#my yarrow is going GREAT

[spontaneousmusicalnumber]

Yesterday I volunteered at a pollinator event and I got a free plant! It was a pale purple coneflower, a native species I had been having a hard time getting my hands on! And it was a lovely sized plant, not a seed or even a seedling!

I'd been neglecting my garden lately but that day the weather was supposed to be nice for a bit until some rain. So I grabbed my gloves and went out, intending to just clear a bit of crabgrass out of my native perennial bed to make a spot for the new plant.

I came back to consciousness two hours later.

I stopped when I felt the first raindrop. I had worn open blisters into two fingers, other fingertips had blisters so bad I could barely type, and my forearms were scratched to shit from crabgrass and fescue. I'd cleared out about three quarters of the weeds in the bed and also expanded it by six inches all around by pulling more grass and moving the edging stones.

holy shit

ow

my garden actually grew in nicely under all the shit i let fester

[readychilledwine]

Hello. I hope everything this going well with you. I have to say I fell in love with your book boyfriend post and... It got me thinking on an idea I hope you can write for me.

So reader is the daughter of either feysand, necessian Or gywnriel ( sorry if I got the spelling wrong) and she is reading books which are way more smuttier than what the ladies read. And the dad is just not having it and momma is having that moment where she believes she raised her child the right way and is encoraging her.

Thank you and i hope you have a great weekend ❤.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

Summary - After finding his daughter in the "I don't want Cassian to know I'm Reading Smut" Pose, girl dad Cass loses his cool

Warnings - girl dad cass, mentions of knife play and kink, smut

A/N - Happy @cassianappreciationweek! I should have posted this for family day, but day 7 it will be 💕

🗡Cassian Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

"No," Cassian muttered to himself as he saw his daughter in an all too familiar pose. "No. No. No. No. No!" Each no grew louder as he observed her. The soft flush on her cheeks, the subtle way she bit her lip, the way her eyes were wide with excitement.

That pose was one Nesta mastered. One of the many he had named, and seeing his babygirl, his little y/n sitting in it had his heart feeling as though a Naga had ripped it from his chest. He stormed his way to her, ripping the book from her lap and gasping at the filth before him. "Y/n! What is this?!"

You were in shock, tea stilled near your mouth as you blinked at your now empty lap, "Um, my book?"

"This isn't literature! This is! This is! Oh, Cauldron! No!" Cassian could look away from the words, could stop reading the sentence about the mysterious warrior using his dagger for obscene acts on the young maiden. He could stop the way his gut twisted with each word. "This is worse than what your mother reads!"

You stared at him, wings twitching, "Dad, I'm 27. If I want to read smut, I ca-"

"You can not," he cried. "Not my daughter. Nope." His head was spinning as Nesta came into the room, looking between you two. He turned on her so quickly, striding to her with two steps and holding the book to her pointed nose. "What is this!? Who gave my daughter this?"

Nesta couldn't hide her smirk, those silver eyes lighting up as she took the book, "Oh, this is delicious. Who is this by, my sweet dove?"

"Some new author. They just go by Yarrow."

Nesta nodded at your answer, sitting next to you on the couch, "And you understand this is dangerous in real life?" She was satisfied with your nod before pulling you into her so both of you could read the scene being painted before you.

Cassian felt the air leaving his lungs. His throat grew tight as he tried not to scream. "Nesta, we need to talk," he grit out. "Now, please."

His mate held her finger to him, grabbing your pressed flower book mark from Aunt Elain before setting the book on the coffee table. "Yes?"

"She can not be reading this shit, Ness. She needs to read... Anything but that." He motioned towards the book he desperately wanted to throw into the fire. "This is completely inappropriate for her at her age."

Nesta only hummed, "She is reading books similar to what I did at her age. I do not understand what you are so upset about." You glanced between both of them, suddenly feeling so small, so insecure. "I would rather she is reading these things than going to pleasure halls and-"

"Do not finish that sentence," Cassian's tone grew sharp. "Do not even joke about my daughter doing something like that. Do not put it out into the world."

"It's a book," you whispered. "It is just a book. I like how the author writes. I love their use of language and structuring. I enjoy the way they build worlds. Yes, there is smut, but the world building in this series is fantastic. Everything is vivid, well layout, clear, consistent. I really enjoy the story. The smut is just a bonus."

"It's very well written," Nesta hummed. "Graphic without teetering the line of uncomfortable."

Cassian glanced between the two of you again, "I do not like it." He began to pace, "I am not comfortable with her reading garbage."

You shrunk slightly, "It's a fantasy series about found family, finding inner strength, and healing, Dad."

"It's a smut novel!"

"It's her choice," Nesta growled back. The room grew cold at that. Cassian sitting in a mix of fear and respect as he stared at his wife. "She is a grown female. If she wants to read smut, that is her choice. This is a much healthier option to so many other things she could be doing to explore her sexuality, Cassian. We should be proud this is the method she has picked and not whoring herself out."

Cassian seemed to pale at that. The image of you doing what he had done as a young male, racking a body count with different fae every week, scarring his mind. He didn't want that. He wanted better for you.

He picked up the novel, "This isn't the only type of smut you read, correct?"

"No," you answered softly. "I prefer dark fantasy, but I do soft things too. I just finished one you might actually like." You ran to your book shelf, grabbing the novella. "It's about a warrior and a lady. He partakes in a knights contest and she offers him her favor. Very strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn."

You handed the book to your dad, smiling as he looked at the romance novel hidden behind a black leather cover.

"I also have this one about a couple who met over summer, fell in love, she went away for something, family stopped their communication, she comes back, they're still in love," you ran back to grab the other book. "There's a super passionate rain storm kiss. It'd be neat to have that some day."

Cassian rolled his eyes as the books slowly piled up. The novels varied from great adventures with a kiss of smut to downright no plot. He let his eyes go to Nesta, watching as she stared at you with a look of pride, love, and admiration. "Hey," he whispered to his wife. "That's your hard work, Ness."

Nesta sighed dreamily, watching as you grabbed a 10th book and physically crawled into Cassian's lap, telling him about the fae King of Night who forced criminals into bargains before falling in love with a siren.

Cassian tugged the bond, sending his white flag to Nesta, a silent "You win," as you settled into his lap, showing him how the author of the first novel had built her world, the maps included, and the brief history that went into the fantasy smut novel.

He found himself in the same spot hours later, you asleep on his chest while he read a soft romance novel and Nesta read something that had her eyes going wide.

He decided then that perhaps this wasn't so bad. There could be worse things than having a daughter so much like her mother.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlestw01f

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello love! can i make a request for gaz x f!reader she a civilian and a florist and he keeps visiting her and they slowly fall for each other and he calls her his sunflower or something cute like that? you can make up the rest, sorry if it’s not super detailed!

Gossamer Silk Smiles

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Florist!Reader

Synopsis: You loved your job more than anything, and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. You were focused; self-assured... Until he showed up. 

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Insane amount of fluff, this is the definition of a soft fic, beginning of a relationship

A/N: I know this man would treat me right. Also changed the nickname around a bit, but sunflowers are still prominent. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you opened your flower shop, you told yourself there was no going back – no distractions or second options. This was what you loved more than anything and at the end of the day, even with pricked fingers and cramped muscles, you went to bed happy. It had all been going well, insanely well. 

Until he showed up. 

It had been a shitty day, one for the record books, in your opinion. Shipments for Larkspur, Zinnias, and Sunflowers had come to the shop damaged. The boxes had been so beaten up you half-believed the mail carrier had gotten into a personal disagreement with them. All initial humor aside, you were now out of this week's product as well as a good chunk of money – the flowers couldn’t even be considered that anymore, seeing as they were really just broken stems and stray crumpled pedals. Then came the unusual amount of rude customers and the building of minor inconveniences. 

But to your credit, you didn’t let it get to you. 

Well…externally, at least. 

“Have a great rest of your day,” you force out with a strained smile to an older woman who only huffs. She stalks out of the shop with a vase full of Daylilies, Purple Cornflowers, Yarrow, and Taro leaves. “I hope your brother gets well soon–” The glass door shuts with a clatter of the small silver bell attached to the frame. 

Leaning back on your heels, your eyes close; taking down a deep breath, you hope your lungs won't explode in your chest as you hold it there. 

“Fucking hell.” The air flies from you in a weak groan. 

Your fingers tap against the countertop, and a small, humorless, chuckle later you’re walking out to change the window sign to closed instead of open. It was well past your usual shift anyways, but the previous customer had been relentless about the ‘perfect bouquet.’

“Like there’s even such a thing,” your lips twist into an annoyed frown as you speak to yourself in a grumble. “...Should have just denied her service… Didn’t even leave a tip.” 

You really wouldn’t have minded helping her that much if she had just been kinder towards you.

Grabbing the small paper sign held up by a suction-cup hook, you flip it around with little thought, already trying to plan out a way to make up for the weeks worth of ruined product. You don’t even notice the man speeding down the sidewalk until his desperate face is staring right into yours – only separated by a thin piece of glass. 

Yelping, your shoulders tense at the sudden visage. 

The man was around your age, tall, and had a handsome face inlaid with eyes reminiscent of deep amber. Light reflected off the iris in ways you can only describe as the glinting sun does off waves of water; gentle. Nearly soft, really. He was wearing a ball cap with an embroidered British flag on the front and had a panicked look set on his lips. 

Close to the door handle, his long fingers freeze mid-air and you find the prominent muscular build and set of his shoulders staining the back of your eyelids like a movie screen. Whoever this guy was, it didn’t stray from the fact that he was attractive.

You’re not happy about it, but your mind blanks as you stare with wide eyes; heart steady in your breast. 

He blinks at you, square jaw loose, also double-taking from beyond the see-through barrier. His flickering eyes flew quickly over your form just as you had ogled him moments prior. 

Silly, perhaps, and childish at best, but you felt your throat tighten with stilled breath. There was a small chunk of time that you both just gawked at each other – as if Cupid had suddenly stabbed you both with one of his blots; gazes inexplicably locked as blood dripped to the floor from copper arrowheads.

If you were more gullible, you would have called it love at first sight. But you were anything but that. 

Sighing, you rip your eyes away and take a breath. Opening the door with more questions than answers, you were praying that it didn’t get dark before you could help this man with whatever it is that he needed. 

I can see the fucking veins on his forearms. You think as the chilled air hits your face,  recalling the peek you sent to the rolled-up sleeves of this stranger’s blue button-down. 

The bell above you dings as you set the door in the crook of your shoulder, leaning out halfway. Clearing your throat, you ask steadily, “Can I help you, Sir…?” 

He sets his stubbled jaw, vision snapping to the side for a split second that was so fast you almost missed it. 

“Erm…my apologies, Ma’am, for rushing up like that.” He lets off a chuckle, and the flag on his hat is quickly explained away by the prominent accent. “Hope I didn’t worry you.” 

Fighting the uptick of your lips you feel your chest let go of a sliver of tension. He was smiling slightly at you, the khaki pants he wears creasing as his feet set themselves; his brown eyes never leave your face. 

Respectful, you think.

“Not every day you have people trying to barge into a flower shop. Trust me, Sir, I sleep well knowing no one wants to rob me.” Attempting a light joke, the stranger's chest jerks in a silky laugh. The tips of your ears heat, the blood under your skin rushing. 

His laugh was like a blanket during a storm; a cup of hot chocolate during a blizzard. Could you be attracted to a laugh? You seemed to ask yourself. Already your mind was coming up blank at this, all of a sudden, welcome intrusion. 

“Well, I’d imagine that’s a good thing, then?” He teases showing off pearly white teeth.

“Incredibly.” Opening the door wider, you beam. “You’re lucky I was still here. I’d normally be all locked up by now.”

You should be closing – telling this stranger to leave and come back tomorrow – but something inside of you told you to just open the door. It was illogical, unprofessional, and downright strenuous on your already foul mood…but this individual had such an air to him that you wondered who exactly he was. He made your skin pule with goosebumps.

“Thanks,” the man utters as he slips inside, nodding his head to you and fixing the position of his hat with one hand. “Yeah…I’m incredibly sorry about this but I’m runnin’ on a bit of a time crunch, to be honest with you. I’ve been checking every shop in town – you’re the only one with the lights still on…” He looks to you, “I really hope I’m not causing any trouble for you, Ma’am.”

Slipping your fingers into your work apron’s pockets, you let the door shut and tilt your head to the side, gaze softening at the pure candor of his words. 

“Emergency flower orders are always my favorites to work on. It’s no problem, really.” You say your name as an introduction and ask what he would like to purchase as he scratches at the back of his neck with a boyish twist to his lips. 

“Kyle Garrick.” He sticks out his hand and you shake it instantly. Kyle’s hands are warm despite the cold weather outside, and you have to stop yourself from melting into him as you pull back. But already your skin tingles. “Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me on that front. What flowers would be the best for an apology?…just not something too flashy, if that’s possible.” 

He trails with an awkward chuff, obviously not used to being in a flower shop before. You wondered if he even had a favorite flower. You hoped he did.

You could really tell a lot about someone based on the types of flora they surrounded themselves with.

“Apology?” You wonder, tilting your head. Quickly falling into work mode, you continue, “I can work with that. Do you have any preferences? Colors?”

“Well, she likes orange, yeah?” He speaks and your heart sputters for a moment. Smile freezing. “I don’t suppose that’ll help very much, but it’s really all I have to go off of. I’m a bit of a hopeless bastard when it comes to flowers.” Kyle lets off a huff of laughter.

She. Of course, he’s already in a relationship. 

Nodding, you swiftly walk past the man, catching the scent of fresh-tilled earth and rainy grass as your shoulders nearly brush. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It wasn’t every day you found yourself attracted to someone. But, oh well, life continues on.

“Well,” heading towards the wall baskets, your body feels heavy, but you quickly force it to the side. You really shouldn’t be surprised. “You said orange? I have about seven you can pick from.”

“Affirmiti–erm, yes, Ma’am.”  

“Hm.” You hear him come up behind you, following at a respectful distance. Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you watch as his eyes slide over the various types of flowers, all separated by color, with deep thought. 

A slight furrow was in his dark brow. His dedication was adorable. 

“What’s this one called?” Kyle asks, moving around you to a bushel of orange poppies and accidentally bumping into your side. 

Grunting, you lightly jerk forward until a hand swiftly grabs your shoulder. Eyelashes fluttering, you look up with shock at the embarrassed face slightly leaning over you. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. That’s my bad.” 

“N-no, you’re fine.” God, this was so awkward. Smiling shakily, you feel the press of his hand over your skin, separated only by the thin barrier of your shirt. Kyle squeezes your flesh before letting go. 

He was staring at you, though. Brown eyes set into dark skin with a soft expression like Pygmalion staring at his marble-wrought Galatea. But as quickly as it was there, the look was gone and the man was clearing his throat, snapping his neck back to the basket and shifting his feet.

Even if you couldn’t explicitly see it, you knew he was blushing – just the same as the heat in your capillaries mirrored. Swallowing to get rid of the dryness of your throat, you realize you’ve been gawking before sliding your hands into your pockets and quickly looking away. 

Why won’t my heart stop beating so fast?

“Those are Orange Poppies. Papaver orientale.” Speaking, you reach forward and grab the stem of a single bloom holding it to him as he gazes down at you from your side. “Common in ‘get well soon’ bouquets, if you were curious.” 

Holding it up to him, you watch his fingers delicately pluck it from you like the flower was made of glass. It nearly made you laugh, but you settled on a small smile instead. 

“It’s pretty…” Kyle pauses, and you read it well enough.

“...But not what you were looking for.” Settling on the answer, you giggle when he passes off a sheepish smile and a nod. “I kind of guessed. Here – how about this.” 

He ends up buying a handful of orange Tulips, Myrtle leaf for greenery, and a small gathering of Baby’s-Breath. Behind the counter, you try to stay focused on setting the flora perfectly in the clear vase as your clippers lay beside it. Frowning, you take the long stem of a Tulip and snip the end at an angle, placing it to the far left of the rest with a concentrated set of your eyebrows. 

“So,” Kyle says, breaking the silence, and your fingers twitch as your spell is shattered. Soul stilling, you look up at him as he waits on the other side of the counter with his arms comfortably crossed. He leans back on his heels, feet shoulder-length apart. “Busy day today, then? Other places around here are mostly dark by five.”

Standing straighter, you politely smile before going back to the arrangement, hand reaching for the small white tufts of Baby’s-Breath.

“Mostly, yeah.” You cock your head to the side, “I was supposed to be home two hours ago, but one lady was very adamant about getting the most ‘perfect’ flowers, as she told it.” 

Chuckling humorlessly, you step back and stare at the vase, not aware of the eyes stuck on the tired slump of your shoulders or the slight frown staining the man’s lips. 

“Two hours? Well, that’s a bit excessive.” Kyle remarks, eyelids creasing, “I’d hope she at least left a tip for you?” 

That gets a laugh out of you, lungs jerking for a moment; focus once more brought back to the present at the preposterous words that just left your customer’s mouth. Those brown eyes suck you back in to a point where you wonder if you’d ever be able to look away.

“Now that’s funny, Mr. Garrick.”

He lets the subject drop, but you notice a slight crease in-between in brows – a narrowness to his eyes that wasn't there before. You try not to think too much into it, but Kyle certainly did seem like the man to get upset when people aren’t treated respectfully. The thought warms your heart. 

Or maybe I’m just reading too much into this. 

“Is there anything you’d like me to rearrange, Sir…? Do you want a note to go with it?” Seemingly lost in thought, Kyle comes back to you with a diligent shake of his head.

“It looks perfect, Love. And, please, just Kyle’s alright. You’re makin’ me sound like an old man when you talk like that.” He chuckles, and it’s a rich, velvety sort of thing – twisted with blue satin and wrapped in a gentle breeze. Your stomach twists. 

“Then I suppose that’s it, then. I’ll get you the bill and you can be on your way.” Turning around to calculate the total price, you make a quick comment in passing, not really thinking about it as you tap on your calculator. “I hope your girlfriend and you make up.” 

A stunned silence falls, but you only focus on the numbers, jotting down the total on a sticky note and turning around after re-running the costs a last time. When your eyes lock with him, your feet stall at the dumbfounded look on Kyle’s face and the confusion ingrained in his body language. His head had pulled back slightly, hat tilted.

“What’s that?” He asks. 

“Your…girlfriend?” You say slowly, walking closer and passing him the sticky note, “you said you were getting her apology flowers?” 

The handsome man blinks at you before realization lights in his eyes like fire. Kyle laughs deeply, putting a hand on top of his head and pressing down on his cap.

“Oh, Bloody hell, no.” He takes a deep breath and you feel your lips pressed together in confusion, innocent intrigue taking place in your skull. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart, I should have told you right off. This is for my mum.” 

Blinking in surprise you pause, looking up with wide eyes. 

Sweetheart?...Mum?! Your face heats to an intense level. Oh. 

“O-oh I didn’t…” He’s reaching for his wallet with a large lop-sided smile on his face and understanding eyes, watching you as he flips it open. You settle with a single laugh and say, “sorry, I guess I just assumed.”

But you can’t help the sudden relief that sprouted out of nowhere that leaves your lips pulling back in a mirrored grin. You’d been doing that a lot, as of the last fifteen minutes. 

“It’s no problem,” Kyle admits, “Thing is, I’ve been off on deployment for a while, and I missed my return date party, unfortunately. Just got back about noon today and I decided I was going to surprise her tonight.” The man pulls out a large stack of bills, “Thought she’d like that, yeah? Can’t go wrong with flowers, can you?” 

“You’re in the military?” You ask smoothly but internally swoon at the thought of a son giving his mother flowers out of the kindness of his heart. Whoever she was, you know the woman who raised this man would be overjoyed with the prospect of simply having him home safe and sound before anything else. 

Did not Penelope, wife of Odysseus, care for her son Telemachus more than anything? Above danger and possible death? They protected each other. You supposed it was the same in this situation. 

Being able to be a part of it made your legs weak.

“Something like that, Ma’am.” Kyle’s lips flick into a smirk as he hands you the bills. “Feels like I’m surrounded by children most days, but there’s no place I’d rather be…When I’m not nearly getting my head bloody blown off, that is.”

You huff in amusement, and slight concern, taking the payment and settling it on the counter without checking the numbers; never doubting whether he gave you the right amount or not.  

“Well, it seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Garrick looks to his feet for a moment, pocketing his wallet, and clears his throat near mutely. He tilts his head back up to you.

“Nearly,” he whispers under his breath, a delicate wrinkle on his forehead as his lips pull in a minute, closed, grin. Sheepishly, you look away from his intense brown gaze before you can make a fool of yourself as giddiness sparks in your racing heart. What was happening to you? You have to ask yourself. Where was all of this blatant scatterbrained activity stemming from? No one had ever made you act like this before. 

As you look away, your eyes unintentionally land on the wall clock across the room, and your thoughts still like water in a puddle. Eyes widening comedically, you feel your lips part. 

“I really need to be closing up.” You say apologetically, looking back to the man who touches one of the Myrtle leaves carefully, running it between his thumb and forefinger. Under you, your feet shift over the floor. “Is this all you’ll be needing?” 

“Pretty sure.” Garrick answers easily, “I won't keep you any longer, eh? I’d hate it if I made you go home by yourself after dark.” 

“That’s very thoughtful, Kyle, thank you.” Pushing the vase over the counter, he takes it up and pauses as if he wants to say something. His mouth opens before closing – looking at his feet for a moment and itching at his neck with his free hand. 

“I…don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Ma’am,” your breath hollows, watching carefully as you listen. “But, uh, I,” Kyle shifts his eyes to your face, standing a bit straighter as the corner of his lip flicks up, “You’re just about the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met – if that’s not overstepping, of course.” 

He laughs stiffly to dispel tension, and the air suddenly gets ten times hotter at the brutally honest, if not mildly stuttered, confession. You can nearly hear the blood rushing to your head like a flood of ocean water – more violent and immediate than a tsunami. In your ribcage, your bones ache at the beating organ and the swell of your lungs. Having to take a deep breath to not forget yourself entirely, your mind rages.

Did he really just say that? He…he called me beautiful. 

When was the last time you had been called that? By such a lovely and kind man nonetheless. Kyle seemed like a confident person, his profession telling you that already, but the way he was acting now he seemed hesitant; like he was appalled by the fact you would take what he was saying the wrong way and come off creepy. 

But that was so blatantly opposite of how you were reacting. 

“I-” You stutter, eyes snapping away and hands coming to hold themselves in front of your abdomen, “well, I think you’re very handsome, yourself, Kyle.” A meek expression spreads your visage as you see the breath in his chest hitch, “and I wouldn’t call that overstepping at all. Not by a long shot.” 

His eyes widen, and a second of intense eye contact later, he smiles and glances away. Garrick sneaks looks as you bite your lip, and finally, he nods firmly before his phone starts to ring in his pocket. 

As if a switch had turned, his hand snaps down and grasps the device, peeling it out of his khakis and checking the contact. Immediately he utters.

“Oh, Shit, this is her. I’ve got to run.” He walks backward a few steps before turning and lightly jogging to the front door. Following with your eyes, you’re somewhat entranced by the man. 

Before he can walk through the door, he stops in his tracks.

“Sorry, again,” Kyle turns back around, and his dark eyebrows crease, “but, uh, what days are you open?” 

The giddy smile that forms on your cheeks leaves your skin hurting.

“All of ‘em except the weekends,” you say, confidence suddenly sprouting in your veins, “but I’m sure if you told me ahead of time that you were stopping by, I’d make an exception.”

“I’d imagine for emergency flowers only?” Kyle teases, a smirk on his face. His eyes promise you, though, that this will not be the last time you see him. 

“Of course.” You reply, raising a brow. “I’m a florist, after all, Garrick. Emergency flowers are my specialty. If you’re ever in need of more, I’ll be here, waiting.”

He laughs, stares for a few seconds longer with a distant sheen, and disappears through the door. You don’t follow when his form fades from the windows entirely. You don’t ask for his number, even if you knew you should have. You don’t look at the amount he gave you as you put it in the register, knowing, even by your intuition, that it is double the amount he was due. 

You’d just tell him all about it when you saw him again.

Until Kyle Garrick showed up you had been focused; as immovable as a mountain, but then as the days drew on, you faltered. Your eyes would linger on the glass as people pass by, heart in your throat and feet tapping as you bound stems. Flowers had taken up so much of your life, but now another was trying to push its way in – slowly infecting you like a parasite in your mind as the days went on. 

And as he kept showing up, month after month, he had taken to calling you Persephone. A goddess of spring and nature; beautiful flowers of all colors and shapes growing on hills and in vibrant meadows. It was perhaps the greatest compliment someone like you could have been given. At first, it had been a nickname until it had become as common as your actual title, and Kyle used it so much even regular customers teased you with it with smirks and side-eyes. You only rolled your optics with a burning under your skin and a small smile.

“Well, look, it’s Persephone…”

“That boy of yours here, Persephone? Hiding in the back room perhaps?”

“Persephone – you have any Peonies this week?”

You didn’t mind it…really, you didn’t. If anything, you thought it was precious. A man comparing you to a goddess that danced in green fields as flowers sprouted at her feet? Yes, that was quite alright.

Quite alright, indeed.

—

The office room was cold, he thought. Nearly a meat locker. 

How in the hell can he stand to work in here, Kyle asked himself. Bloody place is like a damn winter storm just minus the snow. 

He was seated in one of the two chairs in front of the mahogany desk, hands on the armrests and feet tapping the floor. When the Sergeant had gotten the order on his radio to come to Captain Price’s office ASAP, he had expected the man to already be here, but five minutes later he was still sitting in silence. 

That wasn’t to say he was bored, though. He was thinking of you. He could never be bored when he did that. 

It brings a small smile to Garrick’s face as he relives your last interaction, lips unconsciously twitching as his eyes grow distant. 

You’d made him a flower crown, mostly as a joke, but had been left in raging fits of laughter when you’d placed it on his head. 

“Hold still,” you grunt, sitting on the front counter and keeping the weaved headpiece in your grip as it hovers above the man’s scalp, “I want to get it centered on the first go.”

“Y’know,” Kyle chuffs, “I could always do it myself – I do have working hands, Love.” 

“Shush!” Exclaiming, your breath fans his face, leaving him more still than a statue, if only to smell your scent and be content with your body so close to his. Kyle was still working out the best way to ask you out officially, but that didn’t seem to extend to his instinctual actions when it came to you. It was increasingly hard to stop his head from leaning just that tiniest bit forward and connecting his lips to yours. 

The pressure on his head brings him back, and his eyes blink as if they could force all the rogue thoughts from his mind. Kyle clears his throat when you lean back, acutely aware of the longing set of his dark brows as he had stared off at you. 

“Well, then,” The Sergeant clears his throat and smiles at your concentrated face, though he notices the hitch in your chest with a strange sense of pride. “How’s it lookin'? Is just as you imagined, eh?”

Your face scrunches, head tilting. Kyle couldn’t remember a time he’d let someone put a wreath of flowers on his head, woven with Forget-Me-Nots, Silver Dollar Eucalyptus, and Tiger Lillies. The others would make fun of him for this. 

But he found he cared little. If you kept smiling at him like that, he’d let you do anything to him in a heartbeat. 

“Perfect.” You chuckle. “You should have let me do this earlier.”

The shop was closed – it was a weekend, after all, and that was the time for restocking and number crunching. Not really the time for making crowns for a man who was totally smitten with you.  

“You sure that you don’t need these?” Kyle asks, a hand reaching up to his head to touch the flora. “I’d hate to not pay you for them, Love. Can only imagine how expensive they are to order.” 

“Eh,” rolling your eyes, your legs brush the Sergeant’s hips from where they sit around them, and the man has to remember how to breathe properly, “they’re the old product, anyway. I’d have to get rid of them by Monday. Better for such a handsome individual to have a crown of his own, with all the gallantry he practices in his job. It’s the least I could do, hm?”

You’re teasing him, a smirk taking up the frame of Kyle’s vision. He returns the action, hands coming to rest on either side of your hips; leaning forward until his nose with mere inches away. He hears your chest rattle with a slow breath.

“Are you teasin’ me, Persephone?” He asks sneakily, as you begin to giggle. “Insinuating I need a flower crown to be recognized at work? It’ll certainly get me attention, that’s for sure, yeah? Just not the kind I want. Soap’ll have a field day.” 

“He’d just make a few comments, I’m sure.” 

“You’ve never met him. The bloke would never let it go until the day I kicked the bucket.” You’re laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth. 

Kyle hates himself at that moment because you’ve never looked so beautiful, and he can’t quite pick up the courage to just lean in. So he watches with a matching look of happiness and an embarrassing, yet adored, flower crown on top of his close-shaven head. He watches with an ache in his chest and a violent beat to his heart as your body heat melts into him; urging him, prompting him. 

But he just smiles and watches a moment longer before taking a step back. 

“Sir,” Garrick asks, settling back down and watching the older man slink behind his desk, “What’s all this about?” 

The door opens with a firm hand. Kyle startles to his feet, tuning and about to go into an instinctual formal greeting before the Captain speaks, beating him to it.

“At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat.”  

Price sighs as he takes a seat, slapping a large file that was previously in his hand to the wood before opening his drawer with a grunt. Gaz watches with narrowed eyes as his superior ignores his question, pulling out a large cigar from a lockbox and slotting it between his lips. A lighter follows soon after, and soon the smell of burning tobacco enters the air. 

“...Captain?” Kyle was starting to get nervous now. Why was he looking at him like that? Blue eyes seem to dig deep into Gaz’s soul, trying to find something that was hidden behind layers and layers of flesh and bone. 

John pulls the stick from his lips and holds it between his fingers, smoke now entering the air and rising to perforate like mist. Feet shifting over the floor, Kyle’s heart skips a beat. 

What in the hell is going on? 

That’s when the bearded man speaks. 

“Well, who are they, then?” Price asks, tilting his head forward as his bucket hat sits where it usually does atop his brown hair. The Captain’s eyes are squinted; curious but still laced with that authority that never seemed to leave no matter how many years the two had known each other. 

“Pardon, Sir?” Gaz has to ask, confusion prominent in his expression. “They?”

John raises a thick brow as if the answer was obvious.

“You’re distracted. Been checking your phone like it’s going to explode the last few days. So,” the Captain stares at him heavily, taking another drag before placing the cigar in his ashtray and breathing out a cloud of smoke. He leans forward and places his hands on the table, as Kyle watches, perplexed, “who is it, Sergeant? No use hiding it.”

“I…” Gaz trails before blinking dumbly, lips parting, “oh, hell, was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.” The answer makes the younger man cringe and his skin pulls tight. A pause leaves the room silent, the Sergeant avoiding his Captain’s gaze as he tilts his head away for a moment. He clears his throat. 

“She’s just…” Kyle clears his throat, “someone I met in the city. A florist. Down on Main Ave.”

“A florist, eh?” Grunting, John nods his head to himself. “Asked the bird out, then?” 

“What?” Snapping his head up, Gaz says loudly with stuttering lips, “N-no, Sir. Not yet.” 

The man ahead of him hums, leaning back and flipping his file open, taking a moment to pick up the first page and skim the contents with small eyes. He looks over the top with a blank expression. 

“I’d get on that, Son.” 

—

Today was different, you knew. Something was going to happen. An unexplainable feeling was in the back of your mind, making you somewhat anxious even if you didn’t know exactly why. It was like a sheet had been thrown over your head and someone had just told you to run in circles without hitting a wall; feet tied with a rope. 

The morning had started off normal, as had everything else that followed, but there was an air of expectation wafting in front of you. 

What’s going on? You ask as you wipe down the counter with a wet rag, swiping stray leaves and petals into the garbage bin at your feet. Why am I feeling like I’m expecting something to happen? 

It was Tuesday – nothing astounding ever happens on Tuesdays. 

The front door opens with the ringing of a silver bell, and you say absentmindedly, still caught in your thoughts, “be with you in a moment!” 

A cough startles you, your hand squeezing the rag a bit tighter as your neck twists upwards. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” 

“Kyle,” you laugh and take a breath, “I didn’t expect you today…” 

Freezing, your lips part in a silent gasp when you see it. The man you had come to have quite the crush on was standing a few paces from the door, dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants, jacket in the crook of his arm. He holds a single Sunflower in his grasp. 

It wasn’t anything overly impressive, a bit small and dead at the tips, but nonetheless, your heart stuttered at the gift. Staring at it silently, you turn your gaze to Kyle as his feet shift over the floor nervously. A strange look had overtaken his face, but he had a confident air to him that you’d been seeing more and more of the last few visits. 

“What’s this?” You ask carefully, body going hot all over and lungs swelling. 

You’d loved flowers for most of your life; worshiped them like the people of Delphi worshiped their god-chosen Oracle. But never could you recall a moment when you had been given any out of free will. Everyone always assumed you disliked getting them because of your job, but, oh, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flowers were like declarations of emotions – they could mean so many things to so many different people. They were the truth laid bare in nature as plainly as it could be, wrought with promises.

Your breath stills, eyelids pulling back delicately; lips parting. 

Kyle speaks softly, raising the flower in his grip.

“I remembered you saying you liked these more than roses – you called them ‘tacky’ if I’m…remembering correctly. The roses, that is.”

He was remembering correctly. But that had been just a passing comment to another customer you had been helping before him. Unimportant. A quick piece of yourself that hadn’t mattered while you were cutting stems and looping twine. 

But he remembered it. 

A giggle falls from you until your hand snaps up, trapping it behind parted fingers and an awe-filled face. 

“I wanted to give it to you,” he continued, walking forward with measured steps, “and ask you a question, if you’d let me.”

“Of course, I would.” It’s breathless, the way you say it, and suddenly you know exactly why you've been so on edge today. 

You’d been waiting for him.

And when he smiles at you, your mind runs to gossamer silk. Such a delicate thing; that smile, comparable to the millions of strands a spider spins in a lifetime. Gorgeous and so very easily missed if you weren’t looking at just the right moment. Gossamer Silk. 

Since when has his grin become so important to you? To where you craved it just as violently as water or food? That look in his amber gaze – the one that left you breathless even when you simply thought about it, that was what you wanted to witness when you woke up in the mornings. You wanted his arms around you. You wanted his lips pressed to yours. You wanted him to be in your kitchen making you dinner as the rain fell outside and the flowers in your back garden grew strong and beautiful. 

You wanted him to be yours.

Kyle stops behind the counter and hands you the flower. You reach for it without complaint instantaneously, wondering momentarily if he had just happened upon one and taken it in a moment of passion. Both of your fingers brush, and the imaginary sparks that fly make you turn slightly shy, head tilting to the side for a moment. 

But a finger hooks under your chin, moving it back as delicately as bird wings, gentle feathers tickling your flesh and nerves. 

A hum resonates in your chest, eyes crinkling as you stare into amber brown with flecks of gold. You could get lost in them if you looked too much. 

But you didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“Persephone, would you do me the great honor,” the two of you laugh at the wispy and teasing tone, and suddenly you wish the counter between you would disappear into thin air, “of going on a date with me tonight?” 

Tuesdays, perhaps, might have just become the best day of the week, and a small Sunflower with dead tips and fading yellow, your new favorite flower. 

Ironic, how that works. He ended up distracting you more than you could ever imagine.

—

“Don’t you have to be back on base soon, Garrick?” You mutter into a warm chest, street lights shining into the windows of the apartment. 

“Bloody hell, yes…But I’d crawl back to you, if you asked it of me.”

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[aspens-apothecary]

Mabon Celebration Ideas!

As some of you know, this Saturday is Mabon, the celebration of the Autumn Equinox. Some also refer to it as the "Pagan Thanksgiving", as you celebrate the bountiful harvest and are thankful for the earth and its many gifts.

Mabon marks the time of equilibrium, where the days and nights are of equal length. During this time, it is good to set intentions that involve decrease, such as ending unhealthy habits, self-destructive behaviors, or bad relationships.

Decorating for Autumn

This a great time to decorate for the coming autumn and spooky seasons leading up to Samhain! I like to open the windows and then cleanse my space(usually a simmer pot and smoke cleanse) and after, i actually physically clean the house.I then close the windows and stir my simmer pot, while setting new intentions for the household until the spring equinox. I then collect the things I want to decorate with(the usual fall decor; pumpkins, pine cones, leaf garlands, gourds and an autumn wreath on the door) and then decorate to my hearts content!

Release and Move Forward

Another thing I usually spend time on is meditation, centering myself, letting go of past baggage from the year and setting new personal goals and intentions until spring.

Find a nice spot outside, where you feel connected to the world around you. Take a journal with you, and meditate. Write down what you want the next few months to bring into your life. Set those intentions in any way you choose.

Have a nice Hearty Meal

Who doesn't love a good meal with great people? You can make a roast, hold a potluck Mabon dinner ect, I usually host a bonfire night and everyone brings their own dishes to feel the group. During covid, I made a pot roast for my fiance and I! You could also do a picnic!

Fall Activities

Apple Picking, Corn Mazes, going to a Pumpkin Patch, all fall activities that are fun for the whole family, as a cute date, or great solo fun!

Honor Persephone and Demeter

If you are one to honor deities/spirits during the holidays, Persephone and Demeter are two that will definitely fall into Mabon.

According to the myth, Autumn is the time where Persephone must leave her beloved mother and travel to Hades, to fulfill her role as the Queen of the Underworld. Each year she lets go of the concerns of the upper world, and willingly descends to guide the souls of the dead over the threshold of Life and Death.

Creating an altar, and leaving offerings for them in honor of their sacrifice is an amazing way to celebrate.

Other

Other things you can do include cleansing ritual baths, Divination for the new few months, hiking, offerings for the local nature spirits, make a gratitude list for the last few months and thank the earth for her gifts

Mabon Symbols:

Cornucopia (horn of plenty), pinecones, seeds

Colors: Orange, red, yellow, brown, copper, dark yellow, dark green

Foods: Corn, beans, squash, apples, pumpkins, cider, root vegetables, pomegranate, wine

Herbs: Yarrow, rosemary, sage, mugwort, rosehips,

Stones: Amber, citrine, cat’s eye, aventurine, sapphire, jasper

Flowers: Sunflowers, thistle, marigolds

Deities: Mabon, Green Man, Demeter, Persephone, Morgan, Pomona, Inanna

Animals: Owl, stag, blackbird, salmon

I hope this gives you a few ideas! Add your own ideas to this list! These are just the ways I like to celebrate!

[ask-the-bastard-boss]

Here comes Yarrow dad! He has stuff for Foxy and flowers. Cinquefoils!

Hello, my beloved son. Wedding plans are going great, are you okay with attending?

“Oh?? Uh. Sure! I can still be your best man if you’d like!! But, overall..? I should.. be okay..?”

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Fuck Me Like A Bitch So I May Love You More

Some more of Cannibal King!König, this time getting real mad and protecting his prize from other competitors. Also features my new favourite side character in this series. So anyways, enjoy having your hair braided and König beating the shit out of a guy.

Btw full version is on my Kofi if you want the smut.

TWs: graphic violence, very dubcon, referenced loss of child (if you squint), reader being a dick about 'savages', public sex/voyeurism/orgy (reader does not participate)

Wordcount:3.5k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Fuck Me Like A Bitch So I May Love You More

The worst day you ever had on the island started with an elder cannibal weaving yarrow flowers into your hair.

You didn’t understand why this cannibal was so gentle, or on a more practical note, how she knew to braid hair. Like all the other cannibals, she was shaved almost completely bald, save for a spattering of murky peach-fuzz that had started growing in. And yet, her long frail fingers wove through your hair with a gentleness you’d only seen shared between lovers. Your hair had grown in unnaturally quickly, and as such had bundled into horrible tangles, and yet she was remarkably conscious of how sensitive you had become. 

After scratching and pulling at it uselessly the night prior, your king had brought you to a small skin tent on the outskirts of the settlement. There, a small little woman wearing only a dirty deerskin loincloth was sharpening an axe. The right side of her face was painted with fleshy scars that encircled an empty socket. The teeth on the same side were bare to the world and drool occasionally dropped from one side to the dirt below her. When her one good watery amber eye settled on you, in it you saw only a haunting sadness. You tried to avoid staring, but it was useless. She gave you a thin knowing smile in return.

Your cannibal king tied your leash to a branch before he walked over to the woman, kneeled at her feet and kissed her hands. She closed her eyes and pet his head, then let him go so he could stand above her. He pointed at you and grunted a few words to her, notably softer in tone than usual. Then he pet her head, knelt down to kiss her through his mask, and backed away.

He turned to you and pressed both hands on your shoulders. His blue eyes were notably sharper, and though he said nothing, he conveyed everything he needed to. Stay here. With that, he left and you were alone wit the cannibal woman.

She brought a stool out from her tent and gestured at the stump. It took a second, but you realized what she wanted and sat where she’d been sharpening your axe. You felt a seed of dread root in your gut at the thought that she’d been sharpening it for you.

When you settled, you felt her slowly feel around your hair. You tensed up, ready for her to either rip your hair apart or take her axe to your hair, but she did neither. Instead, you were surprised when she whispered sweet nothings into the nape of your neck and gently massaged the muscles of your shoulders. She set her axe to the side, and you automatically sighed in relief. She chuckled at your reaction as she brushed her frail hands over your skin.

You turned slightly to point at the axe, then at you. You raised a questioning eyebrow.

She followed your eyes, then shook her head and chuckled again. She brushed her hands over your hair before raising her hands up above her head like great claws. It took a moment, but you soon realized she was speaking about your king. When you nodded, she pet your hair again, then clasped it carefully and nodded. Evidently, you wouldn’t be getting a haircut today.

Her skin wasn’t soft, yet her touches were so delicate that it felt like the brushes of a butterfly’s wings over your skin. She wove her way up the muscles of your neck to your hair, where she finally began to gently unwind it. Each strand was treated with utmost care as she unwove it from the mats that had formed in your hair. You closed your eyes and let the sensations wash over you.

For the first time since coming to the island, you were perfectly calm. Everything was at ease, life was peaceful. The birds chirped in the distance with the trickle of a passing river. The wind was soft as it brushed by through the long grass. The crackle of a fire warming some rich aromatic soup reminded you of older times. And through this peace, the old woman caressed your scalp. You’d never had felt such tender care to you hair before. You’d been to hairdressers before, but nobody was this loving, this careful, this delicate. Even your own mother had pulled at your hair occasionally when you'd been a little girl as she had tried to get you ready for school. On the contrary, this woman was unnaturally careful. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it, but thinking was stressful and so that too washed away.

Once she had finished untangling the mats along the back of your neck, she adjusted her stool around to work on the side. Now, from the edge of your vision, you could see the hollow socket of her eye boring into you. You tried to turn away out of respect, but her hand hooked your chin and she guided you back into place. You felt childish for trying to look away, showing such horrible disrespect to the one person who’d been nothing but kind to you. You tried to give her a smile, but if she gave you one in return, you couldn’t see as her lips had been torn away. Only the fond bunching of her cheek muscle below the socket gave you any indication of forgiveness.

As she wove through your hair, you realized she was still talking to you. No, not talking. Singing. Soft, sweet archaic lullabies. Some of them sounded hauntingly familiar, others you couldn’t place at all. Her voice creaked, yet there was a soft fondness to her voice. It faltered, it sang off notes, yet it was steady with the current of the song. You let yourself drown in it for the briefest moment. It didn’t matter that you couldn’t understand her, you could feel the kindness radiating through the tunes. Old reminders of some place far away, some place lost long ago. Gone but not forgotten. You figured if you went to sleep in her arms and never woke up, you could say that you'd lived a good life.

A sudden cry brought your attention. The woman stopped singing and let her hands drop to her lap. You opened your eyes and looked from her over to where she was looking.

In the distance, a young cannibal woman was holding a child, shushing it and bouncing it on her hip. Before you knew it, your cannibal was walking over to the young woman.

The young woman flinched when she approached. The elder held out her arms, and though hesitant, the newborn was passed over to the older woman. Just as soon as the babe was touched by the elder, they stopped their crying and opened their eyes to look at the new person. The child held up a hand to touch the scars on her face. From this angle, you could see the sad smile of the elder. The elder cupped the child’s hand with her own. Her shoulders shook, and soon the woman began to cry. The younger woman embraced the two, and together they stood, each trying desperately to understand the other.

You don’t know how you knew, but in an instant you knew exactly what happened. The scars, the baby, her sobs. Everything clicked into place. Her kindness was no longer strange and unexpected. When the older woman handed back the babe, you could feel the pain she felt. The younger woman brushed her hand over the elder’s scalp lovingly. They pressed their foreheads together before the younger one left, the child now resting comfortably in the young woman's arms, and the elder's arms empty by her side.

When the elder returned to you, you gently held a hand out to hold hers. The woman looked down at your hand, then up at you. You couldn’t say anything to comfort her or to let her know you cared. So, with nothing else to say, you turned and you hugged her.

She stiffened at first, but soon melted into the hug you gave. You tried to tell her you cared, you didn’t think she understood, but she cried all the same and you held her through it. Her shoulders shook, her crying was silent but it resonated through you all the same. Fat tears fell from her good eye and onto your shoulder. Her chest heaved with the weight of silent tears. You held her, your murmured sweet nothings, you tried to assure her she’d be okay but you knew you were lying. If she could understand you, she’d probably know too.

When she pulled away, you could see how much it strained her to give you a reassuring smile. You tried to give one back in turn, but you were nowhere near strong enough to do so. Without anything to say, she sat beside you again and began winding through your hair again.

This time, you knew exactly how to describe her touch: maternal.

When you king came back to collect you, he stopped to admire the little delicate white flowers the woman had woven into your braids. He looked you over carefully, then turned back to the woman. He leaned down to press his forehead against hers and then pulled back to put his leather leash around your arm again. You held it out for him as you watched the cannibal woman put her stool back inside her tent before leaving by his side.

Soon you were back in the village, drinking hot soup from a wooden bowl as you sat on your king’s knee. His other leg was perched up so he could rest his elbow on the kneecap while he drank his soup while his free hand wove itself around your shoulders.

Around you, most of the other cannibals were chattering amongst themselves. Mothers chewed food for their children, men passed cups of tea. You watched them with a different eye now. They were no longer savages. You’d been able to put distance between you both up until now. As you hand played with a plaited braid, you knew that you could never see them that way again.

The cannibals all seemed a merry bunch, but one man seemed to radiate a dark cloud around him. He was a big man, large enough to make the others around him seem small in comparison. The way his jaw was set had alarm bells ringing in your head. The way he looked at you had you shuffling closer to your king to huddle into his chest.

Your king chuckled at first, but he stopped as soon as he lay eyes on the man who stared at you. You felt strangely vindicated in your judgment when your king set down his bowl and tucked you in closer against him. 

You jumped when your king let out a bellow, silencing the entire camp. In a moment all eyes were locked on your king, and in turn, you. You felt humiliated as they all looked at you with critical eyes. You didn’t get need to worry for long though as your king was quick to gently shuffle you off his lap and put you on the ground beside him. You watched as the others all began to shuffle back, clearing a wide space between your king, the watching man, and the campfire. You sat dumbly in place until a scrawny hand reached out and tugged on your wrist.

You squeaked at their touch, but the woman was persistent in urging you to move back with her. You looked between your king and the man as they pulled themselves to their feet, and hurried to join her at the edge of the ring. Your king was on his feet and puffing up the moment you left him.

You watched in horror as your king picked up his skull club and tossed it over to you. You scrambled to catch it and brought it into your lap. The woman who’d grabbed you snorted and shook her head. You tried to give her a look, but it was hard to look intimidating when wearing a flower crown and holding a skull club like it was a bouquet of roses.

You glanced back at the men in the ring, each now circling each other around the bonfire. Your king shook his head to make the black cloth of his mask billow out, almost like some sort of bluff. He stretched out his muscles as he walked, rolling his shoulders and chuffing.

The other man didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, to your horror, he pointed at you and barked a few words at your king. The way he glanced at you hungrily had chills going down your spine. His black eyes looked almost soulless behind the charcoal he’d painted over his eyes. Something about this hunger felt wrong, perverse. It had your skin crawling as you tried to fold your arms over your chest, feeling almost as though he was undressing you with his eyes.

You watched as the man pointed at you, then yelled something at your king. In response, your king bellowed back and stomped his foot hard enough to make the trees quiver. The dark eyed man shook his head so violently spittle sprayed to the sides and he screamed, but your king seemed completely unphased by his attempts at intimidation. You noted with a strange bubble of pride that when your king puffed his chest and yelled, the black-eyed man flinched.

The two men finally stopped their circling, your king standing in front of you as he huffed and puffed. His chest rose and fell, his fists clenched and relaxed. He didn’t spare you a look, but you couldn’t help but think he took pride in showing off like this in front of you.

With a roar, the man charged forth. Your king responded in kind and grappled the man in the centre. The two of them joined hands and pushed against each other. The man tried to lunge in for a bite only to get a knee in the chest that had him stumbling back.

You watched as the man wheezed, then threw himself back at the king. Your king was quick to throw his fist out and slam it into the other man’s face, knocking him back with windmilling arms before stumbling into the earth. Your king took advantage of the opportunity and ran forth to kick the man in the gut. He rolled back and stumbled to his feet again, hissing and spitting.

The man lunged forth and punched the king’s gut. He stumbled back, and in turn the man slammed his fist into his stomach again, and then again before the king pulled himself together and punched back. You shook as you saw the man glance at you and grin between the punches being slammed into his body. To your horror, one of your king’s punches glanced across his chin, cutting a long line from his cheek down to his chin and spraying blood over the dust.

The man stumbled back. He shook his head and stumbled back, then shuffled back to get some distance between the two of them. Your king was quick to close the distance, feigning a kick only to grab the man’s head and slam a fist into his face so hard you could hear the crack from where you sat. You gasped as the man stumbled back and clutched at his eye. When he pulled back his hand, you could see blood coating his palm.

You'd never seen rage so bright and violent before that day, but the dark eyed man looked the picture of it. He dived away from your king to the campfire and grabbed a burning stick from the pile. At once, the other cannibals cried out and some tried to step forth, but the king held up a hand to stop them. The two men circled each other again, this time one armed and your king empty-handed.

The fire crackled bright hot as embers dropped from the torch in the man's hand. He laughed and shouted some taunting threat. Your king gave him no response, just quiet observance. Enraged, the younger man lunged forth and swung the torch at your king.

The king dodged to the side and stepped back. The man swung again and again, but each time your king stepped out of the way and ducked around the flames. You clutched your hands over your face, afraid to scream lest you distract your king.

Your king manoeuvred the ring with ease. He looked so calm, so at ease with everything that was happening that you were shocked when he grabbed the man's outstretched hand.

He didn’t get a chance to process what he saw before your king grappled the man and slammed him into the earth, the torch dropping to the ground and rolling in the earth beside them. The man tried desperately to get out from underneath but your king held onto him with a vice-like grip. You watched as your king slammed the man back into the earth, then raised up so he could pummel the man’s head with his fists.

You felt like you could cry. The man’s head knocked back into the earth and bounced off with each hit of your king’s fists into his face. Again and again he pummelled the man’s head, aiming mostly for the face but he landed a few knocks into his ears, tearing at the delicate flesh and spraying rich blood across the earth. Your king was relentless, almost incensed by the blood now pouring from his nose and mouth. Again and again the thick thud of fists meeting flesh pounded into your ears. You watched as he continued his assault, continuing even until chunks of flesh started to rip from his face.

You tried to jump forth to stop him but two cannibals were quick to haul you back. A man barked a few words at you as the woman hurriedly shook her head. You glanced between them both and then back at your king. The second you saw the wild euphoria in his eyes you couldn’t help but thank whatever lay above that you’d been stopped. There was no doubt in your mind that in his bloodthirsty state, your king would’ve easily turned on you and mauled you just the same as his enemy. You shuddered as you watched the man’s head slowly deflate, bit by bit until it looked more like a crushed watermelon than a human face. An eyeball was cut free and rolled down over the ground. A small child snatched it and popped it into their mouth, only for the fluids to run down their chubby chin.

When your king was finally finished, he took the torch and stabbed it into the dead man's chest. He stumbled to his feet and whirled around to look at the others. Nobody dared move, not until he looked at you and barked. 

You watched as women with bare chests rose up, clutching their children to their chest and leaving the area. Slowly, as your king roared to the crowds, all the children were taken from among them. You noticed that the one-eyed woman from before was the last to leave, gently ushering a preteen girl away from the tribe’s centre and into the brushes. 

The king watched the children leave, then turned to look at you. You flinched and crawled back reflexively. You needed to leave. Whatever was about to happen, you needed to be as far away from here as you possibly could be. To your horror, the more you tried to get away, the more the other cannibals pushed you back into the ring and closer to the king. Panic consumed you as you tried to push away, but they wouldn’t let you run as your king lumbered toward you.

He grabbed you by your ankle and yanked you away from the others until you lay prone beneath him. You thought back to the first night, back when you wondered what a man would want with someone like you. As you saw him widen his stance, you realized that to even ask such a question was an attempt to avoid thinking about the reality of your situation. You were never more certain of his intents than when he dropped to his knees and wrenched your legs apart.

“Wait, wait!” you tried to stop him but he was already tugging your pants off your body. You fought with him to pull them back up desperately but when you heard the fabric begin to tear, you stupidly let go. He wasn’t so patient with your underwear, tearing it off your body and throwing it to the side. You noticed that he tossed it into the blood of the dead man.

He grabbed your wrist and pinned you down to the earth. His eyes were wide and vicious as he took in your prone form. There was something primitive about his expression, something horribly awful that made you want to cry. This wasn’t for love at all. This wasn’t someone looking to fuck for pleasure.

He was going to fuck you to claim you. The realization made you sob. He was going to fuck you in front of all the others to claim you as his. This entire show was just a display of dominance. Killing the challenger, fucking you while covered in his blood, this was his way of making you his forevermore. 

KOFI CONTENT

You panted beneath him, finally able to gather your senses.

Your king had just claimed you in front of his entire tribe, consummating your tie to him. Or at least, he pretended to, but the end result was the same in the eyes of the other cannibals. You were his now, only his. The others settled around you as your king wiped his spend of your body before letting your hips drop down to the ground. He carefully pulled your pants up your body, then stood up to cradle you in his arms.

He panted into your ear, then turned and roared to the entire tribe. You glanced around to find that the other tribe members were parting the way before the cabin. He adjusted you in his arms and stomped through the throng to duck behind the deerskin door.

Once inside he dropped put down in the deerskin before stepping back to light the torches in the hut. Once done, he joined you back in the pile of furs.

You lay there panting, taking in what had happened. You could hardly believe what you’d just been through. More importantly, you were stunned by his... Humanity? He could’ve forced you to take him, could’ve torn your insides apart. Instead, he hid the act with his loincloth and humped you instead. Your mind must truly be gone to be thankful.

He was a monster, and yet he listened to you. That fact alone was what stood out to you. He listened, and he cared. He’d gone so far as to protect your modesty for you instead of humiliating you in front of his entire tribe. He understood your tears and he cared for you. Your monster cannibal king had a heart after all.

Your king settled himself beside you on the blankets. You shifted to make room for him, letting him rest on his back beside you. His heavy pants filled the small space. You let yourself lay there, not flinching from him as you normally would. He lay out a hand for you, but instead of taking it at a distance you tucked yourself into his chest.

He paused briefly. You both did. Ever so carefully, he lowered his arm to encircle you. In turn, you tucked your leg over his own. You lay there quietly, both of you still unused to the tenderness you found between each other. This new strange thing had been born of bloodshed and violence, and yet it was soft and innocent in nature. Despite what you’d both done, you felt like a small innocent creature in his arms.

He seemed to feel the same about you. He was careful with you, ever so carefully holding you to his form. He almost seemed afraid of you now.

You don’t quite know what came over you, but you found yourself nestling your head into his arms and kissing his chest. He hesitated briefly, then hugged you close. You snuggled in, only briefly pulling away to pile more blankets over the two of you. Your king adjusted them around you both, and the two of you settled into your nest together.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

KOFI

[thevirginwitch]

New Moon & Solar Eclipse in Libra - Oct 2nd, 2024

This post released about a week early for folks over on my Patreon! If you haven't signed up yet, be sure to check it out!

This month’s new moon, which will be 10 degrees in the sign of Libra on October 1st/2nd, is a great time to evaluate certain things that seem out of balance for you, and focus on shifting those scales to better suit what you are needing. This is also a wonderful time for re-working relationships – figuring out boundaries, what is or isn’t working for you, and determining if certain relationships are serving you well (or not). Communication is also a very big theme during this new moon!

On top of the new moon, there is also going to be a solar eclipse! Eclipses are time for closing doors and oftentimes energetic shifts that can feel somewhat chaotic. For this event, you can expect to see some shake ups with things that are holding you back – specifically where Libra is ruling certain houses (for example, if your 10th house is in Libra, you may see some changes and challenges in your career). 

(Correspondences, Activities, and Journaling Prompts below the cut!)

Correspondences

Amethyst

Citrine

Rose

Passionflower

Violet

Yarrow

Journaling

What does a balanced relationship with yourself look like? Think of things like self-care, work-life balance, and your own inner dialogue.

What does a balanced relationship between yourself and others look like?

How can you improve communication with yourself to better provide a balanced inner dialogue?

Activities

Self-love, communication, and relationship-building (or relationship-ending) rituals

Find one thing that you think would help to bring more balance to your life - maybe it’s more self-care time, more time for social events, or more time working on your spiritual growth. Make a commitment from now until the full moon to try to implement this one thing into your life more. At the full moon, reflect on this change and see if it’s made you feel any more balanced in your life!

[goldeneyedgirl]

Ficmas2024 Day 1: Cowboys & Witches Verse Discontinued Sequel

Happy Holidays and welcome to this year's edition of Ficmas! I swear to god, this is upon me faster every single year. Requests are staying open this year, so if you still have something you're dying to see, now is the time to abuse my ask box.

Today's offering is the original draft of the sequel to Love & Duty, the verse second most in need of some heavy editing and rewrites. When I was asked for Solstice, I decided that it was a much more interesting and fun sequel and this kind of sat in a corner of my writing folder. This takes place roughly a year after Love & Duty

There's a good chance I will repurpose aspects of this version into a future installment of Love and Duty, but for now, this is what we have. I hope you like it!

untitled love & duty sequel.

Time meandered on.

More vampire raids were happening up and down the border, though no news came from Del Rio, much to Alice's secret relief. But the raids were bad - three Guardian Houses were lost entirely, with the survivors decamping for Houston with horror stories and gruesome war wounds. The dead were left behind, without a chance for a blessing or the final rites, something that left everyone on edge.

The aunts tried to disguise their worry but failed miserably; soon Alice was diverted from battling the hemlock and the blackberries, and assisting with the near constant creation of blessing amulets and charms, of memorising protective spells, and strengthening shields and protection around the property.

It was stressful and exhausting. But it distracted her. That was important - mooning over Jasper Whitlock-Hale was a pointless waste of energy, and she would get over whatever it had been. She had had a crush, and he had mistaken his gratitude with lust. Nothing else. She was, in all probability, never going to see him again.

It had been almost a year since Del Rio - she had tucked all thoughts of the cowboy in a corner of her mind that only came out when she was getting ready to sleep. She knew what would happen if the aunts found out; a lecture about the isolation and loneliness of Laredo twisting up her mind, and a lot of tasks around the house to get her mind off something as silly and frivolous as a boy.

But the nights she drifted off thinking about Jasper's smile, and the warmth of the Del Rio house kitchen, were the nights that she managed to sleep the best.

And then there was a raid in Laredo proper.

Evidently a messy attempt to locate the Guardian House that brought her and the aunts straight into town, to spend most of the night and an entire day posing as nurses to aid with the injured in town. She’d stitched and bandaged and made endless cups of tea, and secretly created dozens of blessed salt lines. They rarely did much to vampires on the hunt, but they could disrupt or conceal a scent trail. Every little bit would help until the Council figured out why the raids were happening and send out scouts.

All four of the Laredo witches arrived home at dusk, physically and mentally exhausted. Blood stained their clothing, their supplies were low, and there was nothing else for it - they all needed a wash, some toast and tea, and then a whole night sleeping. It was a relief that the aunts didn’t expect her to put in a full night’s work, and she took her time in the bath before preparing for bed. Two of the cats - Ginseng and Yarrow - were curled up on her bed, warm and purring. It was very peaceful and comforting after such a long day and that... that should have been the first warning, to not let her guard down.

It was a child's lesson, truly: be prepared for the worst. Sleep in shifts, close together. Update and info the Council. Summon assistance. Especially after a raid that size, with so many dead. They'd had to burn so very many bodies, because their wounds were too great to decipher a changing bite from the... mutilation before them.

But they were all so tired and really, what was the harm of one night's sleep...

Famous last words.

—

Alice slept deeply, better than she had in a long time, sandwiched between the two cats. Her dreams were all of the sun, standing in the grass.

Or she was until the screaming started, and suddenly she was awake and being torn away from her bed.

“Alice?”

Oh.

It was Jasper. In person. Staring down at her in the thin light of her room looking so very out of place.

A whole year older. She wasn't sure if he'd managed to get even taller, or if it was because he was there in person. His hair was longer, tied off his face, and there was a row of clumsy stitches across his cheek. His clothing was filthy, and he was laden down with weapons as he clasped her tightly against him, closing the door without making a sound.

“Alice, quick,” Jasper murmured, keeping both eyes on the bedroom door.

“Jasper, what’s going on?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep, and becoming more and more aware with every passing moment that she was standing there in her very thin nightgown in a very cold room, in front of a man she hadn’t been able to get out of her head.

“Maria Moreno’s coven are here,” he murmured. “They've been looking for you and the aunts, and they found you. We heard the rumours and we... we thought we could get you out, but we're too late."

"She's in my house?" The blood drained from her face, and her knees nearly buckled. Maria Moreno, one of the most infamous and murderous of the Southern vampires, and leader of one of the most formidable armies. The previous day’s slaughter in Laredo had just been her search for the witches. What Maria was truly capable without the presence of the Guardian Houses was something Alice could even picture.

“Get your boots, a coat, we have to leave immediately,” Jasper said, whispering so quietly they were more like puffs of air. “The traps are set, we can still get away clean.”

Alice nodded, and grabbed her dress from where she had tossed it over a chair, pulling it on over her nightgown without a second thought, and tugging on her socks and boots. “What about the animals? The aunts?” she whispered, as she carefully shooed both cats out of her window; they were sensible creatures, they would get themselves away smartly. Cats hated vampires.

“Peter and Emmett are trying to get them out,” Jasper said. “Come on.”

They slipped out of her room, and crept down the hallway, Alice freezing behind Jasper when she heard a scream, shuddering as it cut away suddenly.

One of the aunts, most certainly; Alice's stomach twisting at the cold realisation.

A cat streaked past them, dashing down the stairs, and Alice hoped that it - Clover, she thought - made it to safety. She hoped all of them did.

“Hello Jasper.”

The words were like a thunderclap in the house. Sensual and almost mocking, both she and Jasper froze up as the woman stepped out from a room at the opposite end of the hallway.

Alice had only ever seen pictures of Maria Moreno, and they did her no justice - she was so much more beautiful and terrible in real life. Her dark hair was arranged elaborately, with loose curls spilling over both shoulders; her red and black gown made of worn but expensive fabrics. And she was gorgeous, with a beauty that was awe-worthy, right down to the blood smear across her face.

The most dangerous woman in Texas, if not the world.

“And the little baby witchling. The very last of the Benoit line. Isn’t she pretty,” Maria cooed, stepping forwards. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” Jasper said, his hand tight around Alice’s.

“You and your friends leave right now - I’ll even let you take the horses - and I won’t follow. I’ll stay here and get to know the witchling here, and her governesses,” Maria said, sounding very reasonable. “Or you can try and leave, and I will kill every person on this property, and then go straight to Del Rio for your sister and the little pregnant woman. Rosalie would make an exquisite addition to my army, I’m sure.”

Jasper actually growled at her, and reached behind him to pull a shotgun free from the strap on his back.

“You’ll let us pass, Maria,” he said darkly. “You’ll crawl back into whatever hole you came out of, and stay the hell out of Texas. That’s not negotiable, and it never will be.”

Maria began to laugh but was cut off by Jasper firing the gun once, twice, three times. Whatever it was loaded with glowed faintly blue and knocked Maria clear off her feet and through a wall.

“Run,” he told Alice, half-pushing her down the stairs.

And she tried, stumbling in the darkness and wondering if this was just a terrible dream.

As she reached the door, she heard Jasper yell out and she turned to see Maria had caught him on the landing. Grasping him around the throat, she held him in the air effortlessly, as he clawed at her grip.

But she was not unmarked from the shotgun - there were gouges across her chest and throat, the right side of her face looked like raw meat, weeping a yellowy fluid with blue bruise-like marks at the edges.

She looked like the monster she was and somehow, she was still beautiful.

“Oh Jasper, it’s been so long. We could have been together nearly a year by now, yes, nearly a year. You’d be a glorious addition,” Maria sighed. “We could rule Texas together, mijo. Just say the word”

Alice stared at him as he dangled there; he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

And then Maria’s words began to sink in. A year. A year...

“A year? You… you were the one that did that to him?” Alice turned around.

“Oh, that’s sweet. She’s stayed behind for you. She could already be escaping,” Maria laughed. “I have no use for her, but it’s very cute.”

“You ripped him open,” Alice continued, staring up at Maria.

“Well, Jasper decided not to accept my very kind invitation,” Maria said, “and that offended me quite badly. I’m surprised you lived - was that your doing, witchling? I’ve heard of Laredo’s skill with healing.”

Alice stared at Maria and Jasper. She thought of the silence upstairs, the certainty that at least one of the aunts was dead, if not all of them. The women that took her in and raised her the best way that they knew how, when her own parents cast her out and rewrote history to erase her.

She thought of the hours nursing Jasper, of the wound on his torso, and all the bite scars; of how sweet he'd been to her, how he'd come all this way to save her from the very person who'd tried very, very hard to kill him and nearly succeeded. And put his family in danger for his efforts.

The rage and frustration and grief all bubbled over.

The curse was an early defensive spell, crude but extremely effective. As she spits out the words at the viper on the stairs, she makes the slashing gesture at Maria, Maria has no chance. She drops Jasper and hits the wall limply, her eyes wide and fixed on Alice as the curse takes effect.

Jasper fell to the floor choking and gasping, but already trying to get to his feet. He half-falls down the stairs but manages to gain his wits long enough to grab Alice's hand and pull her out of the house so fast that she's nearly pulled off her feet.

“She won’t stay down for long, we need to get clear,” he said, as they tore across the yard towards the barn. “That was really damned stupid, you should have run.”

“She was going to kill you!” Alice snapped, as they arrived in the barn. Both Hallow and Haven were saddled, and Peter was waiting.

“Sybil and Emmett are off,” Peter said grimly. “They took Duke, we’ve got Hallow.”

“Where’s Bandit?” Jasper asked, tightening the saddles.

“Emmett took him. I’ll ride with Alice,” Peter said.

“Alice’ll come with me - Haven won’t be fast enough with two riders,” Jasper said firmly, boosting Alice into the saddle and easily swinging himself behind her. “We need to go, now.”

“The aunts, did they get out?” Alice burst out, and Peter mounted Haven.

“Sybil did,” Peter said with finality. “She’ll be pleased to see you - they were all determined to see you safe, witchling. We need to go, now.”

With Jasper’s arms tight around her, clutching the reins, Hallow and Haven took off like Alice had never seen them, as if they understood the severity of the situation.

Maybe they did.

“What about the cats?” Alice cried out as they passed beyond the boundary line. Ginseng, Yarrow, Ginko, Clover, Lobelia, Arnica, and Nettle. They had been her constant companions for years, dear things, and they didn’t deserve to die this way.

“We’ll come back for the damn cats,” Jasper snapped as they came over the hill, where two figures on horseback waited under a tree. “Sybil, now!”

Aunt Sybil, who looked small and frail nodded, and murmured something under her breath and there was a boom that nearly flung Alice from the saddle. She jerked around to catch a glimpse of the Laredo Guard House as it burst into green flames that seemed to almost be alive as they crawled over everything that was there, and Alice felt the tears on her cheeks as the small party tore away from the wreckage.

All of it, gone. Perhaps Maria would perish in the fire, but the thought of that didn't help. All she can do is turn around and surreptitiously wipe away her tears before anyone notices.

—

It's a long journey to Del Rio, especially at night. It's mostly silent, with Jasper and his friends relying on runes to communicate, rather than draw attention by speaking out loud.

Alice's not sure if she sleeps or if she passes out, but she becomes aware of the rocking motion of the horse, and that she’s slumped into the crook of Jasper’s arm. She's warm, and he smells safe - like sunbaked dirt and salt and tea leaves. And even though she's embarrassed, she's so very tired, and it feels unnecessary to open her eyes... she had already been drained when she cursed Maria, and … she needed to sleep.

So she did.

—

It takes them two days to get back to Del Rio, as Jasper leads them on a winding trail designed to confuse Maria and keep them safe. The first morning she only wakes when Jasper and Peter are lifting her from the horse, and she is quite embarrassed when she has to reassure them that she is unharmed, only tired.

There is a third man, built like a bear, with curly black hair and kind eyes, that has set a small bonfire - one with lemon-coloured flames that doesn’t smoke and will offer them some small amount of protection as they rest and eat. His name is Emmett, and he is married to Jasper’s sister. Prolific with a shotgun, and a fair rider, he had been the one to get Sybil out in one piece, and visibly regretted failing the other two aunts.

Aunt Agnes and Aunt Enid. She should use their names, they had been good to her. Raised her well and prepared her for everything they could. They had died, and she had lived, and the guilt weighed heavily on her.

Sybil held her tightly when she made her way over; the old woman was wearing only her nightdress and dress coat buttoned tight. She felt very small and breakable when she warpped her arms around Alice, and looked very day of her age as she inspected Alice.

“I am so very, very glad to see you, little one,” she murmured. “I prayed to the goddess you would come away safe, and you did.”

“I’m sorry,” Alice sniffled. “Enid and Agnes…”o

“We are - were - just a bunch of old women clattering about a rotting house. Our lives have been lived, and they would hoave considered their lives for yours a worthy trade. Everything has a price that has to be paid,” Sybil says, smoothing Alice’s hair back.

Alice nodded, sniffling.

“Good girl,” Sybil sighed. “You need to eat something.”

The food the men carried was basic - bread, dried meat, and water. It was enjoyable but Alice kept her plate on her lap to distract herself as the others spoke over her head. She listened half-heartedly, until one word caught her attention.

“We’re going to Houston?” Alice looked at Sybil with wide eyes. “Houston?”

“Until we can rebuild the Laredo House, yes, I will go to Houston. I have my sister and my nieces there,” Sybil said calmly. “You have been invited to take a position at Del Rio.”

Alice blinked. "Without you?"

Sybil smiled wistfully. “Yes. Perhaps, if we can rebuild Laredo, we might both return there one day - if I am still able. But until then, I will be safe with my family in Houston. Your presence will be appreciated in Del Rio.”’

Alice nodded and refocused on her food. Why on earth would she be needed at Del Rio? They needed a healer, yes, but she hadn't taken her oaths and knew nothing about the male Guard Houses. And invited by whom?

Her gaze lifted to look at Jasper on the other side of the fire, but Jasper seemed very intent on his rations, and Emmett was watching Jasper.

“Charlotte’s having a baby,” Peter blurted out suddenly.

“Oh! Congratulations,” Alice pasted a smile on her face. A competent - if reluctant - midwife she could be. It was her least favourite duty, and the one that the aunts had once despaired she would ever manage. But it was reason enough to be invited to Del Rio.

“We’re very excited,” Peter was talking very fast. “Though I think Rosalie is even more excited.”

Rosalie and Emmett. More people at the Guard House. In her mind, it was always just Peter and Charlotte, and Jasper. It was oddly overwhelming.

“We need to get moving,” Jasper interrupted. “We’ve got awhile to go, and you need to be on the road to Houston by dusk. We’ve lingered long enough.” He began extinguishing the fire, and Alice watched as Peter and Emmett exchanged a look.

Whatever was going on, she was sure they’d fill her in soon.

—

By the time they arrived at the Del Rio House, Alice had never been so grateful to not be traveling - she couldn’t walk in a straight line, she’d been on horse back so long.

The Del Rio house was a cheery as ever, as Alice was escorted inside. She could smell something baking, and fresh flowers sat on the table in the entrance. It was exactly how she pictured it, but it was very hollow now she was here in person.

“Alice! Oh, you came!” Charlotte appeared in the doorway, a pistol loose in one hand. "Are you all okay?"

Peter shook his head. “Enid Benoit and Agnes Beaumont didn’t survive,” he said grimly. “But we got Alice and Sybil, and both of the horses.”

“A good result,” Jasper sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Better than we feared,” Charlotte said, smiling sadly. “Come and eat.”

The table was set with food, and there was a beautiful blonde woman waiting in the kitchen, who immediately greeted Emmett with a kiss.

“My sister, Rosalie,” Jasper said, as they crowded around the table. “She came here to keep Charlotte company whilst we were gone.”

“You must be the Alice I’ve heard so much about,” Rosalie said politely.

“Hello,” Alice managed, half collapsed in her chair. Everything about the last few days get quite surreal. She would give anything to be back in Laredo, battling the hemlock and talking to the cats right now.

“You look quite pale, Alice, would you like some rest before you eat?” Charlotte looked worried.

“Yes. Yes, I think that would be good,” Alice managed.

“The guest room at the top of the stairs, let me show you,” Charlotte said, moving to stand.

“I remember, Charlotte,” Alice smiled. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. Thank you all, but I’ll excuse myself for now.”

The guest room was just as nice as it had been the first time, with towels and a nightgown laid out, so that she could once again wash and exchange the other clothing she owned for borrowed garments that didn't fit her right. It was all exactly how she pictured it.

And she hated all of it.

Washing herself mechanically, changing into the too-long nightgown, Alice curled up in the middle of the bed, and buried her face into the pillow to weep for everything that she had lost, and for the very sudden and inescapable realisation that she was now completely, and utterly alone in the world.

[g-h-0-s-t-3-d]

See My Scars - Ghost x Hawk Scene

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wren "Hawk" Yarrow (Original Character)

A/N: Short scene from later in Simon + Wren's story. Takes place in Russia after the 141 finds out Graves has been smuggling weapons for Makarov. Graves takes Wren hostage and tortures her, Simon comes to her rescue, and Wren kills Graves. Simon and Wren have a heart-to-heart one night following, and suddenly they're confessing. Then they're kissing. Here's what happens next...

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Injuries/Scars, Military Themes (Call of Duty), Mentioned Torture (past, by Graves), Implied Abuse (past, by Graves), Mentions of Simon’s Past, Friends to Lovers, Canon-Typical Swearing, Implied NSFW

It was all a blur when he laid her down, large hands surprisingly gentle with her small, bruised frame. She saw him pause… hesitation? She draws her knees up to her chest and waits patiently, her own nerves beginning to get the better of her. 

Shit, this was a mistake, I - 

Her breath stops when she meets his gaze. He peers down at her, eyes dark and intense, a great strength suppressed between his taught shoulders. “Y’sure you want to do this, Wren?”

His voice is deep, gravelly. She’d be lying if it didn’t turn her on, but she knows the weight of what they’re about to do - she knows they can’t go back.

Maybe I don’t want to go back, a voice screams inside of her, threatening to burst out her chest as she nods slowly, replacing all the things she wishes she could say with a single, ‘yes.’

He hums in acknowledgement and crawls toward her, hands gingerly beginning to explore. He rubs at her sides, her shoulders, and commits each freckle and blemish on her face to memory. His finger draws a line up her jaw and comes to rest on her cheek, right underneath the gash Graves had just given her. She flinches at the contact, despite how gentle it is, as his finger ghosts over dried blood and traces the shape of the gash all the way from the bridge of her nose to the corner of her eye.

His gaze is cold, unwavering as he studies it. She feels him tense up ever so slightly, and for a moment she’s worried he’s gotten cold feet, but he growls lowly and shifts his deep brown eyes to meet hers.

“Fucker had it coming. If you hadn’t killed him, I would’ve.”

“Simon,” she sighs, bringing her hand up to rest over his on her cheek, tiny fingers drawing in comparison to his. He grunts and shakes his head. She’s still reeling over the loss of him - of Phillip - and he knows that. But that wouldn’t make him forgive what Graves did to her.

“I would’ve.”

“I know,” she murmurs, leaning her head into his hand. His eyes soften, though they keep their dark, almost hungry hue. Then he kisses the bridge of her nose, right where the scar began, and dips his head to her neck, softly mouthing at the exposed skin.

His lips on hers earlier that night had been one thing, but his lips on her body now… a heat she’d long forgotten about rose slowly in her core, her breathing hastening as his hands tug at the bottom of her shirt. Simon moves slowly, carefully, because he knows how fragile she is right now.

He wasn’t prepared for the mess of bruises that adorn her chest and ribs, deep purple tones splotched over skin that was far too perfect to be hurt.

His breath hitches when he sees them - all of them - staining the skin of his woman. He tenses again, repressing his anger. Wren recoils out of nervousness, tears welling in the corners of her eyes, and Simon panics, quickly extending his hand out to her. He doesn’t know how to handle this, how to treat her… and he’s scared.

“Graves did this to you?” Simon utters, frozen in place, a deep hatred slowly bubbling up and conflicting with his fear of scaring Wren off.

“Not all of it,” she replies, voice low and somber. “But, most, yeah.”

“Did he… touch you?” He tries with every fiber of his being to keep his voice restrained, but Simon had never been too good at dealing with anger. He could repress it, sure, but that was what always drove so many people away - he was cold, aloof, unapproachable. And when his feelings were now so strong, so overwhelming, all his instincts tell him to run away, to isolate and compartmentalize.

But he knows, maybe painfully so, that deep down he doesn’t want that. He wants her. So he stays, and he waits with tense shoulders and a clenched fist.

“No. Wouldn’t let him.” Her voice trails off as she tries desperately to read his gaze, cursing each blemish that greeted Simon so prominently. Simon breathes a noticeable sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes softening. If she looks hard enough, she swears she can see the wetness of tears in the very corners of his eyes, mixing with the remainder of the eyeblack he just couldn’t wash off at this point. She sighs. “I know they’re not pretty. If you don’t-”

“Wren.”

Her eyes snap up to watch him wordlessly undress, his huge hands lingering on the hem of his shirt before slowly pulling it over his head. He stops about halfway through, his hand shaking as he holds the fabric just over his ribs and holds her gaze silently - watching, waiting, debating.

Then he hesitantly pulls the fabric completely up to reveal a long, dark gash across his right rib cage that had never quite healed right. The skin was patched with ridges and divots, dark red marks adorning the mottled skin.

“Hung,” he explains. “Mexican cartel. Corrupted an old captain of mine. I won’t burden you with the details.”

“Si…”

“All these burns,” he nods to each red splotch, so numerous and concentrated that there was hardly any untouched skin there, “Field burns. Or cigarette burns… from my father. This,” he opens up his right hand to reveal a long slit with what looked like scars from stitches, “was from digging out. When I was buried alive with ‘em. Used his jawbone and it fucked up my hand.”

She tries hard to hold back tears - Simon never spoke much about his past. She knew things, of course, but not when he was this vulnerable. But he holds her gaze, and it's intense.

“And everything else? Wren, I have been beaten and shot and stabbed and fucked - if you think I’m going to be bothered by some marks, then I’m a goddamn hypocrite and you’re out of your fucking mind.”

She quirks her lips up into a sad smile, reaching her hand out and beginning to trace each mark on his chest. “Si… ‘M sorry all that happened. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t need to say anything, Little Bird,” he grunts, leaning back down and catching her lips once more. “Just have me.”

And she did.

[herbs-and-poultices]

It was fun last year, as far as I know no-one has tried to have me burned for heresy, I could use a fun diversion right about now, and I haven't yet run out of ballads. So here is this year's:

Vaguely Whumptober-Themed Anthology of Folk Songs from the British Isles / Transatlantic Tradition: Part 1

(What’s a random American gal with no English/Scottish/Irish heritage doing listening mostly to songs like these? Blame my parents for raising me on murder ballads and ceilidh tunes.)

1) If only we could hold on: White Squall (X)

A Folk Revival (20th c) composition from closer to home.

I clung there to the stanchions and I felt my face go pale As he crawled hand over hand along the rail I could feel her keeling over with the fury of the blow I watched the rail go under then, so terrible and slow Then like some great dog she shook herself and roared upright again Far overside, I heard him call my name

2) You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back: Dowie Dens of Yarrow (X X)

An old traditional ballad.

A humble ploughman braves mortal combat with nine high-born rivals for the hand of the lady he loves. He wins, only for her brother to stab him in the back. Literally

3) Wrongfully Arrested: Long Black Veil (X) / Over the Hills (X)

An American country ballad and a Celtic rock/metal ballad (covered on hurdy-gurdy!!) which share enough similarities to have come from the same centuries-old traditional ballad. They are both actually original compositions, but the genres owe much to the old tradition.

Ten years ago, on a cold, dark night Someone was killed 'neath the town hall light There were few at the scene, but they all agreed That the slayer who ran looked a lot like me

4) Hallucinations (visions): MacCrimmon's Lament (X)

A haunting tune from the 1745 Jacobite Rising. Stretching the prompt a bit, but for a good cause ;)

A lament for the death of the piper Donald Bán MacCrimmon, sole casualty of the Rout of Moy. It is said that the tune was composed by Donald Bán himself following a premonition of his own death. Lyrics were written later, in Gaelic, Scots, and English.

5) Healing Salve: Witch of the West-Mer-Land (X X)

A Folk Revival (20th c) composition with much the feel of an old trad ballad.

A mortally wounded knight seeks the aid of an enchantress, who tends his wounds with a combination of herbs and magic, saving his life.

6) It's not (my) blood: The Douglas Tragedy (X)

An old traditional ballad.

He lichted doon tae tak’ a drink o’ the water that ran sae clear An’ doon the stream ran his hairt’s blood, and sair she began tae fear 'Rise up, rise up, Lord William,' she said, 'for I fear ye are slain' '’Tis naethin’ but the shadow of my scarlet coat that shines in the water sae plain'

This is the type of family strife / star-crossed lovers ballad that ends badly for all involved. And I do mean all.

7) It's us or them: Henry Martin (X)

An old traditional ballad.

A desperate young man's first attempt at piracy does not go as hoped, when his quarry refuses to surrender. After hours of fighting, he ultimately sinks his would-be prize outright -- perhaps as the only way to save his own ship and crew.

8) Forced to Stay Awake: Captain Coulston (X)

A broadside (19th c) emigrant ballad.

He said my boys do not go down, you need not think on sleep For in a few hours more we shall be slumbering in the deep For a pirate ship is coming down upon the western sea To rob us of our property going to Amerikay

9) Obsession | Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble: Lily of the West (X X)

A broadside (19th c) murder ballad with versions on both sides of the Atlantic.

An unreasonably jealous young man with a deadly weapon and a remarkable inability to take responsibility for his own actions. What could possibly go wrong.

10) Blow to the head: Follow Me Up To Carlow (X)

An Irish rebel song. I would be remiss if I didn't include at least one.

White is sick and Grey has fled, now for black Fitz William's head We'll send it over dripping red to Lizzy and her ladies

11) Loneliness | No trace: Lament of the Fisherman's Wife (X)

A Folk Revival (20th c) composition, but a tale as old as time.

Now she has come down to condemn that wild ocean For the murderous loss of her man His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning And it's feared she's gone down with all hands

12) Starvation: The New York Trader (X)

A broadside (19th c) - or possibly older traditional - emigrant ballad.

Our cruel captain as we did find Left half of our provisions behind Our cruel captain, you'll understand Meant to starve us all before we reached the land

13) Multiple whumpees | "Death will do us part": Lord Thomas and Fair Elender (X X)

An old traditional ballad found on both sides of the Atlantic.

At his parents' urging, a young man marries for wealth rather than love. (Or the conventional racist beauty standards of the time -- elements of this tale are very dated.) The wedding ends in a murder and a murder-suicide.

14) Hunting Gear: Van Dieman's Land (X)

A transportation ballad. Gotta have one of those too.

Come all you gallant poachers that ramble void of care That walk out on a moonlight night with your dog, your gun and snare The harmless hare and pheasant you have at your command Not thinking of your last career out on Van Diemen’s Land

15) Painful Hug: Young Hunting (X) / Love Henry (X)

An old traditional ballad with versions on both sides of the Atlantic.

Another jealous murder, with a twist.

He bent down o’er his saddle bow To kiss her ruby cheek, But she took out a little pen-knife And wounded him full deep

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Part 5

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Soft

Warnings: Secondary character has mild panic attack | Brief mentions of bruising

Wordcount: 1.6K words

Summary: Y/n and Nitiel talk while preparing dinner for themselves and the other servants.

Minors DNI

A/n: This is more of a filler chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it.

A/n 2: the previous chapters can be found here Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Y/n POV

The crown prince did not seek her out, but he kept to his promise the few times they did come upon each other. Thranduil was more courteous and respectful, even going so far as to instruct Feren to discreetly see to her welfare.

Feren called on her whenever time permitted, always asking brief questions about how she found life in the palace and how she was being treated by the others. Y/n answered as honestly as she could, and then the crown prince’s steward would take his leave of her before others saw and tongues wagged. One day, he even asked to see the bruise along her wrist. His lips curled in distaste upon seeing it, but he said not a word. Y/n considered it strange but kept her own counsel.  

He called on her again tonight, and he departed only after pressing a glass phial containing a thick, pale ointment into her hands. Nitiel had seen them, and the phial that had been placed on the little table that was used for the cutting of vegetables and herbs and fruits. She swore to guard her tongue.

“Arnica.” She removed the cork and breathed in the scent after Feren took his leave of them. “Comfrey.” She smelled it a second time, and a third. “Yarrow. For bruises.” The cook put the cork back in the phial and regarded y/n with barely disguised curiosity. “You are full elf. Your parents were born in the Blessed Realm, no less. Why would you need such a thing?”

I suppose my secret would not remain a secret for long, y/n told herself. She lifted the sleeve covering her left arm and revealed the still-healing bruise along her wrist. It was now a strange shade of yellow, but y/n considered it an improvement on the black and blue and purple from before.

“This is why,” she replied, sitting down on a chair. 

Nitiel took her hand into hers and hissed softly. “How did you get this?”

“I… I would rather not say.” Y/n thought it would not be wise to reveal what took place between her and the crown prince that day in the gardens. Nitiel had proven herself to be a kindly woman, but y/n believed the revelation could still go badly against her if she said anything. Thranduil was well loved by his father’s people.

“You would rather not say,” Nitiel repeated. She studied y/n keenly, determined to learn more. Then she sighed and let go of her hand, as if she had changed her mind. “Well, this ointment is not going to apply itself. Give that clean cloth to me; we need to get this done before anyone else sees it.”

It did not take them long to apply the ointment and cover it with a thin strip of dressing. They talked while Nitiel went about her task, and they talked while y/n helped her make supper for the servants. The others were away, clearing the dishes in the great feasting hall above them, leaving them alone. The cook had so many questions about life before the War of Wrath, about life in Nargothrond and Himring, and about the sons of Fëanor themselves.

“They say your father had hopes of you marrying one of Lord Fëanor’s unwed sons.” Nitiel dusted flour onto a thin slab of wood and rolled out the dough she had prepared for a wild-berry pie. In the hearth nearby, a stew bubbled away in its copper pot. The pie would be brought to the table much later, but the stew would be served as soon as it was done, along with thin, flat disks of bread and muled wine. Even in the kitchens, everyone ate and drank well. “They say you even met some of them. Pray what were they like?”

Y/n reached for a sharp knife and began to peel new potatoes for the stew. “Lord Maedhros was everything the songs made him out to be,” she began. Peelings fell without a pause onto a kitchen cloth she had laid out on the table. “But he looked so worn, as if the burdens of the oath were beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Lord Maglor looked no different, but his eyes were softer, and kinder. Of the twins, we saw little. They were always abroad, hunting, and had little time for politics or council meetings.”

“Lord Caranthir?” Nitiel asked, crossing to the other side of the kitchen. She reached into a cupboard that had been mounted onto the wall for a pie pan. 

Y/n stopped peeling. “He kept to himself mostly, and he always looked so angry with the world. Lord Curufin, on the other hand, did not keep to himself.” She returned to her task—wild carrots this time. Thin orange flakes fell over thin brown ones, and she found the sound of it all rather soothing. “And his tongue was as deadly as a scorpion’s tail. Many took care to avoid its sting.”

Nitiel shivered. “And Lord Celegorm?”

Y/n stopped again. Out of all the brothers, Celegorm stood out the most in her eyes. Almost as tall as Maedhros and just as fair, he was a maiden’s dream-made flesh. More than one lord’s as well, if the rumors of his many appetites were true.

“Captivating,” she said. “Others would gather around him at many a feast like moths drawn to a flame. He knew how to drink. How to eat. How to laugh. No matter the hardship, Lord Celegorm always knew how to laugh. He was an elf who was as wild and free as the Vala he once served. And he was dangerous. Yes.” She carried the vegetables to a clean bowl of water to wash. “He was dangerous. More dangerous than all of his brothers put together.”

“You make it sound like he was comfortable being drenched in blood and gore.”

“That is the thing. He was.”

“And it is best if the two of you are not heard discussing them.” Angon stood by the open door, his arms crossed, his countenance full of worry. The women were startled. They did not know he was there. Y/n bowed her head out of respect. “Not even here. Not even amongst yourselves,” he continued. “These walls have ears. Do you understand?”

The king, thought y/n, he must have spies everywhere.

And y/n believed the need for hidden eyes and ears may have been due to her. Still, she decided not to dwell on it, for it would only distress her if she did. She smiled and lifted the lid of a glazed jar instead, saying, “Came for more tarts, my lord?”

Angon threw his head back and laughed. “You know me so well.” He joined them and made himself as comfortable as possible in the chair Nitiel pulled out for him. Angon was every inch a warrior, all tall and proud and fierce, and the chair only helped emphasize his great height and size. Today he was garbed in the deep forest green robes he often favored. Nitiel once said the color brought out the green in his eyes. “Yes. I am not ashamed to admit that I have indeed come in search of more sweets. Though I must confess, my fair lady’s kisses are far sweeter.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my love,” Nitiel countered, blushing. “But I suppose it would serve just this once. Now stay here and make yourself content with what I place in front of you.”

They talked again, this time of Angon and Nitiel’s plans for the future and of Nitiel’s new role, now that she was the wife of a high-born elven lord. There was no queen for her to serve as a lady-in-waiting; Thranduil’s mother, along with many others, departed for the Blessed Realm after the Elder King’s herald, Lord Eönwë, invited them to do so. There was no princess, either. Thranduil had no sisters, or brothers, for that matter. Oropher, Angon said, had decided that Nitiel would aid his own steward until Thranduil took a wife. Then she would serve her as a lady-in-waiting. 

“Father and mother have also come around,” he announced, his eyes filled with a great sense of relief. Marriage without the blessings of either side of the family was always received ungraciously, and this was a good sign. “They agreed to welcome you properly into the family. Three nights from tomorrow, my love. Many of our kin are gathering for a small feast. The king agreed to attend as well, along with the crown prince.”

The pie pan and all that it held shook in Nitiel’s hands. She barely held on to it, saving it from falling and spilling its contents all over the polished stone floor. 

“Oh,” she began, flustered. “Oh dear. Your parents… your kin… all those nobles, the king… his son… Y/n, you must help me. Please. My clothes, my hair… so much… so much…”

Angon was the first to reach her, leaving his seat without so much as a sound. “Sit here, my love,” he said, guiding her to the nearest chair and taking the pan out of her hands. “And breathe.”

“Should I fetch her some wine?” Y/n asked, equally as concerned as he was. Nitiel was pale and was clutching desperately onto his hand while she tried to compose herself.

“Wine is the last thing she needs right now,” Angon returned. He left the pan on the side and began to rub Nitiel’s shoulders. “Fetch her some water, my lady. Or that chamomile tea, if there is any of it left. Nitiel needs a little time to rest. That is all.”

“I will help you,” y/n promised. She prepared a fresh pot of chamomile tea while Angon fussed over his wife. “With your hair, your clothes, everything. Now drink this,” she urged after she came back to them, and pressed a warm cup into Nitiel’s hand. “You will feel much better after.”

tags: @deadlymistletoe@lemonivall@coopsgirl@tigereyesf@thranduilseyebrows​ @cupids-got-me​ @jane0error@asianbutnotjapanese

[rederiswrites]

Got so much work done in the front garden today--wish I'd taken pictures but I always wait until "everything's perfect" hahaaa right. Mostly, I'm pulling out carts full of chickweed and hairy bittercress and purple deadnettle (all great plants, just not what I'm growing there), and as I go, I put things into the gaps I create. Today I planted a couple of rockfoil (commercial photo):

three yellow and orange dahlias, like so:

a couple of daylilies I got on sale last year and only finally am getting in, and some adorable violas. In previous days, I've gotten in more pansies and violas, a new rosemary, purple and bicolor sage, parsley, more daylilies, and salvia.

And everywhere I finished weeding and planting and thus will be leaving alone for at least a month, I chaotically surface-sewed four different varieties of poppy, some snapdragons, and a pack of chamomile.

That's also how I'm gonna deal with cilantro this year, and we'll see how that goes. I got quite a number of volunteer cilantro last year from where it inevitably went to seed. So this year I'm just gonna periodically throw some seed at the dirt, like, literally.

It's tremendously gratifying to see things coming back from last year's efforts. Several varieties of bee balm, the ever-spreading lemon balm, echinacea and black eyed susans, anise hyssop, comfrey, yet more daylily, asiatic lily, irises including my precious black varieties from my friend who is gone, coreopsis and marguerite for dyes, chives, thyme, winter savory, valerian, bronze fennel, tons of yarrow...

And then the rain came across the mountains and watered it all in for me.

[minhosimthings]

Hold me Without Hurting me

Chapter 15 (finale): Yarrow and Yesterday's Love

A/N: In which an old friend fills your life with flowers again, along a bumpy sided road.

Pairings: Ceo!Jay × Ceo!fem!reader, includes rest of Enhypen and certain other groups

Warnings: angst-fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to enemies to fake dating to enemies to lovers, Mentions of food and alcohol, swearing, nothing much but it's a bumpy story.

Story prompt: If I had a flower for every time I fell in love with you, I would walk in my garden forever. (This story is based on the language of flowers.)

A/N: and with that, this series finally comes to an end! I had a shit ton of fun with this, especially researching everything about flowers and their meanings, so of them are still stuck in my brain. Shoutout to @yunabi436 for keeping me going, this one's for you baby girl

SERIES MASTERLIST

Once upon a time, as all stories start, there lived a little girl who was infatuated with petals and leaves. You would often find her caked in mud outside in the garden, rose thorns pricking her skin until it bled the same colour. And there was always a boy next to her, with dark, messy hair and a smile which was to be compared to sunflowers.

But as all stories go, tragedy struck them too.

Fear is a powerful emotion, said a great man. Yes but love is too, said another. And for reasons unknown to the soot which decorated your attic, the girl and the boy had both. And so, the boy left, never to be seen again, until years later, when Fate decided it was enough, and joined together her strings to bring them back.

Yet, love and fear strike again! And now, as the boy rushed off to his car, with a very nervous assistant following him, all the love and fear in his mind conjoined to make sense to him.

"So this is her office." Jay stared at your office, at all the flower vases, which you clearly painted yourself, and at the fumbling boy in front of him, who, in Jay's opinion looked like a cat.

"Mr Park." Jungwon bowed deep to Jay, who bowed back, glancing at Kayla behind him. "So this is the handsome assistant you kept rambling to me about huh?" Jay chuckled, at which both the assistants turned red.

"So, I assume since she's not here-" Jay strolled slowly around the room, closely examining the pictures on the walls, "Y/N's finally taken a break?" Jungwon gulped heavily and looked down at his shoes, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

"Miss Yang had gone home a few minutes ago sir." Jungwon spoke, in a high pitched tone, "She wishes to rest for a few days."

But Jay wasn't paying attention to what Jungwon was saying, at all. His eyes faltered at the tiny vase in his hands.

She still kept it after all these years.

"Hey Jungwon?" Jay called out, "May I take this?"

Jungwon shrugged his shoulders gently and made a face that clearly said he was confused. "I don't know if she'll like that, Mr Park." He said at last, making up his mind.

Jay chuckled gently to himself and put the vase down. "She stole that from me, so technically it's mine."

Jay strode forward to Jungwon and eyed him up and down. "Do you know where her house is?" He asked, making himself appear bigger. Jungwon gulped heavily and put his hands behind his back. "I-I am not allowed to tell you Mr Park."

Jay smiled at Jungwon's words. "Knew she would tell you to say that." He mumbled, fiddling his fingers.

"Very well then." Jay clapped his hands together, "If you're not going to tell me, I'll find it myself. Goodbye now. Oh and Kayla-" he clapped Jungwon's back with his hands, "He's a man of principles, great choice you made."

Jay didn't know what about his stature and tone of voice used managed to convince Jungwon to tell him your address, but it sure as hell worked.

The night smelled like sweet jasmine and ribbons of silk all wrapped up pretty for an old man to gift to his one true love. It smelled like all the petals he had accidentally ripped, which sent you into fits of laughter, seeing his clumsiness. The night reeked of Jay's emotions, overflowing in his mind.

What would he say to you? What if you said no? What if you said that you didn't love him back, even after all these years?

Jay wasn't losing you tonight.

Not again.

Never again.

A knock on your door. Then two.

Anticipation had wracked your body all evening, your wine seeming to become more bitter as you drank it, the wind becoming chillier every moment. The robe you wore had always given you elegance, made you feel like a princess of an abandoned land, which you had all to yourself. But today, it held a perfume of tyranny, overthrown kings, and the Gods who raped their daughters.

You stood by the closed door. The wood always smelled nice, you thought, oak perhaps. Or was it timber?

Tak tak tak. Another knock.

He knew you were there. Jay knew that you were standing on the other side of the door, waiting to give him a big slap on the face. He would take that slap gratefully, he amused himself.

The door cracked open. Just a bit, them some more. The sweet venom of your perfume hit Jay's nostrils, bringing to him, a feeling of mistaken nostalgia.

"Jay..." You let out a whisper, unsure if he heard it or not. Your throat was dry, even after all that wine you had gulped down. Your fingers itched for him, his skin, his lips, his heart. You wished to go inside it and tear it apart, just as he did. But there was another part of you, the part that told you, asked you, to go inside his heart and bury yourself comfortably in there, the warmth enclosing you into a cocoon.

"Let me explain." Jay rushed forward to you, your bodies mere inches from each other, ready to pounce like mountain lions, "Please, for god's sake, let me explain."

"Explain then." You crossed your arms, anger refusing to cross its boundaries.

He took a step towards you, then two, and then another. You stepped back further into your apartment, reaching uour living room. It was sensual of him, you had to admit, to do that, to step towards you as if he was an impatient tiger, wanting his meal right now.

"Explain." You glared at Jay's silent figure, not noticing the glisten in his eyes, "Explain then, if you're so keen to do so."

"My yarrow, I-"

"You don't get to call me that!" You cried, your voice finally ripping free from your larynx, "You don't get to fucking call me that after all the shit you pulled!" The room blurred into a morue of red and white.

"Fifteen fucking years." You breathed, your chest feeling heavy, "Fifteen fucking years you made me fall in love with you, and then you left as if nothing ever happened? As if no zinnia I gave you screamed I fucking love you? Seven years Jay. Seven dumb years I spent, thinking about nothing but your stupid face, and how you were the only one who could calm me down after my attacks. You think I forgot about that?"

Jay's face softened at the sight of you, tear stained face, and a girl in you he hasn't seen in a very long time.

"Just a mistake wasn't I?" You let out a cold laugh, "Just another drunken mistake, just another kiss I pretended didn't happen, just another instance of a seventeen year old girl letting her best friend take her virginity. Just another occasion wasn't it Jay?" Your tone was laced with venom, with a spirit you knew not of. Your mind had no control over what your heart had been wanting to say for so long.

“Since when did you ever care about me?”

“Since fucking forever, you idiotic dunce!” 

The room fell silent at Jay's voice. The spiders all crawled from their attics to watch, as the dust stopped in its tracks. Jay's tears escaped his eyes.

“Trust me, I’m also trying to understand how in the shit this happened!" Jay threw his arms in the air, before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Y/N I don't think I would be lying if I said I was the biggest idiot in this world." His words bought a giggle to your lips, in turn making him crack a smile, "But I couldn't, I just couldn't do anything. My-my parents, they wanted what they thought was best for me, no distractions in my life. But I never thought you as a distraction." Tears welled up again, "Yang Y/N, you are quite possibly the most amazing woman I've ever had the pleasure to meet in my life. And I can never forget all those poems you instilled in my heart, all those yarrows you planted in the cracks of my soul."

"I still remember your favourite songs; the way you’d sing them out loud thinking no one’s listening, and then getting flustered when you realised I heard you" He did?

"I still remember the feel of you under my palms; every curve, every line. I still have your number memorised, like the back of my hand, you didn't even have to give it to me on our first 'date'."

"I still remember your smile, the soft quirk to it. How could I not? It’s ingrained in the back of my mind, even though I wish it wasn’t."

"I still remember how you sound; your sweet voice you told me you hated when you had to listen back to it over voice recording." He was cracking in, slowly but surely.

"I still remember how you’d be there for me, through both the thick and the thin. I still remember how you told me you’d always be there for me"

"I thought about you, day in, day out my sweet yarrow." Jay's heart spoke it's words, his mind ignoring every red dime.

"I still miss you,

I still want you,

And I still need you."

"And I-" his voice cracked, choking on every sob he had been wanting to let out, "I still love you.... Even after all this time, even after all the shitty things I did, even after you thought I didn't, and I will still love you-"

He paused, not noticing your hands twirl into his.

"-until all the leaves in my garden turn brown and until all the petals fall off of that stupid yarrow bush, mark my words. I will still love you."

"But if you don't love me back," Jay's eyes flickered to your face, doubt, now concealing them, "Tell me how I'm supposed to un-love you. Please. Spare me."

The universe often wants it's lovers to drift apart. It wants them to fight for each other, to be against all odds, to defy the law of human nature, all for love. And to you, that theory had seemed dumb.

Dumb, until you felt yourself fall into Jay willingly, to crash into not only his body, but his soul, his being, everything you had been wanting to take a descent from for years. The cool touch of his skin on your waist, the scent of his existence touching your nostrils, the pumping of his heart filling your veins, which fed blood into a heart which was his anyway.

The kiss was soft, supple, akin to warm autumn sunlight falling on your brows or the first snow caressing your cheeks. It was everything you had wanted for eternity.

You hadn't even realised your unsteady breathing until Jay pulled away, holding you tight in his arms, as if you would float away if he let you go.

"What now?" He smiled at you, his dimple on full display. "What now?" You asked back, giggling in the process.

"Why don't you tell me what your secret nickname means?" You said, getting the thought into your mind suddenly.

"Ah." Jay said, running his fingers through your hair, providing you with a soothing sensation. He never did tell you what it means.

"If I tell you, will you be my girlfriend for real this time?"

"If you tell me-" you playfully glared at him, "I'll be your wife."

"Alright alright." Jay chuckled.

And the words which he whispered into your ear, as he held you all night would stay in the crevices of your coul forever, peeking up in between moments. Whether it was when you found out Jungwon and Kayla went on a trip to Miami together or when you were pressing lillies in your hand, ready to take your flower filled vows in front of Jay.

The meaning of Yarrow,

Everlasting love

[fox1656]

Roar! 8

Jake's eyes widen. "Awwwwwww! It's so cute! I wanna pet it!" He tries to step forward, but Alex restrains him, and the stoat looks miffed.

"I will not allow myself to be pet," the stoat says with contempt. "I was sent to show you the way to my masters base of operations. He is very eager to meet you." The stoat seemed to grin as it's eyes glittered.

"How do we know we can trust you?" Alex said, arching an eyebrow, his arm around Jake's shoulders. "Also, how do you know about our mission?"

The stoat chuckled. "Why, the whole forest knows of your mission. Most are just too timid to step forward. You do reek of..." The stoats nose wrinkled, "...humans."

Jake raised his hand. "I mean, we are humans."

The stoat seemed to grin again. "Yes, but we know that you are utsati. Those that can change their form."

Jake looked quizzically at Alex. "Bugatti?"

"Shut up Jake," Alex said, not taking his eyes from the stoat. "So why you?"

The stoat looks sad for a moment. "Unfortunately, I owe Andren a great debt. My finding you is part of my way of repaying that debt. My family was in danger many years ago, when there was a landslide. Andren saved us, and I have been in his debt ever since."

Jake looked sympathetically at the stoat, but Alex's face was stoic.

"Let's trust him Al," Jake said.

Alex bopped Jake on the head. "I told you not to call me that." Alex's arm comes loose from Jake's shoulder and Jake takes a tentative step away from his best friend. "Okay, we'll follow you."

The stoat looked delighted. "So glad to hear it."

Jake rushed forward and patted the stoat, and the stoat swiftly bit Jake's finger. "I said no petting," the stoat said with a snarl.

Jake stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked on it. "Owwww. Dat hurd."

"Don't do that you idiot," Alex said, pulling Jake's finger out of his mouth. "It might get infected. Here," Alex pulled alcohol out of the first aid kit and poured a little on Jake's finger, making Jake squeal. Alex just rolled his eyes and pulled out a bandaid and stopped. "Jake... Why are there only cute cartoon bandaids?"

Jake looked nervous. "I-it's all I could find."

Alex just rolled his eyes and then said, "yarrow, right?"

"Yeah," Jake said, nodding and wincing in anticipation as Alex grabbed a fresh sprig of the herb.

"Open up," Alex said, holding the herb up to Jake's mouth.

Jake's face blanched. "Just use the mortar and pestle. I...I hate that stuff."

"I know you do," Alex said, looking serious. This is what you get though. He held the herb against Jake's closed lips.

Jake finally gave in and took the herb in, chewing it with a grimace. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Just shut up she chew. Now spit," Alex said, hold out his hand.

Jake spit out th green mess, and Alex gingerly applied some to Jake's finger, making Jake yelp and dance, while Alex held his hand in place.

"Stop being such a baby. It'll get better in a minute." Alex applied the bandaid and released Jake's hand.

Jake shook his hand, and the stoat looked up at them, a look of boredom on its face. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah. Let's pack up," Alex said, starting to pack up.

As the boys and the stoat started to head out, a crow flew over and croaked, "leave! Leave! Leave! Leave them alone!"

The stoat glared up at the sky, until the crow dissappeared. "Some of the animals up here aren't as charitable as yours truly." The stoat seemed to grin and it's eyes twinkled.

Alex motioned, still not trusting the stoat. "Let's just get going."

The stoat scampered off and Jake and Alex followed behind, unsure what they were getting into.

Hope everyone liked th chapter. Let me know your thoughts in th comments, and if you found th Cherokee word, let me know what you think it means 😉

[drjohndisco]

Title: First Encounters

Pairing: n/a

Word Count: 600+

Summary: Wesley and Yarrow meet for the first time, and Yarrow isn't impressed.

Warnings: mentions of blood/potential feeding on a human, minor spoilers for season three of buffy the vampire slayer.

( Ao3 Link )

[ Sunnydale School Library ]

With a quiet sigh, Yarrow took hold of the box. They’d been in the library longer than usual, and the bloodlust (and the fidgety-ness that came with it) was beginning to rise.

(In fact, Yarrow was almost 100% sure that Giles had offloaded Wesley onto them so he wouldn’t have to pay proper attention to his prattling any more - especially since he’d absconded to his office five minutes ago.)

‘You’re cold, are you sure that you’re okay?’ Wesley asked.

Shocked that he’d noticed Yarrow let go of the box -- dropping it directly onto Wesley’s foot. He cried out, and stepped backwards towards the railing behind him. Then, within seconds, Yarrow had caught him by the tie, halting him in his tracks.

(After all, they didn’t want to injure a third watcher (no matter how much he was getting under their skin.) Giles would kill them if that happened.)

But, now that they were closer to him than before, Yarrow was able to sense just how loud (and fast) his heart was beating.

Surely it wouldn’t matter if…?

‘Uh, Yarrow?’ Wesley said awkwardly, breaking their thought process. ‘I think you can let me go now. You’re going to choke me if you’re not careful.’

So, Yarrow let Wesley go -- dropping him unceremoniously onto the hard wooden floor.

‘Oh!’ Wesley groaned. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’ Yarrow replied curtly and (before Wesley could notice they’d gone) Yarrow had disappeared into the shadows.

[ Giles’ Office ]

‘Yarrow?’ Giles asked, concerned. He’d stopped in the doorway, and was watching them thoughtfully. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’

Yarrow shut the door to his fridge, taking a mug of blood (and a pink curly straw) out of it, before turning around to face him.

‘I dropped a box on his foot and then, unfortunately, had to catch him.’ Yarrow replied, nonchalantly.

‘I do hope you didn’t damage any of the books.’ Giles replied.

‘Of course that’s what you got from that sentence, Dad.’ Yarrow laughed, leaning backwards against the wall. ‘Also, it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. He’s very punchable.’

‘I will neither confirm ‘nor deny that statement.’ Giles said, then paused. ‘Do you think you’ll be comfortable enough to join us again after you’re done here?’

‘I will be.’ Yarrow stated, taking the straw into their mouth.

‘Good.’ Giles said, leaning down and quickly pressing a kiss to Yarrow’s head before straightening back up. ‘Then, I’ll see you again in a bit.’

[ Yarrow’s House - Evening ]

‘What…?’ Yarrow said, opening their door to see Wesley standing there. He’d been the last person they’d expected to see, especially this late at night.

(Thank goodness they were still wearing their outfit (a blue shirt and brown pants) from earlier, and hadn't opted for their sleep clothing - which was decidedly less professional.)

‘Uh, I need a place to stay.’ He replied awkwardly. ‘Giles told me you had a spare room.’

(Ah. Offloaded once again.)

‘I do.’ Yarrow said, knowing they couldn’t (unfortunately) leave him outside in the cold. ‘Please, come in.’

‘Thank you.’ He said, as he stepped past Yarrow into the house. Yarrow watched as he carefully attempted to balance his luggage (a bag and two suitcases) between his arms.

‘Is it okay if I leave my stuff downstairs?’

‘Sure.’ Yarrow replied, knowing that disaster would strike (again) if he didn’t. ‘We can deal with them tomorrow.’

‘Great.’ Wesley mumbled, leaning the suitcases against the wall and shuffling the bag over to his other arm. ‘Now, where am I headed?’

‘Your room’s upstairs, on the left.’ Yarrow explained. ‘You’ve also got a bathroom attached, but I’d advise you to be careful with the taps, as they’re a bit rusty. Cupboard hinges and curtain rails should function perfectly fine, and there’s a linen cupboard in the hall - for sheets and other stuff, since the bed probably isn’t made.’

‘Okay.’ He replied, as he began to slowly trudge his way up the stairs.

‘Oh, and Wesley?’ Yarrow called out, after shutting the door behind themselves. ‘I’m very sorry that we got off on the wrong foot this morning, so to speak.’

This statement was met only with a loud groan, which made Yarrow grin.

(Maybe this unexpected ‘arrangement’ of theirs could turn out to be fun after all.)

[courtingchaos]

I'm soooo thrilled for all the Gator stories that you'll come up with (no pressure though!) I also want to ask if you can recommend some of your favorite writers on here. Eddie, Steve, Gator I don't care. I read your masterlist up and down and I love every single thing and I trust you to have great taste. it's hard to find rare treasures sometimes with the very popular blogs being reblogged so overwhelmingly.

thank you for sharing your work with us 💜

So for one, I’ve been hanging on to this because I was trying to get a good sampling of people and also because I was being a little lazy and forgetful. Anyways, on to the recommendations.

I have a lot more Eddie than I have other ones but that’s because he’s baby boy and the very specialist of them all.

@jo-harrington has Freaky Friday, Store Manger Verse, and an amazing Van Helsing (2003) AU that she’s working on that just blows me away with every new thing I read for it.

@storiesbyrhi Burning Yarrow series is DELICIOUS and is also super in depth and well researched and just ugh. It’s so good okay?

@dr-aculaaa who has a mixed bag of Eddie and Steve, but mostly Steven. Their Sunday Morning stuff is literally made of butter and cinnamon sugar it’s just so good.

@chestylarouxx has just so many things. So so so many. There’s a vampire Eddie that makes me go insane and then she has this Rockstar Eddie that is unlike any other Rockstar Eddie I’ve seen. It’s VERY good and VERY angsty and it just really hits the soul right.

@bettyfrommars has Nightmare Factory AND Gargoyle Eddie which makes me also go insane. I’m jumping around in my cage thinking about her work. She also has a biker Eddie series (that also features a biker Steve. Yum.)

@eddiemunsonbignaturals who wrote this disgustingly sexy piercing Eddie thing. If you read all my stuff and liked it, you will for sure like their work too. Like, I think about this fic at least once a week.

@deadboyfriendd Everything they’ve written but especially Cochise. Just go read it. Wild West. Eddie Munson.

@somnambulic-thing also has a vampire Eddie BUT THEY ALSO HAVE a musician Eddie who is the best boy. He’s so full of life and I also think about him whenever I listen to my psychedelic metal playlist for some reason.

For Gator things I haven’t personally found a whole bunch of writers but @wroteclassicaly has a nice little bathroom romp that she wrote a while ago before the show aired that I really like (also she has some little blurbs about him being an asshole).

This isn’t everyone because I would just give you a list of everyone I follow at this point. However these are a few of my favs and what I’ve been reading recently because I got a bad brain and it’s been hard to keep up with my TBR list. I hope you find something in this mess!!!!!!

And thank you again so much for reading, I really appreciate it ❤️❤️❤️