#it's supposed to evoke autumn leaves | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jadeleechsupportgroup · 5 months ago

Text

An Acquired Taste

sebastian and lilia look back on the past.

cw: grief, loss, war flashbacks

also on ao3

“You changed your hair.”

Lilia gave a bright smile. “Do you like it? I quite enjoy the pink. It makes me feel young again.” He heard a tiny mew and looked under the table. “There we are, Flora!” He knelt on the floor and held out one hand, palm up and relaxed as if offering food. “Come to say hello to our guest?”

The kitten sniffed his hand suspiciously before stepping onto it for an experimental nibble on the cuff of his sleeve. Lilia stood with her carefully cupped in his hands.

“Oh, my. How you’ve grown, little one.” Their guest offered his own white-gloved hand, which Flora inspected and subsequently deemed acceptable real estate. She chewed on his cufflink and purred.

“How about you?”

He answered without looking away from the kitten. “Hm?”

“Did you enjoy having hair of a different color?” Lilia tilted his head. “I rather thought it suited you.”

“It was interesting for a time,” he said, “but I did not notice after a while.”

“You should change it more often. Keep things interesting.” Lilia crossed the kitchen floor in the light-footed, ballet-dancer way of the fae, delicate enough not to bend the kitten-whisker blades of young meadowgrass or press footprints into newfallen snow. Soundless to any human ears, though none were present to prove it. “Do you still take your tea the same?”

He dangled one finger over the kitten for her to paw at with her whisker-thin claws. “Surprise me.”

Lilia blended the leaves and spices with a deft hand as he heated the water. These ingredients made for an earthy, more savory blend than usual, which made him smile as he remembered an argument between the boys about whether something qualified as soup or tea. “I think you will like this one,” he said as he brought the teapot to the table and set it next to their game.

“You have yet to fail me in this regard.” He set the purring kitten on his shoulder and lifted the teacup to his nose for a sample of the aroma. He eyed Lilia curiously, red meeting nearly-red. “This contains mushrooms,” he said.

Lilia beamed. “They were his favorite, were they not?”

“Yes, that is true.” He drank it smoothly. Food and drink treated him rather strangely in his current form - a far cry from when he occupied a more corporeal state. It did not taste of anything, not in the usual way a human or other creature might know the sensation. Instead, it evoked memories, pulled together their many fishing lines and drew them closer. He let his eyes loll closed as they rose up around him, like the crisp, clear water of a mountain stream cascading over his ankles, the brilliant fire of the autumn leaves mingled with evergreen shadows, the dirt and decaying wood and pine and mycelium carried to him by the diaphanous mist of an early-morning rain.

Such peace was normally far from him.

“It is your turn, as well,” Lilia added.

“Mm.” He set the cup aside with the remembrance clinging to his lips. “If I did not know you so well, Lilia, I would think you have altered the signs on these tiles in a moment of my distraction.”

Lilia looked affronted. “I am appalled by such an accusation.” He folded his arms across his chest.

A twitch of the smile that hinted at holding back so much more than teeth and tongue. “Do you deny it?”

“No,” Lilia huffed, “but I am appalled that you would mention it.”

“Worry not. It is a matter of no consequence.” He dispensed with several layers of tiles at once, taking advantage of the rule allowing an additional move once a match was made and stringing together more than a dozen.

Lilia looked perturbed about it, but just as quickly he smiled. “Is there any kind of game you don’t know, Sebastian? Have you ever lost even one match?”

The smile grew wider. “I suppose there might be one out there that has yet to cross my path.” He made certain to leave Lilia with no choice but to keep drawing tiles in the hope of making a match, thus increasing his own lead, “but as for losing…I prefer to keep that tally close to my heart.”

A shadow passed over Lilia’s face and left his eyes darker. “Have you found one?”

And then suddenly it was once upon a time, in a magical land not all that far away, when their gazes met for the first moment.

Lilia’s eyes brimmed with magic and rage. His moss-green armor was damaged, stained black with blood that still glimmered with a trace of life where there was none. His fangs were on full display in a mouth hanging open as he gasped for air. He was kneeling at the side of a dead man, but now, eyes caught in the trap of another’s, he rose to his feet.

“How can you do that?” he asked of the demon with a grip that threatened to shatter the weapon in his hand.

“I'm afraid I do not know what you mean.”

“This is a place of death,” Lilia growled, “a place of great pain and violence. A place of war.”

“I'm well aware of that.” A tongue danced across teeth. “One can smell the blood from the other side of the mountains. I thought it must be an impressive buffet and chose to find out for myself, though I could hardly have predicted what delicacies awaited me.”

The depth of Lilia’s wrath surprised even himself. “Are you unfamiliar with such calamity, hellborn?” It was an absurd thing to ask a demon, and he knew it.

“Not in the least.” Its countenance descended into deeper wickedness. “I stroll the halls of Hell quite frequently.”

“Then how…” Lilia brought his other hand to the weapon that was beginning to crackle with living power. “…how dare you stand there and smile?”

The demon continued to do so, even as liquid green fire poured into the oversized hatchet at the end of Lilia’s arms, as he prepared to wield it again in spite of his bone-deep exhaustion and unfathomable pain.

“Because,” the demon said, bowing to him in some sort of further cruel mockery, “I am delighted to meet you, Lilia Vanrouge.”

Lilia cried out as he hefted the hatchet over his shoulder and swung it into the ground. Thunder cracked the air itself apart as brilliant beryl light split the earth, as it devoured the demon and everything else within a hundred feet of it. Lilia threw an arm across his eyes to keep from blinding himself.

When the searing light subsided, every inch of earth in the impact zone was scorched black. Lilia’s forearms burned, which meant the magic imbued in his armor had worn bare.

The demon, completely unhurt, marveled at the specks of ash dancing in flurries around him.

“Why are you here?” Lilia’s voice grew into a desperate cry. “What do you want from me?”

The demon laughed, and it shook Lilia to his bones. “It is an honor of the highest caliber to meet the Red General himself. To watch him paint the emerald lands jet and crimson with elegant strokes of his brush, why- my associates will find themselves positively burning with envy.”

Lilia dared not cry before a demon. “There are no souls for you here, monster,” he said curtly. “Only death and its trappings.”

The creature appeared to consider his words. “Monster,” it repeated thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with the metaphor of glass houses?”

Lilia went silent.

“Do you deny it?” The demon curled a hand beneath its chin as though it were human.

“No,” Lilia admitted, “but at least I know what I am.”

“As do I.” Its eyes, the red of poppies, crackled with delight as they swept over the surrounding carnage. “Some of these men, so called, are hardly strong enough to carry their own swords.” It lowered its gaze. “Others were fathers. Some grandfathers.” It nudged the nearest with a black-booted toe. “This one has three little ones at home, and another along shortly.”

Lilia dared not cry. “Stop.”

It did not stop. “This one has a birthday next week.” It smiled cruelly. “Fifteen. Such a tender age.”

“I will end you.” Lilia already saw the faces of the dead every time he closed his eyes, through every minute of fitful sleep he managed to wring out of himself. He did not need this.

“Do you know why demons consume souls?” asked the demon.

Lilia’s jaw was clenched too tight for him to answer.

“We can eat all manner of things to sustain ourselves, like any creature,” it explained, “but a soul is unique.” Then, to Lilia’s continued horror, it began to demonstrate. Like playing a delicate instrument, the demon moved its hands gently through the air. Gossamer threads swayed at its fingertips. Silver light glinted from them, enabling Lilia’s eyes to follow the lines to where they gathered at the center of the teenage boy’s chest. “True, it contains the entirety of a person’s life, the accumulated memories and experiences…” It twirled its hands to wind the threads tighter. A pale, ghostly shape emerged over the boy’s heart, like an orb crafted of the thinnest crystal and filled with quicksilver. The demon tugged on it. “…but more importantly, it contains their potential. All the lives they could have lived. The knowledge they never gained, lovers they never had, family, friends, all the other things that make a life worth living.”

The blade of Lilia’s hatchet sliced neatly through the space between the demon and its meal. It should have severed the threads. But instead, the soul passed right through everything, through his weapon and his hands, and straight into the demon’s claws.

“A noble attempt,” the demon smiled, “but alas, such a weapon has no effect on me, as you’ve gathered.” Then it opened its mouth, jaws stretching impossibly wide, and devoured the soul.

Lilia leaned on his weapon for support. Long black-and-red ribbons of hair spilled over his shoulders and swayed in the faint breeze washing over the battlefield. That attack was stupid - he was no Reaper - and now he was needlessly weaker for it. But he had to try.

“They are already dead,” he whispered mournfully, “and you would rob them of eternal rest, of dignity. All they have left. You are unimaginably cruel.”

The demon swallowed audibly. “They are already dead,” it repeated. “What use do they have for it now? If I don’t consume it, another demon will.” Another twisted smile. “Waste not.”

Lilia’s downcast eyes took in the state of his blade. A massive magestone, dark with accumulated runoff from his repeated spellcasting. It hardly had one more swing left in it, let alone a full-scale attack. “You are right,” he conceded quietly. “I cannot stop you, or your kind, from gorging on mortal souls.” He pulled himself up and looked at the demon. A creature of liquid shadow poured into this deadly shape, this cruel, honed blade forged from darkness and quenched in immortal blood. This thing smiling cheerfully at him after eating the life of a young boy who never had a chance.

“But perhaps…”

The demon’s expression turned inquisitive.

“…perhaps I can slow you down.”

Lightning-quick, Lilia shot his hand out toward the demon’s chest and dug his nails in as deep as they could go. The creature went rigid in his grasp, then tried to squirm free when he began summoning his magic, but Lilia held it fast.

“I lay a curse upon you, hellborn. For every soul you have consumed, you shall be bound to the life of another. You shall experience all those things which you have stolen, and you shall be powerless to escape your shackles. Upon your keeper’s death, the cycle shall begin again.”

Magenta light burst from beneath Lilia’s hand and captured the demon in a tangle of thorns. Its shriek pierced his ears, but he did not let go.

“May you learn the value of a life that is not yours to take.”

Sebastian’s smile had lightened considerably over the years. “I think, perhaps, I have,” he answered. “Though I still intend to win.”

Lilia brightened, all traces of the darkness fizzling out. “It is more about the fun than the winning.”

Sebastian tilted his head. “Are the two not interchangeable?”

“Oh, goodness.” Lilia giggled. “You still have so much more to learn.”

Sebastian did win, though. He always won.

“I think our little friend here is hungry,” he said as he gathered Flora into his hand and stood. “I shall return presently.”

Lilia set about shuffling the tiles in case he would like to play another round, but before he could finish, there was a knock at the front door. Disjointed. Loud. Lilia hurried to answer it. He knew that knock.

“Oh, Floyd,” he said sadly, “there, there, young one, come here…”

Floyd wiped his nose with a torn-up sleeve and collapsed on Lilia’s tiny frame, the rest of his body sprawled on the front steps.

Lilia was stronger than he looked, but his arms simply weren’t long enough to pick Floyd up and set him back on his feet. “It’s alright,” he cooed as Floyd sobbed violently against him. “Come in and rest for a while.”

Still, he had to wait until Floyd was able to stand, which took a minute or two.

“Here,” Lilia said gently. “Sit.” Floyd gave up on the proffered chair and sank to the floor, where he lay on his side and bawled.

“Th- th-th-thought- y-you s-”

“Shh, don’t try to talk yet,” Lilia said. “It will pass. It will pass.”

It did pass, after several minutes, and only after Gus, the massive, fluffy orange tabby, came over and started making biscuits on his midsection. The hem of his shirt was pulled up a bit, and he laughed suddenly when Gus’s hair tickled his stomach, then cut himself off just as fast.

“Where’s Flora?” Floyd asked hoarsely.

“Getting a snack. She will be back shortly.”

“Oh.”

Floyd’s visits had become a regular occurrence that grew out of a desperate need. It was not so often anymore that the grief crushed him so thoroughly, but Lilia was glad to be there when it did.

“Found this,” Floyd said miserably. He had been clutching something so tightly that Lilia hadn’t even seen it in his over-large hands. He held it out to show Lilia as if handling a baby bird. It was a slightly crumpled, slightly tear-stained birthday card.

“Is this from Jade?”

Floyd nodded and shifted so he could sit up with Gus lounging comfortably across his lap. “It was in the closet. On my side, on the top shelf, where all my shoes are, cause he knows I would never let anybody else touch that stuff.” He sniffled.

Lilia gingerly took the card and opened it.

Floyd,

You are the best brother anyone could have. Every day, I grow even happier that I chose you. You will have so many years of joy ahead. I wish I could be there for all of them.

Jade

“This was very sweet of him,” Lilia said softly.

Floyd looked at the enormous cat stretched across his lap. Gus loved scritches from anyone, but especially from Floyd. “He knew,” Floyd mumbled. “He knew he was gonna die.” He briefly chomped down on his bottom lip to fight back another onslaught of crying. “But how could he know, Lils? There’s no way he could’ve known.”

“There we are, my darling,” came the voice from down the hall. “Salmon, bluefin tuna, and sardine, poached in a delicate bonito broth and finished with a light drizzle of cod liver oil.” Flora wolfed it down loud enough to be heard from any corner of the house.

Floyd went still.

His reddened eyes locked on to the source of the voice. “Who’s that?”

Lilia could only offer a tiny smile. “A friend of mine,” he answered.

Floyd picked up Gus, who curled around his folded arms, and stood.

The man coming towards them was tall, taller even than Floyd, with soft, dark hair and a cheerful smile directed at the tiny kitten on his shoulder. He turned his gaze on Floyd, red meeting red-rimmed, and his smile dissipated.

“Why, hello there,” he said with poorly-masked unease. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Floyd clung to Gus like the cat was his life preserver.

“Floyd,” Lilia said, “this is my friend Sebastian.”

Floyd just kept staring, searching the depths of his eyes, studying the lines of his face. Sebastian stood patiently. Floyd inhaled to speak, opened his mouth, closed it, repeated the whole series a couple of times, then finally gave up and buried his face into the cat’s fur. “Hi,” he said weakly.

Lilia looked between them expectantly, but Floyd turned his back and vanished into the game room. The door closed behind him.

Lilia let go of a held breath. “This has been immeasurably difficult for him.”

Sebastian found himself doing the same thing - trying to speak but failing to find the words. It was a completely foreign experience.

“I know.”

Lilia looked just as shocked as the demon did. “You do?”

Sebastian frowned. “Yes, I think so. This is grief.”

Lilia blinked up at him. “Well,” he said, “perhaps you have learned something after all.” He looked back at the door and sighed heavily when he heard Floyd’s crying start up again. “Shall I explain this to him?”

Sebastian thought about it, then shook his head. “No,” he decided. “I shall.”

Lilia hesitated, but then he bowed out of the way.

Sebastian cleared his throat and knocked on the door. A muffled noise answered him. He took it as an invitation to enter.

Floyd had curled into a tight ball around the giant orca plushie he kept at Lilia’s house. His body quaked with every jagged sob, and even though he must have heard Sebastian enter, he fully ignored the demon’s presence. Sebastian debated his options and finally decided to awkwardly fold himself into a seated position on the floor. He could not think of anything to say.

“Why’re you here?” Floyd asked with a tremble.

Sebastian had to admit that he did not know the answer. “It seemed like the correct thing to do.”

Floyd scoffed, then started coughing so hard he had to sit up. “That’s such a-” But he broke off before he could finish it.

“What?” asked Sebastian.

Floyd rubbed his face with his sleeve. “That…it…it’s just a very Jade thing to say.” He hugged the orca much more tightly than he could hug Gus. “Who are you?”

Sebastian toyed with the edge of the orca’s tail. “What sort of answer would you like?”

Floyd sniffled. “You don’t even look like him,” he mumbled. “Not a lot.”

Sebastian said nothing. Floyd kept going.

“You’re not supposed to be taller than me, you jerk.” Floyd’s nails were acting more like claws. “And your eyes aren’t right. And your hair’s all wrong. And your voice. And your face.” He shook with something barely contained. Not anger, but perhaps not anything else, either.

Sebastian was not meeting his eyes. “I suppose.”

“But- you still look like him.” Floyd tossed the orca aside and finally found his rage. “Why? Why do you look like my brother?”

Sebastian wondered why he had not been able to keep eye contact with Floyd, but looking at him now solved that puzzle. All at once, his chest ached tremendously with something hot and sharp, like Lilia’s nails cutting deep into the space where a heart might have been, an agony he had seen and caused but never felt.

Floyd was waiting on an answer.

“Well, I…” Sebastian’s hand clutched at his own chest as if it might stop the pain. It did not. “…I suppose I am, in a way.”

Floyd’s expression turned from suspicion to disgust. “What does that even mean?”

Sebastian hadn’t exactly worked out an explanation for this in advance. “I have experienced a number of lifetimes,” he said. “Jade’s was merely the most recent.”

Floyd scowled. “What, you, like, possessed him or something? Are you a demon?”

This abrupt conclusion took him by further surprise. “Well, actually.”

Floyd looked wary but did not press him.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”

“Yeah.” Floyd retreated into himself a little, still skeptical. “Was Jade even real?”

He blinked. “Of course he was.”

“But you took over his life.”

Sebastian winced, then wondered why he had done that. He was no longer contained in a mortal form. Why was he still experiencing the same effects? “Not so,” he managed to say. “I was more of a…reluctant passenger.”

Floyd went for the orca again and sighed into its polyester fluff. Gus reappeared, investigated Sebastian’s foot, then decided Floyd was superior and rubbed against his leg. “Jade wasn’t huge on cats,” Floyd said. “He liked mushrooms. Everything was friggin�� mushrooms.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Yes, I remember.”

Floyd cocked an eyebrow. “‘Remember?’” he asked. “You haven’t- I mean, he hasn’t been…gone…for that long.”

“Of course.” Sebastian could not quite explain the feeling of it all. Memories from a thousand years ago tangled with moments barely a few weeks old. He had gathered from experience that humans gradually forgot their early memories as they aged, to varying degrees, but it did not work that way for him. He remembered everything at once. As if it happened yesterday.

He smelled sugar. Floyd had unwrapped a piece of bubblegum and wrapped his tongue around it.

“That will rot your teeth,” he remarked.

Both of them stilled. It was not Sebastian’s voice that had spoken, but, subtly different, Jade’s.

Floyd recovered first. “Yeah, you told me.” He offered a piece. “You don’t like it, but you get mad when I don’t share, so.”

Sebastian was moderately certain that had only been true at a much younger age. He took the piece of gum and tasted it. Chalky and sweet, and already melting into an unpleasant texture.

“I don’t know how you can still eat these things, Floyd,” he said as the sugar triggered another memory, another moment plucked out of time.

“That’s caaaause…?” Floyd chewed open-mouthed at him with a mischievous grin.

“…because I am no fun,” Sebastian - Jade - quietly finished for him.

Floyd’s giggle made the candy taste even sweeter.

“I guess you’re not so bad.” Floyd tucked the gum into a far corner of his mouth for later. Jade had taught him that, so he would not have to spit it out during class and get in trouble. “I still don’t…get it,” he admitted. “How did you know he w- you were…dying?”

Sebastian did not want to finish the gum, but he did not want to upset Floyd any further by disposing of it, so he quietly vaporized it. “I gained a sense of it over time,” he said. “The way a soul feels when it approaches its end.” He placed a hand over his chest, where Jade’s heart had been. “It does not seem to make a difference whether the cause is internal or external. And I could not explain the sensation if I tried.”

Floyd was absentmindedly cleaning between his teeth with his tongue. “Thanks for the card.”

Sebastian nodded. “It may seem strange, Floyd, but I meant every word.” A tightness grew in his chest. “You…more than anyone else…made it a life worth living.” One that had tasted all the sweeter.

Floyd lunged in a way that made Sebastian want to roll out of the way and throw him into the wall, but he relaxed when he realized it was just a hug. A signature, full-strength Floyd squeeze. “I knew it was you,” he mumbled. “I’d know you anywhere, you big, stupid jerk.”

Sebastian laughed and tousled his hair because he hated it.

“Ugh, yes, definitely you.” Floyd shoved him off and hurriedly fixed it.

A curious feeling had settled in the hollow of his chest. Something warm, lightweight. Fragile. Something that felt a little like a soul.

Sebastian sat with Lilia on the roof of his house. The sun was, at last, setting on this very peculiar day.

“Is there a particular reason we are up here?”

Lilia nodded and grinned. “It’s the best place to watch for bats.”

A pair of them appeared as if summoned, fluttering erratically against the watercolor sky.

“Do you ever think about that day, Lilia?”

Lilia’s eyes darted around in search of more bats. “From time to time,” he said, “when I realize I have not heard from you in a while.” He took a deep inhale of the fading autumn air. “At first I did not expect to hear from you ever again. Imagine my surprise.”

Sebastian could smell winter’s distant bite as well. “For once, I can say that I can imagine it.”

Lilia chuckled and then sighed. “I suppose you have once again evened the count.”

“It would appear that way, yes.” He watched as more bats took flight for the evening.

“And?”

Sebastian looked down at him. “And what?”

“What do you think about it?” Lilia’s eyes had changed over the years. Once a deep, bloody scarlet, they had ripened to dragonfruit pink. Softer and sweeter.

“This one seems different, somehow.” He pulled his knees up to his chest. “I think…that I enjoyed having a brother very much.”

“You have had siblings before. And children,” Lilia reminded him. “What makes Floyd so different?”

What doesn’t, Sebastian wanted to say. “Have I explained the taste of a soul before?”

Lilia’s face immediately soured. “Yes, Sebastian,” he said flatly. “On day one.”

“Ah.” He cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is that each one is different. Some brightly acidic, some old and bitter, others gently mellow.” Most recently, it was the taste of brine that lingered on his palate, but he did not share that information. “Prior to the day you cursed me, I had thought there was nothing finer.”

Lilia crossed his arms. “This had best end on a positive note if you know what is good for you, young man.”

He found it harder to speak, as though something was lodged in his trachea, and tried to clear his throat again. “What I did not know was how it pales in comparison to life.”

Lilia’s face relaxed.

“All of the things that mortal creatures feel…joy, sadness, anger, fear. Grief. Pain. I did not know how…how strong these feelings could be,” said Sebastian as the steady timbre of his voice abandoned him. “The limits to which they can be driven. Empathy, compassion, even love - have only been mere words to me, empty and meaningless. Pathetic.” He shut his eyes and found them burning.

Lilia patted his shoulder. “Life is all that and more, my friend.” His weathered gaze followed a wayward bat that had taken particular interest in his fig tree. “Is that, perhaps, why you have not asked me to lift the curse? To spare you from the heartbreak of yet another mortal life?”

Sebastian placed one hand into his pocket, intending to retrieve a handkerchief, and instead found a piece of super-ultra-sour candy that Floyd had snuck in there behind his back. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Unfortunately, it seems I have developed a taste for it.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #rexii writes twst #rexii writes #black butler #black butler fanfiction #sebastian michaelis

7 notes · View notes

thoughtfulfangirling · 1 year ago

Text

October/Autumn Books

Over the years, I've been trying to collect books good for reading around this time of year. I thought I'd make a masterlist of sorts. There will be categories, and books may be in several of them.

Each of these books I feel have something to offer in terms only that they fit what I feel is readings for the season within their vibes. Any YA books will be explicitly marked as such. Additionally, my actual opinion of the books will be marked with 1 through 5 asterisks (stars), and because I hate rating books, I'm going to preface by saying I'm being very loosey goosey with them XD

Autumn Vibes (weather)

Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse by C.P. Ward**

Feelgood fall read. It makes efforts to evoke autumn, having a bike trip be a part of her work routine sometime between the months of late August to October. I don't know that I personally thought it succeeded, but it tries, and I'll give it that. It also has themes of shedding an old life. In her late 20s, Lily loses in the span of a couple days her job, her apartment, and her fiance. She leaves the city to go back to her country home to figure out what she wants to do with her life. The book has the bones for a good autumn read, but the execution didn't do it for me. Judge for yourself if this sounds interesting. (I probably should just give it one star because it doesn't even MENTION Halloween, but I did like that it spent so more time with Victoria than the love interest XD)

The Coldest Girl in Cold Town by Holly Black *****

YA. Vampires exist, and the world knows about it. The world is dealing with it as best they can. Barriers between overnight workers and the public, habits to close all windows every night, avoid evening events, and the conversion of large towns into prisons for vampires and those who wish to become them. Within this world, Tana is just trying to have a normal teen's life, but that all changes when a drunken night at a friends and a forgotten open window results in her waking up seemingly the only survivor of a vampire attack. That's enough for a teenager to have to deal with, but as it turns out, not all the vampires are gone. (The audiobook for this one is exceptionally creepy and good.)

Doll Bones by Holly Black *****

Contemporary. YA. Kids try to keep the magic of youth alive by going on an adventure (running away) to a doll they want to believe is haunted to her grave site in early-ish autumn.

Cemetary Boys***

YA. Takes place during autumn, and much of the book is set outside, not infrequently in a cemetary no less. Pretty good for autumn vibes. It's been a while since I've read it, so it may be more just the general weather climate that's evoked than falling leaves and such, but still, definitely feels like fall and is a story about ghosts and witches, and blood rituals. How do you go wrong with that?

The Girl in the Green Silk Gown by Seanan McGuire *****

Sometimes, living is the true thing of nightmares. Such is the case for the hitchhiking ghost Rose Marshall. She's hitched the ghost roads for decades longer than she's been alive and content with her undead existence despite being haunted still by the man who killed her, demon-pact and all. When he curses her, she finds that only by living again can she remove the curse. It was only supposed to last one evening, the only evening the dead can return to flesh: Halloween night. (This is a book 2)

In the Woods by Tana French ****

In his childhood, Adam Ryan was out with his friends when those friends went missing. It became a huge story, especially because when they found him, he was so traumatized, he had no memory of what took place. They never solved his mystery, but he became an investigator himself. He thought that was all behind him, except he is put on a case that has a mysterious link to that cold mystery. Ryan shouldn't be working this case, but no one has linked him to it yet, and he can't help but try and see if this new case will reveal anything about his own.

The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo ***

Alex Stern is in the fall Semester at a college that deals in magic. Normally, an outsider like her wouldn't have been recruited to help keep order among the magic houses that operate out of the college, but there's something special about Alex: She can see ghosts, a rare gift. At least that's how she's seen. To Alex, it can be more of a curse. One she will have to use though if she is going to find the mentor who mysteriously disappeared earlier that semester under supernatural circumstances.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily Danforth *****

Half historical, half contemporary. Chunks of the book occur during autumn months and lovely descriptions of the weather and orchards, and a repeating motif of apples.

The November Girl by Lydia Kang ****

YA. Hector is a runaway, and he has planned his time hidden away until his 18th birthday perfectly to escape being in his uncle's custody any longer. On the last day a tourist island on Lake Superior is open, just before the November storms are expected to come and batter the island, he boards the fairy there and remains in secret. The island is expected to be abandoned and dangerous. It does prove to be dangerous, but what it doesn't prove to be, is abandoned. There is a strange girl also still left upon the island, and the creeping cold and raging storms only seem to give her power. She doesn't seem fully human.

Tithe by Holly Black ****

YA. Halloween approaches, and Kaye finds that her world may just be more preternatural than she expected as suddenly she is encountering fairies. Her encounter does more than open her eyes to a new world, it seems to be changing her too, and the stakes will reach a peak Halloween night.

Horror Vibes

Alice Isn't Dead by Joseph Fink *****

When her wife goes missing and doesn't reappear, one woman gives up the life she knows to become a trucker. On the road, she expects to find herself... or her wife. What she finds are mystery and horror instead.

Dracula by Bram Stoker *****

Does anyone actually even need a summary? Look, if you like to read books for Halloween and haven't read this one, just do it. You're on Tumblr; make sure you know what all the Dracula Daily posts are going on about. They're excellent.

The Exorcist by William Blatty ****

What is more horrific than watching a beloved child deteriorate into self harm and bad health and getting no answers, having to trust to faith instead of anything you've trusted before. Or how about a believer faced with evil powers one never expected to truly come face to face with?

Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid ***

The witch daughter of a cruel wizard is persuaded by her two elder sisters to sneak out of their carefully controlled home to see a ballet. For her, this is out of character to disobey her father, but she finds the show changes everything. She is enraptured by the performance, and more specifically, the lead, who she chances upon meeting while going out to get some air. For once, she has found something worth coming out of her shell for, but should she have left home when there are dark rumors of a man-eating monster stalking the night and the tentative tranquility of their home, and their voracious father, is as risk? Contains explicit sexual content.

Mexican Gothic****

Noemí leaves her bustling city of Mexico City to go to London to visit her cousin who married into an old family. Her cousin seems sick, having sent for Noemí to rescue her. It is believed her cousin is suffering the effects of a mental illness. Once there, Noemi is struck by how isolated the home is, how run down and mildewy it is. It is not at all what she imagined, nor are the people there, or the family dynamics she could never have guessed at. All she wants to do is get out of there as soon as possible, but first she has to her cousin, and then, she finds she simply cannot leave.

The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo ***

The Girl with All the Gifts *****

I was so hooked starting this book with zero information about it other than it was a good spooky read, and since it was such an experience, I simply cannot get myself to say much about this. It follows a special child student, her teacher, and the head of the locked down school's security team as they navigate a dystopian world behind walls, and attempts to reach the outside world have proven unsuccessful so far.

The Lamb will Slaughter the Lion by Margaret Killjoy****

Danielle is a hitchhiker headed to a socialist commune in Iowa that has largely been abandoned by government interests. The town takes care of itself, and they have a unique way of protecting their own against charismatic leaders who want to make this community their own. Danielle's friend had been living there before he comitted suicide, and so, she needs to know what has happened. A spirit of judgement and execution stalks the daylight hours, killing those with darkness in their hearts. But who doesn't have some amount of darkness inside of them?

The Mall of Cthulhu by Susan Cooper

Danielle "When Ted stumbles onto a gropu of Cthulhu cultists planning to awaken the Old Ones through mystic incantations culled from the fabled Necronomicon, calling forth eldritch horros into an unsuspecting world, eh and Laura must spring into action, traveling from Boston to the seemingly-peaceful suburbs of Providence and beyond, all the way to the sanity-shattering non-Euclidian alleyways and towers of dread R'lyeh itself, in order to prevent an innocent shopping center from turning into... The Mall of Cthulhu

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones ****

Most people experience the past coming back to haunt them in some way, shape, or form. But three men who grew up on a reservation feel like they are being haunted by more than the memories of the past. They don't talk about the incident much, not since they were banned from that part of the reservation, but they feel like perhaps they should as they find themselves fighting for their lives against the ramifications of that day.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily Danforth *****

Half historical, half contemporary. A haunted swath of land, or a curse? The deaths may seem natural, but are they? And why do all these wasps keep showing up every which way?

Thirteen Storeys by Jonathan Sims ***

The apartment complex must be haunted. What else explains the series of horror visitations that happen upon 13 different residents who live in the building? Each storey is unlike the other. Almost a series of short stories, except... they do seem to be connected. Everything seems to point in the direction of the apartment's landowner as each resident receives an unexpected inviation to a dinner at his top floor penthouse in too timely a manner with the unexpected.

Under the Pendulum Sun *

Gothic Horror. What happens if the fairy are real and known of during the Victorian era? Well, we must preach to them of course! But it may just be that within the strange land of fairy a brother and sister find themselves in for their purpose of the gospel, the lords and ladies of fairy are more interested in the sins at the heart of the people than their hope for their souls. Very Victorian Gothic. The prose was gorgeous, and an atmosphere of eerie unease was well painted; however, beyond the stunning prose, I did not find the stories or the characters' choices all that compelling. The plot/character work wasn't for me, but if one is in the mood for eerie, haunting prose, then this would be the perfect read.

A Winter Haunting by Dan Simmons ****

Separated from his wife and broken up with by his lover, a professor returns to his home town in the Midwest in late November where the snow has already accumulated. He finds himself lingering over the death of a childhood friend and haunted by his past. Isolated in a small town with wanna be skinheads probably isn't the best time to suddenly feel like shadows are moving in, and he feels like the target.

Eerie Vibes (Horror Light)

Carmilla by J. Sheridan Le Fanu *****

Only a novella in length, Carmilla is a fascinating read. Follow a lonely girl outside of her country of origin come to have a visitor, Carmilla, stay at her estate under mysterious circumstances. She quickly finds herself enamored with Carmilla and quickly grows ill with her worry over unhappy events which seem to plague Carmilla overnight. Despite them however, Carmilla seems just as robust as ever despite her habit to sleep away the mornings. This book predates Dracula, and it strikes me that it lent much of its lore to Stoker's later novel.

Cemetary Boys****

YA "In an attempt to prove himself a true brujo and gain his family’s acceptance, Yadriel decides to summon his cousin’s ghost and help him cross to the afterlife. But things get complicated when he accidentally summons the ghost of his high school’s resident bad boy, Julian Diaz – and Julian won't go into death quietly. The two boys must work together if Yadriel is to move forward with his plan. But the more time Yadriel and Julian spend together, the harder it is to let each other go."

The Coldest Girl in Cold Town by Holly Black *****

Doll Bones by Holly Black *****

Contemporary. YA. A child's parent keeps an eerie doll locked up in a cabinet, and the children's playtime has turned her into a queen of sorts. Then suddenly one of the children has a dream; a girl was murdered and her ashes placed in the doll. Her soul is restless and wants to be laid to rest in her grave, and the kids — her subjects — must find it and take her to it.

The Dead and the Dark by Courtney Gould ****

YA. Why is it that the worst of humankind can flourish so proliferous in the most beautiful of places? The small town of Snake Bite is littered with shadows and mystery, and it seems to be targeting the town's teens. First, Ashley's long time boyfriend goes missing, and then newcomer and outcast Logan's new friendly acquaintance is found dead. The town might hate Logan, and Ashley might come from the most prominent family in the town, but the two girls can't help but investigate the odd happenings that disappeared Ashley's boyfriend and implicated one of Logan's dads in that disappearance. The town believes he killed him, Logan is determined to prove him innocent, and Ashley still believes he's alive. She can feel his presence still all around.

The Best of Edgar Allan Poe

I have never read an author that, in so little time of story, manages to dredge up so much feeling of dread. If you want to set a dark and dreary mood, Poe's your man. In today's age, I don't know that his stories come off nearly as spooky as they once did, but they certainly evoke a sort of low mood spooky stories often aim for. It's like the counter of a thriller which often evokes high, frantic energy instead of the low, desolate mood of Poe's work.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley ****

For current readers, I don't know if this quite works as horror, but there is definitely something to the carelessness of men who create without considering their creations.

The Girl in the Green Silk Gown by Seanan McGuire *****

The Lamb will Slaughter the Lion by Margaret Killjoy****

Mexican Gothic****

Our Wives Under the Sea****

Miri's wife returns after having been missing on a submarine dive deep into the depths of the ocean, and she must contend with the fact that her home now feels a host to a stranger. She feels lonelier as ever as Leah slowly seems to turn farther away from the woman Miri knew into something completely Other.

Sparrow Hill Road by Seanan McGuire *****

Follow a hitchhiking ghost over the breadth of the continental US. She was run off the Sparrow Hill Road in 1952 on her way to prom and never made it there. Instead she haunts the highways of the US, hitchhiking her way from roadside diner to roadside diner. She finds a calling in spending time with someone before their last moments, fated to die on the road. Sometimes though, she gets to alter that fate. But there is one out there who has an unpleasant fate in mind for her, and he haunts the roads in his immortal demon car, determined to get the prey who escaped him in the early 1950s.

Sorrowland by Rivers Soloman****

Vern escapes the cult she was brought into pregnant with twins. Her escape only extends to the forest surrounding the commune though. A single young woman shouldn't be able to survive with two children alone like this, and yet Vern does with ease. Something is different about her. Her body starts to become foreign in parts, to change, and she realizes something was done to her. Something that haunts her and alters her. It helps her protect her children, but can will she survive it?

True Irish Ghost Stories by St. John Seymour & Harry Neligan***

Interested in 'true' ghost stories? Well find here collected stories Seymour and Neligan sought out from real people in Ireland who vouched to the veracity of their accounts. The stories are disjointed and with no real beginning or end, but read much like tales told around the campfire in the dark of night.

The Vampyre; A Tale by John Polidori**

Vern "A short work of prose fiction written in 1819" "often viewed as the progenitor of the romantic vampire genre of fantasy fiction." Our protagonist becomes fascinating by an intriguing gentleman and takes up with him only to begin to suspect a dark explanation of the man's behaviors.

Dark Stories

A Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson ****

A letter from one vampire to her maker whom she has murdered. The story is their story, the one of living under a man she thought a savior, who turned her into a monster, and showed her an initial love that hid a vindictive, controlling menace amidst the monotonousness of his vampirism. Explicit sexual content.

Fledgling by Octavia Butler****

What if vampires were born and not made? And how fun would it be to have a book that's a thriller, complete with a justice system, but all made up of vampires and their symbiotic humans? If that sounds appealing, it might be for you. Just check the trigger warnings if you are one who benefits from that!

The Girl with All the Gifts *****

Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid ***

King of Battle and Blood by Scarlett St. Clair **

The princess and heir to a kingdom besieged by a vampire army finds herself preparing for her father's surrender to the Vampire King. An unexpected and unpleasant stipulation of the treaty of surrender is the princess's hand in marriage. For her people, she agrees, but her people expect her to assassinate her new husband despite his immortal durability. Fairytale elements. Intrusive thoughts. Contains smut.

The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo ***

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones ****

Rosemary's Baby by Ira Levin***

Talk about a book that feels like horror for me in particular! You can tell that this is an older book, but for those who knew what it was like for a married woman then, that adds all the more to the horror. This is a slow and quiet horror for the most part but very poignant. I anticipated that after all the buildup, the ending wouldn't be able to live up, but I actually quite liked it. Though don't let that allow you to suspect a peachy resolution XD

Thirteen Storeys by Jonathan Sims ***

Mystery

The Dead and the Dark by Courtney Gould ****

Fledgling by Octavia Butler****

In the Woods by Tana French ****

Mistress of the Art of Death by Ariana Franklin ****

Under the rule of King Henry II, within Cambridge, there is amongst the people a deranged serial killer targeting children. The people point the blame at the local Jewish population, but after a raid sequesters them within the castle walls and the killings don't stop, a woman of the station of what we might call today coroner is summoned from out of the country to learn from the dead children what she may to uncover the identity of a serial killer eager to target those who would try to track them down. Historical fiction. Some explicit sexual content.

The Witch Elm*****

Toby experiences a series of devastating events, the first of which is a break in and assault that leaves him with literal brain trauma, hazy memories, and a sense that he is no longer himself and will never be so again. So when a corpse shows up in the old summer home he and his cousins stayed at and it turns out to be an old pal from school, he is left absolutely untethered from all he understands in his world, and every attempt to make it makes sense seems to send him down the wrong path. The later part of the book does take place in the autumn months, but I didn't really get the sense that this took up a whole lot of the story

Classic Halloween Elements

The Coldest Girl in Cold Town by Holly Black *****

Carmilla by J. Sheridan Le Fanu *****

Cemetary Boys****

YA, Featuring ghosts and witches and blood rituals. What is more Halloweeny? "In an attempt to prove himself a true brujo and gain his family’s acceptance, Yadriel decides to summon his cousin’s ghost and help him cross to the afterlife. But things get complicated when he accidentally summons the ghost of his high school’s resident bad boy, Julian Diaz – and Julian won't go into death quietly. The two boys must work together if Yadriel is to move forward with his plan. But the more time Yadriel and Julian spend together, the harder it is to let each other go."

Dracula by Bram Stoker *****

The Best of Edgar Allan Poe

The Exorcist by William Blatty ****

Fledgling by Octavia Butler****

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley ****

What can have more than classic Halloween elements than a classic horror tale??

The Gilda Stories***

Vampires always fit this season. Follow a girl willing to kill to obtain freedom as she merges into life as a vampire and seeks out her people and a place to call home. 200 years of finding places for herself allow for a nice exploration of what it means for a vampire to live for a very, very long time.

The Girl in the Green Silk Gown by Seanan McGuire *****

The Girl with All the Gifts *****

The Mall of Cthulhu by Susan Cooper

Mexican Gothic****

Rosemary's Baby by Ira Levin***

Talk about a book that feels like horror for me in particular! And though a lot of the book has a veneer of the mundane, don't be deceived. There are witches and blood rituals and demonic entities tipping the scales. Perfect for those who love the spooky elements of Halloween! Also, I anticipated that after all the buildup, the ending wouldn't be able to live up, but I actually quite liked it. Though don't let that allow you to suspect a peachy resolution XD

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson***

One of the classic horror books has to go among classic Halloween! You think you know this story, but if you haven't read it, you likely know less than you think! This is the perfect time of year to check out the original.

Sparrow Hill Road by Seanan McGuire *****

Thirteen Storeys by Jonathan Sims ***

True Irish Ghost Stories by St. John Seymour & Harry Neligan***

The Vampyre; A Tale by John Polidori**

Nonfiction

From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to Find the Good Death by Caitlin Doughty*****

Is the west too disconnected from death thanks to a 20 billion dollar industry that makes loved ones disappear nearly the moment they leave the world of the living and their bodies corpses? What if we returned to a not so distant practice of taking part in death rituals, to have a purpose, be a link, in a loved one's passing from this world and the next? Doughty explores those rituals and more from cultures across the world and asks us to imagine a more fulfilling grieving process that included the body of those who've passed on.

Haunted Wisconsin by Michael Norman, Beth Scott****

Collected from around Wisconsin, this book contains tales of an "assortment of ghosts, apparitions and other supernatural occurrences."

I'll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara***

"A masterful true crime account of the Golden State Killer—the elusive searial rapist turned murderer who terrorized California for over a decade—from Michelle McNamara, the gifted journalist who died tragically while investigating the case."

Penguin Book of Hell by Scott Bruce **

Let's talk about hell. That's what this book is all about, from the ghostly afterlife of the Greeks to the hell we force on others. This follows in a pretty straight line from the Greek/Roman concepts thru the Christian concepts, to attitudes about endless punishment held today.

True Irish Ghost Stories by St. John Seymour & Harry Neligan***

Vampire Forensics: Uncovering the Origins of an Enduring Legend by Mark Collins Jenkins*****

An "engrossing history draws on the latest science, anthropological and archaeological research to explore the origins of vampire stories, providing gripping historic and folkloric context for the concept of immortal beings who defy death by feeding on the lifeblood of others. From the earliest whispers of eternal evil in ancient Mesopotamia, Greece, and Rome, vampire tales flourished through the centuries and around the globe, fueled by superstition, sexual mystery, fear of disease and death, and the nagging anxiety that demons lurk everywhere."

The World of Lore Books by Aaron Mahnke ****

These contain the books Dreadful Places, Wicked Mortals, and Monstrous Creatures. I haven't actually read Wicked Mortals yet, but the other two were perfect for the season and am confident so too Wicked Mortals will be too. Follow Mahnke as he explores the history of these folk tales and spoopy histories! They also work as great audio listens.

It's October, so get ready to see this even more! I still have books I want to add to it that are pending, and more will be added as I read. But I'm always looking for more books to queue up for some spoopy time (and/OR Autumn reading), and when I find there's something I wish there was more of out in the world, I find it helps to put out into it what we'd like to see.

That is to say, please feel free to add to this! I will excitedly look forward to more spoopy recs.

#fall fun #but I always like to hear others' recs for reading this time of year #So it only made sense I try to do the same #tf reads #books #spooky reading #spoopy fun times #la de da #don't mind meeee #silly tf #long post #gifs

13 notes · View notes

garden-ghoul · 1 year ago

Text

happy gushiwensday thursday!! We couldn’t resist taking a closer look at a Li He from Laurence’s drafts. Here’s “Five Moving Recitations---Poem 3.”

EXT: ZHONGNAN MOUNTAINS. HOW AWFUL!--- RAIN CONDENSED FROM CORPSE AIRS FALLS OVER EMPTY GRASSLAND. EXT: CHANG'AN, MIDNIGHT, AUTUMN A WIND DRIVES UNNUMBERED PEOPLE BEFORE IT TOWARD THE GRAVE ALONG A NARROW PATH, BLURRED, HUDDLED IN THE YELLOW DUSK WHILE DRAUGHTS CURL THROUGH THE BLUEBLACK OAKS. EXT: THE MOON (HIGH ZENITH) CASTS ITS IMAGE ON THE MOUNTAIN---A PALE DAWN. PHOSPHORESCENT FIRES WELCOME NEWCOMERS TO THE LAST GRAVE LIKE CHURNING FIREFLIES.

original text and notes under the cut.

感讽五首·其三

南山何其悲，鬼雨洒空草。长安夜半秋，风前几人老。低迷黄昏径，袅袅青栎道。月午树无影，一山唯白晓。漆炬迎新人，幽圹萤扰扰。

The reason for this format, which is intended to evoke setting directions for a play or film (but which Laurence says reminds them of the Disco Elysium narrators) is that I originally read 讽 as “satire.” So I wanted to be a little irreverent and weird. It’s freaking Li He!

rain condensed from corpse airs --- it actually reads 鬼雨 ghost rain, but the Gushiwen annotations say that this is rain that falls because of the bad smell of bodies, and I couldn’t resist getting a little, you know, ghoulish.

a wind drives... the grave --- okay, it actually says “old age” probably but I just strongly get the sense that the wind is time and time is death and death is wind, so.

blurred, huddled --- two different translations of 低迷, which can be a blurred landscape or an emotional/economic slump

yellow dusk --- this is actually a binome for regular dusk but how am I supposed to leave OUT colors that are in there?!

draughts curl --- excellent turn of phrase here; the line is 袅袅青栎道 graceful graceful green/blue/black oak road. But 袅袅 specifically means “rising in spirals”! It could refer to the branches of the oaks, which, like, oaks DO do that. But I like bringing back the wind, weaving between everything on the way to oblivion.

high zenith --- “noon” would be much snappier but moon noon is too funny and silly ::(

casts its image --- I’m intentionally misreading this, lol. 樹立 is intended to be read as “trees stand,” not as the binome “set up/establish.” So properly (as in Laurence’s translation!) this would be “trees upright shadow,” which to me evokes the weird no-shadow time when the light source is directly overhead. I have instead read 影 as image or reflection, meaning that the moon is sort of propagating itself or turning other things into reflections of it. But also, the idea of casting a shadow that brightens something like the sky before dawn is fucking haunting.

phosphorescent fires --- reads 漆炬 painted torches. Maureen Robertson seems to have read them as maybe stone lamps, but the fact that they’re compared to fireflies makes me like Gushiwen’s interpretation better, that they’re foxfires (painted = of an unusual color?).

last grave --- reads 幽壙 remote tomb. I wanted to suggest that the tomb is The Proverbial Grave and I like “last” as an indicator of remoteness.

churning fireflies --- the fireflies are 擾擾, “disturb-disturb.” Could be read as just sort of flurrying or swirling, but 擾 is often read as like “trouble” or “harass” so I wanted to add some uneasiness.

#gushiwensday #li shangyin-ass lighting tech. I love it.#li he

8 notes · View notes

charaunofficial · 2 years ago

Note

let me paint you a hypothetical flavour profile: a brisk hint of an earthy note on the nose, evoking an autumn morning spent crinkling through fallen leaves. then, the sweetness of your first slice of butterscotch-cinnamon pie, exactly as you remember it. then, it finishes on the lasting warmth of a relaxed evening around the hearth. do you understand, now?

* Hm.

* I suppose.

#flower child

3 notes · View notes

emergentcounseling · 1 year ago

Text

Seasonal Depression

The onset of the fall and winter months brings with it a lot of excitement. Everyone readily anticipates the arrival of Thanksgiving and Christmas, but there is also something else that can come with these events – seasonal affective disorder. Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) is a type of depression that appears in some people annually and is caused by the changing of the season or the anniversary of tragic or otherwise significant event; while some people can experience seasonal affective disorder in the spring and summer months, it usually starts in autumn and lasts throughout winter for most people.

In the days leading up to Christmas, everyone is scrambling to get last minutes gifts for their family and friends; it’s a time of year filled with joy. However, for some people the holiday season evokes feeling of sadness and despair. Just two days before Christmas, an 8-year-old girl was waiting up for her mother to come home; she knew that her mom was out buying Christmas presents and was so excited. The next day she found out that her mother had been in a terrible accident and all the gifts she bought were stolen. For years afterwards, the girl would feel sad around Christmastime and she had no explanation for this feeling; she wondered why she always felt so sad at a time that was supposed to be joyous. This a case of seasonal depression.

How do you know if you are suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder?

The symptoms of seasonal affective disorder are similar to those of traditional depression. These symptoms include lack of energy, changes in eating habits (over eating or under eating), loss of interest, changes in sleeping patterns, sluggishness, irritability, difficulty concentrating, and persistent feelings of sadness. The shorter days can affect your biological clock causing disruptions in your sleeping pattern. The end of daylight savings brings shorter days and longer nights; this change along with the colder weather are some of the major factors that contribute to SAD. People who already have a history of depression are also at a higher risk for seasonal affective disorder. The change in season can increase feelings of depression. The anniversary of a tragic event in your life can also trigger a form of seasonal depression and leave you feeling alone and sad while you’re surrounded by all your friends and family.

What can be done about this?

Seasonal affective disorder is treatable with the help of a mental health professional. This requires a thorough evaluation, and treatment for SAD may include light therapy in additional to talk therapy. Creating more light in your environment can be effective in treating your seasonal depression. You can also incorporate more exercise and outdoor time if your depression is caused by the change in season. If your seasonal depression is cause by the anniversary of a significant event in your life, seeking the help of a therapist can help you manage your symptoms when this time of year comes around again.

Do you suffer from seasonal depression? Contact us for help.

#Seasonaldepression

0 notes

writelikeyoubreathe · 1 year ago

Text

Autumnal Melancholy

As autumn unfurls its vibrant tapestry of reds, oranges, and browns, it often evokes a sense of melancholy. The leaves fall like russet tears, marking the transition from the lushness of summer to the stillness of winter. This season, rich in symbolism, is a recurring motif in art and literature, representing transition, decay, and loss. Autumn forces us to confront the inevitability of change, reminding us that we are but a small part of the greater natural world and to bear witness to the death that follows the vibrant life of spring. While we may now associate this season with cosy sweaters, hot drinks, and crackling fires, its underlying melancholy lingers in the crisp air, serving as a memento mori. For those grappling with their own grief and loss, autumn poses unique challenges, compelling us to seek solace in a world that forces us to confront these harsh realities.

In literature, autumn is frequently portrayed as the twilight of the year, a liminal space between the vitality of spring and the bitter winter cold. Notably, this is illustrated in W.B. Yeats’ poem, The Wild Swans at Coole. He pairs the image of the trees’ ‘autumn beauty’ with the ‘twilight’ setting to demonstrate this cyclical and transient nature of life, imbuing the scene with a sense of stasis, reflection, and tranquility as the speaker contemplates ephemeral human existence with the ineffable immortality of nature. This evokes a part of grief that I had never considered before I had experienced it: our loved ones who pass away are frozen in time like a pressed flower, never to bloom again in the spring, while we are meant to continue to grow. At first, I felt indignant and outraged at the unfairness of it all. How am I supposed to continue without them? How can the world keep turning or the seasons keep changing without our departed loved ones here to witness it?

As someone who has a history of mental illness, it feels cruel that someone so precious, beautiful, and ready for life should be taken away so soon. A bright light was extinguished. Whereas someone like me, flickering and dim, continues to burn. It's not fair. I've always known it's not fair; the guilt tastes like ash in my mouth. Throughout Yeats’ poem, the speaker focuses on these swans’ stasis throughout the years despite this change. They remain a collective mass that implies a monolithic unity, creating an illusion of immortality. This image is a microcosm of the enduring vitality of nature. We, too, will one day enter the winter of our lives, fall to the ground, and bring new life to the soil, much like autumn leaves. It comforts me to apply the permanence of the swans to ourselves. Through the lens of Yeats’ poem, we can interpret this season as a reminder of the human condition, not just as individuals who cannot be resurrected and become lost to the ravages of time, but as integral parts of the regenerative whole of nature, forming a larger community that creates new life as it witnesses death.

Another one of my favourite expressions of autumn is found in Jackson Pollock's Autumn Rhythm (Number 30, 1950). He employs a dripping technique in which paint is splattered, flung, and pooled onto the canvas to create an expressionist, non-representative explosion. The arches, curves, overlapping colours, and frenetic peaks of colour vividly illustrate the boundless nature of existence, its continuous flow without a clear beginning or end. Both the melancholic atmosphere conveyed by the dark colours and the chaos of this tempestuous expression reflects an internal turmoil and emotional turbulence, as well as the larger mutability of nature . The all-consuming contrast between the black and white paint conveys a liminality, changeability, and duality within autumn - the bountiful harvests and the withering trees, the transition from summer to winter. The lack of typical autumnal imagery is striking as Pollock encapsulates a visceral feeling, a power beyond the individual, he illustrates the greater cycle of life just like Yeats’ swans.

There’s a promise of change that lies beyond autumnal decay, one that promises more than ornate carpets of leaves and petals of breath that bloom in the air. The words of F. Scott Fitzgerald come to mind: "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.” Perhaps in this lies a possible comfort to find in this autumn. It serves as a poignant reminder of our place within the vast universe.

#thoughts #words #spilled words #autumn #artwork #writers on tumblr #writing #analysis #melanchaholic #mental illness #fall #autumn aesthetic #fall aesthetic #loss #grief #existence #existentialism #word web #web weaving

0 notes

fckmini · 1 year ago

Text

Autumnal Melancholy

#writing #autumn #fall aesthetic #writerblr #melanchonic #web weaving #spilled words #essay #mental illness #grief #loss #fall

1 note · View note

separatist-apologist · 3 years ago

Text

I Am Not A Woman, I'm A God

Summary: Elain Archeron only wants revenge on the man who jilted her and turned her village against her. On the Autumn Equinox, she decides to summon a demon and have her vengeance before leaving that village-and the life she'd once hoped for- behind. What comes for Elain is no demon. An ancient God of Chaos rises, binding her life to his. And when he speaks, he makes the most terrifying claim she's ever heard.

He says she's his wife.

TW: dubious consent (in both part 1 and 2). Fuck or die trope (part 2). Coercive language, Lucien as a (dis)respectful King. Light BDSM. Typos.

Part 1: I Am Not A Martyr | AO3

Elain scurried through the darkness, a basket slung over her arm. She glanced upwards at the full moon shining brightly, her feet bare against the cool grass. Wind ruffled her hair, urging her to turn back to her cottage, to go back inside and forget this plan of hers. Elain couldn’t, plunging further into the woods until she found the clearing she was looking for. Swaying treetops encircled the open, starry sky overhead while moonlight poured around her. Elain left the hood of her cloak up over her head as she set her basket on the ground. She pulled her things out one at a time, setting her spellbook at her feet.

Witch! His voice echoed through her mind. Graysen, her beloved, had exclaimed when he’d found the grimoire. You’re a witch!

She’d tried to explain her magic was light, was based in nature. She used it to grow plants, to tend to her garden. She wasn’t like the witches he’d heard stories of, who conjured demons and ancient, slumbering monsters to wreak havoc on the natural world.

Only, now she supposed she was. This night, Autumn Equinox, also featured a full moon. It was rare for the two to line perfectly but when they did, all manner of creatures could be compelled to come forth. Elain meant to call Lucius, a demon of vengeance, and have her revenge. She’d given Graysen everything, including her maidenhead and in return he’d ruined her. Broken their engagement, told the village she was no longer a maiden and a witch. She’d pleaded and begged and when none of that worked, tried to hold her head up high but the shunning had taken its toll. No one came for herbal remedies any longer, just as no one purchased her vegetables. She meant to leave entirely but before she did, Elain would see Graysen punished.

She chewed a mint leaf and began pouring her salt circle carefully. She’d need it to contain the demon, to compel it to do her bidding. She made it thick, passing several times as she chewed slow, swallowing only when she’d finished.

She reached for her tied lavender and eucalyptus, igniting them with her own magic. She’d woven honeysuckle and jasmine in between, hoping to entire the demon with something personal—they were her favorite scents.

Kneeling in the center, Elain hesitated. Her flowers burned gently in the grass beside her, the smoke curling upwards like a lovers caress, wrapping around her throat before vanishing into the night sky. It wasn’t too late to call the whole thing off. To back out. Elain bowed her head and then reached for her last item.

A long, jagged knife sheathed in leather lay harmless by her thigh. She pulled it out, examining the gleaming metal in the moonlight. Elain flipped open her book where she’d hidden the stolen, ripped page. She’d translated it herself, the language ancient and old. Her coven didn’t dabble in the darkness and as consequence, Elain’s grasp of the old language was only adequate. Good enough to read down a list of requirements to get her demon. Blood, to bind him, and then the evoking spell.

Elain took a breath. She assumed the demon would retreat once the full moon receded, but the blood would bind it to her will. If nothing else, Elain could always banish it back to hell, or wherever it came from. She tested the sharpness, not quite cutting her skin as she worked her way up to actually slicing her palm. The wind blew louder, a warning howl not to follow through with her plan.

Go home, she felt it beg. But Elain could not. She could not spend the rest of her life knowing Graysen lived, happy and carefree while she hid, terrified like a little mouse. She would make him feel her fear, if only for one night.

The blade screamed over her skin and Elain bit back a sob at the burning pain. Blood pooled over her palm, dripping over her wrist. She reached for the little opal stone, clutching the smooth, cool surface as though it might do anything to help the bite.

And then, without letting herself think of the foolishness of her plan for a moment longer, Elain began to speak the evoking words. Binding Lucius, demon of vengeance, to her. It was almost a vow, half prayer, half curse. Her will would be his, her life his. She spoke that final word, aeternitas. Until she willed it otherwise.

The ground beneath her shook violently and Elain waited, wondering if the demon would appear with smoke and fire, trailing the scent of brimstone and rot just behind. The rumbling stopped, leaving nothing but utter stillness in its wake. She didn’t move for what felt like hours, until the wind picked up and the world was normal again.

No demon. No vengeance. Elain let out a soft sob, rising to her feet furiously. She kicked the immaculate salt circle with her bare foot before gathering the rest of her things. Her hand throbbed from the blade and her feet ached from the unforgiving, rocky ground beneath her. It hadn’t been a guarantee, of course but Elain had been so sure the demon would come, if only out of curiosity. It wasn’t every day a nature witch called upon hell for vengeance, after all.

The walk back was longer. Elain let herself delight a little in the cool, autumn air fluttering around her. The world seemed different to her in a way she couldn’t quite explain and Elain was uneasy as she stepped from the forest. Gold seemed to hang in the air, glittering dust particles that shifted and danced in the moonlight. Behind her, the trees swayed and groaned, as though forced to move by a hand they were not used to obeying.

The air smelled crisp and yet older, somehow. She looked over her shoulder more than once, wondering if she was being stalked by her demon. It was bound to her, unable to harm her and yet the prickling on the back of her neck didn’t abate. She was relieved when she saw her cottage sitting alone on the hilltop overlooking her village beneath. Far from the villagers, just as they preferred. Tomorrow she’d pack it up entirely and begin the journey elsewhere, hoping for a fresh start in a place not so superstitious.

Smoke curled towards the violet, star freckled sky overhead, a cheerful omen that put Elain at ease. Over her door hung more jasmine and honeysuckle, the scent mingling with the crisp, cool air still dancing around her. Elain reached for the silver handle, adjusting the wicker basket on her arm.

The world stilled again as she turned the handle.

Run!

It was too late. Elain was not alone, not anymore. And whatever she’d summoned? Well, the shirtless man standing in the middle of her cottage was certainly no demon. His lips curled into a smile, revealing perfect, too white teeth. Wild red hair fell around his shoulders, braided in places, with little golden rings glinting in the firelight. Three ugly scars streaked across a golden eye, marring the otherwise beautiful brown skin of his face. His other eye was a strange brownish red, unblemished and flickering just like the flames from her fireplace behind him.

Every inch of him was hardened muscle, his bicep circled by a golden snake, his legs wrapped in tight black pants. And Elain knew viscerally he was something older, something far more dangerous than a simple demon.

“Who are you?” she asked, her spine cold with dread. Her voice shook with fear.

“You do not recognize your own husband?” he replied, that curling smile ever more cruel when he registered her panic.

“I…I am not married—”

No?” he interrupted softly, not moving from his place on the wood floor. His large, broad body seemed to suck up the space, making her feel small by comparison. “Did you not read the vows? Did you not pledge your life, your will, your soul? Did you not seal it in your blood?”

He held up his palm, revealing a shiny, matching scar on his own hand, a twin of her own. “I…no…I was summoning a demon of vengeance,” she tried to explain. His laugh was rich and dark with amusement.

“Oh, is that what you thought when you spoke of eternity?”

“Eternity?”

“Yes, little witch. Aeternitas. Eternity. Your life and mine, intertwined, inexorably bound.” She shook her head. “A mistake. I can undo it.”

His expression darkened. “No.” “Surely you don’t wish to be…bound to me, for eternity?”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Oh, but you’re wrong. I watched you walk into the woods, and I hoped you would see the words. I spoke them with you, I offered my blood. You are mine.” She took a step backwards, reaching for the door handle. It didn’t budge. “Who are you?”

His grin was sharp. Feral. “I will tell you my name only to hear you scream it later.”

That stilled her. “What did you—”

But he cut her off, unconcerned with her new, sharper fear. He straightened his spine, somehow taller. Bigger. A wreath of flame crowned him, bathed him in orange and red light and Elain knew what she had done the moment she the terrifying creature looking back at her.

He seemed old because he was old. Ancient. A God.

“Lucien,” he breathed, smoke pouring from his mouth. “God of Chaos.”

Elain couldn’t take another moment. She tried to gulp down air, desperate to hold on to reality.

It was no use.

Her vision blackened and the last thing she saw was his mismatched eyes watching her.

Feral with hunger.

~*~

Elain had the strangest feeling of warmth when she woke. She felt positively toasty, as though she were beneath the finest heated blanket instead of her own threadbare one. Comforted that she’d been trapped in a nightmare, Elain went to turn, her wrists aching from their position. Something hot tugged, holding her in place. Elain opened her eyes, back in her nightmare. Lucien was there at the foot of the bed, head cocked as he examined her and Elain realized the warmth was coming from his own strange magic, binding her around her hands and her ankles.

“Let me go,” Elain whispered, cognizant of the clothes still hiding her body.

“Will you run?”

“No,” she lied. Their eyes met and Lucien waved a hand, releasing her. And Elain scrambled from the bed, flying towards the door. Lucien caught her easily, chuckling. She felt his nose run against her neck, burying itself in her hair.

“I’m tempted to unleash you on the world and give chase,” he whispered, his words making her shiver. “Would you like that, wife?”

“I’m not your wife,” she replied, squirming against his tight hold. He didn’t release her, leaving her hoisted in the air, her back pressed to his chest.

“You are,” he disagreed, inhaling deeply. Still, he dropped her back to her bed and this time did not restrain her. “You feel it. Right… here.” And she did, felt the soft tug beneath her rib cage. Elain knew what magic felt like, understood how it bound things and people to the world. This was magic in its rawest, purest form, a thread tied to her rib that connected against his own.

“I didn’t…it was an accident,” she whispered, rubbing the spot he’d yanked just beneath her breast while he watched in that quiet, hungry was of his.

“Explain,” he demanded, spreading his legs, arms crossed over his bare, gleaming chest. Husband. The word clanged through her, rattling her bones. Could she truly marry a man without realizing what she said? Surely there was some loophole to this, a reasonable explanation he’d listen to. Elain steadied herself, certain this situation was just as upsetting to him as it was to her.

“My fiancé abandoned me,” she told him, keeping her voice calm and clear. “I only meant to summon Lucius…I was leaving in the morning.”

“And you still will,” Lucien replied dismissively. “I’ll handle the fiancé.” He took two thundering steps towards the door before she caught him, nearly tripping over the hem of her muddied dress to grab his muscular bicep. He looked down, eyes heated and Elain quickly released him. “Don’t do that.” “Why not? This is what you wanted.” But she knew the God of Chaos was allowed to play by his own rules, could do whatever he wished. The magic he possessed was unlike anything she could have dreamt of and there was nothing stopping him.

“It’s…”

“You are full of contradictions, wife. You vow yourself body and soul to me and then run away the moment I make good on your offering. You want vengeance but when I offer, you ask me not to.”

“I don’t want to kill him—” “Because you still love him?” Lucien sneered mockingly, turning to face her fully. She backed away breathlessly, too aware of how large his body was and how easy it would be to overpower her. He’d done it once and she knew he would do it again if she couldn’t convince him to leave. That was all Elain needed—if she could get him out of the house, she could come up with a new plan, one that took her far away from the chaos surrounded her.

“No, I don’t love him—” “That’s lucky for him,” Lucien murmured, reaching a broad hand to brush a piece of hair from her face. “I’d kill him for it.”

She steepled her fingertips in front of her body, hating how he watched her every minute gesture, as if everything utterly fascinated him. “Surely there is a loophole to this…marriage?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Lucien erupted, his rage made manifest by flame. Elain scrambled to the bed again which, in retrospect, was a mistake. Her arms yanked over her head, bound by warm flame and tied to the headboard. He’d left her feet unbound and she wondered if he didn’t like her resistance, up to a point.

“There is no loophole,” Lucien murmured, the flames receding back into his body until the man remained. He rolled his neck, glossy, molten hair falling around his face. “I made my vows to you gladly.”

“You don’t know me,” Elain pleaded, tugging against her restraints. “Please. Let me go.”

The shake of his head was imperceptible, practically unnoticeable. “If I let you go, will you run from me?”

Her whole body shook. She didn’t know if it was fear or the new thread of arousal that had spiked, so foreign that she immediately squashed it. She had the feeling he could sense those feelings and might pounce the very second she made any hint of her interest known.

“I think you would like if I ran,” she whispered as he approached again. He reached for one of her flailing legs, gripping her ankle tightly in his too large hand. She tried to kick him once, aiming for his face but his hold was ironclad. Calloused fingers rubbed against the inside of her calve, pulling her closer and closer until she realized he’d unrestrained her hands. She could have twisted, could have thrashed…but when he ran his nose along the inside of her knee, inhaling again, Elain could only watch with burning fascination.

“I would like very much if you ran from me,” he admitted. “I would like to have you among the leaves and rot.” “There will be no having,” she informed him shakily. He smiled, mouth pressed to the skin of her leg. Elain tugged, then, reminded that she was far too compliant for an unwilling bride but Lucien only held tighter, lowering himself until his head was between her legs.

“No?” he murmured, his breath hot against her body. “Your scent tells a different story.” “Stop it,” she whispered, fisting the sheets in her hands. The rough pads of his fingertips slid further up her legs, parting them with ease.

“Let me convince sell you on this union.” His murmured words were curling smoke, wrapping around her neck until Elain could only smell crisp night air and the blooming fire that trailed him. Heat, bright and golden, wrapped itself around her and for a moment, she let him stare down at her half naked form, his lips mere inches from her body. “Let me taste you, wife.”

The word settled in her stomach like a warning. She kicked him, then, the flat of her foot connecting with his lovely face. He staggered back and Elain flew off the bed, reaching for the door handle so she could run through the night, back to the woods where this had all begun.

Her hand throbbed at her side, her feet crunching over strewn leaves. Wind blew her hair behind her, the cool bite sharp against her overheated skin. It didn’t occur to her until she reached the tree line that he must have opened the door. The same one he’d locked.

And he’d be coming for her. Giving chase.

Just like he’d wanted.

~*~

Running back into the woods was the worst idea Elain had ever had. It seemed as though all her ideas backfired on her. Leading him into further darkness, where she’d be at his mercy, where no one would hear her if she screamed…Elain stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t see anything in the dimness surrounding her. Clouds obscured the once moon bright sky, leaving her to scan her surroundings with her own poor vision, looking for his looming presence in the dark. She couldn’t see him and yet she could feel his eyes watching her, waiting to see what she’d do next.

Elain shivered, the memory his mouth on her leg forcing her to clench her thighs tighter. Magic, she lied to herself. It was only his magic.

She could try and get back to her cottage and find some way to keep him out. A spell, perhaps? A lock? None of it seemed strong enough to prevent him from just strolling back in when he tired of their game.

The woods were a non starter. She knew what would happen out there…and wasn’t entirely sure she didn’t want to find out what, exactly, he could do among the leaves and the rot, as he’d said. She knew he wouldn’t hear her if she said no…and suspected she might not ask him to stop if he ever managed to do the things his hands and eyes were promising. If he believed her to be his wife now, what would he think once they’d consummated things?

That left one option. Her sisters lived just beyond the village, further out closer to the sea. Elain had moved inland to be closer to Graysen. She thought if she could find shelter among the village residents and take off in the morning, she might be able to shake him. Perhaps he’d tire of waiting once he realized he could not lure her from others.

She took a breath, her heart pounding. The villagers did not trust her, believed her to be the cause of all their problems. Surely, though, someone would be sympathetic. Someone would take pity on her, would remember that she’d delivered nearly ten babies during her time, had sat with the sick, had helped bury loved ones.

The wind whistled around her softly, a familiar warning. Don’t, it seemed to warm, pushing against her face. Shoving her towards the trees, as if the woods were somehow safer. She knew what was lurking, what manner of monster meant to claim her if she turned around.

She smelled the burning wood before she ever saw the massive fire, built in the middle of the town square. From her position at the village gate, Elain watched with fascination how the flames licked towards the sky, smoke blotting out the twinkling stars. It was far too late for such a bonfire and for a minute, she thought something had caught fire. She didn’t notice, from how far she was, the people who kept it going, stoking it with wood and other material until the flames reached far higher than anything Elain had ever seen. What could they possibly need with a fire so big, so hot?

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice whispered, fingers curling around her upper arm. Elain started, surprised to see one of the midwives holding her. Elain let her drag her into shadow, hiding between the thatched homes that were arranged so neatly within the village. The smell of tallow and lavender told her they were just beside the soap makers. Elain had delivered one their babies. “You need to run.”

“I need help,” Elain tried to explain, her eyes desperately searching in the dark for some ounce of kindness. “Please, I am being hunted—” “I am aware of what hunts you,” the woman interrupted. “Go to the woods where it is safe. They won’t follow you in there.”

Elain shook her head because of course Lucien would follow her in. He would dance into that tree line singing as he undid his trousers, determined to claim something that did not belong to him. “Listen, it’s only for—”

“You found her,” Graysen’s voice cut through Elain’s plea and the woman released her grip with a shove, pushing her towards Elain’s once beloved. Elain stepped into a silvery beam of moonlight, suddenly able to see. Graysen looked down at her, his brown eyes steely and unforgiving. He radiated a coldness that made her shiver in the Autumn chill, fear slithering up her spine. “I was just about to pay you a visit.”

In the distance, the fire cracked menacingly. “A visit?” Elain asked, looking over her shoulder at the midwife. Her face betrayed apology though she said nothing. She would do nothing to stop what was happening, would only hope Elain understood that today it was Elain but tomorrow it could be any one of them.

“More cattle are dead, Elain. We have begged you to stop and still you afflict us with your terrible curse.”

“I’m not killing cattle!” Elain protested, dodging when Graysen lunged for her. “You know I’m not!”

“I don’t know you at all. You bespelled me to—” “I did not such thing!” she shrieked angrily, rising her hand to strike him. He caught her wrist roughly, twisting until he threatened to break the bone. Elain’s indignation became pain, letting him pin her arms behind her back. “Graysen, you have to know I didn’t…” “It explains everything,” he grunted, dragging coarse rope over the delicate flesh. Her palm seemed to scream in agony at this new intrusion, the wound still too fresh to take any further abuse.

“If I truly had you in my thrall, how did you manage to escape?” she demanded, wincing against how tightly he bound her.

A crowd was gathering, murmuring abusive comments and other words of encouragement to Graysen. At her question, they fell silent, waiting to hear. How had he managed? Elain waited for whatever vile bullshit he would offer up, lies the crowd would devour in their thirst for blood.

“I am stronger than you,” he finally retorted, yanking on her hold as though to demonstrate the truth of his claim. “It was only a matter of time.”

“Yes, how convenient it happened after you compromised my virtue!” she spat.

“That was more of your doing!” he snapped and she hated him in that moment, hated so much she would have done anything to be free of her bonds, to face him if only to spit in his lying, cowardly face. “You have brought this all on yourself. Who knows what might have happened to a lesser man—”

“You are a lesser man!” she screamed as he began to drag her towards that cackling, roaring fire. It’s use was now apparent to her, her demise so laughably obvious she wondered how she had not realized sooner. “You are a coward—”

His hand struck across her face and the crowd roared its approval. Chaos, it seemed, reigned in the village that night and Elain was merely a slave to its will. She dug her heels into the dirt, determined to fight Graysen every step of the way. She would not go quietly, would not let him force her into the role of martyr so he would be absolved of what he’d done. No one could force him to honor his promise to her, to hold up his end of their night together, if she was dead. Elain wished she could scream in the faces of every villager, of every woman that hungrily cried out for her dead.

And so she did. “What happens when it is your husband who tires of you?!” she screamed, legs flailing against Graysen’s hold on her body.

The world stilled so suddenly Elain was jarred by the silence. The bonds on her wrists vanished, leaving her the only moving thing in a portrait of promised violence. The wind whipped again, warmer than before and behind her, flame erupted furiously. Heavy boots stomped loudly in the darkness, bringing Chaos himself before her. Eyes burning, his brilliant red hair wreathed in flame.

“When I told you to run, this was not what I meant,” he complained, gesturing at the frozen crowd scattered around her. “Would you rather die than be mine?”

“Are those my options?” Elain retorted, forgetting the danger that surrounded her for a moment. His expression darkened, half hidden in the inky night. “Yes.”

“You’d leave me here?” she demanded and Lucien’s resulting chuckle made her shiver. It wasn’t fear slithering up her spine anymore. She hated the reaction he provoked, wanted to know how he managed it. Was it magic, like Graysen claimed? Or was it something else?

The thought was too terrifying to comprehend. She had enough problems in the moment.

“Oh no. If you choose death I will merely endeavor to change your mind.” “Then why bother giving me a choice at all?” she asked, exasperated. He cocked his head, a smile curling over his handsome face.

“You want a choice. I am content with what I have, sweet wife. Now…I believe I have been summoned, this evening.” “I didn’t mean—” she began to protest, but he held up his hand.

“They have summoned me and if they are not careful, will draw the attention of War and Vengeance as well.”

Elain turned, her horror returning in full force. “You can’t…they’re innocent.”

“Each of them,” Lucien began, his words silky and dark, “Hopes desperately your death will be drawn out. Painful. A show for them to watch, to discuss in the morning. How they dress it up as justice, but I can see their desires, I can read their hearts. They suspect this one,” Lucien paused before Graysen, lips curling into a sneer, “Is lying so he might marry the blacksmiths daughter. He was caught with her and swore to uphold her honor…a hard task given he was already betrothed to another.”

Pain lanced through her chest. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t care enough about any of this to lie,” Lucien snapped. “What would you have done had you summoned your demon correctly?”

Elain looked to Graysen, frozen in the firelight. His face, twisted with hatred, his cowardice so apparent. She’d assumed he just…never loved her at all. She supposed that was still truth. To hear he’d been with another, that her death paved the way for him to marry that woman, well… “I wanted him to die.”

It was the ugliest thing she’d ever admitted. Lucien’s featured twisted with satisfaction and she realized he must have known the truth of the matter all along. He circled her body until he stood behind her, his back to the crackling flames. His fingers curled one by one over her shoulder. He lowered his head, his breath hot against her neck. “Let me give my new wife a gift.”

Heat bloomed through her body. “I’m not your wife,” she reminded him, ignoring his dark chuckle.

“Not yet. Just as soon as I end this pathetic man’s life.”

She hesitated as time picked back up. The crowd was still humming, their noise rising and then immediately falling when they realized something wasn’t quite right. Graysen spun, looking for the prey he’d just held in his arms. She wondered what it must feel like to blink and realize the God-like status you’d assigned to yourself could be so cruelly snatched by an actual God. Lucien’s presence was imposing, the smile on his face cruel and beautiful with equal measure. Graysen stumbled backwards at the sight of the crown of flames licking across his forehead, a near match for the ember in his eyes.

“What have you done?” Graysen whispered, turning to look at Elain.

“Mortal,” Lucien’s booming voice was condemnation, was hell on Earth and the most terrifying thing Elain had ever heard in her entire life. Surely it had not come from the same man? Her heart pounded even as his fingers dug sharper against her shoulders, reassuring her she was the only one safe from his promised wrath. “It is you who have summoned me here with claims of a witch.”

The remaining color drained from Graysen’s face. “I...I…she has been killing cattle—” “I would not lie,” was Lucien’s only declaration, each word dripping with promise should Graysen not heed the warning. Lucien stepped around Elain, his steps echoing in the ground beneath them. The crowd skittered backwards, their fear heady in the bonfire rich air.

“Take it back and I’ll spare you,” Lucien whispered when he approached Graysen. The heigh difference between the two men was hardly noticeable and yet Lucien’s broadness, the musculature of his frame and the raw power he seemed to exude made him seem twice as large. Graysen cowered in his presence.

And Elain knew, before Graysen ever whispered, “I take it back,” that Lucien would kill him no matter what. He would kill him for the lie or Lucien would kill him for his cowardice. Lucien looked at her, waiting for a moment. Teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

And she ran for the second time that night.

~*~

This time, when the trees appeared in Elain’s line of sight, she didn’t hesitate. She plunged into the darkness, her feet flying over the branch and leaf strewn floor. She ignored the ache in her feet and the pain in her hand, listening for the sound of screams. They came all at once, a symphony of fear and pain…and then stopped all at once. Her stomach lurched, not in horror at what she’d signed off on, but anticipation. If he was done in the village, he’d turn his gaze to her.

The wind murmured its agreement, blowing swift and cool around her too hot body. He was coming.

A smarter woman would have given in. It occurred to Elain, when she heard the sound of his walking steps behind her, when she smelled that rich, crisp scent, that she was better off stopping where she was and giving in. Accepting her fate was the only reasonable choice and still Elain decided she would keep running, past the clearing that had started it all, further into the dark until the spidery veins of the now empty trees swayed a silent warning beneath the Autumn moon.

Lucien caught her roughly, the force of his body knocking the wind from her lungs. The pair sailed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He panted though if it was his own exertion or desire that stole his breath, she didn’t know. The two struggled for dominance until he had her arms pinned over her head, one knee firm between her legs.

“It’s over now, wife,” he breathed. “Stop fighting.” “I’ll never stop,” she retorted hotly, ignoring the way her body pulled towards his. She squirmed, gasping when he ground hard against her, the hardness of him heady and terrifying all at once. “You are mine.”

“You can’t own a person,” she whispered against the brush of his lips, attempting to angle her hips away from his. It only caused more friction, which in turn brought more heat. She was panting now and couldn’t pretend some of it wasn’t desire…at least a little. “Get off me.” “No,” he replied, his hand sliding down her still clothed body. “I made you a promise. If you didn’t want me to uphold it…why did you run?”

She closed her eyes. “You frighten me.”

The kiss he leveled against her mouth was part assault, part brutal claim. He gathered her aching wrists in one large hand, keeping them pinned atop her head, freeing himself to tangle the other in her hair. His tongue pried against her teeth and when Elain bit against his lip, hoping to cause him pain, he merely groaned loudly and bucked his hips, letting her know she’d pleased him by accident.

And the kiss itself? Electric. Elain could claim some sort of magic infused his lips, settled against his tongue. She writhed against him, unsure what she would do if she managed to free herself even as she kissed him back, drawing blood in her desperation to punish him. His tongue slid over the roof off her mouth, sending a pulse of heat lightning hot through her body. The arousal threaded over her skin, making a mockery of Elain’s protests.

“Don’t,” she whispered at the feel of his hand, touching her breasts through her dress until he found her peaked nipples and pinched. The rustle of the fabric only heightened the sensation, drawing a gasp from her throat. “Lucien, stop.” “I can smell you,” he groaned, ignoring her protests to thrust against her, his nose buried against her neck. “You are the only thing I can smell and it is driving me insane.” Fingers curled around the hem of her dress, pulling it over her hips. “Lucien—” he silenced her with another punishing kiss, claiming her with his mouth. The taste of him, heady and golden, coated her tongue until her pulls against his grip were to free herself, not for escape so much as to thread her fingers through his hair.

It was wrong, so very, very wrong to let him have her this way. He was a stranger whose claim was dubious at best. For all she knew he’d merely seen her in the woods and decided to debauch the maiden for fun. She needed clarity and perhaps some proof of his claim before she woke alone in the forest floor covered in his emissions, ruined for the second time by a man.

“Lucien—” her protest slid into a gasp as his fingers pulled aside her under garment and slid the length of her. He hissed, eyes flying open to look down at her with accusation. His hand returned to her face, brushing the wetness against her own lips.

“Liar,” he crooned, invading her mouth with the pads of his fingers so she could taste her own arousal. “Beautiful little liar.” She whimpered, not from the intrusion but from the loss of his touch. She arched against him, saliva sliding down her chin when he pushed his fingers deeper, forcing her to inhale the musky sweetness of her body. His breathing was labored, eyes almost frenzied as they watched.

“I’m going to release you,” he warned, squeezing his hold along her wrist for just a moment. “If you fight me, I’ll take you while you kick and scream.” She shivered at the thought, nodding while she watched, his face still inches from her own. “Don’t make me regret this,” he all but begged, grinding his cock against her wet core with the same desperation she was pretending she didn’t feel. “I need to taste you, I beg of you—” And the thought that a God might beg her for anything was heady, made her feel powerful for the first time in her life. Elain nodded and his grip vanished so he could hoist himself over her, caging her beneath his larger, more powerful frame. He brushed his thumb over her lip, the wound on his palm catching in a silvery slip of moonlight.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered as he slithered down his body, unconcerned about the cut he, too, bore on his palm.

“We will deal with that later,” he grunted. He settled on his knees between her thighs, holding the edge of her dress in his hands. Ripping fabric shattered the peace around them, sending several lingering birds screaming for safety. She gasped, suddenly extremely exposed, not just to the cool bite of Autumn air but to his burning, possessive gaze. Her hands flew to her breasts and Lucien shook his head.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” he warmed, his good palm flickering to life like a candle. He reached for his pants. Panic flared to life and Elain scooted backwards, dragging leaves with her. He tutted, his irritation plain. He snapped his fingers, and her hands were rebound in soft, almost tickling flame that roped her to a nearby tree. He cocked his head to the side, admiring her as he freed himself from his pants.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy restraint,” he murmured, rising to his full height to shed himself of his boots. He held his thick, large cock in his hands, the head beaded with moisture. Her gut tightened, a mixture of fear and desire warring from dominance. He was the largest man she’d ever seen, the tip of his cock stretching towards the dense trail of hair covering his taut abdomen. In his overlarge hands, it seemed threatening and Elain squirmed, tugging on the magic bonds she knew she could not escape from. Wind blew over her naked body, eliciting a shivered moan she could not hide from his ever-watchful gaze.

“Are you frightened, wife?” he asked, stroking himself again. He lowered himself to his knees, still holding the base of his shaft in his hand.

“Yes,” she admitted truthfully. His eyes rolled backwards for a moment and he inhaled, reassuring himself that whatever fear she felt was punctuated by desire. Or perhaps he did not care if she enjoyed herself at all. Perhaps her fear was enough. He released his hold on his body to reach for her legs, smiling when she offered a halfhearted kick to his chest. Firmly, with more force than was warranted, he spread her apart. Eyes burned, twin flames of red and gold in the dark. While shadow danced over his golden-brown skin, lit softly from whatever fire burned just beneath his skin, she sensed he could see her with perfect clarity. His eyes cut through the dark and allowed him a perfect view of what he sought.

“I am going to enjoy you,” he whispered, lifting her hips until he held her in broad hands, his biceps bulging as he arched her off the ground, bringing her pussy mere inches from his lips. Elain panicked again, writhing against her restraints. No one had ever—

“Wait—”

He did not wait, sliding his tongue over her in one long, broad, wet stroke that silenced her for a moment. It was wrong, her brain screamed even as her struggling shifted, not to escape, but to bring her closer to the heat of his mouth. “Stop,” she whispered, her plea no longer believable to even her own ears. He merely laughed, licking again with a delicious slowness.

“You are so wet,” he groaned, so loud even the trees stopped their rustling to listen.

“It’s you,” she protested with a gasp, refusing to admit she liked how soft his tongue felt against her body, how good those slow circles he was making against the trembling nub of flesh made her feel.

“Liar,” he whispered, breath curling against her skin. “Struggle for me, little wife.”

And she did, yanking against the bond until his face was buried against her, his tongue flicking back and forth, lavishing attention over a part of her body she’d never given a terrible amount of consideration to. Perhaps he knew, had pulled the memory from Graysen before he ended his life, looking at the quick, otherwise forgettable night they’d spent together. She’d once thought it special but now, tied to the forest floor as she writhed against his face, Elain thought it rather plain.

Embarrassing.

Lucien moaned against, the sound threading through her body. His fingers dug into her thighs until she was certain he’d left fingertipped sized bruised dotted against her skin. Leaves rustled beneath them, muffling the wet sound of his lips sucking, licking, tasting ever available inch and then redoubling his efforts.

Pleasure, bright and hot, ripped through her body, urging her towards an unknowable end. She could not say a word, her lips pressed together to keep her from betraying herself, from begging him to keep going. Nails dug into the dirt, anchoring her to the earth below her, blanketed in a dusting of gold and ash and still he didn’t stop, until her world was a mere moment, pinpointed in the space between her clitoris and his mouth.

She screamed involuntarily, splintering into pieces. Her hips bucked and he spread her wider, his tongue faster, hotter than before. It was perfect for one blissful moment. She was outside her body, practically floating as she lost herself, stuck somewhere in the place where pain and pleasure mingled and met. She attempted to pull herself from his grasp, to let him know she was coming down, but Lucien did not stop. He yanked, one arm settling over her pelvis so he could continue his feast, utterly ravenous.

“Lucien,” she gasped, over sensitive and desperate for relief.

“Scream,” was all he said, his word a command. “I need to hear it again. Music.” “Stop,” she begged, pleasure rebuilding, too hot, too fast. Lucien held her against the ground, ignoring how she writhed until she did exactly as he demanded, screaming her plea even as her thighs clenched, her body locking around his head. He was lost and she knew it, determined to take every ounce of pleasure he could without a care as to how he got it. A tear slid down her cheek, her body shook. It was too much, each new orgasm ripping through her anew, robbing her of breath.

And then, when she thought he meant to torture her with his mouth all night, he pulled back. Resting on his haunches, he looked down at her, his cock bobbing between his legs. Gingerly, he reached back between her quivering cunt and spread her wide, as though trying to gauge what he thought she could take.

He snarled softly, releasing his hold on her to look up at the sky overhead. Violet had given way to a dusky rose, betraying the suns eminent rise. Relief pooled through her and Elain relaxed for a moment despite her runaway heartbeat. Reprieve, if only for a moment. She was exhausted, wrung out and still in pain. Her legs ached from all the running, her wrists chafed from constantly being bound and her palm, still bleeding from the knife, oozed a trickle of blood that was beginning to worry her.

Lucien snapped his fingers and tickling fire vanished, dropping her wrists back to the cool bed of leaves. She watched him yank on his pants, his irritation apparent.

“What’s going on?” she asked, suddenly afraid he meant to abandon her. He said nothing until his boots were back on his feet. With a wave of his hand, a cloak fashioned from dark fibers draped itself over her body, fluttering to earth like the sweetest feather. He let her sit up amid the ruined, ripped tatters of her dress, wrapping the soft, warm fabric around her overly sensitive body.

He didn’t wait for her to clamber to her feet. He merely scooped her up against his hot, bare chest and began walking further into the woods, his back against the rising sun. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, twisting in his arms in an attempt to look over broad shoulders.

He frowned. “Where else would I take you, wife? I’m taking you home.”

“Home?” she repeated. Lucien’s smile was blinding, beautiful and cruel all at once. “Yes, wife. Home.”

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elain x lucien #please check the TWs before you read #and let me know your thoughts #im just so far out of my wheelhouse lately #first with slow dancing in a burning room #and now this #who even am i?#idk

77 notes · View notes

behindheremeraldeyes · 4 years ago

Text

damirae week 2021 tuesday, May 4th - enemies to lovers & dark fantasy/ fairytale

title: bewitched

summary: “There’s a sly and satisfied smirk playing on her lips, and for a moment, he knows she has bewitched him, body and soul. This girl— this demon— is going to be his downfall. " Ao3 // ffnet

It is a moonless night when the most powerful members of the League of Assassins are gathered in the catacombs of the sacred city of Eth Alth’eban. There are at least 20 men wearing dark-green hoods to cover their faces, each holding a lit candle in order to provide just the minimum luminosity for the ceremony that is about to take place. Their leader, Damian Al’Ghul, stands straight as he holds his powerful countenance, his emerald eyes never leaving the deteriorated book in his hands. A conjuring circle has been drawn with the ancient sand of the white desert, and at this moment, all the preparations have been concluded.

At last, the time has come. After spending years studying the dark arts and reading countless manuscripts on the matter, Damian is finally ready to take the next step towards a prosperous future. He is about to do what his predecessors never had the guts to, and with this action, a new era for the League is about to begin. He will make his grandfather proud by rewriting the history of their organization. He will be respected and his name, finally, immortalized.

“From hell, I, Damian Al’Ghul summon thou. Break the gates, unleash thy power and come forward. Step into this world now that the shadows cover this land. Be mine, demon, and my heart shall be yours for eternity.” He closes the book, handling it to one of the servants standing next to him. His hand reaches for the dagger in his belt, and in a fraction of a second, he tears the skin of his right hand. Red blood oozes from the sash and he lets it drip over the circle, tinging the white sand into a bright crimson. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos.”

The last words come as a whisper and a profound silence envelops the room. A couple of seconds pass, and though he can practically touch the thick anxiety of his subordinates around him, there’s no room for hesitation in his core. His pulse suddenly increases and it’s as if he can feel his heart constricting inside his ribcage. It’s not painful, not in the least. In fact, it gives him a feeling of fulfillment, and as he embraces this feeling, the ground beneath his feet starts to shake.

A dust of wind invades the catacombs, the lights of a few candles fading in consequence. Suddenly, an ominous fog swirls inside the circle, delicate at first, but quickly escalating into a dark vortex. Breathing gets harder, as if all the oxygen is quickly vanishing, and from the corner of his eyes, he can see some of the elder man falling on their knees, holding their throats and gasping for air. He doesn’t move, though. He can’t, for his feet are suddenly too heavy and something tells him he shouldn’t move a single muscle.

So he doesn’t. He stands his ground for what feels like an eternity, but eventually, the turmoil ceases and a dark sphere appears over the circle, floating steadily. His ears capture the sound of his men recovering, and some even take a step closer to him, as if to offer their prince some support. They have their blades ready, but Damian knows they won’t do anything unless he commands them to. There’s no need for violence. At least not yet.

After almost a full minute, the orb then dissolves and a small figure is now kneeled on the floor, the runes of the circle now shinning with a purple aura. His men are left in pure awe at the scene in front of them, but Damian doesn’t let those feelings take over him. His eyes are slowly studying the figure, and it doesn’t take long for him to realize the demon he has summoned has a human form— the form of a woman, apparently.

Her head is lowered, dark hair falling forward. She’s naked, her bare skin pale as the finest porcelain and slim curves outlining her figure. Her arms are wrapped across her chest in a protective way, and he is quick to notice the way she’s shivering. She’s cold, he thinks. It’s mid winter here, and perhaps, she must still be used to the warmer temperatures of hell.

“Bring me a source of fire. Now.” He orders, and his subordinates don’t question, quickly lighting a brazier. In a swift move, then, Damian unbuttons the cape that falls over his shoulders and wraps it around her. He’s crouched now, his feet invading the circle and his face just a few inches away from hers. When he reaches out for her now covered shoulder, she trembles under his touch. His eyes squint a bit, and slowly, he watches as she finally lifts her face.

Their eyes are connected now. His emeralds and her amethyst clashing and he can’t find it in himself to look away. She’s enticing, seductive, even. Her eyes are as deep as autumn’s starry skies, and her rosy lips are slowly parting as she studies his expression. There’s a red crystal on her forehead, and it’s as if flames are dancing inside of it.

Damian is mesmerized by her ethereal beauty. She’s probably the most beautiful creature he has ever seen, and for a moment, her pure looks make him forget that she is, in fact, a demon. A demon he has summoned to help him achieve his goals.

Once realization strikes him back, he blinks and breaks eye contact. He stands up, his imposing figure now towering over her body as he reaches out, offering his hand to help her stand. At first, her eyes are just staring at him, but eventually, she accepts his gesture and he can properly feel her icy touch clashing against his warm skin. Though her legs are still shaky, she manages to stand up, and as expected, she’s smaller than him. She lets go of his hand once she’s confident enough to stand alone, and though her eyes were only filled with confusion until this point, now, he can see a new flame behind her irises.

She’s examining her surroundings now, and he wonders if she’s either planning a way to escape or to kill all of them— for their sake, he hopes it’s not the latter. The demoness takes a deep breath, then, and her attention returns to him.

“So you’re the one who’s summoned me.” Her voice is low, almost velvety, and he senses an inch of growing confidence in it.

“Yes.” He confirms. “You will help me achieve my goals.” His eyes are determined as those words roll out of his tongue, and that determination evokes a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, is that so? How can you be so sure of that? Tell me what’s stopping me from killing you and all of your men?”

The lack of hesitation in her voice causes a turmoil in his men, and they were quick to unsheathe their blades. Rage fills their hearts, and their blood-thirst is almost palpable now.

“Just say the word, your majesty.” One of them says, and it’s clear that they only need the minimum approval from Damian to slit her throat.

“Is this your pathetic excuse for backup?” She huffs, not bothering to spare them a single glance. They’re growing more irritated, but she pays them no mind. ”I see why you needed a demon, then.”

“You devil creature! How dare yo— “

“Enough.” He says, firmly, with a reprimanding tone towards his men. If anything, he won’t let them fall for her tricky games so easily. He’s glaring at her now, yet she doesn’t seem intimidated by him in the least. “If you wanted us dead, you would’ve done it by now.”

“Very astute, your majesty.” She mocks, finally turning her amethyst orbs to his men. “At ease, gentlemen. No one needs to die here tonight. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to speak alone with you, Damian Al’Ghul.”

“Very well.” He turns to his men. “You can leave now.”

“What?! Master Damian, we shouldn’t have done this. We can just kill her and get back to the way we were before. We can—“

“Don’t you dare finish this sentence, sergeant.” He speaks, harshly. “I forbid you or anyone else in this facility to bring her any harm. Have I made myself clear?” There’s a screaming silence after his words, but eventually, his men bow their heads in acceptance. Hands are clenched into tight fists, and at last, her smirk fades from her face. For that, Damian is thankful.

In less than a second, all the men surrounding them leave the room. The light from the lit fire outlines their silhouettes as they now stand face to face. She’s still wrapped around his green and golden cape, and there’s a serious expression decorating her features now.

“So, Damian…” She starts, squinting her eyes in defiance. With her powers, the magic book he’s used to conjure the spells comes floating to her hands, and she’s quick to start flipping through its dusty pages. “You might be aware of this already, but you have used a pretty powerful grimoire to summon a demon like me. The mage who wrote this spells certainly knew what he was doing, for he’s found a way to turn the tables against us, evil creatures.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we can’t just fool you, humans, into doing whatever we want like we’ve been doing for the past centuries.” She smirks. “At least not so easily anymore. With the spells in this book, giving you my real name or stuff like that makes absolutely no difference.”

“And what is it? Your name, I mean.”

Her eyes stare at him for a while, and though she takes a couple of seconds to try and read him, eventually, she gives in. “Raven. You can call me Raven.”

“Raven.” He tests her name in his own voice, and unconsciously, he finds himself enjoying the way it rolls out of his tongue. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure is all mine.” She replies, finally closing the book with a loud noise. “Well, you’ve summoned me from the depths of hell, Damian. You don’t need to tell me your reasons for it, but please, do tell me, what is it that you want me to do? How can I serve you?”

He nods at her, and even if Damian knows better than to simply trust a demon, he believes she’s being genuine. Though there are still a lot of things he has yet to learn about dark magic, he knows that the book he’s used gives him the higher ground against her. There are taming spells there that can subdue her to his wills, and if anything, she’s not allowed to kill him. They’re bound together for as long as he wants to, and giving her his heart in exchange for that felt quite acceptable.

They’re each holding the strings of each other’s lives, and with that, he believes they will find balance.

“I want what all the humans in my position want, Raven. I want enough power to protect my man and the things we stand for. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Nothing more, huh?” Her brows quirk, and she takes a few steps closer to him. Her eyes are on his, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t spot a certain curiosity in her demeanor. “Don’t you want to rule the world, Damian? Don’t you want to be feared by nations and create your own empire?”

“No.” He says, promptly. “A true leader should not be feared, but respected.”

“How very honorable for a human.” She teases, finally returning the book to him. “But this is none of my business. I’m in no position to defy your wishes. I’m bound to consent if that’s what you want.”

She turns away from him, then, and he watches as his cape dances around her slim legs. She stretches her arms and neck, and that’s when he reminds himself that, even if she’s a creature from hell, Raven still has her own wishes and desires. They’ve made a contract, and even if the odds are in his favor, there must be something in it for her, too. He refuses to believe that a human heart is enough to pay for what could be a life of servitude.

The leader of the Assassins takes a deep breath, then, as he decides to venture unexplored territory. His intentions are noble— at least he thinks they are— and he doesn’t hesitate before speaking. “And what is it that you want, Raven?”

“Me?” She asks, curiosity lacing her voice. She turns to face him once more, and he catches a glimpse of interest in her amethyst eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’m asking you what is it that you want. What will you get from helping me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asks, her tongue instinctively running across her lower lip. “I’ll be finally free, Damian.”

“Free?” He arcs his brows as he tries to understand her words. “Can you really be free while bounded to a human?”

“You humans have a very idealistic sense of freedom. We are bound together, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean you’re taking away my freedom. It’s quite the opposite, in fact.”

“How so?”

“You took me away from hell, Damian. And though it might not be the worst place for us, demons, it’s still pretty hard not to lose control when all of those suffering souls are screaming inside your head.” She smiles, weakly, but genuinely. “Now that I’m only connected to you, it’s easier to think straight. My mind isn’t crowded anymore, and that alone sets me free. If you are to put me in a cage for the rest of your life, so be it. At least I will some peace.”

His lips go agape after her words, and he feels his heart skipping a beat. Though he initially believed to know enough about demons due to his previous studies, Damian now knows that there’s a lot more about them he has yet to understand. They’re creatures with thoughts and emotions, and some of them might still carry some traces of humanity. Though malice and wickedness might prevail in their core, perhaps— just perhaps— some of them can come to comprehend feelings such as mercy and happiness.

Perhaps, together, they can eventually comprehend the meaning of love.

The heart inside his chest, though no longer his, beats faster as his eyes continue to stare at her. A sense of dignity and justice takes over him, and before he knows it, his hand is already placed over her shoulder. His touch is tender, and he watches as bewilderment spreads around her face. “You won’t be trapped in a cage, Raven. I want you to rule by my side, and we will stand together against whatever might come for us. I will give you anything you might desire. I will keep you safe.”

As his words sink in, a slow smile takes over her lips, and she uses her right hand to remove his from her shoulder. “A human protecting a demon… How amusing.” Her small fingers are now holding his, and he notices how foreign her touch feels. Still, she’s gentle. “Not trapping a demon in a cage, huh… You might regret this decision later, Damian.”

“I won’t.” He nods, his grip on her fingers tightening. “You will be free by my side. I give you my word.”

His promises come out almost as a whisper, and he watches as her expression, though still very strict, shows signs of excitement. Her amethyst eyes seem to shine brighter now, and her thin lips are slowly turning upwards. Right now, Damian is captivated by her genuine beauty and he can’t control the sudden desire to have her that has grown inside of him. Perhaps it’s part of the original contract or even a curse she’s putting on him. Whatever it is, he can’t find it in himself to fight against this urge.

Raven blinks one more time, and slowly, her hand slides from his and she’s now cupping his cheek. Her thumb slides across his olive skin, and he can’t help but allow the weight of his head to rest over her palm. Their eyes are connected and he can feel a soft breeze coming from her slightly parted lips. She’s incredibly close now. So close that if he leans in, his lips might brush hers. The thought of kissing her crosses his mind, and though it might seem too misplaced, it’s not completely absurd.

She’s the owner of his heart, after all. Though the meaning of it might not be the same for her, he is still human. He is still a man.

“Raven, I—“

“Shh…” She silences him, her eyes now only half opened. “Don’t say anything you might regret later.”

“I— “

Before he can even finish his words, Raven is the one who closes the gap between them. Her lips are pressed firmly against his in a soft and chaste kiss, and his body is quick to respond to her action. His arm slowly snakes around her small body, bringing her closer so they can deepen the kiss. Damian can feel the curves of her bare breasts against his chest and he can feel his body warming up at her touch.

Their tongues brush softly against one another, and once he adds a little roughness to the kiss, he’s able to elicit a soft moan from the depths of her throat. She responds to him promptly, their lips moving in perfect synchrony. Though it might not be natural for two extremely different creatures to engage in such actions, the desire running through his veins seems to be controlling his movements, and he doesn’t think he has the strength to break free.

His mind is revolving around her right now, and though it might feel a little clouded, Damian doesn’t think he has ever felt more powerful or sane in his entire life. He can barely feel his own heart beating anymore, but the power that now courses through his body is making him feel incredibly alive.

What is she doing to him? He doesn’t know, not really. However, he doesn’t really care about it right now.

He’s entranced by her, and there’s no turning back anymore. At least not until his heart stops beating.

His need for air forces him to retreat momentarily, their foreheads resting against one another. His lungs are desperate for fresh air, and judging by the way her ribcage is moving fast, he assumes she’s just as needy.

“What have you done to me?” He asks, still breathless. The turmoil inside his body seems to be fading, and at last, he can think straight again.

“Nothing your heart didn’t wish for, Damian.” Raven answers, sliding her hand across his chest, until it’s placed over his heart. She can feel it beating against her palm, and he notices how focused she seems. There’s a sly and satisfied smirk playing on her lips, and for a moment, he knows she has bewitched him, body and soul. This girl— this demon— is going to be his downfall.

And the worst part is that he’s looking forward to it.

fin.

----------

a/n: day 2 and here we are! Ngl, I had this idea while watching a weird show and I’m pretty happy with the result. Both Raven and Damian are such amazing characters to play with, and I think it’s our duty as shippers to explore them and their love. Well, what did you think? Hope you’ve enjoyed it! Thank you for reading it, and see ya!

#damirae #damirae week 2021 #demonbirds #damian x raven #damian wayne & raven #mydamiraefics

66 notes · View notes

lavendersies · 3 years ago

Note

Willuz prompts:

- Willow and her bumblebee Palisman grow an extravagant topiary of her and Luz, adorned with beautiful bouquets of flowers (as well as make delicious honey) for Luz to thank her for everything.

- Kind of a recap of Season 1's Luz and Willow adventures, but with the notable highlight that Willow gives Luz an appropriate flower bouquet as thanks of helping her out (can be combined with previous prompt if preferable)

- Amity and Hunter argue which of the two Luz loves the most, only to find Luz on a date/making out with Willow in a secluded, forested area, maybe with blossoming flowers (this is a non-serious fic as an allegory to the whole shipping war at the moment, but could come off as a bit mean :P)

- Luz practices with her Glyphs once more to make nice flowers and topiaries for Willow.

- Willow has a crush on Luz and can't help but feel a little jealous when she and Amity get close instead. Willow is too shy to confess her feelings for Luz, fearing rejection, and doesn't want to be in hot water with Amity again after they're finally getting along since their breach years ago. Willow wants to be happy for them, but Gus notices her depression.

- Boscha has thrashed Willow's beautiful plant garden, a passion project that's been taken years, and Willow is despaired by this, too depressed to continue and rebuild. Luz decides to fix the garden and improve it.

@Arendalphaeagle gave theses wonderful prompts so I have went with fourth one. The request was suppose to be uploaded on A03 but it didn't work out so until further notice all Willuz requests will be uploaded here. Feel free to drop ya'll request in my ask box. Enjoy.

A flower for Willow

Luz tapped the symbol emitting a green light and a single flower merge. She looks over at her spell book that specializes in plant magic for something new. She had committed her time to mastering a new glyph, hoping it would create the perfect gift for Willow. Luz didn't care if she spent the whole night out here and woke up with tired eyes caked with crust. Starting earlier this week would have been the wise thing to do but studying for her witch classes ate up the time. In a sluggish motion the sun disappeared behind the trees, allowing the moon to provide a dim light and usher in darkness. Luz casted a luminous orb as she read the instruction on how to evoke multiple flowers. She read the guide once more then traced the symbol on paper and activated it. A patch of lavender and lilac flowers bloom before her, this was just what she needed. Luz would allow her artistic skills to do the rest, she took her book and went inside.

She found Eda knocked out on the couch with an empty cup of apple blood dangling from her hand. A smile spread on her lips seeing the grey-haired witch in her apple blood coma. King was probably upstairs waiting for Luz's return so they could continue watching an anime series that she had downloaded on her phone. Upon entering the room Luz sees King scowling one of his stuffed animals.

When he noticed her presence. He stopped chiding the pink rabbit, "Oh hey Luz, are you ready to watch soul eater with me?" He asked, sitting on the sleeping mat.

"Not tonight love," She replied.

"Why not?!" King whined.

Luz faced the opposite direction and stripped from her outwear into pj's. She put them near the mat and got out her sketch pad.

"I have to finish a gift for Willow," she said, sitting down to begin sketching her friend's face.

"You can finish it tomorrow, I've been watching all week for us to watch soul eater!"

"Sorry King, I promise we will watch it together tomorrow" she assured.

The furry demon grumbled under his breath and joined her on the mat. "What are you drawing anyways?" He asked, peeking over her shoulder.

"A picture of Willow" she responded.

"What's the occasion?"

"None, I just want to do something nice for my friend," she said.

"Do you have anything else in mind?"

Luz had finished Willow's eyes and moved on to her nose, "Tomorrow I'm

going to create a plant statue with this picture".

"I want a plant statue of me!" King cried.

Luz chuckled.

"And you've been doing a lot for Willow lately, last week you went out of your way to get her that plant baby".

Luz's heart raced, she already knew the next words coming, "She sounds more than a friend" King commented.

"Friends do things for each other all the time" Luz struggled to tolerate her frisky heart, hoping the tone of her voice wasn't a dead give away.

"Eh, if you say so."

The room fell in silence and Luz worked diligently on Willow's portrait. The plant witch dominates her thoughts, now her heart flutters thinking of those olive green eyes behind the thin-rimmed glasses. The way her ear twitched at sudden noises. Willow had been nothing but a sweet-heart since day, she deserved the world and Luz was willing to give her it. Although these feelings bloomed, she didn't know if it was mutual on Willow's end, and she would keep them buried away. When Luz finally looked up from her sketch-pad King was fast asleep at the edge of her mat. She set aside the finished product and got some rest.

Later that night, Luz had woken up to relieve her heavy bladder, she carefully stepped over a sleeping King and visited the bathroom. After washing her hands, she found herself outside.

The moon's bright orbs brighten her path as she walks through the woods. Luz was a moth drawn to light, she felt compelled to keep moving. The orbs glowed rapidly like glistening gems, Luz could hear the vibration. She was led into the opening and a massive bush that resembled Willow's head came in view.

Woah...

"Thank you Luz!" It says

"Huh?"

Its large yellow luminous remind her of fireflies, she had accidentally swallowed one when she was seven.

"Thank you" it repeated.

"What for?" Luz asked.

She didn't get a response to her question,7 the bush thanked Luz on an endless loop. Suddenly, gravity reeled her forward and its mouth opened wide, swallowing her.

Luz was expecting to be engulfed in darkness, her eyes were squeezed shut. She felt warmth and a chubby body press against hers, opening her eyes. Luz realized it was Willow. She embraced the plant witch hug and gently ran her hand along Willow's turquoise hair.

"Luz!"

Everything faded. Luz woke up in her makeshift room with an annoyed little demon held prisoner in her arms. "Luz let go!" He whines struggling to break free.

"Sorry.." she said sheepishly.

Luz released him and King scurried off on all fours. She took care of her personal hygiene then returned to the room for her uniform. When Luz went downstairs, Eda was waiting at the door with her staff. She wore her pajamas. "Can we take the tub?”

“No, its for emergencies only”

“Please” Luz said, giving the grey haired woman pitiful eyes.

“I’m immune to those” Eda stated dismissively.

“But you can’t be the coolest witch without it,”

“Keep it up and you’ll be walking to school” Eda said heading out the door.

The schoolyard was still empty when Luz hopped off the staff. She watched Eda fly away, disappearing over the autumn colored trees. Luz took out her plant magic textbook and turned to the page about manipulation. After she got a good understanding, she pulled out the portrait of Willow and drew two symbols on them. Luz crossed her fingers and tapped the paper, a stem sprouted forth and the leaves took on the form of Willow's face. Two Lilac flowers blossomed on both sides, the topiary was the size of a miniature house plant. She had expected bigger but before Luz could sulk her crush arrived.

"Willow!" She quickly hid the plant behind her back.

"Hey" Willow smiled.

Luz felt butterflies tickling her stomach, she forced a skittish smile and revealed the topiary. Willow eyes widened with astonishment, she took the plant from Luz's hands.

"Aww thanks" Willow shifted the plant in her other arm and gave her a hug. Luz no longer had butterflies pestering her insides. The euphoria buttered her up, if Luz hadn't stopped herself she would have kissed Willow. For a brief moment, the turquoise haired witch stared at her. Luz was about to look away but Willow touched her cheek and gently kissed her lips. She led Luz by the hand towards the school building.

#the owl house #willow toh #willow park #willow the owl house #the owl house luz #luz noceda #willuz #eda the owl witch #toh eda #toh willow #toh luz

27 notes · View notes

nicholasfriedrich · 3 years ago

Text

so the point is: -there would be a house -one would live intimate with nature -there would be springs and autumns and sunsets and sunrises and birds and flowers and the sweet warm air -and days and nights and -there's a certain mood which is evoked -when i think of that mood i think of life, of existence -there's a certain spirit to a life well lived -it is not so fucking obvious how to live is it -supposedly feeling precedes thought and action -i suppose i just want to capture that feeling, first -(fragrance of the springtime evening, old house, blossoming trees, the chirping of birds, the freshness of air, the warmth of sun on the skin, the warmth and softness of human flesh, the cotton dress, the strawberries, the creaking door, cats purr, the leaves swaying in the breeze, the grasses bending underneath my feet, etc etc etc)

(tbc or not)

#folk #art #illustration #atmospheric #nature #sketch #painting #digital #impressionism #mysterious #dark #nicholasfriedrich

2 notes · View notes

ineloqueent · 4 years ago

Text

take my breath away

Brian May x Reader

gif is not mine!! if it’s yours, drop me a line <3

synopsis: the road goes ever on, and you will follow wherever it leads, under cloud and over hill, along the mountains in the snow. just as Brian will follow you.

warnings: allusion to depression

word count: 1.3k

a/n: inspired by the mood that this song evokes

see the moodboard here!

⭒

1978

They say you begin to appreciate things more when you have them less, but on the contrary, you had been hiking so often that you knew these mountains better than the floor plan of your own home. Yet, you still found yourself in awe when you came upon the distant view of the world below.

But where before it had been a quiet sort of awe, this one was consuming. And not because you had been away from the mountains and longed to see them again, but because you were with someone who found a way to be amazed at all of the views the world had to offer, even when it seemed that there was nothing at which to be amazed.

To others, he may have seemed naïve.

But you knew of his frequent cynicism, and how often it clouded his happiness to the extent that he could not see the point of getting out of bed, and so you allowed him a little of this naïveté.

Because when Brian was spellbound, there was nothing in the world so beautiful as him.

The hike had been planned many, many weeks— months, in fact— ahead of time, because with your boyfriend being in a now world-renown band, the two of you had been forced to work around a seemingly endless array of schedules, both yours and his.

But now those schedules were out of the way, and the two of you were carving a path up the Laurentian Mountains, intending to reach a summit by sunset, because the sky was clear and the view was supposed to be breathtaking, and you’d always wanted to see a sunset from atop a mountain. However, in going to see the sunset, there was a distinct downside: it would be dark on your way back down. Thus, you and Brian had packed camping materials, and were to sleep in the mountains, returning to level ground in the morning.

It was late autumn and the trees were painted with leaves in thousands, millions of different colours— emeralds, rouges, firelight orange and sunflower yellow— the cold air washing everything surreal in a distinctive blue tinge, a sure sign that winter was on its way.

The hike was a steep one, and bundled up as you were, it was difficult to move quickly, and often to see. More than once, even as an experienced hiker, you stumbled over a rock or mound in the road, and Brian reached out his arm to steady you.

It was push and pull with him and you, both literally, on this hike, and figuratively, in your newly-intertwined lives. When he was unsure, you bolstered him with certainty, confidence, your belief in his abilities ever unfaltering. When you grew lonely in your solitude, Brian somehow always knew, and was there to pull you from the dark, into his arms and the light he carried inherently.

And so it was up the mountain. You pushed, he pulled, and when you grew tired, he was light of heart, offering a joke or a sip from the thermos retrieved from his backpack. You held his hand as the sun sank lower in the sky and the day grew colder, as he grew colder with it.

Once, along the way, you were halted for a momentary rest, and Brian stared up the mountain, to where it was your goal awaited. Then a gust of wind picked up the fallen leaves about you, and threw them into the air until they spiraled like snow. You laughed as several found their final resting place in Brian’s tousled curls, and his childlike delight at the sight broke in the form of a brilliant smile across his pinkened lips.

The leaves rustled, the forest amusing itself alongside you, and as Brian spun comically through the falling foliage, it occurred to you that you had never been so happy as you were now.

It took your breath away when he smiled at you.

The sky was a masterpiece of pink and crimson when you at last came upon the summit.

You wished you could preserve this moment forever in your mind, draped in its effortless, ephemeral beauty, with the glowing heavens and the shining sun, the moon rising opposite in greeting with its radiant counterpart.

The clouds were tufted and white, but they were dancers and the sun was a mirrorball of light, turning them the same blushing hues as the sky, as Brian’s face.

He glowed in the fading light, a celestial being as much as the sun or la lune, starlight sparkling in his eyes, though none could yet be seen above your heads.

His eyes crinkled at the corners before the smile touched his mouth, and your cold fingers and toes turned warm at the sight, at how he looked at you.

He reached for your hand and you let him take it, your heart growing light in your chest, fluttering and flighty with emotion, just as it had done the first time he had spoken with you, on one fateful night.

The two of you discarded your packs by an outcrop of stone, and, keeping a gentle hold on you, Brian led you toward the precipice of the summit, to where the sun was making its descent to shine upon the other side of the Earth.

You sank to the ground with him beside you, and huddled into his side until he released your hand to bring his arms around you and bring you close.

He sighed as the light grew ever dimmer, and you watched the glow reflected in his eyes.

You murmured, “What are you thinking about?”

You felt his chest contract beneath your hands with his deep intake of breath, and angled your head to look up at him. He smiled down at you, and impulsively kissed your nose.

Laughter bubbled up from your lips, and you nudged him to urge him speak.

“The world,” he answered.

You raised your eyebrows. “All of it? At once? Do you ever stop thinking?”

Brian shook his head. “No, I never stop thinking. But really, you know me better than to ask that.”

You conceded with a nod.

“I’m thinking about our little world,” he said.

“Yours and mine?”

“That would have been romantic of me, wouldn’t it? But no, not quite so small.”

You rolled your eyes. “How to make someone feel insignificant, in one easy step.”

Brian laughed, “No, no, small is good. And our universe… it’s so vast. I feel so small in this world. It’s good to feel small, though,” he continued. “It humbles one, in a way.”

“Not you,” you said. “You’ve got an ego.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Cheeky.”

You grinned. “Always.”

“Well, what I was going to say next was something rather romantic, but now I think I won’t.” He sniffed, feigning offense.

“Oh, come on,” you pushed his shoulder without any real force. “Say it.”

“No.”

“Brian…”

“Alright, but only because this whole sunset business is making me ridiculously sappy.” He sighed, and shifted so as to meet your gaze. “I’m humbled,” he said, “to know you.”

The air fled from your lungs, in something like a gasp, but smaller, slower. More awestruck, more in love.

You had no words, and so instead, you kissed him. Deeply, lingeringly, offering everything you had to him, however little it was, because you loved him, and that was what love did to people: it made them want to give up everything, for one person, for no reason at all, for no reason other than the stupidly irrational thought of wanting to be that person’s whole world.

His eyes were soft, and he held you warmly, and your world had rarely been so beautiful as when it was shared with Brian.

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #brian may x reader #fic

57 notes · View notes

charlettebffxiv · 3 years ago

Text

Prompt #17 Destruct

“So, what happens when you can’t keep one?” Maxim stood with his hands on the handle of his rake, the pile of leaves they had been collecting having grown almost as tall as him. Autumn was arriving, and with it the leaves had started to tumble. Willow’s Heart, like most Gridanian-esque villages, was lined with trees all throughout the winding roads and flanking forest. Which meant, plenty of mulch to be found for the Greenhouse, and other projects, and lots and lots of leaves, seeds and nuts to trip, slip and fall into. Charlette had just finished raking a fine mess of them up to the second mountain they had built so far, looking up at Maxim as she wrestled it along. “What? You mean an aberration? Depends on what kind, really. They come in different forms. Enchanted items, crystals, magitek devices, aberrant creatures, ‘afflicted’ or ‘affected’ people.” One of Maxim’s white-blond eyebrows lifted, you could barely see it was there against his pale skin. “What’s the difference between ‘afflicted’ and ‘affected?” turning her rake over, and using it to scoop up the leaves, Charlette dumped them atop the pile, watching plenty scatter back down anyway. “It is simple, really. One is always a victim, the other’s condition was intentional.” Maxim walked around their autumn monument, cleaning up the edges, every leaf swept into it. Neat, orderly, Charlette approved of his technique. “So, like, if someone experimented on me and gave me, say, webbed feet and fingers against my will? That’s afflicted?” Charlette nodded “And if you intentionally experimented with forbidden magics to give yourself webbed fingers and toes, you would be affected. Not the words I would have chosen, but I didn’t write the manuals.”

“Alright, well then, what happens with all of those, if you can’t keep it? Say it’s just too dangerous, like it explodes if you sneeze too close to it.” Bobocufu’s Apprentice Botanist Dylan had pulled his chocobo cart round to their side, and the both of them were hauling their collection into the back of it as they spoke. Pitch forks swung back and forth, their rhythm quite in-sync. Their words were a little wheezy from the effort. “Well, enhanced items can sometimes be destroyed on sight. That is a common one when the item is too big, or too dangerous to transport. They teach a few useful techniques for it, depending on your team composition and specialty. Guardians, like me, learn how to neutralize aether in small areas, but with time and chance, we can completely neutralize an object. Revert it back to being just a bowl or knife or whatever it is. Same with crystals.'' Their work was finished quickly, Charlette and Maxim waving to Dylan as he nudged the chocobo into action and took away a twelvemoon’s supply of mulch. “And if you don’t have a Guardian? What then?” Charlette was not sure if she should be telling Maxim this, then again he is a Willow’s Heart native. Born and bred here. His family must know nearly everything by now, might as well help him along. “If you are an Arcanist of the Order, you may know a similar technique as Guardians, but more concentrated. Usually disposal falls to the Arcanists, so they are the most prepared for it. If this fails though, there is always option number two: destroy it.” Now Maxim was focused, the man having a somewhat worrying delight towards explosives and anything else capable of creating fire. “Arcanists can manage magic strong enough to melt metal, turn entire houses into ashes, burn trees to the ground, freeze constructs and shatter them to pieces. There is a wealth of options for them. If you are a trained Agent of the Order, you generally will know how to make some explosives. A large bomb is an effective ‘neutralizing’ method as well.” Maxim nodded, like he was agreeing with Charlette. She supposed this was a subject that at least he could be about as correct as she would. “What about creatures and people?” It was here that Charlette went quiet, just packing away their tools into their own cart. Hauling herself up into the driver’s seat, Maxim sitting next to her and taking the reins and getting the bo moving. Seems he was patient this sun. The cart trundled down the road, leaves shivering about in the back. Maxim finally turned to Charlette, nudging her with his elbow “Well? That’s long enough. Give up the gory details, do you have giant mouse traps for oversized, aberrant rodents?” That thought was a little horrifying “No, though that would be funny, and horrible. Can you imagine the clean-up for such a thing? Ugh.” She gave a short shiver. Maxim having evoked some all too similar memories of missions passed “With creatures it can sometimes be much the same, though if you use any kind of neutralizing techniques that involve stopping or removing their aether, they generally die. And it is not a pleasant thing to witness or inflict on anything living. It is slow, and they panic, slowly get more and more tired and weaker, they stop trying to run after a little while. Then they just lay down, and die.” Maxim’s brows had furrowed, and his mouth was in a comically deep frown, creasing his cheeks and chin. “That’s grim Charlette, you’ve ruined my good mood.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, then you should not have asked. I find I prefer a bomb, or pyrotechnics that do not waste time and get it over with immediately, but it is not always an option. Aberrations can be incredibly resistant, by design or by adaptation. Sometimes taking the aether is the only way you can harm them. The hardest part is simply that it is not their fault. Never, not when it is a beastkin, or vilekin, or any kin that is not, well us.” Her driving companion needed a little moment to think that through. The differences between their experiences showing a little in his moment of thought. His life in the village and surrounding forest was not devoid of violence, but certainly lacked in the kind Charlette had seen, and had to be a part of. Cruel pragmatism in the face of Conservationist Optimism. It was a strange pairing. “I suppose I can get it. Nature is cruel like that too, sometimes. There’s usually a sense to it though, a reason but without a selfish designer, you know? No insane Arcanist, or deranged Thaumaturge behind it all. No corrupt Conjurer or tempered Mage. Just The Shroud, the forest, keeping itself as it is.” Charlette’s shoulder bumped into his, but not from the sway of the cart. “You sound morose Maxim. Let’s talk about something else.” He looked at her and shook his head “Nah, I’m fine. Just one more thing to go anyway, what happens with the people?” She was hoping to avoid this one. Their arrival at the Greenhouse gave her a precious moment of distraction as they prepared to unload. Leaves hauled into the compost, Chocobo released from the cart and walked back to the stables and their tools set in the shed. Both of them pulled off their overalls and scrubbed the dirt from their arms and faces at the water trough. “People are the hardest part.” Maxim was tying back his long, now slightly damp hair into the tail he usually wore it in, Charlette’s words catching him with a little surprise “What? Oh, yeah. I mean, I thought they would be. Stuff is just stuff, and I guess we’ve all seen animals getting the short end of the stick at some point. What makes it so hard?” Charlette knelt over the trough, running her arm under the tap as water poured out, scrubbing from wrist to shoulder. “That it is never obvious what you need to do. If they are too dangerous to allow to be free, but can be contained, they are. Usually by local authorities if they are capable of doing so, or by us if it is an extreme case. No, I’m not telling you where or how.” That was an actual secret, and she also didn’t think he was ready to know about the stasis process. Few people are, she wasn't when she learned how to do it. “But if they are too dangerous to be contained, or allowed free again, and if they do not self-destruct in the encounter. Well, we kill them. In much the same way as the creatures.” Maxim was moving a little slower now, his thoughts taking precedence on his focus “That’s rather harsh, don’t you think? Afflicted and affected alike?” Charlette nodded, finally more or less clean, and pulled her shirt over her head. “There’s generally no choice when it comes down to that, they often force our hand, whether they meant to or not. It just needs to be done, despite it being a desperately unfortunate situation, it needs to happen. So we do it.” She turned around, her top needing a few laces tied at the back, which Maxim attends to easily. He’s quite nimble with his long fingers. “I’m sorry you have to.” “I am not. It’s a good purpose to have.” “So is Botany, you know. Making life, and you still get to end some if that’s all you’re after.” Once finished he pats her on the shoulder, both of them looking a sight better than before. She does need to wipe a soil stain from Maxim’s nose though, which she does so with spit and a hard rub of her thumb, to his annoyance. “I know. It is partly why I am not rushing them about the hearing. I have… rather enjoyed helping things live, instead of destroying them, for a change.” He was still wiping at his nose with a sleeve, making it look extra red against his pallor. “Yeah, well, you’re welcome to hang around as long as you want. I’m gonna miss you when you’re back to murdering for the good of us all.” “Please don’t call it that.” “Sorry. Fixing things? Sounds a bit better. Like you’re an engineer.” he winked, Charlette gave him what he wanted and rolled her eyes again, with a big sigh, then started walking back home. Maxim ran to catch-up with her. She liked that though, being a ‘fixer’. She had never thought of it that way, and you know what? It helped, with that sadness that hangs around it all.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv rp #ffxiv writing #elezen #duskwight

4 notes · View notes

owillofthewisps · 4 years ago

Text

rosemary & thyme

notes: fun fact this was actually what started unspoken and as such this takes place in the same verse. i’d initially planned it to be in unspoken but sometimes things just don’t work like that. this is also self indulgent fluff for myself today bc my cramps are bad enough that i can’t stand for more than five minutes without starting to shake from the exertion lol

the third gif in this was what kicked this off the ground in the first place

title is from scarbourough fair, mostly thinking of the simon & garfunkel version.

also this is my 900th post on here lol

rating: teen. no real warnings, just fluff. maybe small hints of self-esteem issues and small hints of mostly dulled grief.

pairing: eskel/fem reader

word count: 2.5k

on a spring day, you re-paint the trim of your cottage. it is an old, old pattern, but you are determined to make something new.

“Must you?” you ask Lil’ Bleater.

You’re ensconced in a soft bed of clover that lines your cottage. The sweet, grassy scent of the clovers lingers in the air like perfume, a herald of spring. Hyacinths are dotted through the bed, swaying in the gentle breeze, their buds plump on their stalks, a promise of blooms in the soft indigo peeking through the edges of them, the last breath of a winter sunset.

Lil’ Bleater is intent on eating them.

She noses at a small clump of stalks, each tenderly green, still newly given life. The stalks break under the clamp of her teeth, and you sigh.

“Must you?” you repeat.

She glances up at the sound of your voice and considers you. Then she bleats, loud and indignant, and leans down for another mouthful.

You snort a laugh and turn back to your cottage. You trace your fingertips over the window’s trim, the wood worn riverstone smooth by the years and the rain alike. The paint has chipped, washed out to the soft blue kiss of a robin’s egg. Even the vines, each a delicate scroll of leaves unfurling, have faded into something autumnal, their color muted by nature’s touch. You follow one of them with your fingernail. They wind like the small trails in the woods, meandering yet purposeful.

Your father had steady hands. Even with you and your brother clambering over him, children gone woods-wild, his delicate brush strokes brought the forest to life in the walls of your home.

Sometimes, when the sun shines just right, you think you can see the past peeking back at you, imprints of images long painted over glimmering just beneath the coats of paint.

Lil Bleater butts against your back. “Ow,” you tell her, even though it’s only a short bite of sensation.

The goat prances around your seated form and flops into your lap, all hoof and horns. She squirms until she’s comfortable.

She’s still munching on a hyacinth stalk.

“You owe me new flowers.”

She ignores you.

You sigh and readjust. She’s a warm weight in your lap, the heat of her softened by the thick fabric of your skirts. The goat makes a miffed noise at your movement. You stroke a hand over her horns, the smooth bone cool against your skin, like a spring river just beginning to warm. She nestles down into the cradle of your skirts with a soft noise. Your attention returns to your cottage.

You touch the window trim again, lay your fingers against the faded paint once more. The small flowers - delicate little things, unfurling prettily in soft layers of petals - were your mother’s favorites. They go back to the oldest layer, you know. You trace the one colored for you, and then walk your fingers over to the one for your brother.The ache settles between your ribs, fills the hollow space there.

“It’s still here,” you whisper to Lil’ Bleater. “It’s just built upon, right?”

The goat snuffles, mouthing at the hem of your bodice.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s still here.”

You pick up your bowl, paint the color of the soft blue of the midmorning sky splashed up the edges of it, and sweep a broad stripe of it over the faded flowers.

*******

“Stop,” you tell Lil’ Bleater, pulling your paintbrush from her ever-hungry mouth. “You’re going to get paint on you, and then Eskel and I will have to give you a bath, and none of us will find that enjoyable.”

She’s relentless, butting lightly at your arm and nibbling at your sleeve. You nudge at her with a grumble.

“Trouble finds trouble, I see,” Eskel says from behind you, his deep voice lined with laughter.

“You’d best be talking about the goat on both counts, dear Witcher.”

“Of course, sweetling.”

He wrestles Lil’ Bleater off of you, gentle despite the goat’s squirming. The goat announces her displeasure loudly and butts against his knees. She darts away before he can stop her, pausing just out of reach and bleating at him before she prances off in a familiar direction.

“I really should fence in my garden,” you muse, turning back to the trim. The fresh coat of paint gleams in the afternoon light, shifting to something sea-bright, the sky melting into water.

Eskel sighs. “I don’t think it would help.”

“Me neither.”

He settles behind you, one arm looping around your waist, his thick thighs framing yours. The smithy has left its touch on him since this morning, a hint of soot scent sweeping over you. Eskel’s rough fingers flirt with the hem of your bodice, his thumb sweeping over the ridge of the embroidery. It is hard to keep apart from each other, the first few days after he comes back to you. You gravitate towards each other like small suns, anchor yourselves in each other’s space with unthinking touches. A quiet assurance that you are both here, together.

You lean into the warmth of him. He’s broad against your back, a pillar of strength, and then he softens. It’s just a hint, but you can feel the way he uncoils for a breath. He winds his other arm around you.

“Missed you,” you say.

He laughs, low and sweet, and the rumble of it resonates through you. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

“I always miss you,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

Pressed against him, you can feel it when Eskel’s breath hitches, catches in his throat.

You turn just enough to press your lips against the curve of his jawline. It is carefully placed, your soft kiss, just beyond the edges of his angry scar. He swallows, the muscles of his thick throat rippling. You hum softly, turn back to your cottage, and lean over to pick up the small stick of charcoal that’s half-buried in the clovers.

Eskel moves with you as you draw closer to the cottage. The charcoal stick scrapes against the paint as you sketch, soft clusters of yarrow flowers blooming slowly beneath your careful hands.

“This is a different pattern than the previous,” Eskel murmurs. His voice is rich against you, flows like warm, honeyed mead.

“Mhm.” You rub a thumb against a wobbly line, wipe it out of existence. “The previous one was my father’s.”

His arms tighten around you, scaffolding to keep you steady. “How many years?” he asks.

“Long before I was born,” you say, rubbing out another poor line. “He added to it throughout his life.”

“There was one for you, wasn’t there? One of the little flowers had your color in it.”

You glance back at him, at the sunrise of his golden eyes. Eskel has a gaze that strips you, sometimes, that peels away the world until it is just you and him. “Aye,” you say softly. “There was.”

He brings you trinkets, sometimes, in that same color. Little things from his journey on the Path. Nothing grand, but carefully chosen, often fitting into the niches of your cottage perfectly. Tiny curios to replace those you’d left behind in your first cottage, as if they can capture the first night he spent there with you soft in bed with him, tucked close around his broad frame.

Eskel slips a hand to your free one and slowly twines his fingers with yours. It’s almost shy, and you turn your palm skyward to better hold him. Your interlaced hands rest on the plush of your thigh, his thick knuckles pressing soft divots into the flesh.

You start to sketch again, adding a sweep of sorrel leaves to frame the yarrow, the soft curve of the leaves wrapping carefully around the buds.

Eskel is quiet behind you. His chest rises and falls against your back, steady like the tide, a cadence that feels as if it belongs solely to you.

Eventually, you pull away from your sketching. You tilt your head and examine it. It’s by no means fine work. You do not have your father’s steady hands, cannot bring life to charcoal drawings in the same way. But your months of practice have paid off. The yarrow buds match the ones speckled along the roadside, and the sweep of sorrel leaves could be the fields that surround your cottage.

“What do you think?” you ask.

Eskel shifts. He leans forward, just a hint, and touches just beside one of the veins of a sorrel leaf. Each inch of his chest is solid against your back. “You’ve practiced.”

“Yes.”

He squeezes your hand. “It’s nice.”

You laugh. “I’ll take nice,” you say. “I suppose.”

“Next time I’ll be more complimentary, then.”

“Good,” you say, and you let go of his hand so that you can wipe the charcoal dust off on the very hem of your skirt, already dirt streaked at the edges. Then you press the charcoal stick into Eskel’s hand. The small stick is dwarfed in his massive hand, and want pulses through you for the briefest breath. “Your turn,” you say. Your bold words have never sounded so shy.

Eskel stills.

That ache that fills the gaps of your ribs pulses, goes sharp at the edges, thorns against your bones.

You feel him draw in a breath.

“If you want,” you say, the words stumbling off your tongue. You keep your gaze ahead, focus on the sheen of the paint. It’s the same pigment your father used. When you crush the ingredients beneath the pestle, the scrape of it against the mortar sounds like your father’s voice. There has never been a blue that evokes such tenderness in you.

Eskel’s fingers close around the charcoal stick.

You suck in a sharp breath. It’s quiet, but not to him, you know.

Eskel always hears you.

“You’re sure?” he asks, and though the words are steady and his voice is the same mellow, deep tone, there’s something wavering in him, an uncertainty that cloaks him.

“Yes,” you say. “I told you - I rarely change my mind.”

“Rarely is not never.”

You ache to glance back at him, to find the honey gold of his gaze, to see the map of his scars against his handsome features. You know you cannot. Something ancient in you knows that if you break this moment, it will never return.

“Eskel,” you say quietly. “Not about this.”

He swallows.

He shifts forward. The motion takes you with him, carries you forward like a wave to the shores. He hesitates just as the charcoal rests against the pristine paint above your sketches.

You let your eyes flutter closed, your lashes whispering against your skin, the barest breath of sound, and feel some of the tension melt from Eskel’s broad frame. You curl yourself into the cradle of his chest. The charcoal scrapes against the wood, a brisk sound softened by the murmur of the spring breeze. The fingers of the breeze stroke through the trees, rustling against the leaves until it’s something of a melody. You listen quietly, let the song of it wash over you, feel Eskel warm and steady around you, and find yourself drifting hazily through time.

The sound of the charcoal fades. There is only the wind now, only the breeze catching in the meadows red-veined sorrel before it slips between the trees. You wait, rubbing a thumb idly over the thick muscle of Eskel’s thigh.The sun is filtering through your eyelids, lighting even the shadows of your closed eyes.

Eskel fidgets. It’s the slightest of movements, but from someone so disciplined, it rings across your senses like a skipping stone leaving ripples across a pond’s surface.

You lay your head back against his broad shoulder and open your eyes. “Well met,” you say to him as he glances down at you, and his eyes burn bright, amber wreathed by sunlight.

“Well met,” he says back, laughter tucked just under his tongue, but then his eyes flicker away.

You nudge at his jawline for the span of a breath, and then you turn your attention to the window trim.

The ache filling the gaps of your ribs fades away.

Eskel has woven sprigs of rosemary through the sorrel stalks, the sharp-tipped herb softened by the dainty ovals of thyme leaves. You can tell where he began to draw. The charcoal is lighter there, not pressed firmly down, but the lines grow darker as the herbs grow more plentiful. The black of the charcoal is stark against the blue. They’re both oddly delicate, the sky blue softened to a pale robin’s egg, and the spider web of charcoal lines lies over it like fragile lace.

His arm tightens around your waist. You reach down and lace your fingers through Eskel’s, a woven pattern strong enough to carry both of your weights. His shoulders loosen. You can feel his slow, steady heartbeat.

“Come,” you say after a moment, “you can help me with the rest of the paint.”

“Dare I ask?”

“I hate grinding for the colors,” you say, rising to your feet and clapping your hands against your skirts. “It takes too long. But your Witcher muscles must be up to the task, yes?”

Eskel pushes himself up in a graceful movement, that sleek dexterity of a Witcher. “If I’d known it was only my muscles you keep me around for-”

“You’d have stayed anyway for the sex.”

He coughs at that, but his smile is broad. “You’re confident.”

You shrug. “It’s good sex.”

He laughs, a low growl of a sound. “That it is.”

You glance his way and find yourself struck by the sight of him. The afternoon sun is kind to him, makes his dark hair glisten and his eyes practically glow. You reach out to him with a small smile, wind your fingers through his once more. He lets you tug him along.

You pause just before the threshold of your cottage, glancing back as Eskel ducks inside. The clover still carries the mark of your bodies, the plush of them pressed down where you had been. There’s a bit of paint splashed across them. You idle for a moment, let the breeze tease at your skirts.

Things will be different once you cross the threshold.

With Eskel’s softly sketched herbs spun in a delicate web around your yarrow and sorrel, your cottage is no longer just yours.

You inhale softly, let the scent of the clovers wash over you. It’s grassy and sweet, with a hint of earthy dirt just beneath. It smells like home.

You turn around and go inside.

taglist: @tutuwho @witchernonsense @whitewolfandthefox @riviawitch3r @hina-chans-stuff @restingnurseface @raspberrydreamclouds @ambivertomnivore

#eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine

214 notes · View notes