insane. She'll take her time with you, and she'll say the most random shit ever during it because she's a nerd and she's awkward like that (but mostly to make you feel comfortable, especially if she can sense how nervous you are). No one can convince me otherwise.

You've been together for a few months, but she'd get nervous and pull back whenever things got too heated between you two. She would touch you, palming your titties as she explored your body, but when it came time to take things further, she'd blush furiously and freeze up at the slightest sound that escaped your swollen lips.

It made her pussy pathetically throb, and she felt almost ashamed for how her body reacted at your every touch; she didn't want to pressure you into doing anything, telling herself that if you ever were in the mood, you'd make the first move or would let her know in a way. However, considering how shy you tended to be around her, she knew you wouldn't likely make the first move. Your nerves always got the best of you in her presence; you were too nervous to actually initiate anything.

She knew she had to be the first to make a move, so she decided to test the waters one day. Her touch grew significantly bolder, her hand slipping underneath the hem of your shirt and directly touching the sensitive skin of your abdomen. She traced delicate patterns over your flesh, her fingers trailing across your body with practiced ease before reaching your boobs. Your limbs tangled together, your bodies pressing against each other as you passionately explored each other's mouths. The heat between you intensified, and you could feel her subtly grinding against you, almost to get a reaction out of you and see how far you'd let her go.

Her room was always charmingly chaotic and managed but still retained an element of disorder. Light blue walls were adorned with cute science-themed decorations while a TV softly played in the background. A lava lamp sat on her bedside table, an obsession of hers that added a soothing ambiance to the room.

Her hand gently groped your breast, her mouth leaving yours to trail a series of sweet kisses down your jawline and neck, leaving you breathless and panting, your core heating up with a growing desire. The sensations sent a fluttering wave of pleasure coursing through you, stirring up a whole menagerie inside your stomach, with pterodactyls flying freely and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. It was both exhilarating and overwhelming, all at once.

"Ellie..." You spoke her name in a hushed tone; your voice was soft and silky like butter, gently drawing her attention and pulling her out of her intense focus. Her worry and guilt immediately surfaced; the last thing she wanted was to make you uncomfortable. Yet, to her surprise, instead of discomfort or unease, she saw a whole new side to you. Your cheeks were flushed, and your eyes held a passionate intensity that she had never seen before.

"Yeah?" She couldn't help but whisper, the close proximity creating an intimate atmosphere. Her green eyes roamed over your features, drinking in every detail as if it were the first time seeing you. A single auburn lock of hair fell to the side of her face, adding to her natural, effortless beauty. She was mesmerizing, yet she remained blissfully unaware of the profound effect she had on you.

You averted your gaze for a moment, your eyes drawn to her discarded, worn-out converses lying on the floor just a few feet away from the bed. They seemed the most captivating thing at that moment, distracting you from her curious but piercing gaze. She studied you intently, her intense green eyes seemingly trying to read your thoughts, and you couldn't help but feel even more vulnerable under her scrutiny.

Her voice carried a tone of concern as she questioned, "Did I go too far?" causing your heart to fill with a swelling sense of warmth. It was almost too good to be true that such a stunning and caring person like her could genuinely love you for who you were, embracing you with all your quirks and insecurities. It was a difficult concept to fully comprehend, and at times, you found yourself doubting her sincerity, unable to fathom why someone as amazing as her would choose to be with you.

"No, no, it's not that," you hesitated for a moment, your voice quiet and uncertain as you gathered your thoughts. There was a brief pause as you swallowed, trying to suppress the nerves that fluttered in your stomach. "I lied," you blurted out, your gaze hesitantly meeting hers.

Her eyebrows knit together, her confusion evident as she gave you a puzzled look. She pulled back a little, creating space between you as she sat down directly before you, her curiosity piqued. "'bout what?"

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you as you thought about the little white lie you had told her before the two of you started dating. Your fingers nervously fiddled with the laces of your shorts. "I actually never done it before," You mumbled, your voice barely audible as a hot flush crept onto your cheeks. The heat in your face spread down your neck and chest in a wave of embarrassment, leaving you feeling flustered and exposed under her gaze. You just wanted the ground to swallow you whole at that moment.

Lying wasn't something you normally did, but when she confessed that she had been with two other girls before you, a rush of insecurity coursed through you. You felt inexperienced and vulnerable, embarrassed that, at your age, you were still a virgin. It wasn't that you hadn't had opportunities before, but rather that you were never comfortable enough with someone to take such a monumental step. However, with her, it felt different. You felt secure and at ease, and trust blossomed between you. You knew you could confide in her and she would give you precisely what you needed, fulfilling your every desire and need. That's what she was there for, after all.

Her eyebrows shot up, an expression of surprise flickering across her perfect features. A soft oh escaped her rosy lips, her head tilting slightly with confusion. Her brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of it all. "Wait, why did you lie about it?" she asked, her voice tinged with bewildered curiosity.

You gave her a slight shrug of your shoulders, "I dunno...I guess I just- I didn't want to seem- I don't know, it's embarrassing!" You burst out dramatically, your eyes darting everywhere but on your girlfriend, who was looking at you in awe.

Did she care? Not a damn bit. If you only knew how seethingly jealous she had been when you told her you had done it with your ex-girlfriend before. She was downright pissy for a whole week, and you had no idea why. Surprisingly, though, she never said a word about it. She couldn't help but feel a sense of relief knowing that no one had ever touched you that way—that she would be the one to claim you if you ever let her.

She let out a relieved huff, her words tumbling out without a second thought, drawing your entire focus. "Thank god," she muttered, a weight lifting off her chest.

"What?"

"Nothing, just- I'm glad I'm your first," She confessed, her voice tinged with a hint of bashfulness, eliciting an airy chuckle from you. "If you want me to be, that is," She added; she was a tangle of nerves, fearing that she might be pressuring you to move too quickly, pushing you into something you weren't ready for. Yet, if only she could see herself the way you saw her—the desire for her radiating from your every pore, plain as day and utterly undeniable, practically written all over your features for any blind person to see.

You nodded in agreement, a shy but confident look in your eyes. "Yeah, I think I'm ready," you whispered, your words filled with nerves and excited anticipation.

"We don't have to do anything if you're not ready," Her touch was like a delicate whisper, her thumb gliding tenderly across your cheek, leaving behind a trail of reassurance and comfort.

"No, I'm ready, I promise...and I trust you," Your timid voice's gentle timbre sent a rush of butterflies fluttering through her stomach, causing her insides to somersault recklessly. The fact that you trusted her to take the lead and guide you filled her with a special kind of flattery. Knowing that your trust in her was absolute was a unique form of validation.

Ellie gave you a brief nod in acknowledgment before closing the gap between you with a sly smirk. Her focus remained fixed on your lips as she inched closer, her eyes never straying from their destination. "We'll take it slow."

"I trust you," You repeated, your voice barely above a whisper, the words escaping your lips in a hushed tone. Your gaze locked onto hers, and in that moment, you swore you could see her eyes sparkle with unabashed excitement.

Her lips landed on yours again, kissing you gently yet with a hint of urgency. Her fingers skimmed across the bare skin of your stomach under your shirt, "Stop me if anything feels wrong," She murmured softly against your neck, trailing a trail of kisses down your neck. Your hum resonated in response, a gentle vibration of contentment and pleasure escaping you in a small, involuntary sound.

Her mouth worked its magic on your neck, painting it with a constellation of small, colorful marks. It was as though she were an artist, and your body her blank canvas, eagerly accepting everything she had to give to you. Her hands never left your breasts, gently squeezing and pinching your hardened nubs as she left feather-like kisses all over your torso, claiming you all for herself. Her knee pressed lightly against your throbbing, drenched core, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips.

A few moments later, both of your bodies were bared to each other's eager and hungry gazes. She trailed soft kisses down your body, her lips lingering as they approached the edge of your panties. She paused to take in the sight of the dark, damp spot blooming on the thin fabric of your pink underwear, her eyes lighting up with satisfaction. With deliberate slowness, she pressed a kiss just above the waistband, sending a shiver through you. Her hands gripped your thighs gently but firmly, the warmth of her touch contrasting with the cool air. She spread your legs wider, positioning them over her shoulders, her green, dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of hunger and playful intent.

Her face, poised between your thighs, radiated with beauty as she looked up at you with a mixture of desire and adoration.

What a picturesque sight, she looked even better between your thighs.

Her cheeks glowed with a rosy hue, contrasting beautifully with the smattered freckles across her face. Her eyes were wide and expressive, her pupils dilated almost as if she was under the effect of some extremely addictive drug.

"I sure am no astronaut, but I'd love to explore your universe," You couldn't help but chuckle softly at her words, the sound escaping you as she continued to pepper your inner thighs with feather-light kisses, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Her fingertips danced tantalizingly along the waistband of your panties.

"You didn't just say that," You couldn't help but giggle in disbelief.

"Oh, I did," her lips formed a small, self-satisfied grin. She loved how worked up you were getting despite you trying to hide it.

"Such a nerd."

"Hmmm...'m not," She protested softly with a slight pout on her face, slowly tugging at the hem of your panties, a silent plea for permission to continue.

You caught on to her intention almost instantly. "Take 'em off." Your command was direct.  

"You sure about this, babe?" She asked, her fingers traced along the contours of your hips. Her gaze was locked onto your face, her eyes searching yours intently for any sign of discomfort. But there wasn't any. You wanted her as much as she wanted you, and you weren't going to back down. Not now.

"Very," you reassured her.

Ellie's promise to take it slow lingers in the back of your mind. True to her word, she was taking it slow—agonizingly, deliciously slow. Her lips wandered over your inner thighs, teasing and tormenting everywhere but the one place where your need burned the most. Each kiss, each brush of her lips, was a deliberate torture, making you grow more impatient by the second, not that patience had ever been your strong suit.

Only after pleading and begging did she finally give you what you craved. The wait had left you aching for more, and the build-up only made you wetter, if that was even possible—nearly soaking the sheets of her bed.

Her breath hovered close to your wetness, coaxing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth instinctively. She gently explored your slickness with her fingers, collecting the essence of your arousal on her digits. Her smirk was a subtle hint of the satisfaction she felt, her expression one of quiet contentment as she admired the result of her touch. "Prettiest pussy I've ever fuckin' seen," she murmured under her breath, admiring your throbbing and aching core, which was begging for her touch.

You gasped sharply, your breath hitching as she touched you. Her touch was tentative and curious, trying to figure out what felt good for you and what didn't, observing your body language attentively.

Your hand instinctively found its way into her cinnamon locks, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as she feasted on you like a starved animal. She could feel the subtle twitch of your body and clit against her tongue; her movements were deliciously slow, each lick and suck intended to savor each drop of your essence and relish the taste of you.

She had been fantasizing about this moment for a while now, touching herself at the thought of it, at the thought of you writhing and squirming in her hands, moaning for her and giving her the prettiest sounds and expressions you had to offer. And it was just like in her little fantasy. You were so ethereal, so precious, so gorgeous. None of her ex's were even close to you, you were something else; tasting like you were the one for her.

"Feels so good, El," You couldn't help but let out a breathy moan; your hands found their way to her head, gently pushing her closer to your core. Her fingers tightened around the plush curves of your hips, digging into the soft flesh as she allowed you to guide her.

She moaned in response to your words, her middle finger gently teasing your entrance. Her green eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching for any sign to stop, but all she saw was your blissed-out expression. "Can I?" she asked, her voice breathless as she took a moment to fill her lungs with oxygen. You nodded vigorously, unable to form words, your need for her touch overwhelming.

She slowly slid her middle finger in, allowing your body to adjust to the sensation. "Does it hurt?" she asked, pushing it deeper in response to the slight shake of your head. Her eyes widened with amazement at how effortlessly her finger moved inside you, the slickness making it easy. You gasped, arching your back and bucking your hips against her in response, craving more of her touch. Sweet moans escaped your lips, sounds that once might have made her pause but now only fueled her desire. Your need for her was evident by every movement and ragged breath that came from you. The sound of your pleasure spurred her on, driving her to give you even more.

You were soaking her sheets, but she didn't mind one bit, too caught up in the moment. She hoped you wouldn't notice her subtly humping against the mattress, just as turned on as you were.

But you came first; she would make you feel good first. She could wait.

Her breaths grew heavier, mirroring your own, as she focused on your pleasure, her movements driven by both care and desire.

"No, it feels just perfect," you replied after a few seconds. You were a whimpering mess, and she loved it—she loved every second of it.

"You feel so good 'round my fingers...sucking me in like a black hole," She cooed softly, a coy smirk never leaving her face as she continued to finger-fuck you, adding another finger with a smooth motion. She was amazed at how well you took her, your body greedily sucking in her fingers. What a sight you were—she felt so fucking lucky. Every little twitch of your body was like a symphony to her senses, each movement driving her insane. Her auburn little bush glistened with her own arousal, dripping down her pussy and making a mess on her pastel blue sheets. Her eyes stayed fixed on your face, savoring every expression of pleasure you gave her, feeling the connection between you grow with every passing moment.

"You're so fuckin' weird," You struggled to speak, your words broken and punctuated by soft moans that threatened to escape from your lips.

"Is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?" She asked mockingly, her digits curling ever so slightly to reach that soft spot inside you. The movement coaxed a loud and filthy moan from your lips, echoing in the room mingled with the wet, rhythmic sounds of your slickness and her thrusts. A look of triumph flashed in her eyes, an expression you wished you could've ripped off her face.

"Oh my god!" your eyes squeezed shut as your head sank into the soft embrace of her pillow, her fingers hitting your g-spot over and over. Each sound that escaped you was a soft, needy whine. Your gummy walls squeezed her fingers so much that she could barely move them.

"Gonna cum, baby? I can barely move my fingers..." She observed your every movement, her eyes drinking in how your muscles tensed and tightened with each thrust; she could tell you were close. Her green orbs observed the subtle tells that gave away your imminent release—the arch of your back, the quiver of your thighs, your high-pitched moans. "You're doing so good, babe. Let it alll out," she encouraged you sweetly, her thumb rubbing your clit in a circular motion, slowly, not wanting to overwhelm you; she wanted you to enjoy every second of it, and she didn't wanna rush anything.

"Yes, yes! 'm so close, please," You pleaded, though you didn't need to. Ellie had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Her only focus was to make you feel good, to treat you as you deserved, and to pour her love and affection onto your body.

"Come for me, sweet girl. Can you do that for me?" She purred softly, her fingers continuing to tease and torment you, knowing it was a matter of seconds until you milked her fingers just like she wanted you to. You could only manage a frenetic nod in response, your words lost in a haze of pleasure. Your body arched towards her, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah?" she cooed. "Go ahead, beautiful. Let go for me." She guided you through the waves of orgasm, letting you ride her fingers until you came down off your high, your hips meeting her thrusts halfway with urgency.

Slowly, she withdrew her fingers from you, her lips enveloping each digit, sucking them clean. A low, guttural moan escapes her lips as she relishes the taste of you, finding it utterly intoxicating. You, an exquisite delicacy, have become her newfound obsession, a craving she knew would haunt her long from now on. Hopefully, you won't mind when she'll be begging on her knees to taste you once again. Begging you to let her make you feel good just so she could feel you twitch and throb on her tongue.

Her tattooed hand glided gently along your side, her lips bestowing soft kisses upon your thighs and mound, slowly trailing a path of affection upon your skin. She made her way to your lips, you could taste the remnants of your pleasure on her own as she kissed you lovingly.

She gently kissed your forehead, her hand still idly tracing patterns on your skin, shoving a few praises your way. "Did so well, for me," her tone was warm and caring. "So beautiful, so responsive." Her fingers lingered on your face, her touch almost reverent as she took in your flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance, looking even more beautiful to her eyes. "You taste so fuckin' good, I can't get enough of you."

A delightful darker hue staining your cheeks and giving you an almost otherworldly glow. Your eyes looked up at her, still glazed with ecstasy, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to catch your breath. "I love you."

She smirked, her eyes glinting with a playful sparkle as she straddled your lap, her body fitting perfectly between your spread-open thighs. Leaning closer to you, she spoke in a soft, sultry tone, "I love you more—Think you got one more for me?"

"Yeah, I can do one more,"

Those words were all she needed to proceed with her intentions. Her body hovered above yours, her movements controlled as she aligned her dripping cunt with your still-sensitive one. Your hands instinctively grasped her hips, guiding her to your desired rhythm. A low groan slipped past your lips as her hips started to roll and grind against yours, the sensation of her warmth and pulsating core pressing against yours causing you to arch your back and meet her movements with eager thrusts. You loved how her clit felt against yours, it was so pretty and puffy, and she was so fucking wet, so needy for you; it was adorable.

"Ooooh fuck!" You cried out, her head arched backward in response, a symphony of needy moans escaping her lips as she clung to the leg you had draped over her shoulder, using it to steady her movements. Your slickness mingled with hers, painting a glistening trail across your inner thighs. She loved feeling you; she loved how good it felt each time your clit kissed hers.

"You feel so fuckin' good, fuck," She murmured, her words punctuated by soft gasps as she continued to move against you. "Wanna feel you come all over my pussy" Her movements grew erratic, her hips moving more urgently against yours, the pace of her grinding becoming frantic and sloppy, using you to chase her orgasm. A constant stream of needy sounds fell from her plush lips nonstop; soft strands of her hair fell loose from her messy bun, framing her freckled and scrunched-up face. Ellie seemed so focused on her movements, trying to keep them steady and controlled but failing pathetically, growing needier and needier each second. Her expression was one of intense focus and desire, her eyes locked onto your face as she rode you with determination.

"Ellie, fuck," you groaned. "Slow down, 'm not gonna last," You gasped out a warning, your nails digging into her pale skin as your body began to tense up once again. The soft curls of her pubic mound soaked with both of your cum, your eyes silently admiring her cute happy trail, tracing it with your thumb.

"Me neither," her voice ragged and breathless as she increased her pace, grinding against you more forcefully and urgently. Her hips began to rotate, moving in a desperate, frantic motion as she sought to bring you both to your climax. Her free hand reached down to intertwine with yours, squeezing your hand tightly. "Eyes on me, pretty," She managed to utter, the words broken by cute little moans, her speech barely comprehensible. Your gaze slowly roamed up her body, taking in the sight of her toned abs and her pretty happy trail. You traced your eyes upward, taking in the sight of her perky breasts before finally meeting her face and locking eyes with her.

"You're so hot," You cried out in ecstasy, the words leaving your lips before you could stop it. She snorted in response, her eyes hazy and lidded as she looked down at you. Her mouth twitched into a lazy smile, revealing her pearly white teeth before she spoke.

"Have you met you?" Her voice was ragged and raw, the following sound escaping her lips like a gasp. She was flushed and breathless, her cheeks stained a deep scarlet hue, like tomatoes in the height of summer. But suddenly, her smile faded, replaced by a look of concentration as her brows furrowed together. "'m gonna-" but you cut her off.

"Me too," You whined as your other hand reached up to play with one of her breasts, your fingers teasing her nipple. The sensation elicited a louder moan from her, a melodic cry of your name that echoed through the room, her body arching into your touch.

You both came together, your cores clenching around nothing and twitching against each other in a mutual climax. The auburnette's movements slowed gradually until she finally collapsed by your side, her eyes wide and cheeks still flushed. She was completely out of breath, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling. For a moment, neither of you spoke, both of you still reeling from the intensity of what had just happened.  

"Mind-blowing," Your words pulled her out of her trance, making her roll onto her side to face you. She propped herself up on her elbow, her eyes roaming over your flushed and breathless face as she spoke.

"Mind-blowing, hm?" she teased, a sly grin spreading across her lips as she leaned closer to you. Sliding her tattooed arm around your waist, she pulled you closer to her until your bodies were pressed together. She placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, her lips lingering against your hair as she spoke. "You did so good, baby,"

"Did I?" She nodded in response to your question, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. Her hand brushed gently against your face, her fingers gliding softly through your hair as she swept loose strands away from your face. You couldn't help but stare at her, taking in her soft features and tender expression, feeling a pang of awe and admiration in your chest.

She gently caressed your face, the touch of her fingers like a subtle whisper against your skin. "You sure did," she murmured, her voice soft and affectionate as she kissed the tip of your nose. "You are one beautiful celestial body," she added cheekily, her tone laced with sarcasm. You chuckled and rolled your eyes at her, unable to keep the affectionate grin off your face.

"That's so dumb," She laughed along with you, her arms wrapping around you tightly as she held onto you like a koala clinging to a tree. She cuddled and snuggled against you, her body molding against yours as you settled into a comfortable embrace. As you gradually drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but notice a stupid smile spreading across her face.

daily click・palestine masterpost・neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks. (takes a second, fuckers)

[acewithapaintbrush]

I'm in love with @ashwii Celestial AU. I wanted to write something poetic and beautiful but instead it turned into silly shenanigans between astronaut April and the Disaster Twins. I hope you get a good chuckle out of it at least.

*****************************

"Wait! Hold on! Rewind! Humans do what?" 

April grins and adjusts her grip on the outer hull. She briefly gestures with the screwdriver before plunging it back into the innards of the space station she is going to call her home for the next few years. 

No matter how much she'd trained for and anticipated this mission, the idea of spending years alone on a space station to research the effects of long term exposure to low gravity had been as exciting as it had been scary. All that scientific and psychological mumbo jumbo aside, she'd been convinced that 'going space crazy' would be a given and had noted it down in her mission log on the very first day (something Ground Control hadn't found very funny, weirdly enough). 

She thought the loneliness might kill her before any asteroid or technical failure could. But now here she is, floating in her super advanced space suit in the vast nothingness of space and talking to a floating humanoid turtle who is also apparently an embodiment of all the stars in all the galaxies and who is named like a renaissance painter even though April had to explain what a renaissance painter even is and… 

Maybe she has gone space crazy after all? 

Leonardo proves that he is not merely a figment of her imagination by tapping one of his fingers against the face shield of her helmet, an action that had scared the crap out of her the first time he'd done it. Not anymore though. Her new friends won't let anything happen to her. 

"Hello? Stars to April!" 

"Yes Leo, I heard you." She can hear him loud and clear. She wonders if he can too or if her voice sounds muffled to him through the helmet. "Don't know what to tell you, dude. It's just a silly thing humans do. There are websites where you can buy a star and give it a name and then give it away as a gift." 

"A gift?" Leo clutches at his chest like an old lady might clutch at her pearls. He floats backwards a few feet. The trails of his mask flare and tiny stars follow his movement, surrounding him and sparking briefly like small explosions before fading away again. 

Oh, how April wishes she could touch them. Would they be cold or hot? Would they pass right through her or settle on her skin like a thousand little fireflies?

They don't know if Leo and his brothers can enter the station without harm to them or the ship and April knows that they are too wary to try. Yet. 

Which, yeah. Fair enough. Maybe one day. 

"A gift!" he repeats. His voice cracks and he looks genuinely distressed. April would feel bad for him if she wasn't trying so hard not to laugh. "How dare you humans sell pieces of me as a gift!" 

"Hey hey, calm down. It's not real. No one can really buy a star. It's just… make believe." 

"That's besides the point!" 

In that moment Donatello joins them, alerted by his brother's shouting and gesticulating. He's been keeping an eye on the two of them from a distance. The moon turtle is the slowest to warm up to April, although her willingness to show and explain to him the various uses of her NASA approved equipment has gone a long way. April is determined to win the celestial being over with her charm and wit, just like she did with his brothers. 

"What's all this racket about?" Don looks and sounds tired. It's a waning moon and his arms are already more black than green, his eyes vaguely distant. The black mass traveling up and down his arms like the insides of a lava lamp should look creepy but it's actually quite mesmerizing. April could watch the dance of darkness and light for hours, but Donnie gets testy when he catches her staring so she refrains. Barely. 

"Donnieeeee!" Leo wails and throws his arms around his brother's neck. Immediately the stars on his skin brighten. It's fascinating: The darker Donnie is, the brighter Leo shines. The closer they are to a full moon, the more subdued Leo's glow becomes. Neither state seems to affect the other negatively. Rather, they seem to gravitate towards each other even more frequently during full and new moons. 

Donnie smiles softly in the face of his brother's antics and April catches herself thinking that it's probably a good thing both of them don't shine at the same time. That might just blind her. 

The moon turtle catches her staring and just like a switch being flipped his smile turns into a scowl and he pushes his brother away. 

April smirks. So predictable. 

"Nardo! What is it?" 

Leonardo waves his arms around. Streaks of light paint waves into the space between them. "April just told me that humans buy stars as gifts!" He shudders and hugs himself. "I feel so violated." 

Okay, that is so not fair. Now April feels really bad. And it's got nothing to do with the glare Don sends her. 

"Hey man!", she says and gently bumps her fist lightly against Leo's shoulder. It feels just like any other shoulder. Corporal and squishy. She wonders if it would feel different without the glove in the way. "They only do that because stars are beautiful. You buy a star for your loved ones, to show them how important they are to you and because you want to give them something unique and lovely. Gifting someone a star is like, the most wonderful thing you can do on earth, y'know?"

She is mostly talking out of her ass right now. April never got the whole 'gifting a star' business. To her it's mostly a scam, just a very expensive piece of paper. No one owns stars so no one can sell them either. But she does acknowledge that it's a cute idea at least and that lots of people are really digging it. 

Leo stares at her with, excuse the pun, stars in his eyes. "Really?" His attitude does a complete 180. He twirls in a circle, throws his glowing mask trails around and blows his brother an exaggerated kiss. "You hear that, Dee? I'm the most wonderful gift, ever. Humans pay lots of money for a piece of me. You all get my company for free, be thankful." 

Donatello rolls his eyes. "Oh, joy. Though I  wish I had paid some money. At least then I'd have a receipt and could return you for something cooler." 

Leo only laughs good-naturedly, but April mentally rubs her hands like a villain. 

She really shouldn't aggravate the guy. She does want him to like her, after all. But Donnie just offered her the perfect opportunity for some light teasing. And she did promise to teach the boys everything she knows about earth and human customs. She's got a duty to fulfill, doesn't she? 

Ah, well. They can become best friends later. After all, she'll be around them for many years to come. 

"Oh Donnie!" she drawls and floats closer to him. He eyes her with the usual distrust and she smirks in anticipation. "Did I ever tell you about this thing humans do, where they buy land on the moon?" 

[toast-tales]

I Lava You, Chapter 2: Addiction Enabled

Read Chapter 1 here!

Cover art by @luckyshotwrites!

This short story takes place after P39 of ITWOM and as such, contains minor spoilers for ITWOM - read at your own risk! You do NOT need to have read WIDFALI to enjoy this story!

This story is cowritten with the amazing, fantastic @luckyshotwrites and uses the minor character June from their ongoing vore story What I'd Do For A Livable Income. It's chock full of monsters, magic, goofs, and absolutely fantastic worldbuilding and characters. Give it a shot if you haven't yet!

Contains: references to g/t soft, safe vore and language. About 1300 words.

Chapter 2: Addiction Enabled

Even if this had secretly been their plan all along, June hadn’t intended it to go like this. They’d been planning on pacing themselves—maybe a few sips, and then wait a bit more before having more later.

He had no choice but to absorb it all into his body and quickly climb back out. He was about fifteen feet tall now, maybe taller. In a hurry now, he screwed the cap back on. 

He could feel the soft vibrations across the surface of the shelf, telling him that Sam was getting closer. He forced his body to assimilate the lava lamp liquid and convert it to energy, without being able to enjoy its glow. 

Suddenly, Sam came back into the room, and he had to stop the energy transfer. He still looked human, of course, just…taller by about two feet now. 

He hoped Sam wouldn’t notice.

“A-ah—you’re back, Sam! My friend!" His lip quivered. He felt bad for emptying the pretty glowing lamp so fast. “That sure looks tasty, wh-what did you make?”

Sam had their mouth open to take a bite of their ramen when they stopped and blinked, their eyes drawn first to the human, then to the lava-less lava lamp behind them. Then they blinked again. 

I’m not even high yet. Right? Maybe I was supposed to cook that egg after all. 

“H-hey little buddy.” They walked over to the shelf like they were in a daze, staring at the empty lamp with a mesmerized, empty sort of look as they contemplated the stability of their mental faculties. “You didn’t. Um. See what happened here, did you?” 

It didn’t leak out, it would be everywhere. It’s completely empty. Am I going crazy?

June couldn’t make eye contact with Sam. “Uh-um—” I didn’t expect Sam to ask me! He tried to come up with a plausible excuse. 

“Well—I—” June looked at the empty, incriminating container next to him. What should I say? Humans don’t normally eat that. 

June lowered his head and tugged at the shirt of his uniform. “I’m sorry, I-I thought it was really pretty and drank some…all of it. I—” June looked up sincerely, “I didn’t mean to, I only meant to drink a little bit!” He walked up to the edge of the shelf and pitched his offer, “I will buy you a new one!” He knew he shouldn't have admitted to drinking it and risk exposing himself as anything but human—but he couldn’t lie to Sam. He didn’t want to be mean.

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. They weren’t exactly versed in taking care of humans—that was the kind of thing they left up to dealers. Christopher, mostly. But they were at least fairly sure that humans weren’t supposed to be able to eat whatever the hell was in lava lamps. Probably.

Then again, they’d never seen what humans eat.

They stared at June with a look that was as dumbstruck as it was in awe of this human’s abilities, a grin creeping up onto their face despite their initial confusion. “Holy shit. I didn’t know humans could do that. You drank the whole thing? THAT’S BONKERS.” They laughed, poking at the human a little as if they expected it to burst. “How’d you do it? You’re like. So tiny still.”

Wait, wait. Um. Is this human safe to eat now? Should I call Chris and ask? …nah, he’d probably yell at me or something. Or tell me to give him the human. 

June prepared himself for some well deserved yelling. He should not have eaten a glowy thing in front of a human, giant or not. He should have asked Sam first. 

Lucky for him, Sam didn’t look mad. 

June released a soft sigh of relief and smiled back at Sam, especially after they poked him. It seemed the giant hadn’t recognized June was a little puffier and taller than before. Nice! I still look human. 

“Yeah! Humans can do that! Mhm!” June said, nodding fervently. “And I have a fast…metabolism, that’s why!” Yes, some humans have that. That’s believable. 

Sam was far too trusting for their own good, which was a dangerous combination with their stunning lack of human knowledge. Humans are fucking CRAZY. I HAVE to ask Chris about this later. 

“I have got to see you do that again. Shit, I’ll go to town tomorrow and get another one. What else do you eat?”

June blinked a few times. Wait. Okay! Hold on. They didn’t freak out? And THEY SAID THEY WANT TO SEE ME EAT MORE? 

June hopped around dangerously close to the edge of the shelf with glee. Thankfully, he kept his balance enough not to fall. 

“I eat…well, I’m not very picky. My taste buds don’t work the same as—” he cut himself off and hummed, nearly blowing his cover. “As most people’s do. They were like this since I was born so—I uh, can’t taste things super well like normal humans, humans like me,” he chuckled. Be careful June! Remember, Sam’s a giant human, I can’t say anything too incriminating. I’m a human! I’m a human!

He tried to quickly switch the topic. “When you go to get a new one, take me with you and I will pay for it!” June said. He imagined seeing another lovely-colored one. I can resist the temptation. June told himself. He couldn't buy Sam a new one just to eat it instantly.

He tipped toward the edge again, squinting to look at Sam's noodles. The thoughts of the radioactive glow of the lava lamp filled his mind. What if they're illuminated noodles?

Sam’s mind was on lava lamps, and they were still staring at the empty one. They did not notice June teetering inches away from a very long fall. 

“You’ve got money, little dude?” Their head cocked in confusion at June mentioning “paying” for it. They weren’t sure where a human would get money. Or where they’d carry it, even. But Sam was broke, and they’d take an offer of financial assistance where they could. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. 

Since their hunger had ebbed, it was easier to talk to the human without getting the urge to stuff it in their mouth. And Sam was fascinated with this human now…perhaps even more so than they were wanting to eat them. For now.

June nodded. “Oh yeah, I have a lot of money with my current job.” He tapped at his uniform, though he realized he wasn’t wearing his hat anymore. 

“I have enough to buy you…two lava lamps!” He said two with seemingly unwarranted gusto. How much would a magnificent object like that cost? The next thought struck him like a Honda Civic—how many varieties of lava lamps are there?!? He puffed up his cheeks. No, June, don't distract yourself. Lava lamps are for Sam, not me. He punctuated that internal monologue with a firm nod.

“Humans have jobs?” Sam muttered out loud. I mean…huh. I guess Chris mentioned some sort of human city, didn’t he? 

Sam puzzled over this question of theirs. “Do you make human money, or…giant money?”

Of course June would say human money, but what was the difference between human and giant human money? He was still oblivious to the fact that Sam was in no way human. 

“Human…money?” June replied, tilting his head up. “Is there a difference? Or…oh! Did I somehow end up in a different country?" There was a pause. What country do I live in again? "Is this the…United States?”

Sam stared back at the human, unblinking and now thoroughly confused. “The united what?”

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 3 ->

Uh-oh! Will things clear up from here? Or will there be another series of increasingly improbable misconceptions? Only time will tell.

Thank you for reading!

[ellohcee]

For the prompts you just reblogged!

22 from the objects, 12 from the emotions?

This took it's own direction very quickly but I like how it turned out!

Lava lamp that sort of works + Safe with you. Despite

----

A light passes by outside, just visible through a crack in the heavy curtains, the glow casting faintly on the ceiling, shifting, growing, creeping, threatening…

Before dimming, passing, leaving.

They sit quietly in the bedroom, pressed together side by side on the bed, one hand clutching the other’s sweater sleeve, not quite a vice grip but a grounding connection. A head rests in the crook of a shoulder, knees gently knocked together in the middle, a hand moving to cover the other’s, a whisper without words having to be said.

They stare at the old lava lamp, one that Jasper had kept from when he was young, refusing to part with it.

It barely functions as it once had. The bulb takes so long to heat up, the wax barely wants to melt and separate anymore. When it does it’s in strange chunks like the kind of clay he’d found in his mother’s craft pile long ago. Sad looking, misshapen, a little dried out.

David had once thought it silly to hang onto that old lamp with everything going on, but now he finds it a great comfort. When they have to sit here in the dark, silence sitting over them like a blanket, hanging onto each other, it’s soothing to stare at the warm glow. To watch the globs move and separate, rising and sinking, parting and reconnecting. It’s mesmerizing. It’s also the most they can allow.

He clutches tighter to Jasper’s sleeve, and the hand covering his own presses a little closer, Jasper’s thumb soothing gentle circles on David’s skin, tracing around each knuckle in a familiar pattern, comforting, and the gentle touch prompts his grip to relax again. Jasper’s always been good at calming him down, even now. Even without having to say anything, it’s in the way he offers this quiet comfort, the way his presence soothes David’s nerves, the way he presses a gentle kiss where his face rests in the crook of David’s neck.

It’s all these little things -and even a little bit of the stupid lava lamp- that help keep his frayed emotions in check, his tenuous grip on composure from slipping into the abyss. These nights are hard on them both but David knows he would crack under the pressure without Jasper’s little assurances.

Before all this he never minded silence, they could easily sit together doing their own tasks or just lie in bed without having to talk, happy to simply share each other’s presence. But now that it’s a necessity, not a choice, it gnaws at him like a slowly spreading infection, biting, aching, suffocating. Goodness knows what kind of state he’d be in if they didn’t have the old lava lamp, being in complete dark and complete silence, even with the other man’s presence, he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it-

His grip must be tightening again, as Jasper sits up straight, slowly as not to startle him, and gently pries David’s hand from his sleeve to pull him into a full on hug. David immediately leans into Jasper and clutches tightly to him, burying his face in the man’s shoulder and trying to keep his breathing under control. He holds to Jasper like a sinking man, like he’ll disappear down into the deepest sea should he let go, his island in an endless ocean that wants to drown them both.

They each have their better and worse nights, and it seems it’s David’s turn for the latter.

Jasper merely holds him back just as tight, for both of their comfort, and a hand slides up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair and gently raking along his scalp in a soothing gesture. A wordless shushing, a promise of ‘I’m here’ without the allowance to speak it aloud, a reminder of love. All these little touches and gestures they’ve shared together for a long time before all this suddenly forced to convey the words that had used to come with them.

In a way, it’s easy. But at the same time, he misses being able to freely speak those words, desperately, how badly on these nights he wishes he could offer even a hushed ‘I love you.’

He stares at the lava lamp over David’s shoulder, the sad globs not as smooth as they used to be, but doing their best. That’s all anyone can do right now.

After a few minutes pass, David takes a soft breath and shifts, and Jasper loosens his hold to allow the man to sit upright. His hands find David’s, clutching them gently, both an assurance and question, and looks into those tired eyes.

David smiles weakly at him, a shadow of his former brightness but still holding all the love and warmth, just tinged with exhaustion, like the sun trying to shine through storm clouds. This thought always makes him ache, and he untangles one hand to cup David’s cheek, making those tired eyes flutter at the touch. David allows himself a moment to lean into his palm, eyes closing, imagining that things are different…

But he takes a breath, opens his eyes, and places a hand over Jasper’s as he meets his love’s gaze. His eyes reflect the meager orange light of the lava lamp, casting on them a warm glow like there’s a fire burning within him, and David finds comfort in those eyes. It makes these dark nights bearable, to not only feel Jasper’s embrace and touch, but to see his face as well, it’s a blessing.

And as Jasper seems to finally find the assurance he’s looking for in David’s eyes, it allows him to catch the weak but familiar grin, lopsided, endearing, comforting. Something so purely Jasper that it aches in his chest, that they can still muster smiles for each other even on the worst nights. Because despite everything, despite the pressing silence, the looming threat, the dark just beyond their bedroom walls, he feels safe here. With Jasper.

He just hopes it’s clear, hopes it eases the other man’s worries, hopes he conveys it enough where he can’t use words.

I know I’m safe here with you, as long as we’re together it’s okay.

And despite the way Jasper’s brows furrow just a little, his eyes glassy, his hand trembling faintly under David’s for a moment…

The way he smiles lets David know that he feels the same, and that’s all he can hope for.

[flowersinthebody]

My synesthesia... Mine! 😃🤹💥🖼️

During my childhood, my world revolved around music, and my first CD was no ordinary one. It was the Space Jam soundtrack, a collection of songs that ignited a fire within me. Day and night, I would immerse myself in its magical melodies, relentlessly playing it on my Hello Kitty CD player. Little did I know that those moments would shape my taste in such profound ways.

I owe a debt of gratitude to that soundtrack, for it became a creative sanctuary that unlocked hidden depths within me. It ignited my imagination and took me on breathtaking journeys beyond the confines of my reality. With each note, rhythm, and lyric, my soul absorbed the essence of the music, fusing it with my very being.

To describe my taste, I must delve into the realms of the extraordinary. Absurdity, bizarre wonders, and a touch of the disturbed - these are the canvases upon which my artistic appetite thrives. I crave the unconventional and the unconventional craves me. My eclectic soul seeks out those rare gems that challenge the norms and break free from the chains of conformity.

My taste is a contradiction, yet harmonious in its juxtaposition. It is as bright as a supernova bursting with energy, yet as surreal as dreams that dance on the edge of reality. In the realms of my sensory experiences, I yearn to witness and hear the unimaginable, as if the vibrant onomatopoeias of comic books have sprung to life before my very eyes and ears.

For me, it's not enough to merely dip a toe into the waters of creativity. I crave the immersive blend of reality and escapism, as intertwined as oil and water dancing within the mesmerizing colours of a lava lamp. Within this paradox lies a source of unparalleled peace and authenticity in a world that doesn't always understand or appreciate the beauty hidden within neurodivergent (ADHD) individuals like myself – a world that often fails to perceive the unique perspective from a human in a black woman's body.

So, in the depths of my soul, I embrace the extraordinary and swim against the currents of convention. I celebrate the power of music to transcend boundaries, to soothe, to excite, to liberate. And I cherish every moment that allows me to explore the depths of my taste, uncovering the hidden symphonies of my being, and rejoicing in the kaleidoscope of emotions that true artistry evokes within me.

[rainypebble07]

That airport wait sounds like death i’m sorry 😭

You wanted asks so:

lava lamps or conch shells?

horror movies or romcoms?

real color or dyed color hair?

lemonade or tea?

mario and luigi or princesses peach and daisy?

crossword puzzles or word searches?

warm or cold colors?

rain or snow?

Woah. Okay, so right after I made that post, things started picking up at the airport so I totally didn’t get to answer this there, but I did write an answer in my notes instead of sleeping on the plane.

(And death is a very good word to describe it, thank you)

Okokok I’m kind of excited bc these are such random asks. Like, I guess I didn’t specify what kind of asks I wanted, so anything goes. But still, this is exciting. I’m excited.

1. Lava lamps or conch shells? This question is very silly to me. They seem like very random things to compare, but perhaps in terms of room decor, it makes sense? I will, for sentimental purposes, have to go with lava lamps. I always wanted one of those things as a kid bc I thought they were so cool (I still do, I mean seriously, it’s so mesmerizing), but my mom never let me have one because she didn’t trust me with it.

2. Horror movies or romcoms? Easy peasy. Horror movies 100%. Every time I watch a romcom, I simply can’t care less (with a few exceptions, I guess). And I know that sounds strange coming from a fanfic author, but I can’t deal with them- at least the cliché ones. Horror movies, on the other hand, have always played a big part in my life bc I watch them with so many people and I have so many happy memories stemming from them.

3. Real color or dyed color hair? Hmmmm… this one’s hard. I think I’d realistically have to go with real color bc I’m too scared to dye my hair bc I occasionally act and you’ve got a better chance in the business if you look boring. But, I’ve always wanted to try dying my hair a crazy color but it kinda freaks me out.

4. Lemonade or tea? I cannot stand tea. I have a friend who is a tea enthusiast and I don’t know how they do it. Lemonade isn’t my favorite either since it makes your throat feel dry, but a cold lemonade on a hot day sounds much better than tea.

5. Mario and Luigi or Princess Peach and Daisy? These are such fun questions, they make me laugh. This one’s actually a hard one. Luigi is my go-to in Mario Party because I feel bad since he’s the less-loved brother, but the princesses are awesome too. I guess I have to go with Mario and Luigi in the end, but that doesn’t make daisy and peach any less cool.

6. Crossword puzzle or word search? I’m too dumb and uncultured to do crosswords. Word searches, on the other hand, I can do very fast and I love to brag about it.

7. Warm or cold colors? I love these questions so much! This one is very very hard, but I’ve always been a fan of cool colors. Blue is my favorite color and green is a close second. All the different shades of cool colors are just so stunning, especially together and warm colors are beautiful, but cool colors definitely take the win.

8. Warm or cold showers? I always try to take cold showers bc I know it’s better for you (maybe? Someone told me that once), but I can’t resist a warm shower. I live in a petty cold place too, so a warm shower at the end of the day feels amazing. I’ll take a cold one when I want to go fast, though.

9. Rain or snow? I already said I lived in a cold place, so you can guess I hate snow. I hate it with my entire being, I hate shoveling, I hate puffy jackets, I hate Icy roads, and I hate frostbite. Rain makes everything look so nice and I love it so much and it’s my favorite weather type, on the other hand.

Well, there you go. Idk if I was supposed to explain, but I’m so tired that I don’t even care. I just typed stuff. Hopefully you enjoyed this little dip into my life. Or perhaps you didn’t care. Oh well, either way. Thank you so much for the ask bc (as you can see) I love to talk. Have an amazing, amazing day!

[noisycowboyglitter]

Celebrating Neurodiversity: "Hello, I Am Autistic, Not Rude"

"Hello, I Am Autistic, Not Rude": Bridging the Gap with Understanding

Buy now:19.95$

Sometimes social interactions can be tricky, especially for autistic individuals who may not always express themselves in ways neurotypical people expect. The phrase "Hello, I Am Autistic, Not Rude" acts as a gentle bridge, explaining that a seemingly curt greeting or different approach to conversation stems from autism, not rudeness.

Buy now

Autism can affect social communication and interaction. People on the spectrum may prefer direct communication, struggle with small talk, or find eye contact overwhelming. This can be misinterpreted as rudeness or disinterest.

Wearing a shirt or pin with "Hello, I Am Autistic, Not Rude" opens the door for understanding. It allows for self-advocacy and sparks a conversation. It's a way of saying, "I may be different, but I'm still friendly!"

Buy now

This phrase isn't just for autistic individuals. Parents and allies can wear it too, fostering a more inclusive environment. By promoting awareness and acceptance, we can create a world where everyone feels comfortable being themselves. After all, a little understanding goes a long way in building strong connections.

"I'm autistic" simply explains a different way of experiencing the world. People with autism may process information differently, find social situations trickier, or have strong interests. It's a part of who they are, not a limitation. Let's celebrate neurodiversity and embrace understanding!

Buy now

Teens on the spectrum crave fun and self-expression just like anyone else. Here are some gift ideas to spark joy:

Fidget Fun: Keep their hands occupied and minds focused with fidget spinners, squishy stress balls, or calming chewelry.

Creative Outlets: Unleash artistic energy with textured modeling clay, vibrant paints, or a light-up drawing pad for a unique twist.

Sensory Delights: Create a calming haven with a weighted blanket, noise-canceling headphones, or a mesmerizing lava lamp.

Building Challenges: Boost confidence with 3D puzzles, intricate marble runs, or engaging building sets that encourage creativity.

Consider their interests too! For gamers, explore sensory-friendly controllers or noise-canceling headsets. Bookworms might love a subscription to an audiobook service or a comfy reading hammock. Remember, the best gift caters to their unique personality!

[captain-lovelace]

For the DnD ask: 41 for Obedience :3

41. what's the silliest thing they've used magic to do? if they don't have magic, what's something silly they'd use it for if they did?

Okay so Obedience is a sorcerer and has currently 0 training so his magic responds primarily to his emotions and desires (eg. wanting to run will lead to him unwillingly casting Misty Step on himself and just teleporting away). Because of this he’s done a lot of objectively not ideal things with magic in the course of his life, but nothing really silly so far. That being said I think he’d have a good time just making flames change color with thaumaturgy and watching them, it’d be like those fake lava lamps you can get at museum gift stores that are weirdly mesmerizing

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Atlantis 4

Previously on Atlantis

The morning came, steady and through flickering lights against the window, unstill and blinding like a disco ball and lava lamp worked together to form a hybrid. Even behind her eyelids, the patient could see the light dancing through the waters and window before trying to make her join the land of the living yet again. 

The oil she was given to rub on her bruises smelled like sweet mint, and it stiffened slightly in the night on her rib, while the kelp compress left nothing more than a pale cut on her forehead and bruising around her eyes. With a small grunt, Clarke gave up to the whims of the underwater world, and opened her eyes as she pressed a hand against the soreness that slept still, sound and happy, in her muscles and bones. 

Slowly, still fuzzy around the edges from the concussion, the world came into focus again, and Clarke found herself staring at the ceiling of the ornate room that had become her own during her stay. Rich blues and whites mingled in the most pristine and perfect marble she’d ever seen, while the rich tapestry that covered one wall burst forth in colors and a story, artfully done and purposeful. 

Two days ago, she’d been on a research vessel in the middle of the ocean working with her mentor to discover a way to stunt evolutionary tendencies in viruses. Two days ago, she was a girl who didn’t fully believe in the myth of Atlantis, or that Aquaman was a king who ruled more people who could breathe under water. 

But she woke up again in a bed that smelled like oranges and sunlight, wrapped in a blanket that was soft and stiff, like clothes dried on a clothesline. She’d eaten a dinner that consisted of her third grade favorite lunchbox lunch, with a reigning monarch in said potentially imaginary underwater country. And nothing made sense. 

With no small showing of effort, Clarke propped herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, testing her body all over again, learning how it worked today, and being slightly amazed by how well it felt. The lingering soreness felt like she’d worked out too hard for a whole week straight, but was by no means as terrible as she’d felt less than ten hours ago. She sat there for a few moments and caught her breath, afraid to test her body, but knowing that she must. Clarke pushed herself from the bed and stood, balancing like a baby deer on its new legs. 

Everything seemed to work well enough, and she was afraid of the potential pain, but true to the words she couldn't understand, the body began to heal and she found herself wincing for nothing at all. 

“I guess I just put more on,” Clarke wondered aloud as she looked at the table across the room that held the ointments and bottles. “But what… how did she combine them?” 

Making it across the room, she picked up an intricate bottle and tugged at the stopped, sniffing the inside as a black liquid sloshed about, seen through the pure blue of the bottle. The door cracked and began to open, and the new sound made Clarke drop the bottle so it shattered on the ground, covering the pristine floor with a rather stale smelling liquid. 

“I’m sorry-- I didn’t-- I wasn’t sure anyone would come in, and I wanted to--”

“Ti káneis na-eme?” the same old woman asked, hurrying as much as her old bones and bent back would allow. “Tha dilitiriásete ton eaftó sas.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“Kínisi!”

The nurse pushed Clarke slightly as she began cleaning up the dropped liquid, careful to avoid touching it as best she could. Somewhere between shooting her a look and muttering something Clarke was certain was a curse, the nurse humphed and began cleaning up the shattered glass, her displeasure clearly apparent. 

A knock  tapped softly for a moment as Clarke proceeded to apologize again and get pushed away from trying to help. And if she couldn’t get more mortified of her current predicament, the embodiment of earthly perfection entered the room with a worried furrow. 

“I just came to see if you would like breakfast,” Lexa offered, staring at the mess and offering her forearm to Clarke to help move her away from the clean up. “But it looks like you might be busy. Eínai óla kalá?”

“Peismatáris kai adéxia. Léte óti eínai meletitís?”

The princess chuckled and tried to swallow it when Clarke gave her a pointed look. 

“That’s a very concentrated combination of venoms and plants, used as a slight numbing agent in the healing process,” she explained, translating very loosely. “More than a few drops would paralyze or potentially kill you.” 

“How was I supposed to know?” 

“You weren’t. She just finds it very difficult to believe you are someone who studies medicine.” 

In an instant, Clarke snapped her eyes away from Lexa’s pretty green ones, and turned them on the old woman who put the discarded vial in her basket before setting up for another treatment. 

“She should teach me instead of letting me nearly kill myself.”

“Althea is our best healer. She helped deliver me, and my mother, and my mother’s mother and father. Her knowledge would take you years to even start to understand.” 

“Are you calling me dumb, too?” 

“No, no,” Lexa hurried as Clarke crossed her arms. “Just that she knows enough to fill an entire library. She wrote the books on our modern methods. Books is plural.” 

“I’m pretty sure she’s called me dumb a few times,” Clarke sighed as those elderly hands tugged on her shirt once again. 

“She has,” the princess smiled and nodded. “I was--”

In an instant, her shirt was tugged up again, and Clarke realized that she was now showing off her stomach and ribs and much too much underboob to the future ruler of a futuristic underwater country that no one was ever allowed to visit. But she was stuck, and the princess was staring. Clarke knew that because she tried to maintain eye contact to pretend nothing bad was happening to her. 

“Um, I was…,” Lexa furrowed again before quickly turning around when she met Clarke’s eyes. “I’m sorry. She’s much more intent on getting you better than we might have previously realized.” 

“Whatever she’s doing is working. I feel better than I could have imagined.” 

“Léei óti aisthánetai kalýtera,” Lexa explained. 

Clarke watched as the old woman moved with her eyes nearly shut, the wrinkles covering every part of her face, wearing deep the long lines of living into her very fabric. All she did was hum slightly and press another compress to Clarke’s ribs. 

“How do I… I want to thank her, for everything.” 

The nurse tugged on Clarke’s jaw, pulling at her shoulders so that she could get a good reach on the wound on her head, repeating her process, though slightly more gently than the ribs. 

“Efcharistó,” Lexa explained, peaking over her shoulder, thankful to find the stranger more clothed than before. 

“Ef--ef--,” Clarke tasted the word, attempting her best to get over the hump of saying it. “Efcharistó?” 

For a second, the woman paused and nodded slightly. Clarke smiled and looked down at her side before holding her hand against the fresh press while Lexa spoke with the healer, bowing deeply to her before earning a kiss on her forehead and a tap of a hand against her cheek. 

Freshly ready to heal, Clarke felt full in the room with Lexa, and wasn’t sure what else there was to say or do. It took Lexa a moment to find the protocol. 

“I came to see if you would like to eat, and… I can’t show you much, but you’ll be here for a few days while we prepare the Spindrift, and I could show you some things.” 

“You don’t have to supervise. I’m sure you have other… princess things to do?” 

“My mother is busy with her embassy, and my father is busy saving the planet. I currently have nothing planned,” Lexa explained, clasping her hands and letting them hang in front of her. 

The crest on her shoulder was proud and ancient. The soft fall of her braids against the deep green and cream color of her frock was picture perfect, and all before breakfast was even served. The princess held an entire world together, and she was going to be the link between words, born of both. 

And she was gracious enough to save Clarke’s life in her spare time. 

“And I had a few questions about Land… if that’s okay?” 

“Breakfast first,” Clarke decided, her smile warming as Lexa returned it at the offer. 

“I can do that.” 

XXXXXXXXX

“So this is just one of your gardens?” Clarke asked as she walked out onto the balcony that was so large she forgot it was suspended partly above the city. 

Stacked, the buildings seemed dripping in greenery and elaborately inlaid, as if every story was intricately planned and prepared. There were bits that reminded Clarke of old textbooks or picture books from when she was a child and went through Egyptian and Greek Gods phases of learning. Giant statues, with limited features but strong poses, warriors and thinkers alike, stood guard throughout the city from the view. Towering figures held up buildings, while greenery and trees filled every inch, weaving together a lattice roof over the shops and buildings below. Sleek lines dictated the skyline. 

Standing on the private balcony garden, Clarke surveyed much of the city she’d missed from her window view of the palaces back patios and gates. Now, she saw the dome that sat around the city, saw the architecture, felt the breathing, pulsating thrum of the entire place. 

“It is. We have a few royal gardens. Some of the most prized and ancient plants are here, and are often open to the public.” 

“But not today?” 

“Only during the high holidays.” 

It was lush and alive, the entire city was a steady noise and hum, but the gardens were quietly removed from it, shadowed in giant trees and overgrown shrubs she couldn’t quite place. Every way Clarke looked, she found something mesmerizing, something that brought up more questions, something she knew she’d never see again. 

“How do you… How did you get all of this here?” 

“Atlantis has always existed, even before the shift,” Lexa explained, her hands careful linked behind her back. 

She walked perfectly straight, her gait natural and fixed, her body fluid. Clarke caught herself watching the princess as much as she watched the entire world around her that no other person who walked on land had ever seen. Chestnut hair in intricate braids, her strong brow, the green of her eyes, the soft slope of her chin and smile-- it was distracting, even in a palace. 

“And you can breathe… underwater?” 

The princess ducked her head and chuckled. 

“Yes, all Atlanteans can breathe both. Evolution was as kind to us as the gods were.” 

“I have so many questions, I can’t decide where to start.” 

The pair wandered along the path as Clarke  wracked her brain and overheated with the information. Lexa saw to it that they were left alone and undisturbed, the palace gates shut tightly and all entrances to the garden monitored by the guards she trusted the most. For just a few moments, she allowed herself to enjoy the company of the girl she saved, who had a peculiar way of looking at things, who blushed sometimes, right on the edge of cheeks. 

“Maybe don’t ask any questions,” Lexa offered after a moment of quiet as they came to the edge. She took a seat on a planter wall under a flowering tree with big blue and purple petals. “Just live this moment.” 

“Is that what you do here?” 

“I do tend to enjoy my time in my home, yes.” 

Clarke took a seat beside the princess, careful to hold her ribs as she readjusted. 

“I want to know everything. It’s a curse, I’m afraid.” 

“I suppose I’d be the same way on land,” Lexa acquiesced. “I wouldn’t know where to even begin, but something about sitting here, feeling, touching, tasting, hearing-- it’ll help you understand Atlantis more than any question.” 

“I would actually imagine that the few questions I have about the field surrounding the city, or the evolutionary tactic of breathing underwater might be illuminating.” 

Again, Lexa caught herself smiling, but she swallowed it and looked up at the light filtering through the branches and petals. She closed her eye and took a deep breath, willing the visitor to do the same. 

Neither spoke, but rather took the time to enjoy each other’s company and the quiet moment that neither world would ever know about. Clarke listened, catching a far away laugh of a child playing something. She heard a hum and a rushing of water, she heard the long, drawn out caws of some kind of bird that existed within the microcosm. After a few minutes, she reached up and plucked a petal from the tree, careful not to disturb the rest of the large flower on the branch. It took up her entire hand, and she rubbed her fingers along it, feeling the thick, velvet touch it had, smelling the sweet, musky hint it hid. 

Lexa watched as the stranger felt her world, and she wasn’t sure what she expected from Clarke, but she hadn’t expected her words to be taken quite to heart. For an instant, she almost believed she could see when Clarke began to understand and feel it, the ease and peace that came in the gardens. 

“When I was young, maybe only five or six, my father took me on land,” Lexa explained. “He introduced me to his father. We went to a building, shaped like a long tube that had a light on top. He said it was where he grew up, and he showed me all of his things, and my grandfather showed me his world. I remember the taste of the salt in the air and the smell of the fishermen coming home. I remember the feeling of the net in my hand as I played with it. I remember my father sitting on top of this light with me, and he pointed to the entire world. I could see for miles and miles. He told me it was my job to protect my people from those on land, and it was my job to protect the land from all else. That was how we united the two. But I didn’t listen, not fully. I had an ice cream cone.” 

Clarke watched as Lexa spoke, as she confessed and said more words than she imagined the princess ever normally said. It was not the story of a princess though, but rather that of a stranger, offering something innate, something of themselves. 

“Are you not allowed on land?” 

“No,” she shook her head curtly. 

“You should come. See what you’re destine to defend.” 

“I’m destined to complete much more training here,” Lexa sighed. “Once the world turned its back on my father, once they condemned Atlantis, he was forced to choose. He chose us.” 

“But he still helps?” 

“He’s not a heartless man.” 

“It just seems incredibly selfless.” 

“Being a good ruler is about seeing what others don’t, doing what others won’t, and being what others can’t,” Lexa recited. 

 “You’re a good person.” 

“I try very hard.” 

Clarke smiled at the honestly and looked at her own hands as her fingers knot themselves together. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her shoulder felt warm as Lexa somehow moved close enough so that they were now touching. 

“If you ever change your mind, you could come on land. I’d show you around.” 

“You would?” 

“Fair is fair. I’m not sure we have anything this beautiful though,” Clarke confessed. 

There was a grin. She saw it as Lexa’s eyes went dreamy. Clarke found herself leaning closer, her body moving on its own. Lexa searched Clarke’s face and shook her head. 

“I don’t know. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

For a second, Clarke was swept up in green eyes and the lips that disappeared for an instant behind the peak of a tongue. It was entirely unfair that someone like Lexa, who saved her life, who cared, who gawked and awkwardly wasn’t sure how to move when her shirt slipped up a little, was also so entirely too delicious looking. 

Instead of doing it, instead of leaning forward, Clarke looked toward the city below the palace, and she smiled slightly as a blush snuck up her neck. 

“Are all Atlanteans so charming?”

“No, not too many.” 

“Good to know.” 

“Should I take you back so you can rest?” 

“Don’t trust me to make it back alone?” Clarke teased. 

“I do, but the rest of the guards might have a bit of doubt.”

Lexa stood up and held out her hand for the stranger to take. With no hesitation at all, Clarke took it and let herself be lead back into the palace. 

XXXXXXXXX

Word reached the control room quickly that the King was on his way back, the crisis from outside officially dealt with, his aid offered and accepted for another victory. No news covered if there had been losses on the side of the Justice League, and the Queen wasn’t sure what mood he would return in, but was grateful he was at all. 

Quietly, she surveyed the reports on her screen and grew more and more excited to see him, finally allowing herself the moment to reflect on the past few days and how hectic they’d been coupled with the constant nagging about his return. 

But her husband was stubborn, and would always come home. 

“I’m going to my chambers for the evening,” Meera announced as she stood, the rest of her entourage doing the same. “Monitor the fleets to the south and the shifting and quake potential off the coast of South America.” 

“Yes ma’am,” the commander nodded. 

“If my husband makes it home, please let the morning rotation know to push the meetings until the afternoon.” 

“Of course.” 

“I’ll take an update about the Spindrift as soon as possible.” 

“I”ll get in touch now, your highness.” 

“Goodnight, friends,” the queen paused at the door. “Today was a success.” 

With her notes tucked under her arm, the queen made her way out into the hallway, her guard trailing slightly behind her, as she was known to prefer. It took a lot to run a nation, and it took a lot to unify two who didn’t want it. But she knew it was for the best, and she believed in it so much, she obsessed. 

Slowly, the queen made her way down the hall, eager for things to return to normal. 

As if on time, she heard an unfamiliar sound of what she thought to be her daughter laughing, though it died away quickly. Her pace slowed considerably as she approached the corner of the hall and she waved her guard to slow, taking their time before reaching sight of the two girls. 

Looking decidedly much healthier, the girl from the land stood, her arm wrapped around Lexa’s for support though she walked much better, and looked to have more color in her cheeks than the last time Meera saw her. She was pretty, beautiful even. Shorter than her daughter, though not by much. Her hair was much lighter than she originally thought, and her eyes a bit lighter as well. She watched Lexa when she spoke, hanging on every word, her smile constant, while the princess spoke passionately before catching her earnestness and pulling back slightly. 

The queen was barely moving as they paused at Clarke’s door. Lexa moved and dropped something in her hand, quick to try to pick it up, a blush on her cheeks as she opened Clarke’s door for her. The queen smiled to herself at her daughter’s antics, at how she struggled to say goodbye, at the fact that as soon as Clarke’s door closed, the princess leaned against the wall and sighed, collapsing under her own head. 

It was only then that the queen picked up her pace, as if she hadn’t seen anything at all. 

“Are you ready to take our guest back to land?” 

“Yes, of course,” Lexa answered as she stood up straighter, losing the human in her movements. She was rigid with responsibilities. 

“Your father is returning.” 

“Good news,” she smiled, perking up slightly. 

The mother and daughter gave each other a look, a knowing look, a certain look that they deciphered and danced around. 

“We should walk and discuss a few things,” Meera decided. 

As much as Lexa wanted to protest, to go back to her room, to sleep and forget, she knew that the suggestion wasn’t optional, and with a heavy head, she nodded. 

next

[rustycopper4use]

HEADCANNONS TIME

Clemie and Denise both died around the same time. While Sarah a bit earlier than them

Denise was desperate not wanting to repeat previous mistakes that got her in the first place. She when to the hazbin hotel

Clemie wondered around for a while on her own. Till she got into some trouble she couldn’t talk herself out of and landed on the steps of the hotel

Sarah got dragged in by the scruff of their neck by Charlie. As if finding a stray cat on the streets

SETTLING INTO THE HOTEL

Denise had the tendency to pick a fight with the radio demon. Reason being the demon himself couldn’t stand dogs, and Denise took it as he didn’t like her as a person. And now everyone is too afraid to get involved with it. Charlie did once. She still has nightmares about it.

clemie was more energetic than Charlie and vaggie would’ve guessed.

but that was the least of there worries. They soon learned that leaving nifty and Clemie alone with each other. Husk still has bald spots from the chemical fire those two started

Sarah was just kinda there, when they first got dragged in, Charlie thought it’d be a great bounding opportunity for Angel to be around someone else who’s spider like. It wasn’t the greatest idea, but who knows.

Sarah sat in silence while Angel tries to get an reaction from them

after a while Angel figured out what made them crack

much to his dismay it wasn’t his doing but a wins a win.

It was caused by someone turning on a tv, and a vox commercial came on

satan knows how Sarah heard it but non the less, they’re flat expression changed as they watch mesmerizing at the tv

If sarahs in a bad mood just put on of Voxs shows on its like a baby sensory video

Clemie would be more inclined to hang out with angel or nifty, liking how they can match her chaos

densie would probably hang out with husk or maybe vaggie

Sarah would probably hang out with sir prentsus. (Before he got redeemed) or Angel (it’s super one sided, he kinda thinks Sarah is weird) Sarah likes to listen to him talk

Sarah is a fan of beezlubub(lava lamp)

Sarah is intimidated by Charlie and Denise but learned quickly that they should be afraid of Clemie

densie always has some form of rocks she can’t get rid of on herself

Clemie always smells like smoke and fire

If you have more ideas please tell!

Oooo Hazbin hotel au~~~

The furr- @piffany666 (/j)

I think she’d have beef with radio demon tbh

[artificialqueens]

Stake Through the Heart (Branjie)- athena2

So this is based on an amazing prompt from @writworm42: “If anyone is looking for a prompt of late, a branjie fic where Brooke is an Extremely Serious vampire hunter who hears legends about Vanessa and turns out Vanessa is an ennui-filled, sarcastic, chaotic good vampire (a la what we do in the shadows) who is Not At All afraid of Brooke would be complete and total poetry xx.” I hope this is at least somewhat what you imagined, and I hope you like it!

Brooke first heard about Vanjie when she was 12.

A year after her parents were killed and she went to live with her grandmother. 

A year after she was drafted into a war she had been groomed for her entire life, a war she quickly became an honored soldier in.  

“The Mateo clan is one of the oldest, most dangerous clans of vampires in the world,” her grandmother had explained early in her training. “Some say they go back to the 1400’s.”

“Vanjie is one of the most feared. She’s the last of the line. She’s been a vampire less than a century, but she’s killed more than those three times her age. Four hunters have been killed by her in the last year alone. None have ever managed to kill her.” 

Brooke shifts in the shrubs, eyes narrowing as a figure approaches. 

The brunette is yapping on the phone, parading through the cemetery like she’s at a party. Doritos fall out of a bag as she walks, a trail of fake nacho cheese breadcrumbs. Her wavy brown hair flows behind her, shining in the moonlight. 

Hand on her crossbow, Brooke stands, ignoring her screaming muscles, sore from 15 years of hunting. 

Gotcha, she thinks. 

—

It’s not the first time their paths have crossed, though neither of those times went according to plan. 

The very first time, none of Brooke’s careful training could prepare her for finally seeing Vanjie. It was probably some sort of vampire charm, but Brooke couldn’t take her eyes off Vanjie and her smooth skin, mesmerized by her big brown eyes. By the time Brooke recovered her mind enough to take out her stake, Vanjie had already disappeared without so much as flashing her fangs. 

She’d taken on Vanjie with junior hunter Plastique last winter, Brooke barely escaping with her life after Plastique knocked herself out with her own crossbow, but not before it misfired and an arrow lodged in Brooke’s chest, dangerously close to her heart. 

The pain must have made her hallucinate, because she thinks she remembers Vanjie putting Hello Kitty Band-Aids over a scrape on her arm, then vanishing right as an ambulance Brooke didn’t call for arrived. 

It was probably just a hallucination. 

Though she never was able to explain the Band-Aids. 

The arrow wound took months to heal and the scar tissue still twinges when she moves wrong. 

She went back to working alone after that. She should have known it was dumb to take someone under her wing; she’s better on her own, has been since she was a kid. She threw herself into extra training, extra research. She won’t fail again.

Third times the charm, and all that nonsense. 

—

“I know you in them woods, Blondie. Want some Doritos?” Vanjie’s voice sounds like a gangster from the movies. 

Brooke stills, heart thudding painfully. A vampire had never been able to pick out her hiding place. Vanjie was as good as the legends said. 

“Come on out,” Vanjie continues. “I don’t bite. Well, not on the first date, anyway.”

Brooke tightens her grip on the crossbow and moves silently out to the gravestones. 

“You here to kill me? You could at least buy me dinner first. Seriously. Minimum wage is shit. A bitch is broke.” Vanjie stands with her hips cocked and inspects her crimson nail polish. 

Brooke doesn’t say a word. She inches closer, her finger on the release. She should have already pulled it. Why hasn’t she? And why aren’t Vanjie’s fangs out? 

“Am I supposed to be scared of you?” Vanjie demands. “You pretty impressive, I’ll give you that. But you can only be so scary when you smell like lavender. Are you, like, 90?” 

Well, the lavender body wash was supposed to be calming, not that it’s working considering the way Vanjie is making her blood pressure skyrocket right now. 

Vanjie sighs. “Look, if you’re gonna kill me, can we go to my apartment first? I should be allowed a last meal.” 

This is against the rules. This is wrong. But this is the closest she’s ever been. She can feel it in her blood. Brooke shrugs. “Lead the way.”

—

Brooke was always a good student, bringing home A’s as soon as she was old enough to get letter grades. She didn’t go into her hunting career unprepared. 

She started at 18, the earliest they would let her, though she’d been training and studying for 6 years. By then, she was too late to avenge her parents: the two heads of the Mateo line died mysteriously when she was 16, no hunter taking the credit for it. 

But Brooke still worked. Within months, she was a top hunter, killing vampires that had been around for centuries. Each one was just practice, an appetizer before the feast. 

Last year, after months of studying the Mateos, she set her sights on Vanjie. 

She knows Vanessa Isabella “Vanjie” Mateo was born October 1930, the youngest of the Mateo line. She had been turned in the summer of 1958, when she was 27. She’d bounced around Puerto Rico and the United States, currently residing in Toronto. 

Brooke’s heard the legends, the stories of horrible vampires and the brave hunters that fought them in her ear since she was a child tucked into bed with stuffed animals. Vanjie’s were always the most gruesome stories, the ones that made her stay up all night fearfully clutching her stuffed rabbit as Brooke vowed to become the thing that vampires feared. 

According to legend, her kill count is in the thousands. 

According to legend, she ate the hearts of those she’d killed when blood wasn’t enough.  

According to legend, no hunter to engage in combat with her has ever walked away alive.

—

Brooke’s hands sweat. She’s not following the rules. She’s certain no hunter has ever been to a vampire’s home. But it’ll be worth when she gets revenge for her parents. When she kills the most dangerous vampire in recent history. When she becomes the brave hunter in the stories parents tell their kids. 

“You mind if I change first? I always say my job is gonna be the death of me, but I’d rather not die in this thing.”

The blue polyester polo is ugly, though Brooke thinks it looks unreasonably good on Vanjie. 

“Okay.”

Brooke takes in the messy kitchen with its checkerboard floor. Takeout containers are piled in the sink. None of the chairs match; one is a rocking chair, one is shaped like a giant hand, and one has ornate trim and red velvet lining. A goldfish swims in a soda bottle filled with water, while mysterious green liquid bubbles(?) in a fishbowl. The refrigerator has stickers reading “Meme Wall”, and is hidden beneath cut-out pictures of people and quotes even Brooke admits she can relate to. Strings of Pokémon cards serve as a pantry door, a lava lamp glows purple on the table, pink streamers hang from the ceiling light, just brushing the floor. Brooke forces her eyes down on the floor before her head explodes.

Something doesn’t add up. Where was the creepy dungeon stuff Vanjie had in the legends? This place looks like a bunch of stoned college kids decorated it. And why was Vanjie being nice to her? She can’t let her guard down. This is probably all a ruse; how Vanjie lures hunters in before she kills them. 

She is still standing, bow slung over her back, stake in its thigh holster, when Vanessa comes back in black leggings and a sleeveless shirt made of flowy red silk. 

“Stay a while, Blondie. Sit down and relax. You always so tense? Let me loosen those shoulders for ya.” Hands unclasp her bow and nudge her into a chair before clamping down on her shoulders and massaging out the aches. 

“I don’t–I’m not–my shoulders are none of your business!” She splutters, wriggling her shoulders until the hands leave, refusing to acknowledge how nice they felt. She stays in the chair, the velvet one, which smells like Sour Patch Kids mixed with wet dog. “I’m here to kill you, if you haven’t noticed!”

“So do it. I’ll even give you an open shot.” Vanessa pulls aside her shirt, exposing the smooth skin over her not-beating heart, and Brooke forgets how to breathe. Vanjie definitely has some sort of charm power. 

She makes no move for her stake.

“That’s what I thought.” She covers her skin, breaking the spell. 

“I will. Eventually,” Brooke promises. “I want answers first.”

“You want coffee?”

“No. It makes me jittery.”

“Good, ‘cause I don’t have any.” Vanjie reaches for a bright orange Frisbee, dumping in cereal and milk before crumbling chocolate Pop-Tarts and Fritos over the top. 

Where was the blood of her enemies? The hearts she ate for dinner? Brooke thinks she’d rather watch Vanjie eat a heart than this monstrosity. “Who the hell puts that in cereal? And why are you eating out of a Frisbee?”

Vanjie drops into the rocking chair across from Brooke before speaking. 

“Don’t judge me. I work retail and I deserve this. One, it makes Cocoa Puffs more chocolatey, and chocolate’s my main reason to live. Or well, to not die. Plus you get salty-sweetness. And two, A’Keria’s slacking off on the dishes.” She slurps up milk. “Why’s it matter? Who says cereal has to be eaten in a bowl? You know the shit I’ve seen? The earth is dying, bees are dying, who gives a flying fuck what I eat out of? You do. I bet you eat Raisin Bran with bananas.”

“Strawberries, actually.”

“So little soldier girl can tell a joke.” Vanjie grins. 

Brooke has to hold her own smile back. She’s here to kill this bitch. She’s never broken procedure like this, ever, and she has to remind herself she’s only going along with Vanjie’s nonsense because she’ll do whatever it takes to kill her. 

“So, why?” Vanjie asks abruptly. 

“Why what?” Brooke sighs. She wishes this bitch would shut up already so she can kill her, because the more Vanjie talks, the farther away Brooke’s stake feels. 

“Why do you hunt? Gotta be a reason,” Vanjie challenges with a smirk.

“My parents and grandparents were hunters.”

“Ah, family tradition. Hear that one a lot.” She crunches on a Frito.

“Your parents killed mine.” Shit. She had a strategy. She had plans, she had notes. She wasn’t supposed to blurt that out yet. 

“Well, shit.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Brooke’s out of her chair before she knows it, stake pressing against Vanjie’s chest. “My parents died! I…I was only 11!” 

Vanjie wraps her hand around Brooke’s wrist, her skin tingling. “I’m sorry. Can you give me a minute to explain? I know you’re all noble and stuff. Please hear me out.”

Brooke sighs and settles back in her chair, holding the stake tightly. 

“I’m sorry about your parents. I really am. That must have been hard. You were just a kid.” Vanjie’s voice is impossibly soft and Brooke finds her grip loosening. “But you need to know, I was never part of their whole murder thing. My parents…they cut ties with me decades ago. I wasn’t what they wanted. I like girls, first of all. And I wouldn’t kill. I only drink animal blood. I’ve never killed anyone.” She takes a breath. “Well, except for them.”

“What?” She drops the stake. This could all be a lie, and Vanjie could kill her any second, but she believes her. 

“Yeah. They said I could get back into their graces if I found myself a male companion or killed a newborn baby to prove my loyalty. You know, just basic things you do for your parents to like you,” she mutters acidly. “I just fucking had it. So I killed them.” 

“Holy shit.” Vanjie’s voice is deadly calm and serious, eyes dark, and Brooke knows she’s telling the truth. 

“Yeah.” 

“But-but the legends about you! You killed more hunters than anyone! You’re one of the most feared vampires in history!” She shakes her head frantically. How could this all be going so wrong?

“My parents made that shit up,” Vanjie shrugs. “Couldn’t have people know their daughter was a disappointment. It wasn’t like anyone was gonna fact-check ‘em.”

“I don’t think you’re a disappointment,” Brooke says quietly. 

Vanjie bites her lip and smiles sadly. She pulls her shirt open again. “So, we gonna get this over with?”

“Do you, like, want to die?” Brooke asks, making no move to hurt Vanjie, her mind still buzzing. 

“I mean, I’m not exactly having a good time in this hellhole.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone.”

“That’s your advice? A fucking therapist?”

“Sorry. My grandparents made me go to one. After, you know.”

Vanjie nods. After a few seconds of silence she stands up and leans in, placing her hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “Did you heal up okay? After your little friend got excited and shot you? Too bad I didn’t have enough Band-Aids to cover all of you.”

“You-” Her eyes go wide. It wasn’t a hallucination. 

“Yeah, I remember that night. Not everyday someone knocks themselves out with their own weapon. Couldn’t forget those eyes of yours, either.”

Vanjie’s hand slips underneath Brooke’s black T-shirt, fingers ghosting over the raised skin where the arrow pierced her. Brooke looks up at the exact second Vanjie looks down and then their lips meet. 

Vanjie’s lips are surprisingly soft and strong, pressing Brooke firmly into the chair. Vanjie’s hands roam all over Brooke’s chest and Brooke hesitantly lifts hers up to Vanjie’s back. There is no heartbeat pulsing beneath her fingers but Vanjie’s body feels infinitely alive as Brooke’s hands move to tangle in her hair. 

They break apart after what feels like years and Brooke tries to remember how to breathe. 

“That was pretty impressive, Blondie.”

“Brooke. Not Blondie.”

“Vanessa. Not Vanjie.”

They both look at each other awkwardly. “So I guess that means you’re not gonna kill me?” Vanessa asks in a small voice. 

“No. I’m not.” She gathers her bow and slips her stake inside its holster. 

“Leaving so soon?”

“Yeah. I-I should go.”

Vanessa nods. She gives Brooke a quick hug, hand steady over Brooke’s jacket pocket. Over her heart. 

“Mind the streamers on your way out. It’s some jellyfish costume Yvie’s trying to make.”

Brooke feels something inside her jacket pocket once she gets home. She pulls out a tiny piece of paper with a phone number on it. 

She falls asleep with the paper clenched in her hand.

—

The next day she dials the numbers that are unfamiliar to her but that she hopes become second nature. 

“Vanessa? How about that dinner?”

[toast-tales]

I Lava You, Chapter 1: Temptation

Cover art by @luckyshotwrites!

This short story takes place after P39 of ITWOM and as such, contains minor spoilers for ITWOM - read at your own risk!

June is a little slime boy who finds themselves in an unfamiliar, giant world. By chance, he crosses paths with Sam, a giant who hasn't eaten a human for three months and thinks they've gotten incredibly lucky to have one just...show up on their doorstep. Not only that, but they want to be...friends? The catch: June thinks Sam is a human, and therefore, he has to hide his identity as a slime. Sam, lucky for June, doesn't know a lot about humans. This can only go well.

This story is cowritten with the amazing, fantastic @luckyshotwrites and uses the minor character June from their ongoing vore story What I'd Do For A Livable Income. It's chock full of monsters, magic, goofs, and absolutely fantastic worldbuilding and characters. Give it a shot if you haven't yet!

Contains: references to g/t soft, safe vore and language. About 2700 words.

Chapter 1: Temptation

June had finally made it to the giant windowsill. He’d climbed from below, able to change his exterior to be sticky enough to scale the building. He shimmied closer to the window.

Luckily, the curtains weren’t drawn. He could see the giant playing a video game. 

Is that human very big, or am I very small? The house was huge too, but he could have also been shrunk.

June’s eyes then locked on to another object in the back of the room. Its vibrant, gooey colors that moved inside the lamp grabbed his attention. He pressed his face to the glass to watch it.

Thirty minutes passed by where June remained mesmerized, eyes glued to the fascinating display on the giant’s shelf. The only reason his attention was redirected once more was the giant shifting in their seat.

Okay June. I gotta get serious. I need directions back to work to see everyone again, so I gotta get the human’s attention.

He removed his face from the glass and tapped on it. As expected, though, the inhabitant of the room didn’t hear, especially given the fact that they were wearing a headset. 

And then, an idea popped into his head—the giant was in range of his “voice.” He tried to send the tapping noise to the giant’s head directly, by doing a mimicry of it. Of course, June looked no different than a normal human, so the giant wouldn’t notice anything amiss. Right?

Sam nearly jumped out of their seat at the sudden knocking noise, given that they were in a part of their game where they were attempting to be stealthy. This, of course, led to their cover being blown and a “Game Over” screen greeting them in return.

“Dang it!” They swiveled their head around to try and find where the source of the noise had come from. They swore it came from the game, somehow, but that couldn’t have been right. 

They didn’t have to look around for long, though. Because right outside their window, next to their desk…was a human. Staring right at them.

Did a HUMAN knock that loudly? It wasn’t a question they decided was important to figure out. They were much more interested in this new development of the night. Something stuck out about this human, but they couldn’t put their finger on what it was. 

“Holy shit.” There’s a human right outside my window. What kind of luck is this? Sam had been largely unsuccessful in looking for humans in the wild themselves, in the past three months since Christopher had quit dealing them. They told themselves they weren’t actually addicted to humans. But they could feel the craving inside of them now, making them rather excited that they’d actually get a taste for the first time in months. 

Seeing Sam looking back at them, June bounced up and down excitedly. That was pretty smart! He thought to himself, not realizing that a lot of people would probably be freaked out if they heard sounds in their head like that. Not only that, but if Sam was a “regular-sized human” like June assumed, seeing a tiny June would likely be terrifying for them.

Sam opened the window hurriedly, but as they did, they finally realized what had been bugging them about the human. “...glasses?” they said aloud—not as a question to the human, but as an observation. They’d never seen a human with glasses before.

This observation was about all that kept them from grabbing the human immediately. 

“I do wear glasses, and you don’t wear glasses.” June’s smile was warm and chipper—he didn’t appear to be fearful of Sam’s height. In fact, he was amazed by it—it was clear from the glimmer in his eyes.

The slime didn’t move any closer yet. You should never go into someone’s house uninvited. He didn’t want to be rude. 

Oh god, they’re talking to me. Sam still wasn’t familiar with the concept of humans making conversation with them. I mean, Chris’s got that weird human, but—

“And hi, I’m June!” the slime said, putting out a tiny hand. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m a little lost, so if you have time, can you help me? If not, I can wait here.” June got ready to plop down if needed. “It seems like it might be a nice night.”

Sam either didn’t see the human’s tiny hand stuck out to greet them, didn’t pay attention, or didn’t care. June couldn’t be sure. Sam picked them up—not roughly, but perhaps not as gently as they should have. They held June up close to their face to get a better look at the human they’d caught.

The giant’s stomach grumbled. 

I mean…I should have dinner first, but…

It was incredibly tempting to taste the human now. The smell was…well, the smell was actually a little different than most of the humans they were used to. It wasn’t as strong, and a bit…strange. Sam couldn’t put their finger on what it was, though. It didn’t matter too much—they weren’t picky, certainly not after three months.

Wait wait wait. Chris’s human talks to them all the time, and she’s—

Sam began to connect dots and make assumptions that would be, to anyone who had access into their mind, wildly incorrect. This human is talking to me…so maybe if I…is this one of those WILLING ones?

Wildly incorrect assumptions aside, this at least spurred Sam to try something new. A wide smile crossed their face—friendly enough, though the excitement probably seemed unwarranted to June. “Hey there, little human. I’m Sam.” The rest of what the human had said kind of skipped Sam’s mind. Or maybe they had just spaced out when they’d caught the human’s scent.

June cast a glance into the room past Sam. His eyes locked onto his previous target, his beloved—the lava lamp. But Sam’s voice caught his attention. 

“Little human? I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.” Realizing his mistake, he quickly tried to recover. He couldn’t let this human know he wasn’t human! “The little part.” Nailed it. 

He made sure to commit the giant’s name to memory. “Sam, thank you for the…nickname?” He guessed that Sam had decided to give him a nickname instead of using his actual name. In that case, he was glad that the nickname described what he was disguising himself as perfectly. That meant that he was doing a good job, and if anyone else met him, they’d be none the wiser.

Sam still wasn’t quite listening to June, running over what their plans for the evening would entail. “You can…stay here…for now…” God, I just want a taste. Just a little taste. What the hell do I SAY this is so WEIRD.

This really caught June off guard. “Stay here?” He giddily bounced a bit in Sam’s grip. “Like a sleepover?” He stopped himself. Be cool, June! This will be my first human sleepover. Or—giant human sleepover?

“I mean, um, if you were offering a sleepover…to be friends…I wouldn’t say no…” Sam’s grip prevented June from tapping his pointer fingers together in a pleading manner. “But, if you’re offering until I get my bearings together, that’s fine too!”

Oh my god. They ARE one of those willing ones. Sam leapt to the incorrect conclusion with all the confidence of a seasoned trapeze artist. Yet, something about what the human said made them pause again. They want to be…friends?

I would save so much money if I had a human stay with me. Sam’s cravings directed their train of thought away from the previous track, though that small sentiment didn’t leave completely. Their grin widened. “You can stay as long as you want, little buddy.” They didn’t think to ask June about whether or not they were, indeed, willing to be eaten, as they just sort of assumed all humans knew what they were in for with giants.

Buddy?!? June latched onto that word. It was official. He’d made another new friend. Much like Sam, June was vastly misinterpreting his situation.

He nodded his head enthusiastically. “Thank you, thank you, Sam!”

He wondered how it’d be to have a sleepover with a human. Is it any different with the giant ones?

Sam swallowed some of the saliva that had begun pooling in their mouth, with June so close to their face. It was so, so tempting. No no no. If I wait until after dinner, I can eat it before bed and sleep on it. Yeah.

But if I don’t eat it now, then…Sam looked around their room for a temporary human-sized containment unit, coming up short. They gave the strange human a curious look, full of a…naive sort of trust. “So. Um. If I uh…leave you here for a bit, you’re not going to run off, right?”

June raised his shoulders—Sam had released their grip just enough for them to wiggle their arms out. He looked at the lava lamp again. There it was—his chance. I can’t, no…I…I’ll just look!

He nodded, very sure of himself now. “No, I would never run from a buddy, I promise. Besides, you seem nice,” he replied honestly. “And, uh…” his honesty gave way to what he considered his “devious” side. He glanced at the lamp, pointing towards it. “You can leave me there so I can watch it while I wait for you!” June looked up at Sam with big, innocent eyes—a perfect imitation of a puppy dog.

Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question June’s willingness to stay put. “Oookay then.”

They looked to where the human was pointing—the lava lamp on a shelf on the other side of their room. “Uh, that?” They walked over and set June down next to it. Oh, this is perfect, actually. They can’t get down from the shelf. Why didn’t I think of that earlier?

They found themselves chuckling at how fascinated this human seemed to be with their lamp. I think I got this thing from the clearance section at the thrift store or something. “Oh, you think that’s cool, huh? Check this out.” They hit a button on the power cord, and the lights started cycling through different colors slowly. 

June’s eyes shone brightly upon seeing the lava lamp as he admired it with the biggest of smiles. But when Sam hit the button and the beautiful color lit up, his eyes got even brighter. “WHOA!” He looked back at Sam pointing to it. “Do you see this?” Then he chuckled. “Of course you do. It’s so cool! It’s like a giant glow stick, but—” he kept looking back and forth between the lamp and his new friend Sam.

He was too erratic for words, reduced to little bouncy expressions at the color changes as he kept looking back to the giant every so often to make sure his new friend didn’t miss them.

Sam, without realizing it, found themselves amused by the little human’s bubbly and over-the-top excitement. And for just a moment—the briefest of moments—they forgot about how hungry they were. “You like glowy things, huh, little dude?” Wait’ll they see the RGB lighting on my PC. They’d been playing on their handheld earlier, not their PC, so June would be in for a big surprise later.

June peered back and nodded. “Yeah, I love things that glow! I have a ton of glow sticks at home.” Though I ate most of them. “But nothing like this!” He wore the widest grin imaginable. “I couldn’t see things without my glasses—” he put a finger to the frames. “I have really bad sight. So now when I have them I can see all kinds of stuff, and I love the glowy stuff the best.” He then gestured to the tattoos on Sam’s arms. “Or pretty art like that.” 

He almost wanted to copy them on his own arms to match, but he refrained. He had to be a human. 

Sam’s grin widened as the human pointed out their tattoos. They were particularly proud of the relatively fresh one they’d gotten about a week ago—not being able to buy humans did provide them with a bit of extra spending money. “You’ve got good taste, little buddy.” Taste. Fuck. They’d almost forgotten about making dinner. “Okay, listen. You, uh…stay here. I’m gonna eat dinner. Then I’ll be right back.”

June gave the giant a thumbs-up. “I will keep your seat safe—” he almost forgot that they weren’t the same height. “I mean view!” 

He laughed a little as Sam rushed out to make dinner.

And then…June was alone with a very pretty, glowy object of beautiful colors that June would never, ever, not in a million years, think of trying to consume…

The slime, perfectly disguised as a human, stared at the lamp longingly. He pursed his lips together and turned his head away. Look somewhere else, June. Sam seems to like this thing, too. He tried to ignore it, but the quiet hum called him like a bug to a zapper. 

After a few minutes, he couldn’t help himself. He had to try and open it up and try some. Just a little. Sam wouldn’t notice if I ate a tiny bit.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Sam didn’t have any fancy dinner plans. They made a beeline for the package of instant ramen in their pantry, impatiently tapping their foot as they waited for the microwave to finish. They could still smell the human from here, and it just made their stomach clench with hunger even more.

The three-minute silence left Sam little to do but be occupied by their own thoughts. For a human, they seem pretty cool, actually. This was a bit of a first for Sam. The only human they’d ever had anything close to a conversation with was Chris’s human. Daisy? Annie? Whatever her name was.

And now, they’d managed to find a human that was not only unafraid of them, but seemed to want to be their…friend?

It was weird. But…well, Chris seemed to have a pretty sweet deal going on. Without all the screaming and crying and running in terror, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try making friends with a human. I mean, I get to eat them either way, right?

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

June had successfully made his hands grippy enough to get the cap off of the top of the lava lamp, and slowly climbed back down to lower the cap onto the shelf without making any noise.

And now…to climb back up for his tiny sip.

He leaned himself over the edge to taste some. He could feel the warmth of the glass and the strange liquid in himself as he absorbed it.

He had to force his body to cool quickly so he could take it in. He tipped further and further forward as he drank it, before he fell completely into the warm mixture of wax and chemicals.

Oh no! Ah! It’s hot! He had to quickly force his body to “drink” it, past his work uniform. He was increasing in height as he did so, though he made sure to keep his body’s color the same and not transparent. 

He tried to get to the sides to pull himself out. He didn’t know how long Sam would take.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Sam was rather blissfully unaware of the lava lamp carnage that was occurring in their room at this time. They were instead looking down at their bowl of instant ramen, and for some reason, they could feel Christopher’s disappointment with their meal choices.

Sigh. Fine. They dropped an egg into the bowl and stirred it a bit, then sprinkled some seasoning on top. They figured the red pepper flakes would give it some color, at least. It was like…well, the addition of ingredients seemed to only highlight the sadness of the meal, but at least it was probably healthier now. Though they couldn’t remember if they were supposed to cook the egg first, or—

Eh. YOLO. The ramen at least took the edge off of their hunger. If they ate quickly, they could probably eat the human in two hours or so.

They headed back to their room, bowl in hand, hoping the human hadn’t, like, fallen off the shelf or something.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 2 ->

Yes, this story WILL continue! What kind of hijinks await these two? Will June be able to lie his way out of this one? Stay tuned!

And thank you for reading! < 3

[mameleh-life]

Purim in Color

Layla and I have a store where we get the best accessories and toys, it's called Gem stores on Delancey street and everything is ridiculously cheap and also insanely cool. A color-changing lava lamp guitar is like ten bucks and hair accessories are a dollar. The beauty of 2020 fashion is that it's the era of what I call the "omni-trend" meaning literally everything is on-trend simultaneously as long as it was at one point a trend and so essentially literally everything is fashion nothing is obsolete. We have reached the style era of everything goes and everything can feel fashion as long as its worn with confidence.

In a way fashion has become just one big collage and I'm cool with that because I love collage it's my artform of choice because it's this visual feast for the eyes and it also takes scraps and bits of stuff that could have been just thrown in the trash and elevates it to beauty and in fashion taking a simple green tee and a vintage skirt and making it somehow look like an effortless Miyake wearing hippe instead of just "single mom trying to avoid ruining the good stuff with hamentaschen filling shmooshed by her kids" and with the right jewelry it could look editorial [that being said Naftali was super hyped purim so I wasnt taking chances wearing anything that could break on me but layering gold necklaces with a simple top is guaranteed #editorial every time]

And one thing this Purim really did for me was return the color back into my world. I'm pretty open and candid about my life and I've been that way my entire life so I've wrote about going through a weird time recently and this Purim completely upped the joy factor in my life and made me forget about the bad stuff, the crazy stuff the "oh Gd I never want to think about that again" stuff and just made me focus on the positives beautiful people, beautiful clothes all around me, beautiful smiles from my children, laughing about everything. I've always been someone with a huge sense of humor if I could get my best friends or my kids to smile/ laugh I feel like I had a good day and that was how I felt this purim I felt like I was laughing nonstop again and it was such a good feeling.

When I was baking hamentaschen before the Chag with one of my incredible besties and her beautiful girls I was amazed by the art hanging on the walls of her childrens art center there was one picture in particular that completely wowed me and I couldnt stop looking at it-it was absolutely stunning. It was a three-dimensional photo of crayons that were melted to create rain running down the paper in thick beautiful swirls of color and it was absolutely mesmerizing and gorgeous [she has knayna hara extremely talented girls] and that picture inspired me. I was such a hippie when I was married. I dressed like one for a while [I still have a macrame sweater from miu miu that I wore all the time] and I listened to Borns, and The Beatles and just collaged and read childrens books to kids and made glitter bottles with them and walked around in glittery tops and long flowy skirts and silk scarves and I miss that part of me. This purim brought it back in me- it brought back that Gucci mama in me and the Florence Welch inspired flowiness I had lost and for someone who loves fashion getting dressed up depends so much on your mood and the happiness levels you feel and this purim surrounded by the amazing people in my life giving shaloach manot to the beautiful girls in who make my life more joyful seeing my friends in the street and feeling very loved and very connected that was the best feeling in the world. Hashem gives us chances to start life over, start life fresh turn the page in our sketch book and a fresh set of paints and if we want to keep only the good bits and pieces of our past well we can collage and make something absolutely beautiful🦄

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

10 and 13 please please please 😌

@poppy27 and all who requested 10 and 12 here they are! I combined them since they are related. And a bonus slightly creepy but sweet Simon one.

and yes I’m still working on #13. That’s been the most challenging one so far!

10: What sorts of things would they give each other “just because”?

12: Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

1.

Baz

One of the particulars I noticed about Snow, that first night in our room, after the Crucible had encumbered me with him (burdened me with his mole-dotted skin, ordinary blue eyes, bronze dusted hair) was how few possessions he had brought to Watford with him.

Worn trainers on his feet. A scant number of ratty t-shirts. A few threadbare trackie bottoms. That fucking red ball.

That was it. Not another bloody thing.

It’s not like I brought much with me. Uniforms, text books, notepads, writing utensils—all were provided to us.

I’d packed some clothes. Pajamas, of course. A few favorite books. A tiny, contraband iPod Fiona had lent me the summer before (discreetly hidden in the depths of my closet, thanks to the Mage’s ludicrous ban on electronics.)

Over the years more items traveled to Watford with me. More books, naturally. Some family photographs (Mordelia was an exceptionally ugly baby) (She’s marginally better now) (it would be devilish hard to look any worse.)

By fifth year there were posters, meticulously confined to my side of the room. Some abysmal drawing Mordelia had made for me that I kept spelled to the wall. A whole shelf of books.

And Fiona’s old lava lamp, for the sheer ridiculousness of it (it was mesmerizing) (and retro) (and I liked to spell it different colours.)

Snow never added anything. Other than larger sizes of the items he’d brought with him initially. And a winter coat. A few nice jumpers, after he started spending Christmases with the Wellbeloves.

No personal effects. No books. No photographs.

At least he got rid of that fucking ball.

It took me years to understand. To realize he went into care every summer, wasn’t with the Mage as I thought. To recognize that he couldn’t afford or even really risk owning anything of value.

It was much the same when I helped him move into the flat with Bunce earlier this year (I did help, no matter what Snow says) (I supervised) (Someone had to.)

Most of their furnishings were tatty cast offs from Bunce’s family home.  Some mystical wall art that she had found in Camden. A mismatched selection of mugs and tableware. Typical uni apartment.

But Snow’s bedroom was so sparse. Just like his side of the room had been at Watford. A bed. A desk. A lamp on a rickety nightstand. A dresser with virtually empty drawers.

Blank walls.

It’s not like that now, no thanks to Snow.

It’s not like he doesn’t have money. Bunce finally convinced him to do something with that sack of leprechaun gold. I took him to a Normal bank, helped him open an account and the bank helpfully converted the gold to legal tender.

It’s a tidy sum. Enough for him to indulge himself a bit.

He doesn’t.

So, I do.

It started before he moved to London. Those weekends second term, when I would visit him at the Bunces.

When he was all long silences and thousand-yard stares.

I held his hand and tried to distract him. Dinner dates. Film nights. Clothes shopping.

I bloody adore taking Simon clothes shopping. He has no idea how fucking attractive he is. Buying him fitted shirts and tailored jeans is as much a gift to myself as it is to him.

I can’t help it.

I think of him when he’s not with me.

I’ll walk by a shop and see a shirt that reminds me of the color of his eyes.

Strolling through a bookshop I’ll find a title I actually think he might like.

A peculiar trinket will catch my eye at a street market and I know he’ll be captivated by it.

I buy them all for him.

Even my old lava lamp has taken up residence on his dresser.

Bunce says Simon’s room looks like a tatty shop stall from Spitalfields Market. It looks nothing of the sort. She’s prone to slanderous hyperbole.

What it looks like is home.

2.

Simon

I’m not sure what I love best about living in London. Rooming with Penny. Getting to see Baz every day (and most nights) (almost like when we were roommates) (but better.) Going to uni. Exploring the city. All the food.

The variety of food is astonishing. There’s posh restaurants and so many curry take-out shops. Neighbourhood pubs. All the street markets.

I don’t know if I like Borough Market or Camden Market best. Or Maltby Street. Or Brockley.

I love them all.

I’m only taking two classes per term this year. My therapist thought that would be plenty, with all that I’m trying to sort through right now. Uni’s been very understanding and accommodating about it all. My therapist sent a letter and spoke with the dean.

Professor Bunce mentioned Metropolitan first, when I was still living with them. Said she knew they had some pathway that wasn’t full-time to start.

But I think Baz’s father had something to do with it too. Baz had dragged me along, to their family lodge near Oxford, for a weekend visit soon after he’d left Watford.

I hadn’t really seen the Grimms much since I’d run away from them, the night the Humdrum had attacked Baz. The night I’d extinguished all the magic for miles around their home.

Well, I’d seen Mr. Grimm, at the Coven meetings investigating the death of the Mage. He’d not said much to me, just gripped my shoulder a few times and said “Simon” and nodded at me.

It wasn’t much. But it helped. Helped to know he didn’t hate me for the hole in Hampshire. For driving them all out of their home. For being with his son.

It was just a quiet encouragement, something I’d never expected from him.

But when Baz took me to Oxford with him, to tell his father he would rather be staked than go to uni there, to tell his father he was moving to London with me, I was anxious.

I was going bloody mental.

So of course, being me, I started babbling on at dinner about moving to London, living with Penny, our fourth floor flat, what my therapist had said about uni. Just nattering on, face turning red, hands shaking but unable to stop the fumbling words coming out of my mouth.

Baz, the prat, just looked at me with one eyebrow raised and a half-smile. Bloody twat. He could have cut in and stopped me any time.

Mr. Grimm looked a little glassy-eyed and Daphne had a fixed smile on her face. I finally took a large swig from my water glass and stopped talking.

“That’s … that’s very interesting to hear, Simon.” Mr. Grimm’s face was impassive. “Have you thought about where you might like to study?”

“London’s got so many options,” Daphne added helpfully.

“Uh, Professor Bunce mentioned Metropolitan. Said it’s got some flexibility, with part-time programs and such.” My face was flaming. Baz’s hand slipped into mine and I could breathe a little easier.

“I’m familiar with it. Sebastian is there, Baz. You remember him?”

And then they’d moved the conversation on and I’d slumped back in my chair and taken another helping of pudding.

But a few weeks after I applied to Metropolitan I received a letter from a Mr. Sebastian Palmer-Lloyd, informing me that I was approved for a part-time pathway and providing information on a scholarship he felt I was qualified for, if I filled out the appropriate paperwork.

I think Mr. Grimm arranged it all.

I haven’t dared ask him or attempted to thank him directly.

Baz said not to worry about it, when I asked him what to do. Said his father wouldn’t want me to mention it. He had an odd expression, when I told him about the letter. A distant, fond look.

I don’t think it was for me, though. I think he was thinking of his father.

So that’s how I ended up at London Metropolitan. With only two classes per term. I got that scholarship. I’ve got tutors and a foundation year advisor who stays in touch with my therapist and is surprisingly helpful to me.

Which means I’ve got a fair bit more free time than Baz and Penny.

Which is why I’m wandering through the market on this blustery Thursday. I’ve had a kebab and an ice cream so far. There’s a stand with baked goods that look wonderfully appetizing. Might take some home for later.

I’m strolling along, eyes darting from the food stalls to the art displays when I see the table across the way. The wind’s picked up and my ears are getting a bit cold. It’s not even the end of October. It’s shouldn’t be this blustery yet.

The table is covered with woolen hats and mittens and scarves. Bright colors, soft jewel tones, dark greys and browns. They’re soft and thick and look so very warm.

I don’t wear gloves much. Or hats. Get too hot still, even without the magic. I’m like a personal space heater, Baz says.

Baz gets cold. He’ll whinge about it tonight, how the temperature’s dropped today. But he still doesn’t do a bloody thing about it. Still wears his posh tailored wool coats, his thin leather gloves. He wears scarves but only because he thinks they make him look mysterious and aristocratic. He looks bloody gorgeous in them but I’ll not tell him that.

I will. I have. I can’t help myself.

Baz won’t wear a hat. He wore the boater at Watford because it was required (he loathed it) but once we didn’t have to wear them anymore he wouldn’t wear any type at all. Not even in the frigid depths of winter. Thinks they make his hair look bad, the tosser.

He’ll wear gloves but the ones he has now are useless. Thin leather ones, no good at keeping his fingers warm at all.  I should know. I hold his hand constantly.

I thought he had lined ones, when we were at Watford. I’m sure of it. I remember seeing him putting them on before he’d go to his violin practice. Cashmere lined, I’m sure.

They must be at his place. I’ll have to see if I can dig them up when I’m over there next. It’s only going to get colder.

I run my finger over a pair of mittens. They’re so many—simple knit ones, ones with a flap you can flip over to free up your fingers, ones made from cozy old jumpers and lined with fleece.

Mittens would surely keep Baz’s hands warm.

I find a simple charcoal grey pair with a thick, warm lining. They’re trim and neat, subdued and sedate.

He’ll still find something to complain about but at least his hands will be warm while he does.

3. Bonus Simon slightly creepy ficlet

Simon

Taking only two classes means I’ve a lot more free time than Baz and Penny.

I don’t have class today but I’m up early, as always.

Baz spent the night at his place. Had a paper due today so he didn’t make it over. Probably for the best. He doesn’t have class ‘til noon today. We usually just stay in bed all morning when he sleeps over on Wednesday nights.

But I’ve got plans for the day and an early start is what I need.

London is the best place I’ve lived, other than Watford. There’s so much to do, to see, to explore.

It’s not great for hunting though. At least not for the kind of hunting Baz does. The non-human hunting.

London’s probably more like an all-you-can-eat buffet for the regular vampire types.

But Baz isn’t a regular vampire. He argues with me about it but he’s more human than vampire. Always has been. All that rubbish about being half-dead. It’s all rot.

He’s basically a human with a taste for blood.

But it’s a bit sparse here in the city for him. There’re rats, yeah, but not as concentrated in one place, like they were at Watford.

Places where they do congregate aren’t places I want Baz going to alone. I know he’s got super strength and super speed and whatnot but I still don’t fancy him lurking in Hackney in the middle of the night.

London’s not even in the top twenty rat-infested areas of Britain (yes, I looked it up) (Research.) There are some right big ones in Hackney but it doesn’t even make the list.

There’s a fair amount of birds but they’re a bit dodgy to catch and Baz isn’t too fond of them. There’s deer in Richmond and Greenwich but it’s not that easy to drop a deer in the middle of London, even at night. There’re people around all the time.

You can find badgers in some of the parks but Baz says they’re an endangered species so they’re off limits. That’s taking it a bit far if you ask me. What’s one badger, here and there?

Baz draws the line at bats too. I tease him about that. He’s just too fastidious. Drives me mental. He’s got to feed somehow.

Odd thing is he’s not needing to feed near as often. He used to feed almost every night, he would, at Watford. But since last term he can go two days or sometimes even three and not be worse for the wear. I’m not complaining, mind you, but it’s odd.

Maybe the whole Numpty incident reset his vampiric metabolism? I don’t know. I’m no expert on vampires.

Probably more of an expert than most. On one particular vampire.

So anyway, feedings have been a bit chancy for Baz now that he’s in the city. He’s made do with rats and pigeons, the occasional deer if he can manage it.

He lets me go with him, mostly, now. At least when he hunts for deer. I’m good at lookout, making sure no one’s about, distracting people if I need. Gives him a few moments undisturbed it does.

Even with his altered metabolism it’s still not ideal. He needs a more consistent supply. He’s got a heavy class load. He can’t be out all night trying to feed.

Tried dried blood. I found it on Amazon, of all places. It’s mainly for making blood pudding. Thought it would work all right.

Baz hates it. Made him gag, it did. Says it smells funny and has a chemical aftertaste. Probably all the preservatives. Used it in emergencies a few times, like when it snowed for three days straight in February.

I found some in an Asian market. In the freezer section. I swear to Merlin I had no idea you could get frozen blood in a grocery store.

I’d actually found the place on some Reddit forum on blood pudding. I keep having to clear my browser history. Don’t know what my classmates would think if they saw the searches for blood products on my laptop. Think I’m mental or part of some cult, I’m sure.

The frozen blood wasn’t much good either. Something about the freezing process and coagulation and whatnot. Baz and Penny went on and on about it. I couldn’t follow it all. Just crossed frozen blood off the list of options.

This one Asian market in Catford had fresh blood. Thank you, Reddit. I got a tub of it and brought it home on the tube. Lid must have loosened up at some point. Ended up with the front of my shirt all soaked in it. Looked a nightmare I did.

Walked into the flat and Penny took one look at me and started shrieking about Goblins.

I haven’t seen Baz look that frightened since … since the whole Weeping Tower incident.

He looked terrified. Face shades paler than usual, nostrils flaring, pupils blown, eyes wide and fixed on the bloodstain on my shirt. His fangs popped (I can tell) (His cheeks puff up.)

And then he was right there, running his hands over me, searching for a wound or injury or some such. Got blood all over his hands, patting me down like that.

It took some time for everyone to settle. I hadn’t realized what I looked like, big blood stain in the middle of my chest and splatters of blood on my hands where I’d snapped the lid back on.

Thought I’d been attacked, is what they thought. The Goblins still think I’m fair game so I suppose Penny and Baz had a point.

I put the tub of blood in the refrigerator and went to take a shower. I think Baz burned my shirt. I don’t know why they didn’t “out, out damn spot”it. That should get blood out.

I kind of liked that shirt. But I don’t think Baz or Penny were quite rational at that moment. It’s their biggest fear for me, played out, now that I don’t have magic anymore.

Took me half the night to get Baz settled down enough to try the blood.

Better than the dried blood for certain. Better than the frozen too. Not sure how I was going to manage transporting it back and forth from Catford without another disaster like this one.

Got a big thermos is what I did. Went back a week later but they didn’t have any in stock. Finally got some a few weeks later and transported it home without incident. Thermos did the trick.

Their supply isn’t that reliable. I’m on their list to call when they have it now. The owner thinks I’m some private chef who specializes in blood sausage. The language barrier helps keep them from asking too many questions.

So that’s what I’m up to today. I’ve got a list of butcher shops I called Monday that said they get fresh blood every so often. I’m going round to see if they look reputable and clean. Won’t be getting dodgy supplies for Baz.

I’m hoping if I find enough suppliers I put them in a rotation of sorts. You know something like Catford first Friday of the month, Ealing every other Thursday, Camden on alternate Tuesdays. Something like that. So I’ve always got a supply on hand for Baz.

Keep him from having to prowl around as much at night, especially once it gets cold again. Keeps him out of the dodgier neighborhoods too.

It’s almost six by the time I get home. I’ve got a list and dates and I’m going to put it on a spreadsheet to keep it all organized.

I’ve got two thermoses in my backpack so that’s all right then. I tuck them into the small refrigerator under my desk and head to the shower.

It’s almost eight by the time Baz texts me that he’s on his way over. I’ve got the spreadsheet all done and put the pick-up reminders in my phone.

He’s going to fuss about it all. Baz doesn’t deny it, like he used to, but he still hates talking about it. So I won’t say much. Just tell him I’ve found a steady supply and leave it at that. He doesn’t need to know the details.

That I went all over London today to find reputable distributors. That half of London thinks I’m a blood sausage specialist. That I set up a schedule for myself of when to get the blood. That the frig under my desk isn’t just there because I get hungry all the time.

Baz does so much for me.

I just want to do something for him.

Baz

My heart is pounding in my chest and I can't catch my breath. Simon is staring at me and I can't speak.

I've completely lost the ability to form coherent sentences and I can sense the anxiety rising in him at my continued silence.

This boy. This absolutely fucking gorgeous nightmare of a boy.

He's been fussing with different ways for me to feed for weeks now but I thought he'd finally given it a rest.

But no. I should know by now that Simon Snow perseveres and digs his heels in when faced with a conundrum.

I'm the conundrum.

I know the enormity of what he's done for me. He's minimizing it all, not telling me what I know is true.

That he's traipsed the length of London, personally scrutinizing these butcher shops. That despite his utter loathing of Excel he's put the effort in to make spread sheets--spread sheets, for Merlin's sake--to keep track of dates and times and locations. That he's volunteered himself to pick up the blood, so no one becomes suspicious of me.

Simon’s done all this for me and I'm speechless.

He’s said he loves me. I know he thinks he means it. I want to believe that Simon Snow loves me as desperately, as passionately, as absolutely as I love him.

But I've never really let myself believe it. Not until now.

And it makes me love him even more than I already did, if that's even possible.

I can feel the tears coming on so I grab Simon's shoulders and pull him towards me, burying my face in his neck, my arms tight around him.

"I love you, Simon Snow."He relaxes in my arms and pulls me closer.

"I love you, Baz."

And I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, just how much he truly does.

[danawyn]

End of Year 2018: Best Things I Read

Magazines and articles:

The Atlantic: When the Presses Stop — an article about Bernie Krisher, the man who started The Cambodia Daily, a newspaper in, well, Cambodia. But it’s about a lot more than that — Cambodian history, the struggle of democracy, free press and the government that wants to shut it down.

National Geographic: Epic Journeys of Migratory Birds — National Geographic did a “Year of birds” theme in the magazines, and hooly shit, this article did not disappoint with descriptions of birds that fly 7000+ miles in eight days. How birds can manage this every year is still a wondrous and tender mystery, especially now that they are specifically vulnerable to climate change. I read it for the reporting as much as for the photography.

Wired: It’s Going to Be a While Till We Find the Next Steve Jobs

Esquire: The Butterfly Killer — I devour stories like this one about people obsessed with collecting natural specimens, like butterflies. They will stop at nothing to get what they need for their collection. Part science, part psycho-thriller. Except these are real people.

National Review: Standing Tall for China — China suppresses a lot of press and information about the Tiananmen Square Massacre. Even in countries with free press, I find every June there’s little reporting. Glad to have stumbled onto this article about a survivor who remembers first hand the events that happened.

The New Yorker: Take the Money and Run — Universal Basic Income! I am no economist, but I really believe UBI is a valuable idea that should get some traction.

Wired: How a Bunch of Lava Lamps Protect Us from Hackers — Not so much an article; more of a blurb. But the idea here is really neat. And mesmerizing to watch as an organic, non-robotic being.

The New Yorker: How E-Commerce is Transforming Rural China — I finally developed the patience to read (some) New Yorker articles, and the reporting in this one left no stone unturned across this expansive topic. Everything you ever wanted to know about how people use technology outside of the West, how people build and disseminate tech, and what it might mean for rural China.

National Geographic: Lost at Sea: Why the Birds You Don’t See Are Fading Away

GQ: The Untold Story of Otto Warmbier, American Hostage

GQ: The Great Chinese Art Heist — This one checks a lot of boxes: art theft, government conspiracy, Chinese history, coincidences. It was a starting point for a major rabbit hole for me. I had no idea that there was a mind-blowingly ginormous park with priceless sculptures and ingenius clockwork/fountain in Beijing — and that it was burned to the ground by British and French.

The New Yorker: The Return of the Native — The thoughts of an immigrant, albeit a British one, resonate from the practical (it is more expensive to live in America?) to sentimental (is the home country still home?).

The New Yorker: Maltese for Beginners — I’ve heard that if you learn multiple languages, after your sixth or seventh, your brain has understood the linguistic mechanisms of language enough that you’ll be able to pick up another half dozen with ease. This article explores this topic in more detail.

National Geographic: Inside the Murky World of Butterfly Catchers

National Geographic: The World Has Left Yemen to Die

History: The Painted Mummies of Al Fayyum — Images of these portraits of the dead stopped me in my tracks. The expressions are so real and dimensional. And this is around First Century B.C., centuries before people figured out (again) how to create dimension and depth in art. Mind blown.

Books:

Smaller is Better by Lee O. Young

Parasite Rex by Carl Zimmer

H is for Hawk by Helen MacDonald

Through the Hidden Door by Rosemary Wells