#not daylight not sunlight but such a gentle precious glow!!!

[dnangelic]

genuinely i think my fascination with the lilith figure and dark(lucifer/satan figure) is the way they're both abandoned and thrown away by those above them. it's the same vulnerability it's the same bitterness the same tragedy never for the one (the so-called "righteous" status quo) throwing them away but for them, specifically, to shoulder the immensely deep pain and heavy loneliness of. manisumea serves as dnangel's canonical lilith figure (something like an ex-lover, a lover that never got to be, his utmost intimate 'acquaintance,' the one who saved his life, granted him freedom and yet was broken and punished for it,) but even outside of it like with sumin's rei there's something so crazy painful about the amount of lilith-themed characters who aren't given the freedom or forgiveness to be allowed their curiosity and thereby themselves or who fail some sort of unreasonable expectation set out for them (that an innocent eve figure may or may fulfill in their place,) and dark Always Gets This.

[suspiciouslypinkrosegarden]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡Armin x Reader⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Description: You and Armin exchange comfort, taking place somewhere after Eren's physical fight with Armin while he is still healing. While dwelling on past events, Armin joins you and the two of you share some emotions. This does ignore timeline accuracy as I wanted to provide some care for Armin following him getting rather beat.

The relationship between the reader and Armin is left more undefined, as I wanted to allow in a broader audience. This goes out to everyone who feels they grew up with the characters.

The two of you sat side by side now, on the floor in front of the fireplace. It was silent aside from the crackling of the burning wood, and it would have been dark if not for the orangey glow cast upon the common space. 

At first you were alone, staring at the dancing flames with a sense of melancholy. In a way, you felt a kinship to the burning cedar, the fire licking at its unmoving form until there was nothing left but ash. Once an element strong enough to build homes with, now becoming a pile of dust. The wind could just as easily blow you away in this miserable state, going over memories from the cadet corps and early scouting years. You envied Marley’s photograph technology, memory foggy recalling old faces of your fallen comrades. 

Armin was quiet as he approached and sat beside you, and you wouldn’t dare make him feel that his presence was unwelcome in your turmoil. You also wouldn't dare to further question the remnants of fast healing wounds upon his face from his recent encounter with Eren. Instead, you leaned into him selfishly, your head resting on his right shoulder as the two of you faced the fire. In the late hour of the night, you both found your eyelids heavy with sorrow instead of sleep. He gently nudged you, and you turned to look up at him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His voice was soft and full of care. 

“I’m just…thinking. About everything. Old memories, mostly.”

He did not push further, knowing what it meant to mull over all of the past events in your mind. As the stars took their rightful place in the sky, the pain of change and loss caught up to you soldiers, unable to forever outrun the weight of grief alone with your thoughts at night. And it would still follow you underneath daylight of course, chasing you through the world of wonders you were denied inside those walls. Your chest sank with a breath as you felt the pain now, as if someone stuck their hand in and gave that precious beating organ a squeeze. There was a fault in your breathing that Armin could hear, the unmistakable sound of someone trying not to cry. 

The man beside you was quick to act, gentle as he gave you space. Armin had a look about him, one of guilt or shame, as if he felt it was a sin that he didn’t know what to do in order to comfort you, to save you. It was you who felt truly guilty though, for somehow hoping his presence could blind away the devil on your back by enveloping you in his bright sunlight. As if he could turn all of the leaves killed over the long years into fresh greens, simply by not leaving you to be alone with your sadness. You must have been a pathetic sight, and you felt sheepish to not stand tall and kind in front of him when he was also hurting beyond measure. As his hand then found yours, it grounded you as you let him see you this vulnerable. You then began to distract yourself with thoughts of him as he enveloped your space and your senses, his hand warm and firm in yours as he again inched closer. 

Armin was… special, and his appreciation for the beauty of life drew you closer to him with a magnetic pull. You understood Eren’s old pedestal for his friend, the awe and wonder in Armin’s eyes unreplicable, him acting as a reminder for your tired heart to keep beating in order to see what the world had to offer. Here, by his side so close, you wished you could simply rub against him and take with you his magic that is human hope. You clung to him as his friend not only for your shared qualities, but because he felt like what you needed in order to survive your darkest days. 

As he grew taller and Eren strayed, Armin’s eyes were dimming with the beginning of manhood. However, that still never changed the way you saw him and his nature. You really couldn’t picture him blooming underneath anything other than the sun’s light, a strong stalk constantly absorbing what the world had to offer like a sunflower. You only wished he had better soil to stand on as he matured. You only wished that things could be better for both of your sakes.

Your gaze lingered upon his face that should have still been dramatically bruised after Eren’s beating, if it weren’t for his titan aiding in his healing. He awkwardly smiled at you as you studied him, shifting as if self conscious. You decided to bite the bullet and ask about his feelings, turning the conversation away from yourself. 

“Sorry for all this. I’d really rather hear how you’re doing right now, Armin.”

There was a silence as he sat there looking at you, and you gave his hand still in yours a light squeeze. 

“There’s not much to say, I guess. I’m…hurt. I can’t believe Eren would say those things, or do those things.” 

His blue eyes rippled with emotion. 

“Say what things..?”

“He said he had always hated Mikasa. So I punched him.”

“Oh…so that’s how-”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m currently waiting for my titan abilities to fix me up.” 

You didn’t know how to respond to his comment regarding Mikasa. You didn’t have to guess that she must be heartbroken right now in her own right too, briefly imagining her sadness under the cover of the darkness of her room. After all she had done for Eren, that’s how he treated her?

“Why would he say something like that?” you said a bit angrier than you meant to. 

Armin sighed gently before responding with an “I don’t know.” 

In your dismay, unable to fully grasp the weight of comprehending the changes your old friend was going through, you decided to continue to reach out to the one directly in front of you. Your free hand lightly touched a bruised spot on his right cheek, and it was unusually hot to the touch as it healed. You looked at him desperately, as if he’d change under the light of the full moon too. 

“Are you in a lot of pain, Armin?” 

You lightly fussed over him, examining his face. He did not stop you, no matter how embarrassed his expression seemed to show he was. Your eyes mulled over his features, and he felt himself burning up under your caring scrutiny. 

Armin’s signs of aging were the easiest to recall of all the guys, going from a soft, rounder face to having a slightly more defined look. However, that wasn’t to say he lost his prettiness for a traditionally “chiseled” appearance, still adorning a button nose and fuller cheeks. While he couldn’t pass for a double of the cutest girl in the previous squad anymore, he was certainly tender in his looks. He broke the silence again as your fingers grazed over bruised skin.

“No, I’ve been in worse pain. I’m just upset.”

“Rightfully so.”

You dropped your hand from his face, watching as Armin’s expression changed to a gentle plea of sorts. 

“Let’s not talk about this anymore. I don’t think I can keep…talking about this. Please don’t tell the others what I said either for right now, we don’t need more conflict. We’ve got to keep it together to keep fighting.”

In the quiet, your “ok” was all he needed to feel respected. You took initiative to gain back your previous closeness, leaning on him once again. Your head found his shoulder once more as you again switched conversation topics, urged on by the feeling of his newfound broader nature. You felt like telling him every first thought on your mind, as if losing a basic conversational filter.

“When did you become a man, Armin? Your shoulders were smaller when we were cadets.”

His laugh was clumsy, not forced per se, but a quick reaction to a strange question. He suddenly paused for a deep inhale, then exhale, as if gathering thoughts. 

“You don’t have to keep deflecting the conversation away from yourself, you know. I came in here to check on you, but you’re making it all about me.” 

“I’m…technically not deflecting right now. I was thinking about everyone we’ve lost and how we’ve all changed so much when you sat next to me. Then, looking at what Eren did to you… I guess I just never stopped to appreciate the good changes you’ve undergone. I think Eren’s changes for the worse scare me into not seeing what’s right in front of me. Thank you for surviving with me.”

It was here that you could tell Armin felt his familiar shyness creeping in, unsure of how to truly respond to the new conversation you were starting. You ran around him in circles here, it already feeling gauche to comfort you. He’d never admit the pressure of yearning for your approval in particular, tip-toeing around his discomfort with the topic of his own survival.   

“I…am happy to be by your side.”

You sighed comfortably, deciding to talk about yourself as he seemed to have wanted.

“To…talk about earlier a bit more. I miss everyone we lost in Trost and after. I miss laughing with Sasha and Connie together, and I even miss the warriors when they pretended to be our friends. If we had those…cameras…that Marley has, I could remember exactly how Mina and Thomas looked still. It just sucks, all of it. I am…scared to lose you. I am scared you’ll change too, that you’ve already stopped seeing the world in so much color with everything happening.”

Armin thought for a moment, wishing to give you a solid response. He was, in fact, emotional too as he heard you say these things about how he saw the world. He couldn’t remember exactly when he last spoke to you about something he was excited to experience, more focused on battle plans in a fight for survival. 

“I don’t think I ever stopped seeing the world in color, maybe. It’s more that I wish we could collect those colors and form rainbows, not wars.”

You remained quiet as you thought his statement sounded poetically cheesy, but good for what you needed to hear at this moment. His brain always seemed to translate the world as if pages in a book, inking those words into your tired mind as they left his mouth. He awkwardly glanced at you, giving you a reminder to react to what he had just said.

While you wouldn’t say Armin was the type to actively ask for external validation from others, you could always tell it’s what he craved in moments like this. To be told his words weren’t strange, to be reminded his presence was welcome and that he wasn’t out of place in the emotional space between you two. As he looked at you, you pondered on his silent plea for…something. 

“Can I hug you, Armin?” 

He did not falter, his cheeks a dusty pink as his eyes filled with tears. He moved closer on instinct as he answered. 

“Yeah...”

And as the walls around you built by age seemed to crumble down, you found yourself face to face with that familiar boy from all of those years ago. You saw it now, the salty air rippling through his long blond hair, water the shade of his eyes slipping through the cracks between his fingers on that special day. You couldn’t tell who reached out for the physical comfort offered first, crashing into each other as if by the pull of the moon. Your old friend gathered you into his arms in a swift motion. At the same time, you offered him shelter from the roaring tides in yours. Armin’s familiar nature was not lost in the sea of emotions shared tonight, but found. You felt his arms squeezing tightly around your torso as you did the same to him, the tickle of his nose in the crook of your neck as he buried his face close. You both clung to each other as if buoys in the middle of all that blue, promising to always be there to help each other stay above ebb and flow of the current. 

[dawnoftime22]

hi! How do you feel about writing a fic where Taylor and fem!r get married? (Both in white wedding dresses btw)

I love your fics btw :)

wedding day.

| T.S

Warnings: lots and lots of kisses, a single sentence of 'I don't deserve you' quickly avoided with Taylor's reassurance, and thats it

Summary: Finally, after years of your shared honest love and months of planning, you and Taylor decide to get married, and it was your special day to wear your beautiful wedding dresses and walk down the carpet.

Word Count: 4.5k

Category: FLUFF!

A/N: hehe I really loved writing this request, and kind of got carried away...although I usually write for gn!reader, I still adored this, especially because I got to write this at work<3 (I work at a wedding venue btw! so its very perfect) thank you for requesting this lovely story! I hope you enjoy :] reeally sorry if its too long

pls don't judge, I have no idea how to write vows

| Started on 13/07/2024, 11:34 AM | the 13th :o

| Finished on 15/07/2024, 4:12 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

“No more keeping score now, I just keep you warm.”

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

In the morning...

Sunshine filtered in through the window curtains, peeking in as daylight slowly arose, a gentle sight to lay your eyes upon in the morning.

You slowly stir from your sleep, feeling the brightness even behind your eyelids, at least until you opened them, needing to blink away the darkness that you once saw.

A yawn elicits from your lips, and you bring your hand up to cover it, stretching too, as you were at it. Once done, you take in your surroundings, registering that it was now morning.

Beside you, there she was. The love of your life, sleeping peacefully like an angel in bed. Her blonde hair almost seemingly glowed from the sunlight, radiant and nothing short of what you loved seeing.

You let out a gentle breath and reached up your hand, lightly tracing her cheek with the side of your index finger.

She was something precious, something you'd put in a treasure chest, or to keep in your pocket at all times to bring with you.

Her breaths were soft, so peaceful and deep in sleep that you if you weren't so close to her and inspecting her face, you would've thought she was gone from this world already.

You smile softly, admiring how her eyelashes went down, and her beautiful face structure. Simply everything. It felt unbelievable.

Today was the day. The day you'll officially put a ring on each other's fingers. Officially with a promise, a vow. You remembered how everything else before went, exactly how you had your small box ready, back at the restaurant balcony, with a stunning view.

But when you had brought out the ring and revealed it to Taylor, but in mere seconds of surprise, it doubled when she had one too, prepared to bring out still in her pocket until she showed it to you.

A small chuckle escapes your mouth at the memory, and you fade back into reality, focusing back on Taylor's curves and edges, and she was still asleep as you gazed at her.

Your eyes trailed over to the clock on the nightstand at the side of the bed. It showed 7:45 am. You still had some time, but you feared of the time needed to arrive at the wedding venue.

You lean down, giving her a soft kiss on her forehead. Then, pulling back only to go put another on her cheek.

A cheeky smile raised upon your face as you had an idea of waking her up, and you leave a kiss on the tip of her nose, then anywhere else you can on her face, peppering it all over her skin and trailing her jaw.

Slowly, Taylor was waking up by the tingling feeling of your kisses, feeling your soft lips lingering. She blinks away her sleep, letting out a small adorable and confused hum.

When her eyes find yours, a smile raises up on her lips, before she lets out a small giggle, now knowing the source of the tickles. She was still feeling your kisses, and it was the gentlest way she's ever woken up by.

"Good morning, baby..." she whispers groggily, her voice husky and quiet as her arms reach out to wrap around you, pulling you closer like a simple teddy bear.

"A very good morning," you reply back happily, and her heart jumps in joy at your voice, a chuckle leaving her lips as she knows exactly why you were so happy.

"Do you remember what today is?" you ask her excitedly, all while she was nuzzling into your neck, still kind of waking up. You on the other hand, had all the energy in the world.

She pulls back from the crook of your neck, looking at you with raised eyebrows. "Of course I do, silly..." she whispers, leaning in to kiss your lips and then brush her nose against yours.

You were all out filled with love as you gazed into her eyes, your smiles reflecting each other's without a doubt.

When you rested your head on her chest, her arms that were wrapped around you squeezes you lightly, feeling her very own excitement for today. "How did you sleep, baby?" You question softly, tilting your head to look up at her.

She gazes down at you tenderly before letting out a content sigh. "Amazingly...you?" she questions you back, wanting to make sure you had just the same comfort levels as she did.

You nuzzle into her face, making her scrunch her nose up. "Always, with you," your voice whispered. Taylor giggles, then buries her face into your neck again, feeling the blush coming onto her cheeks easily.

"You sweet talker...but I love you." She turns her head laying a kiss on your jaw, just between your neck, a warm, loving gesture.

Blood rushed to your very own cheeks, just about to feel dizzy by her love. "I love you, too..." you whisper back, closing your eyes for just a moment.

But upon remembering the important day, you open your eyes again, taking in a breath and pulling back to look into her blue eyes.

"Lets get ready to go, baby," you say, about to get out of bed, but Taylor's arms around you had tightened, pulling you right back into her embrace.

"Mm...just a few more minutes." She pouts, her eyes closed as she refused to get out of bed. At least, for now. She had just woken up, and wanted your time of snuggling.

"Mm, mm, we're gonna be late." You shook your head, murmuring to her as you tried getting out of her embrace, but very much failed, so you went up to boop her nose, which made her open her eyes and raise her eyebrows.

"Mhm, we won't be." she fought back, standing her ground in wanting to stay in bed, and you sighed softly, although the corners of your lips were raised up.

"The 'few minutes' can turn into an hour or more, sweetheart..." you reason with her, reminding with a hint that you still had your important wedding together.

She tried giving you a deeper pout and slight puppy eyes that had your heart clenching as you tried to hold on, but ti wasn't long until you hear a small sigh and a breath of, "Fine."

Your own lips turned down at her obvious expression of her slight frustration, and you lean forward to kiss away her pout, giggling softly.

"I'll make it up to you," you say, rubbing her shoulder before pulling her up with you to get out of bed again, to your success, but she was sagging against you.

"Not to say that I'm literally going to be your official wife today..." you lead on with a small melodical tune, going to the closet.

"Baby," she whines, and you chuckle, relenting as you knew she was a little disappointed in not getting some more time in bed.

You turn around to look at her. "Tonight, cuddles and kisses." your words held genuine as you hand her the clothes to wear on your way to the wedding venue.

She stares into your eyes, searching, then slowly taking the clothes. "...And more?" she asked quietly, going to place the folded shirts on the bed.

"And more." you lay one last loving kiss directly on her lips when she spun back around, surprising her, but she melted into it.

Once you part, you bring her to the shower with you, hand intertwined ever so gently for the warm water to rain down on your bodies.

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

At the wedding venue...

When you arrive at the wedding venue, you get out of the car to round to Taylor's side and open her door, to which she gave you a loving smile as she stepped out.

After you both step foot on the venue, you were invited to do an outdoor photoshoot first, and Taylor had agreed to do it with you, the event planner leading the both of you.

You had to change into a different outfit, one of your choosing for the pre photoshoot. Once done, you both walked to where the photos would be taken, and the sight had your eyes shining with adoration.

It was an entire scenery that might have been stolen from your dreams. There was a cobblestone path that trailed down to a big garden of scenery. A swing was hanging off the branch of a tree, and a lake stood proudly behind it.

You were honestly sure that you would spend a picnic with Taylor here someday if you were able to. Even she was taken away by every little detail thats been placed here.

"Tay, look!" You say, pointing to the lake. Taylor turns her head, at first, her expression natural and only curious of your excitement, but her face lights up when she sees the different colored feathers of the animals sitting on the water.

"Oh, my god, ducks!" she said, pure happiness filling her as she squealed, a big smile on her face at the surprise. You giggled at her shock, watching the look on her face

"There's even swans!" the blonde pointed out, gesturing towards them with open hands, having not expected there to be animals in such an area.

You raised your eyebrows but then shook your head with a smile, turning back to face the photographer. "Can we take a picture with them?" You ask, hoping for the best.

The photographer chuckles softly, and nods. "Yes, you can," they answer, probably used to the question, but they hold their camera firmly before helping you both to get in a good position and pose.

You and Taylor also got a heart-hand picture together as a bonus, behind the two of you, two swans swimming, angled at the right timing and making their own little heart shape with their necks.

The hired photographer gives you a thumbs up, and shows you the pictures to make sure you were satisfied. They were friendly, always being gentle and giving positive affirmations, but helping to make the photos look perfect.

Everything was private. Even the pictures taken are only going to be for you and Taylor. Maybe some for the outside world, or just your friends and family, but not all of them. You stayed until you finished the photoshoot, laughs and smiles shared with the two of you.

Once done, you both walk into the building for your wedding, having visited before, but seeing it again made your eyes wide with mesmerization.

The venue was beautiful and huge. The side walls were glass, and the outside held scenery of the pretty outdoor gardens, flowers and trees; the place where you had just been standing in earlier.

Along the walls, extending up to the roof, there were vines decorated in a detailed path, curving and hanging off corners.

Inside, you were walking on concrete flooring, not green grass. Still, it was breathtaking. It seemed almost like a greenhouse, but it wasn't extremely extravagant. Just...perfect.

Yet, the stage. The stage was the main attraction. No, this time, not a stage for Taylor's concerts. Although, it would be great for an acoustic show, you can see the look in her gaze off to it. She was already imagining how your wedding was going to be like.

Upon the stage large white archways stood tall. Flowers were down below and in the middle of the archways, mixed in with the smallest little lanterns. It all had a glowing backlight too, adding onto everything to make it complete.

You and Taylor went to the dressing room to get ready, the time starting to tick down to where the guests was on their way. The room was cozy and dim, enveloping the both of you like a warm embrace.

On the side, there was a rack of your two white wedding dresses. They were beautiful. Chosen and decided by the both of you with the utmost care and sincerity from your hearts. The lace was soft, and parts were flowy enough to make a satisfying movement.

Of course, you needed to get your makeup on first. As much as you were eager to wear the pretty dress, it was best not to get any makeup accidentally on it.

The stylist greets both of you when she enters, giving a kind expression. She could see almost instantly how great of a pair you make, and it lightened her heart tremendously.

You moved to sit on the couch, sitting patiently and waiting for Taylor to finish her makeup first, the light surrounding the mirror helping in making her face glow.

To think that she was sitting here, in front of you, not getting ready for a show, but for a wedding. Your wedding. Together. Well, maybe, a show for you...but this...she was making an eternal promise of her love and for yours.

You were double checking the notes of when you walk down the walkway with the event planner, but you couldn't focus. You look to see Taylor in her makeup chair, absolutely gorgeous looking. She was your distraction, and you didn't mind it at all.

The event planner notices, and they couldn't help but smile. Yet, they took your attention once more just in case. Of course, you go over the planning again, remembering everything without a hitch.

Soon, the both of you finish your makeup. It was a light makeup that show parts of your natural faces while still making it glow.

You get into your dress, Taylor following along behind you and being careful on her touch upon the dress. You adjust everything and look over your own, the all white outfit serving as its one true color, and not off to creme or anything at all.

Just as you were about to take a step forward to ask Taylor to help with your zipper, you see her standing in front of the vertical mirror, her teeth sunk into her lip as she stared and looked at herself.

On the other hand, your heart absolutely jumped, seeing her in the beautiful gown. She didn't have her zipper up either, her hand holding the dress together and trying to reach for it.

You slowly walk towards her, your hand reaching out to gently pull her zipper up before putting your hands on her waist, making eye contact with her in the mirror.

"You look perfect," you whispered under your breath, nearly not even sounding out in a volume. But Taylor heard it, her eyes lighting up as she turns around to gaze at you, her cheeks rising with a blush.

"Really?" she breathed out, sparks flying in her heart. You nodded, smiling brightly at her as you took a step closer. Your hands slide up, gently grasping her arms.

"I almost don't deserve you..." you whispered, barely even above a breath as your eyes looked at every part of her appearance, shaking your head lightly.

"Don't think less of yourself now..." she says, her eyes soft when she brought her hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin.

You lean into it, holding the moment of vulnerability with her. "I chose you. I love you just as much as you love me, and maybe more," she whispers through the space between you.

"Mm. That can be argued," you murmur, mindlessly letting your mind take control of your mouth without meaning to. But she smiles at the comment.

"Shh..." she puts a single finger on your lips, shushing you softly with a gentle shake of her head. "Just take it, sweetheart," she whispers, which did indeed make you back down.

You let out a giggle though, absolutely surprised at how she took control of the situation. Now, Taylor gazed at you, full of awe. You smile softly and turn around, showing her the zipper you needed help with, and she gladly and gently pulled it up.

Afterwards, your hair was still to the side to have ensured it was not getting caught on the zipper, but she leans in closer, seeing the opportunity to lay a soft kiss on your visible neck.

To your surprise, you tilt your head slightly to look at her, eyebrows raised and a grin on your face. "You, look like an angel, sweetheart," she compliments you charmingly from your shoulder, having you blush for the 100th time today.

"Thank you..." you whisper out, looking down in shyness as she steps in front of you, her hands on your shoulders. She chuckles softly, seeing your blush.

"I love you," she whispers, kissing the top of your head as she pulls you closer. You lean into her, wrapping your own arms around her and feeling the fabric of her dress.

"I love you, too." you reply, closing your eyes with a soft sigh. The two of you needed this moment, how real it was, and how it wasn't a dream.

Outside, the room, the small amount of invited guests had already arrived. If the music and the wedding planner coming in through the room wasn't obvious enough, you can hear the mixed conversations outside, just barely leaking through the walls.

They were playing Taylor's songs specifically made for you on the speakers, mixed in with your favorite songs together, melodies that echo through the hall.

You turn to look at her, and she gives you a reassuring smile before the wedding planner goes to take you both outside, at the entrance of the venue so you could await for your walk together and prepare.

You take a deep breath in, seeing the long pathway, empty only for the two of you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and Taylor can see your nerves setting off.

"Are you ready?" She asks you softly, standing beside you with all the comfort her presence holds. You look to her, taking another breath in.

"I'm, um, nervous...but...yes," you whispered, your voice shaking as your hands trembled. Taylor smiles gently, her eyes softening as she gives you a reassuring kiss on the cheek, her wondrous lipstick not even smudging or lingering on your skin, but her lips ghosting your cheek.

"I'd walk down it anytime you want, as long as its with you, darling." she assures you, leaning in to lightly brush your shoulders in a loving touch.

"You're so sweet..." you whisper, your lips raising up in a soft smile, and it was exactly what she aimed for, her heart swelling.

"Take my hand, baby," she says quietly, holding her hand out to you, and you slip your fingers in between hers, intertwining without a doubt, but she can feel the tremble in your joints.

"We're gonna do this together...okay?" the blonde captures your eyes, squeezing your hand gently. Being assured by her blue set of eyes that only held love and care for you, you nod.

"I'm ready," you breathed out, seeing the wedding planner walk up to the both of you, making sure you were both calm and ready, and that your dress was spread out perfectly.

It was time. This was it.

The glass windows on the side of the walls started to be closed by large metal doors, closing out the outside light, only for the orange chandelier and lights evenly places across the venue to take its place. It was dark, but the walkway had candles alit on its sides, accompanying the red carpet. It was all just to prepare for the two of you to enter.

The guests waited, some holding their breaths, some already even getting teary-eyed at the mere thought that this was where you were both being locked in, officially an intertwined couple.

Taylor's mom, Andrea, especially. She held tissues ready in her hand, some already used. Scott was sitting beside her, getting emotional too with Austin.

When you walk out together, everyone watching gasps, their breaths taken away by the beauty of your dresses and how you two fit together like puzzle pieces in the right place.

Everyone except her parents was requested to have their phones off, and they all obliged, the camera person in front as the main view, but it wasn't the whole world watching.

Both of your dresses flowed and drifted across the carpet, Taylor's white dress having the look and idea of flowers, trailing their pathes.

Your appearances were alit by the many glowing candles and bit of spotlight upon you, up until you both reach the altar where the marriage officiant stands.

When you reach the stage, you turn to face Taylor, still holding hands. The marriage officiant starts her words, the waiting making your heart grow even faster in anticipation, and you tried to make sure everything in your head was correct.

Taylor's eyes were on yours, never leaving. In this moment, it felt like it was only the two of you. The whole world faded in just a gaze.

"Do you, Taylor Alison Swift, take Y/N Y/L/N as your wife?" The officiant finally says, her eyes going up to travel between the two of you.

"I do," Taylor says, her smile growing wider as she looks into your eyes and squeezed your hand, ever excited to hear every word in this special day.

The officiant turns to face you, her lips raised up. "And do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Taylor Alison Swift as your wife?" she asks.

You nod, "Yes. I do," you say, your genuine happiness evident and overlaying your voice. Taylor's heart just about felt like it was about to explode.

"Now, since you have chosen to say your vows, you may hold each other's hands and speak in truth," the officiant says, lowering her book she was holding.

You take a deep breath, looking to the officiant before catching Taylor's eyes again, seeing her own hesitancy and nervousness in speaking her vows. You smile, and decide to go first.

"Taylor...I will love you, for all my life, and with my entire soul. You were there for me in my worst times, when I needed someone when no one else came to my aid. I don't know what I would do without you, but I know right now, I would do anything for you, and as long as I'm with you, I know I'm living happily. I wish to give you everything you've ever needed, all without resentment. All the kisses, all our shared days, we'll share with laughs and honesty. I hope we spend each second cherishing it all, because I will. With every chance I get. Because you, Taylor, are the love of my life, and I wish to give you this ring so we can have this sweet love forever."

You finished off your vow, some parts being shaky, and some parts holding the most absolute brightest smiles as you felt a swell building in your throat. Taylor already got teary eyed, a soft sniffle sounding out from her before she prepares and remembers her own vows.

"Y/N Y/L/N...With every guitar string scar on my hand, I take you to be my lover...After years and millions of tears, finally, with you, I'll spend all my time with until the end. You're the whole world to me. I promise that all my stares and gazing upon you, will always be filled with love, and my words whispered to you whenever you feel down, will always have care and sweetness. I vow that we'll always be together, in the times of need...and if there are, the times of the worst. The times that are the best, and anything in between. Take my ring, and I'll take yours, our soul to be intertwined, forever and evermore."

You tried blinking away the tears, but they had already fallen at her beautifully thoughtful words. She lets out a small laugh tearfully as she saw you already crying, even though she was, too.

The officiant had put down her book, and held out the board for the rings, and you both took one, slipping it on each other's finger with gentleness.

Once done, the officiant leaned back, and nods. "...I now pronounce you equally wed." she announces. Over in the front row, Taylor's mom was tearing up, looking up at the both of you proudly.

You gaze at each other, eyes holding your own reflections and emotions, and smiles wider than they've ever been. "I love you," you whisper, squeezing Taylor's hand.

"I love you, too," she says back, leaning in to kiss you, and you meet her halfway, your lips brushing before fully touching in a whisper of promise.

"We're gonna be together forever." You murmur against her lips, crying softly and needing to pull back slightly to gather yourself up, but forehead resting against her.

"Yes, sweetheart..." she whispered, smiling softly as she gently nuzzles her nose against you, the gesture making you pull her into an embrace.

Now it was forever, something you'll keep to for your whole life. Thank god for Taylor's indestructable makeup. All her tears had nothing against it, and especially not with her love for you.

The rest of the wedding went by amazingly well, with congratulations from many people, smiles, laughter, and loving stares. There was a polaroid moment, with you and Taylor and her friends only using polaroids to take photos. You danced together, and then cut the cake with Taylor too, both of you having brought the cut piece on the spoon up to each other's lips in a sweet gesture.

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

In the car...

The two of you had now changed into different outfits, sitting in more comfortable clothing. Taylor was driving, carefully keeping eye on the roads.

You breathe in the air, then let it out slowly, the seatbelt keeping you grounded as you sunk into your seat exhaustingly, but completely and utterly satisfied with how everything turned out.

The sunset traced your faces, and when you turn your head, it seemed to have made Taylor ever so graceful looking. You might have somehow fallen in love with her even more; if that was even possible.

You smile softly, unbelievably happy as you went to reach your hand over the centre console, resting it on her thigh as she drove.

"I can't believe we happened..." you whisper softly, your thumb soothingly moving. Her eyes flicker down to your hand, her heart swelling.

"But we did," she whispers, glancing to you. When she had the chance, she takes off one hand from the steering wheel, reaching down to hold your hand.

"And I love it," you said quietly. There was almost no more words to describe how you felt. It was all...overflowing your heart at this point.

She smiles softly, bringing your hand up to her lips to kiss it softly. "You're so precious to me..." she says, looking to see your ring she got for you on your finger. Her own hand held the same, but the one you got for her.

She kisses that part of you softly, too, making sure her love is known and marked upon it, and your face held a deep flush before you gently pull her hand to do the same.

The windows held the blurring scenery of a day, the sunset being the framing background picture of your love together, driving back home.

She was all you needed.

And you were all she needed.

---------------------

taglist <3 - join here! :]

@dmenby3100 @wandsmxmff @tia-thesimp @marvelwomen-simp @escapereality4music @fawnedolly @justgayloringeverthrone @lovelyy-moonlight @stevecore @midastouch013 @liloandstitchstan @maleahoswick @raven-ss @deadlymistletoe @bambisfawns

[megamobilestylesposts]

Your Winter Morning Routine for Healthy Skin

Unlocking the Perfect Winter Morning Routine

Hey there, fabulous ladies!

With the frosty season upon us, it's time to revamp our morning rituals for a cozy and productive winter.

Forget those groggy, chilly starts; we're here to guide you to a winter morning routine that will leave you energized, glowing, and ready to take on the day. Join us on this journey as we unlock the secrets to the perfect winter morning.

Waking Up Energized

The dark, chilly mornings might tempt you to snuggle deeper under the covers, but resisting that snooze button can make all the difference. Try these tips:

Keep your alarm clock or phone out of arm's reach.

Use a dawn-simulating alarm clock for a gradual, gentle awakening.

Reward yourself with a hot cup of your favorite tea or coffee immediately after waking up.

Maximizing Natural Light in Winter Mornings

Natural light can be scarce in the winter, but it's vital for setting your internal clock. Incorporate these ideas:

Open your curtains wide to let in every bit of sunlight.

Consider investing in daylight-mimicking bulbs for your bedroom.

Step outside for a brisk walk or a few minutes of outdoor yoga to soak in those precious sunbeams.

Staying Warm and Cozy

Layering for Warmth in Winter Mornings

Dressing for success in winter starts with layering. It's all about staying snug and stylish:

Start with a soft, moisture-wicking base layer to keep you dry.

Add an insulating layer for warmth (think cozy sweaters).

Finish with a stylish coat or jacket that can handle the chill.

Winter Morning Hydration Tips

Hydrating in the morning can help you combat dry winter skin and feel more awake:

Swap cold water for warm water with lemon or herbal tea.

Invest in a cute, insulated water bottle to keep your beverage toasty on the go.

Don't forget a nourishing lip balm to keep your smile smooth and protected.

Nourishing Your Body

Nutritious Winter Morning Breakfast Ideas

A hearty breakfast can set the tone for the day:

Berry, nut and honey topped oatmeal.

Toasted avocado with a fried egg and a sprinkling of chili flakes.

A warming bowl of vegetable soup for those extra chilly mornings.

Winter Morning Skincare Routines

Your skin deserves some TLC in the winter too! Follow this skincare ritual:

Start with a gentle cleanser to remove impurities.

Apply a hydrating serum or moisturizer to lock in moisture.

Don't forget SPF, even on cloudy days, to protect your skin from UV rays.

Mindfulness and Productivity

Winter Morning Mindfulness Practices

Set a positive tone for your day with some mindfulness:

Begin by taking a few minutes to breathe deeply or meditate.

Practice yoga or stretching exercises to awaken your body and mind.

Write down a few things you're grateful for in your journal.

Winter Morning Productivity Hacks

Stay productive, even on chilly mornings:

Make a to-do list the night before to jumpstart your day.

Set specific goals to accomplish during your morning routine.

Stay organized with a stylish planner or app to track your tasks.

Preparing for the Day Ahead

Winter Morning Work Attire Tips

Dressing for work in the winter can be chic and cozy:

Invest in quality winter workwear, like a tailored wool coat.

Opt for warm but stylish accessories like scarves and gloves.

Don't forget waterproof boots for snowy days.

Winter Morning Weather Updates

Stay one step ahead of winter's surprises with these tips:

Check the weather forecast each morning to plan your outfit.

Just in case, keep an umbrella in your car or bag.

To adapt to changing conditions throughout the day, layer your clothing.

With our winter morning routine guide, you're well-equipped to face the cold with confidence and grace. Embrace the chill, nurture your body and mind, and conquer your day. Remember, winter mornings can be magical when you make them your own.

For those extra pampering moments or to achieve that perfect winter look, consider trying out MOBILESTYLES, the beauty-on-demand service that brings beauty experts right to your doorstep. Stay fabulous, no matter the weather!

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Hi again! Yes that was the post I was thinking of ^ ^

But I’m glad to hear that you’re willing to write a fic about it, it was really sweet and I would love to see you expand on the concept (*^▽^*)

Hello, Lovely~!

I believe this is a follow-up to this ask, and I thank you for your patience as I finally fleshed out the story I was thinking about.

Hope you enjoy!

​​The sun had long since set, hours having passed since night had settled quietly over the city.  She had crept into every alley, embraced every insomniac, whispered quietly on the warm breeze. The evening hung heavily on the air, beckoning gently to anyone who tried to defy sleep’s sirenous song.

Everyone, except you.

You had exhausted every remedy you could think of, even those sillier ones you would have mocked in the daylight. But Sleep continued to evade you, repeatedly teasing you, but never truly offering satisfaction.

You could already hear a certain someone's voice tauntingly saying: "Told ya so."

Asshole.

Resigned to your fate, every attempt to court Slumber only driving her further from your embrace, you decided to vacate your chambers, bound for the library; maybe Monika had left one of her stuffy physics books behind.

You were less than surprised to find someone else already in the room, hunched over the great oak desk, piles of paperwork organised into tidy stacks around him. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, luring you forward from the dark corridor.

You were relieved, more than you'd admit, that you weren't the only one dancing with Insomnia, but then again Gil was practically married to his sleepless nights.

You lingered just inside the doorway, leaning lightly against the frame, watching as he worked. His eyes darted from one page to the next, the scratching of his pen against the paper pleasantly comforting in the late hour.

The whole scene was comforting really: the soft scents of old books and woodsmoke (beech or ash probably, given his preferences), the golden glow of flame reflecting off the cream colored walls, the scratch of Gil's pen and his occasional muttering-

It filled you with a warmth that was all-encompassing, irresistibly inviting.

You lingered there for a few moments, a smile creasing your features, a familiar fondness settling in your chest. His forehead was resting on his right hand, his elbow supporting the whole affair from atop the desk.

Between the soft blue glow of his laptop screen and the gentle golden corona provided by his lamp, he almost looked like he was swathed in sunlight, pale features even more pronounced against the darkness of his hoodie.

You felt your smile grow bigger when you recognized the detailing, remembering just how excited he had been when you first gave it to him.

A good memory- his joy had been infectious, grin almost blindingly bright for the rest of the day.

Your thoughts returned to the present as you heard him sigh tiredly, mumbling again to himself, a yawn escaping not even two breaths later. He shook himself out of it with a stretch and a groan, offering you a glimpse of his mussed hair and favorite purple glasses.

He hadn't seen you, even as he cracked his neck, his focus drawn instead to the hand-crafted clock Ludvig had gifted him back in the '90s. (Which '90s your precious Liebhaber apparently couldn't be bothered to ever confirm for you.)

"Scheiße; es ist spät." He sounded surprised, his eyes widening in realization. He turned back to his work, a pensive look crossing his features, and you slipped further into the room, sensing your opening.

"Later than I'd like," you exhaled, just loud enough for him to hear you. His attention turned to you for a moment and away again, before he was offering a double-take, expression morphing into seemingly exaggerated surprise.

"Liebe? It's almost 4; what are you doing up?"

You sighed in defeat, shuffling over to sit on his desktop beside him. "Can't sleep," you admitted begrudgingly, his small snicker only making that confession all the more bitter. "And I swear if you say 'I told you so-'"

"Which I did," he crowed, though quieter than normal.

"You're such an ass," you protested with a small whine, moving your hand to halfheartedly smack his shoulder, though he easily caught it, taking you captive.

His smile was less teasing, revealing more of that soft, sleepy Gilbert only you were truly privy to. The firelight danced in his eyes, and sparks tingled across your wrist as his thumb drifted across the skin. "Tired?"

"Exhausted," you confirmed with a languid sigh. "But my mind's too awake for my body to sleep."

"Have you tried-"

"I've tried everything, babe," you almost whined. Almost.

He said nothing for a while, the silence between you comfortable in its familiarity, a light, gentle presence. These moments were more frequent as of late, and you couldn't help thinking of his mumbling to himself earlier, an idea starting to take shape.

"Hey, Schöner?"

"Leibchen?"

"Could you read to me?"

He stilled, the sudden loss of his drifting thumb all too obvious, your skin chilling at the loss of movement. You watched his eyes narrow, brows drawing together as he studied you, confusion clear in his eyes. "Read to you?"

"Yeah?" Suddenly bashful, you looked away from him. "I like your voice; it's really soothing."

The silence shifted, suddenly a new sensation, something indecipherable and uncomfortable.

He still hadn't moved, his thumb lingering above your pulse, fingers still carefully circling your wrist.

He was probably still trying to process your confession; you knew many had told Prussia throughout the centuries that he was too loud, his voice too rough- each and every insult growing more colorful as time passed. And recently, incomprehensible to you, came a strange stigma against Germanic accents entirely.

It would be a lie to claim you hadn't been a bit put off by his voice back in the beginning, a bit of an adjustment period needed as you grew familiar with it. But you lived by that voice now, recognized its inflections, cherished its novelty. His voice had become Home in its own way, and nothing brought you more peace than the moments when you could completely let it wash over you.

Confessing that to him though? Embarrassing. And really, you wouldn't know how to say it.

Yet, that was the thing with him; he had always been a bit more clever than he let on, at least when it came to the people he loved.

Especially when it came to you.

His thumb shifted, reclaimed your attention faster than his words. "Say I agreed... What would you want?"

You turned back to meet his eyes again, surprised and relieved by the softness of his expression, your heart lightened at the sight of it. "Friedy once told me about this story you read to him? Something about a knight?"

He silently repeated your words to himself, brows furrowing in thought. Suddenly aware of how little you had narrowed down his options, you added further clarification. "He said you started reading it to him after 'The Rapunzel Incident,'" you finished with an air quote.

When the middle Beilschmidt Brother had first told you the story of Gilbert having a meltdown over a Grimm's Fairy Tale, you had only half-believed him, knowing the man had picked up a tiny bit of Gil's habits of over-exaggeration.

Yet the expression that crossed your lover's face- mortified, frustrated, amused, defeated, annoyed- confirmed the validity of Friedrich's claims; you couldn't repress your grin as Gil groaned, his head falling back against his chair. "I can't believe that little hellion told you about that."

You shifted the leg closest to his, lightly bumping his thigh with your foot. "But 's cute."

He huffed, unconvinced, before he was raising his head again, slanting a glance your way. "I never translated it from German; you sure?"

"Mm-hm," you hummed in confirmation, tugging your wrist closer so you could press a quick kiss to his hand. "Pretty please?"

Somehow, you had had convinced him, and a few minutes later he had dug out his collection of journals from the 1810s, a well-loved leather-bound tome left sitting on the couch. While Gil painstakingly sorted his collection back into its proper place, you couldn't help but flip carefully through the book left beside you.

Every few pages bore a new date, this one far more inconsistent than his others.

Not a daily project, then.

You let the scent of the old paper surround you, marveling at his manuscript. Gil claimed constantly that he had horrible handwriting, yet you were always in awe by how formal it was, even hoarding some of the sticky notes and grocery lists he "scribbled." There was a definitive slant to his words in this edition, an angle that hinted that he had actually written this one left-handed, as opposed to the right he usually he favored for his record-keeping.

You felt a soft smile, even if it went unnoticed until Gilbert was pointing it out to you. "What's with the face?"

"Nothin," you chirped, a hint of your sleep deprivation playing a role in the sudden volume.

With a doubtful expression, he moved to sit beside you, taking a position against the arm of the couch, soon beckoning you to join him.

A flutter of happy energy propelled you forward, and you instinctively cuddled into his side. He chuckled at your behavior, in a way that you knew included a fond roll of the eyes, before he dropped his face into your hair, humming quietly. "Seriously, Liebchen. I could read you anything else."

His warmth was already weaving into your bones, already guiding Sleep back to your reach. Your eyes fluttered shut, the soft smile only growing warmer, gentler. "Ja, but you're already got this one out. And I'm comfy," you impishly added on, earning an equally quiet, playful grunt in reply.

His thumb was tracing circles, shivers left in the wake of each repetition. The tingling traveled all the way to your toes, only aiding your descent into Dreamland. "You won't understand a word of it. You do realize that, right?"

He had a point there.

But there was...

There was something...

You let out a small yawn, fighting to open your eyes, almost pouting as you tried to formulate your thoughts into something coherent. After a moment it came to you, and you leaned further into him, your ear coming to rest over his heartbeat. "I don't need to know what you're sayin' to hear the love behind it."

"Gott, du bist niedlich."

You never got a chance to ask him to confirm what he had just whispered, too distracted by the kiss he immediately pressed to your crown. He lingered there, his breath evening enough to almost convince you that he had fallen asleep beneath you.

But you knew his heartbeat just as you knew his voice, as you knew your own heart and your own thoughts. Lightly moving your arm, you grumbled out a complaint. "You promised to read to me."

You could feel the smile in your hair. "I don't remember making any 'promises,' Schatz," he observed, the lightness of words showing he was teasing you again.

"Gil..." You pleaded, too tired to continue this back-and-forth.

"Ja, ja; okay," he conceded, gently taking the book from your hands. "Any place special you want me to start?"

An old memory came to mind at his wording, your reply coming out in a light sing-song. "'Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.'"

He scoffed, unconsciously humming along as he turned to the first page. "Here we go. 'Es was einmal-'"

Gilbert was a natural storyteller, so it wasn't a surprise that he was also gifted when it came to reading aloud, his words soon picking up a steady rhythm. His intonation rose and fell with different sentences; his voice changing whenever he came across a piece of dialogue. You weren't entirely sure of the story, but he had at least three different characters in play, and despite your nescience, you could almost imagine the action.

You had relaxed fully into him, were certain that you were drifting in-and-out of consciousness.

The world was heavy, and his words were a gentle embrace, his voice a warm anchor. You were tethered to it, letting it guide you throw each wave of wakefulness and slumber, thoughts dancing precariously on the boundary between whim and reverie.

A disgruntled growl kept you grounded in reality however, irritation scraping across the canvas your imagination had been conjuring.

Your eyes slowly opened, and you turned your attention to Gil's voice, frowning at the frustration in his words.

"Und den Ritte-? Nein. Was ist..? Dem...? Nein; das ist... Was zum Teufel?"

You barely repressed a giggle as you finally caught a glimpse of his expression, the exasperation all the more amusing from your current position. He had lifted the journal closer to his face, eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled as he tried making out his own handwriting.

"Was ist- Oh."

His eyes closed, and his head drooped in defeat, features creased in bewilderment. "Ich bin ein Idiot," he muttered, before his eyes reopened, a wince soon marring his features when as he noticed your staring. "Ah, fich."

You offered a bemused expression, eyes shivering shut as he pressed a small kiss to your crown, breathing out his apology in a rush of syllables. "Es tut mir lied."

Barely a beat had passed before he shifted back into storyteller mode, picking up the tale from the place he had left off. "Und der Ritter-" he over-enunciated, letting out a small chuckle (triggering your own giggle) as he successfully translated his own penmanship, carefully continuing in the quiet, gentle voice from earlier.

Despite the temporary pull back into the land of waking, it wasn't long until Gilbert's voice once more had you entranced, the continued dance of his thumb following the rise and fall of each syllable, each sound elongated and subdued, a drowsy, hypnotic serenade that was greedily pulling you under its spell.

"Sleep, Liebe," you heard, felt, all around you, a warm, gentle command that tugged you further into the depths. Whether it was real or imagined didn't matter; between the crackling flames, the warmth of his embrace, and the steady rise-and-fall of Gil's voice, it wasn't long until you were finally succumbing to Sleep's soft embrace.​

Thanks for reading!

[finitevoid]

for your muse's consideration: Silver + 3. "The sameness of the trees in a forest at twilight, the feeling that they will never leave this place, and its beauty such that a part of them may not even want to." ♥️♥️

@hersilentlanguage

Silver isn't sure how he got here; all he remembers is the taste of the moist forest breeze on his tongue. It smells like soil after the rain, heavy and deep brown. The kind of soil your shoes sink into the longer you stand in it.

Silver's feet are sunk an inch into the mud. He's barefoot and it's almost too warm to be comfortable, but he left his shoes at home. Oh, of course.

Home. The little house at the edge of the woods full of warm candlelight and his father's laughter. He'd gone running, feet kicking off from the porch in search of some kind of wild game, like he was a child again. The breeze still tastes like the smell of freshly fallen rain, and the air is sticking to his skin and his hair.

The world around him feels technicolor, for all that it's not. The rapidly graying sky casts the world in a soft blue hue, like a painter ran a watered down brush over an already finished painting. Even he is bathed in it, pale skin turned a ghastly blue. Like a corpse.

Silver is different from the people around him. Minutes stretch on like hours, to him. His lifetime will be painted in glinting greys and blues long before his brother even has a hint of time on the horizon. There is a ticking clock inside of him, clicking endlessly onward. It ticks in tandem with his heart, ba-dump, ba-dump, counting the seconds, counting his breaths. Precious few he has.

Sometimes Malleus looks at him like he's already dead.

Around him is nothing but an endless sea of trees. They are all he can look at. The gentle ribbed lines of bark. The way the trunks twist and gnarl out into branches. The way the branches hang, ever suspended in air, leaves reaching out, out, towards the air. Towards the sun.

These trees are eternal, he decides. They will be here forever, roots dug deep into the soft, wet earth. Their branches will always be swaying in the breeze, dancing to music on the wind. Their leaves will always be reaching toward the sun. Its own ticking clock is halted halfway through its counting, frozen in time.

Even if one day they wither and die, they will always be like this, in his memory. Bathed in blue twilight, grappling for the last dregs of the day's sunlight. He stands in it's center. He's here, and now. But he's also a million years in the future, stardust on the wind, suspended in amber. In this place, he'll live forever.

The sunlight kisses his cheeks as it dies. The last wisps of it's glow disappears, sloughing off his skin and floating off into the wind. It's dark now, and soon the moon will begin it's own ascent, it's own blue-capped birth into the night sky. He clenches his fists, trying not to mourn the sunlight. Trying not to wish so desperately for it to be day again, and yet wishing time would not tick on in order to get there.

Someone is stepping into the clearing beside him. Black hair dipped in pink sways gently as he comes to a stop at Silver's shoulder. His hands are clasped behind his back, but he's smiling softly.

"I almost expected to find you dozing off."

His father's tone is joking, but his face is gentle. He has a gentle face, round and young. Large, wine-colored eyes that are crinkled at the sides by his smile. Childlike.

"Not this time," Silver murmurs. "Who could sleep through that sunset?"

"You know," his eyes are dancing. "Your brother used to, all the time."

Silver parts his lips in surprise. His father laughs.

"It's true! As soon as the sun would start setting, he'd nod off in my arms. It soothed him, I think."

"It doesn't soothe me." Silver huffs, turning to look up at the night sky, twinkling with stars. "So little daylight."

Lilia hums, and a comforting hand falls on his shoulder. He's watching the sky, too. The smattering of stars is reflected in his eyes, making them glint. It shows his age, marring it with the years not shown on his young face. The face of a man who'd seen things Silver would never be able to comprehend.

"If it was always day," he squeezes his shoulder. "we wouldn't appreciate the sunlight nearly as much, don't you think?"

[nopoodles]

OC Associations Tag

Tagged by the ever amazing @emelkae(minor, tiny, tiddley almost-spoilers for Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse. Just friend/relationship stuff, not plot-breaking stuff but if you're against anything spoiler adjacent you may want to skip this post)

Also I'm sorry this took me so long to do - t'was surprisingly challenging.

Rules: Describe your OCs as

TIME

Dawn: Lord Tellyn Smeeten - that painful instant the sun first peeks over the horizon, the way it colours the sky gentle pinks and blues despite the pain of having to adjust to a new, bright, unyielding light.

Noon: Gergorio Valencia - bright, shining and warm. Gergorio welcomes anyone in, he's a calm comfort but disorientatingly persistent. Occasionally too much, especially if you have a headache.

Dusk: Liorellion Folcs - "The Shields at the bottom of the stage glowed with a gentle silver light; it shimmered on Lior's hair and the silver sequins on xyr costume" - Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse

Night: Colonel Kalik - secrets shared in the darkness of night are always the most precious. The way you can bare your soul outside the expectations of daylight.

RELATIONSHIP

Friend: Gergorio - "Gergorio’s endless ability to make new friends reared its head once again." - Book 2 Guardian Cadet Series

Lover: Kalik - "Only the touch of Kalik's warm hand where it had woven its way into my hair kept me from ending up in the Moon Prince's Realm." - Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse

Ex: PT - "I'll tell you now, Arlan. Inter-Guardian relationships don't work. I've been there." - Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse

Enemy: Cadet Aionda Manth - "Manth had decided I was a target for some reason." - Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse

SEASON

Spring: Kitty Hughes - warmth blooms and flowers and food begin to grow. "He wore a delicate green tunic that offset the green in his hazel eyes, like whole forests full of hidden life set into his pale face." - Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse

Summer: Lior - "A fluttering red sleeve caught my attention. Lior's hand blurred as xe waved at me, practically glowing in the late morning sunlight." - Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse

Autumn: Kalik -

"The sun hadn't even risen yet, street lights casting eerie blue and orange glows over the street depending on their magical or fire-based means of operation.

'Here.' He held out a paper bag and silver coloured travel mug." - Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse

Winter: Merry - "Ice blue eyes, platinum hair that shifted blue in the right lighting, pale skin. He would find an undercurrent of blue that wasn't there, since I wasn't flushed pink to dispute it" - Merry Arlan: Breaking The Curse

DESTRUCTION

Tornado: Commander Jonathan Whitclé - "Did anything come out of Commander Whitclé's office uncrinkled?" - Book 2 Guardian Cadet Series

Wildfire: Queen Kariella - okay, so Kariella is from the second book, she's the Queen of the free Elven people's. I don't want to give too much away but she's a Red Elf and a fire mage. She's passionate and strong and pretty unstoppable.

Earthquake: Kitty - you never really see the potential for anger in Kitty, he's caring and sweet, he gets caught up in projects too easily and sucks at taking care of himself unless someone reminds him that he needs to eat. When I was discussing this tag with my wife she said "Earthquake? Kitty? Are you sure?" But underneath all his sweet, soft, caring, Kitty would tear the world down if someone hurts his loved ones. And you'd never see it coming.

Tsunami: Professor Sorenson - Sorenson doesn't get as much page time as I'd like. She's a big ideas woman, and she likes things done her way. She will absolutely sweep you up in her skirt-tails and bring you along for the ride.

LANDSCAPE

Mountain: Kitty - not to be too literal, but he's from the White Cliffs, which are mountains.

Forest: Merry - deep, dark, mysterious, and if you go too far in you'll find something dangerous.

Ocean: Captain Etta Amaranth - Etta could have her own series and yet she never makes it to the page, at least not in person. She's a Wind Mage, which is very useful if you want to be a pirate. She's also the most mysterious member of the cast (like I said, she never appears on the page and is only talked about). She was the transportation that moved Merry from who she was, into the possibility of becoming Merry Arlan in the first place.

Desert: Jhoto Folcs - Jhoto is a complex woman. She has a lot of easily lifted walls surrounding her (and Lior) for protection. She has no qualms about lifting those walls, either, regardless of how close she might have once been to the person now on the other side. But she has a weakness for her exes - all of them. The mirage of water in the desert that just makes everyone else more parched since she'll let those people back in and reinforce extra walls for everyone else when she inevitably gets hurt.

Tagging: oh gosh who to tag? You if you want to do it :)

But also no pressure tags @cherrybombfangirlwrites @avrablake @athenixrose @asher-orion-writes

[fortune-fool02]

More than Appearances

Beast Jonathan Joestar x female reader

Requested by: anonymous

May I request a Beauty and the Beast au? We're Jonathan is the beast and the reader is beauty. Bonus points if it's like the original fairy tale then the Disney version.

Beauty and the Beast AU

As requested, this is based more on the original fairy tale than Disney, if you don’t know the original tale of it, look at ‘abitfrank’ video of it on Youtube. 

Please enjoy.

It was something many would find silly and cliche. The story of a young woman falling in love with a beast for some deeper meaning of love meaning to love more than appearances. And that mostly the case with this, though there was more to it. 

A light sigh slipped her lips as [Name] closed the book she had been reading and leaned back lightly in the large chair, her mind a bit too preoccupied to allow her to focus on the book. The recent events that led to her being here was all just strange for her but, for the sake of her family and her “captor” -could she really call him that?- she had to remain. 

[Name]’s father often worked away from London to be able to support his family and, during one of these business trips, his carriage had crashed quite some miles away from the city. He wandered the wooded area, trying to find a path when he had stumbled upon a lovely manor that sat upon a small hill with fields of flowers behind it and wooded area around it, like a cloak almost. The soft lights that glowed from the windows was welcoming, informing the man of life inside of the manor and possible help.  

He entered the manor and was surprised to find it seemingly empty yet a roaring fire awaited him, offering him warmth to fend of the biting cold that nipped his skin. A meal also awaited him. It was strange but [Father’s Name] needed it. By the time daylight came around, he was ready to leave and explored the garden before he did. There, in the vibrant garden of roses, lilies and other manner of beautiful flowers, was a rose. The most beautiful rose he has ever laid eyes on. The petals were vibrant and rich in colour, no indications of withering and the stem was a lovely shade of green. It was stunning. [Father’s Name] knew that it would be the perfect gift for his daughter, [Name], and so carefully plucked the rose from its bush.

That was when the owner of the manor made his appearance. Dark fur that covered his entire form that stood well over six feet tall, horns that curled backwards slightly from his head, blending with the colour of the fur. Bright, luminous blue eyes that held a glow to them not unlike a cat’s eyes. Remains of what appeared to have been clothes covered the fur as well, fine stitching and good material. The beast had demanded to keep him for stealing his precious rose and her father begged him to let him go, explaining how the rose was going to be a gift for his daughter. 

That did seem to affect the beast’s decision, altering it so that in exchange for the man’s freedom, he wanted the daughter instead. Though, the beast said that he didn’t want the father to sugarcoat the situation, he wanted the daughter to know what was happening and her consent for it. He even gave the father a crate full of jewels and money to be able to support his family if the daughter refused to come.

When her father told her, [Name] was consumed with shock and concern for her father. She didn’t wish to see him trapped with the beast and so agreed to this, much to her family’s dismay. 

The beast, who called himself Jonathan or JoJo, was nothing like she had expected. He welcomed her politely with a smile and small bow, and showed her around the manor before inviting her down to dine with him. He was, dare she say, nothing short of a gentleman. Jonathan gave her free-range of the manor and she thanked him for all he did for her. Still, this was all strange to her but she was willing to accept it. 

A knock at the door was heard, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“Come in.” She called, turning her gaze to the door as it opened and Jonathan entered, a smile on his lips when he saw her. She returned the smile, “Hello JoJo.” 

“Hello [Name], how are you finding everything? Are the books good?” the beast asked, closing the door behind him and approaching her side, taking a seat on another chair. She nodded, 

“Yes, they are really good. Thank you for bringing them to me.” It was not uncommon for him to bring her gifts in the form of books or other things she asked for or he found that he believed she would like; and she would do what she could to show her gratitude and appreciation of these. The two had spent hours talking to one another during her time here, and had grown to become fond of each other. He, despite his beastly appearance, was far more humane than the people she has seen late at night in London, fighting in the streets. He smiled, 

“You are most welcome, I am glad you like them.” He reached into his jacket -which [Name] had repaired, along with his other torn shirts and clothes, a way to show her thanks to him- and pulled out a small, white book, handing it to her. The front cover had the word “Wish” written on it. “This is also for you. It allows you to wish for whatever you want.” She took the small book from his clawed hands and carefully examined it, 

“Thank you, JoJo. This is beautiful.” [Name] spoke, [Eye colour] orbs looking through the book with curiosity. Jonathan smiled at this, pleased that [Name] enjoys all he has to offer her. As she examined the book, he took a breath and looked at her. 

“[Name], will you marry me?” he asked her, his tone soft and gentle as sunlight on a warm day. [Name] took a soft breath and looked at him, shaking her head a little. 

“I’m sorry, JoJo, but I am not ready for that.” She responded. This was not the first time Jonathan has asked for her hand in marriage, he has asked her frequently during her time here. And each time, she has denied him. When he first asked her, she was terrified of angering him but he assured her that whatever her answer was he would respect it, and he did. [Name] could not deny that she had grown to develop feelings for Jonathan but to be asked for marriage was too soon for her, and he understand and accepted that, much to her relief. 

Perhaps...maybe one day she would accept his request for her hand but she didn’t know. Still, she kept herself focused and thanked him again for the book. Jonathan smiled and left her alone with the book. He knew that his behaviour may seem very forward but he could not help himself. [Name] was beautiful, her kindness towards him all but melted his heart. Even in this cursed form, she treated him as she would any normal person she met, and he appreciated that. For too long he has been greeted with fear by those who stumbled upon his manor despite his attempts to show he meant no harm. 

Yet, [Name] did just the opposite. She treated him as a human and he felt warm because of it. His heart would bloom with that warmth whenever he was around her and he cherished the warmth. He took a small sigh outside of the room and turned on his heel, walking down the hall and continued with the arranging of the library. 

[diceyfall]

[fic; love seizes]

m!de sardet x vasco, their rendezvous scene, 2368 words 🔞💘

Vasco confesses with a poem because no one has taught him the words for the things he feels and so he borrows them from another, like a message in a bottle he hopes will find its way to shore.

He receives a smile in return, followed by a kiss on his neck that makes him shudder with its promise.

There is, however, no great revelation.

Tristan De Sardet may have a way with words, but he doesn’t use them here. Instead, he tells Vasco to meet him outside his bedroom in New Sérène, but he speaks nothing of love.

Maybe it was in his kiss, but maybe it wasn’t—the same way that maybe Vasco’s love was in his poem, but maybe it wasn’t. Neither of them, it seems, are willing to say it out loud.

So Vasco sets the matter aside as hours pass by on the road, and finds to his surprise that nothing between them has changed.

Tristan treats him the same way he always does, with easy conversation and friendly smiles but nothing more than that. By the time New Sérène becomes visible in the distance, Vasco is almost beginning to doubt that his confession and the kiss actually happened.

Everything is normal when they arrive in the city. Normal as Tristan splits from the group to see his cousin, normal as Vasco visits the inn with the others for a bite and a bath, normal as the sun begins to set and Vasco subtly excuses himself to head for Tristan’s residence.

Not so normal when he finds himself the only one there.

Vasco peers up at the stairs leading to Tristan’s bedroom. He’s not used to the house being so quiet, feels almost like an intruder as he hesitates in front of the first step.

But at this point, what does he have to lose?

He heads up the stairs, making the decision to wait for Tristan as he reaches the landing of the second floor, but once he heads into the hallway he realizes Tristan’s door has been left wide open.

Perhaps a servant who forgot to close it behind them, or perhaps not.

Vasco he hears the sound of footsteps and keeps his right hand close to his gun out of habit, but once he stands in front of the doorway and looks into the room, he finds himself at a total loss.

Tristan stands near the windows, where the fading daylight brightens his black curls like a crown around his head, lightening his brown eyes into amber. He’s wearing nothing but trousers, the toned plains of his chest and abdomen completely bare, a soft glow to his skin where the sun touches it. 

“Vasco?” Tristan looks flustered, must not have heard Vasco coming up the stairs as he was dressing. “I didn’t expect...”

He trails off, not that Vasco notices considering his attention is caught on the thin trail of soft hair running down from Tristan’s bellybutton, disappearing beneath the low-riding edge of his trousers.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Tristan in some sort of state of undress; injuries happen, and from time to time clothing and armor needs replacing as well. During moments like those either Kurt or Siora or both would be fussing over Tristan while Vasco watched with amusement, but nothing more than that.

But now they’re alone in Tristan’s bedroom, and Vasco’s heart is beating fast, and Tristan’s face is slightly flushed, and Vasco wants nothing more than to cross the distance between them to kiss the redness in Tristan’s cheeks.

By some feat of sheer will or perhaps simple embarrassment, Vasco finally manages to avert his eyes and clears his throat.

“My apologies,” he says, posture stiff and uneasy. He thought that perhaps he’d get the opportunity to finally give voice to what he feels and find out if Tristan might feel the same, but this is different. Feels much different. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I should--”

“Stay,” Tristan says quickly, taking a step toward him but then catching himself, grabbing hold of his wooden bed-frame as if to steady himself. “Please.”

One word would’ve been enough, but the way he says please, with that eager look in his eyes--Vasco could never refuse.

His feet move, every step on the floorboards so loud in the silence and the distance between him and Tristan has never felt so wide before, so slow to cross.

Four steps, he counts.

Four steps, and he’s standing in front of Tristan who looks like he’s been pushed to the very edge of his self-control, eyes flitting to Vasco’s mouth yet keeping perfectly still.

Vasco lets out a quiet breath and lifts his hand to Tristan’s cheek, a feather-light brush of fingers trailing down to the edge of the mark peeking out from under his beard.

“Are you sure?” Vasco asks.

Tristan cups Vasco’s hand with his own, then turns it a little and kisses the inner side of his wrist.

“Stay,” he says again, speaking it softly into the quiet space between them warmed over by the sun, and Vasco has never wanted anything more.

They move forward at the same time, meeting each other halfway in the light where their lips press together in a perfect whole, as if they had been made just to kiss.

Tristan’s arms wrap around Vasco, pulling him flush against his own body and Vasco surrenders to it completely, one hand in Tristan’s hair and the other holding onto his shoulder, feeling like he’s burning up from the inside out.

Vasco has little awareness of how he manages to get his clothes off, but at some point his belt is undone and he feels Tristan yank his coat down. He’s far too preoccupied by the thick bulge pressing against him through Tristan’s trousers, and the way Tristan groans into his mouth when Vasco grinds their hips together.

The friction becomes all the better when they get rid of their trousers and Vasco's shirt and boots, until they’re both down to their undergarments. Tristan’s skin against his own feels so warm, so good that Vasco didn’t realize how much he’d been craving it before, but now that he has he feels like an addict.

“Vasco,” Tristan sighs in between their kisses, hand sliding down over his spine to his lower back and Vasco moans as Tristan deepens the kiss, tongue and the edge of teeth, hot and wet and somehow still so gentle, so loving.

Vasco barely manages to pull away enough to speak. “The bed?” he asks before Tristan kisses him again with a hum, seeming content to just stand here in the sunlight and kiss him forever.

“I know, I just—” Tristan’s fingers tangle in his hair, pulls it free to grab at his locks insistently, keeps kissing him through his words. “Can’t- stop.”

Vasco would’ve laughed had his mouth not been otherwise preoccupied, and with a hand on Tristan’s waist he manages to maneuver them backwards onto the bed. When he tries to sit down Tristan chases his lips like a man possessed, and Vasco ends up on his back, pressed down into the mattress by Tristan’s weight on top of him.

It’s a tempting idea, to simply lie here and kiss each other until their lips are bruised, but Vasco is far too aroused to leave it at that. If he doesn’t find some sort of release he might actually go mad.

Hands on Tristan’s shoulders, he pushes him off a little, breaking the kiss and leaving them both breathless. Tristan gazes down at him with a dazed look in his half-lidded eyes and reddened, wet lips--the most beautiful thing Vasco has ever seen.

But, unfortunate as it is, they can’t simply lie here and stare at each other for the rest of the evening. Though Tristan is making it very difficult with how he caresses Vasco’s brow, following the lines of his tattoos as if they were precious works of art.

“Oil?” Vasco says, voice rough in his throat, and Tristan blinks.

“Right.” Tristan looks reluctantly at the nightstand, then back down at Vasco. “One moment.”

Vasco remains on the bed while Tristan moves away, leaving him feeling suddenly rather cold. He takes the moment to shimmy out of his undergarments, flinging it aside to the floor somewhere.

As he stares up at the ceiling he smiles as he can hear Tristan hurrying, rifling through the drawer before he makes a noise of recognition, having found what he’s looking for.

Vasco props himself up on his elbows to look as Tristan’s weight presses back down onto the bed between his legs, a small bottle of oil in his hand now.

“Do you…” Tristan trails off for a moment as his gaze trails over Vasco’s body, which is somewhat embarrassing—it’s been a while since anyone saw him completely naked, let alone devoured them with their eyes like Tristan is doing right about now.

He seems to catch himself though, refocusing on Vasco’s face. “Are you going to stay on your back?”

If there was ever a way to make him feel extremely self-aware, it would be a question like that.

Vasco averts his eyes, voice quiet when he replies. “Did you… want me another way?”

He feels a hand settle on his upper leg, sliding up his thigh.

“No,” Tristan replies with an adoring smile and Vasco has never seen a man so wholly and incredibly smitten. “This is perfect.”

He leans down to kiss Vasco again, but it’s not as gentle and tender anymore—there’s biting, sucking at his lip, demanding and so intoxicating that this time Vasco almost chases Tristan’s mouth when he pulls away, even though he has to.

It’s been a while for him since he last did this, long enough that even with Tristan’s oil-slicked fingers he feels too tight, unable to ease up until Tristan kisses his shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in between.

“Vasco,” he whispers, just to say his name, and Vasco wants to listen to nothing else but Tristan breathing it against his skin over and over again while he drives his fingers in deeper, stretching him just right.

“Tristan,” Vasco whispers back with a groan in his voice, not certain how much longer he can stand this, so he curves his palms around Tristan’s neck, lifting up his face and looking him in the eyes so he can give shape to his desire with words. “Fuck me.”

It’s giving his permission because he knows Tristan must be holding back--he is always too considerate in everything--and the moment he says it Tristan’s composure breaks.

He surges down to claim Vasco’s mouth with a singular hunger, his body a bonfire in Vasco’s arms, running so hot Vasco feels like he’s burning up just by being pressed against him, even hotter when Tristan pushes into him and fills him so well, like they’ve done this a hundred times before.

And the noises Tristan makes, ripped out of his throat and caught against his mouth by Vasco’s lips when he starts to move. Tristan breaks the kiss and tries to smother the sounds against the crook of Vasco’s neck instead, which Vasco thinks is unfair since he has no such cover; one deep roll of Tristan’s hips and Vasco’s breath hitches audibly, voice cracking into a broken moan.

The bed begins to creak beneath them as Tristan’s slow and easy motions turn into harder thrusts, and even through the haze of heat and building pleasure Vasco thinks, slightly deliriously, that they forgot to close the door. If anyone walked in right now they’d see him get lovingly fucked into Tristan’s mattress, maybe even hear the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin all the way from downstairs.

Fuck, he’s going to come.

“Tristan,” Vasco moans, a breath against Tristan’s curls, lost when Tristan slows down again just to kiss him, sloppy and deep and yet somehow perfect.

“I have you,” Tristan whispers back, hand slipping down between them and wrapping around Vasco, and it’s not enough and it’s too much all at once.

Vasco comes with Tristan rocking into him and stroking him, inside him and around him and it feels like the best way to drown, so completely lost to him.

He finds clarity the moment right after, when Tristan pulls out to stroke himself to completion with Vasco’s legs still hooked around his hips and his expression twisted into something between pain and pleasure.

The whimper that falls from his lips as he comes onto Vasco’s stomach is the sweetest thing Vasco has ever heard and he thinks, love-dazed, that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for Tristan.

Tristan breathes out a laugh as he collapses on top of him. “In that case, how about you hold me for a while?”

Vasco does so without complaint, not having realized he spoke it out loud, but he’s sure Tristan already knew.

They stay on the bed for a while, with Tristan tucked against his side in a sleepy embrace. It’s gotten dark outside by the time either of them feel the need to move again.

“I need to clean up,” Vasco points out dryly when Tristan tries to tug him back down. “You only have yourself to thank for that.”

Tristan lets him go reluctantly, pouting about it all the while as he claims the bed for himself in Vasco’s absence. He seems content to watch Vasco towel off the mess, put his trousers on and light a few candles, at least for a while.

“Vasco.”

Snatching his shirt off the ground which somehow ended up on the other side of the room, Vasco turns to look questioningly at Tristan, who is still naked but has a blanket covering him now, reclining back against the pillows.

“Tell me how the poem ends,” Tristan says.

Oh.

Vasco makes his way back to the bed, setting his shirt aside and sitting down as he watches Tristan gaze tenderly at him.

His heart skips a beat when he realizes.

“You know how it ends,” he accuses, flustered, and Tristan smiles wide, leaning over and kissing him again.

“Tell me anyway.”

[snowbellewells]

Face to Face in the Broad Daylight: Chapter One

Hello there, friends!  I have to apologize profusely for this being a couple days late this week. I was visiting family over the 4th, helping to wrangle several little ones under five, and then was exhausted, but the first full chapter of my @cssns fic is here now.  Hope you will enjoy and forgive the slightly longer wait.

A million grateful thank yous to @branlovestowrite for this beautiful banner to go along with the story.  It adds so much, is absolutely beautiful, and I just smile every time I look at it!  Please make sure to send kudos her way for the brilliant work she did.

If you did not get to read last week’s prologue, you can find it here: Prologue

And now, one with the show....

~chapter one: the element of surprise

Sunlight slanted through the tall windows onto the long, wooden shelves crammed and stuffed full of books in all sizes, hard and soft covers, old and new, and onto the table where a petite sprite of a brunette sat at a long conference table with more volumes spread open around her where she jotted several notes in a pad at her elbow. The beams of sunlight bathed her in yellow glow, and golden highlights seemed to sparkle in the strands of her hair as it curled over her shoulder. She was intent on her work in this haven of her beloved stories, so enthralled in her own magical make-believe realm of tales that she didn’t even hear the soft footsteps padding through the aisles toward her, nor the soft chink of the front entrance clicking back into place from her visitor’s arrival.

He didn’t garner her attention in fact until he neared her side, a gentle whisper of her name on a soft, affectionate breath caused Belle to look up in surprise, an exclamation of startled pleasure on her face as her pretty lips formed an “O”. 

“Hello Lass,” Graham murmured warmly, leaning over to press his lips to her upturned mouth in greeting, neither one able to resist seeing the other without wanting to kiss them as well. Belle had spent so many years with a man who cared more for possessing her than actually spending his time with her or allowing her into his confidence. The luxury of loving someone not only open to her care and advice, but who needed her closeness and trust, thirsted for it as desperately and had looked for it as long as she herself had, was something Belle appreciated every day - never taking it in the least for granted.

“Hello yourself, Sweetie,” she answered, returning his kiss, and lifting a hand to stroke along his stubbled jaw with lingering fingers, reluctant to let the contact go.

For his part, a low hum in Graham’s throat, almost a rumbling, vibrated against her fingertips. The wolf inside was happy, turning to mush at her ministrations, puppy eyes and all. Even as their lips parted, he lingered to rub his nose along her cheek and nudge against her adoringly, a wordless signal of his devotion, chuffing almost as a wolf in the wild would to its mate upon returning from a journey or hunt.

“You asked me to meet you here,” the small town sheriff eventually prompted his girlfriend curiously, shuffling back just far enough to sit in the chair to her left. Even at that, he still reached forward to take Belle’s hand in his, twining their fingers and stroking hers with his thumb. “I’m always happy to see you, but… is something wrong?”

Belle looked at him for two, then three, searching moments, seeming to gather herself for a serious announcement. As if finally determining that she saw what she needed to in his face, she leaned toward him as well, bringing their joined hands to her chest. Graham realized then that she was blinking back emotion as she answered, “No, nothing’s wrong. Something is very, very right.”

Seeing him cock his head in puzzlement, she almost giggled joyfully at the truly canine trait before resuming her speech. She could see that he genuinely wasn’t sure what she wanted to tell him and didn’t want to leave him in the dark long enough to make him worry unduly. Graham had lived a far from simple or pleasant life, and snapped into fighting stance at a moment’s notice to protect her and the good life they had begun to build, as if still not certain after all he had suffered that something so precious could truly last. 

“Graham, calm down. It’s fine, I promise. At least I think it is… and, well, I h-hope you will too… I’m - I’m counting on it anyway…” Pausing only momentarily, Belle daintily caught her lower lip between her teeth in just one more slight moment of hesitation. Her wide, dark brown eyes fell to study their joined hands where she had clasped them close to her heart as she gathered the courage to continue.

However, even before that was necessary, Graham tugged gently, bringing the back of her palm up to his mouth, where his words brushed against her skin. “You needn’t worry, Belle. Whatever it is, you must know that I’m here for you… that I’ll understand.”

And with those words, the tiny seed of worry that her news might not be something he’d want, vanished like the dark clouds after a storm, melting away from where they had begun to constrict her throat and loosening her tongue at last. With a sure and steady gaze centered on his scruffily comforting face once more, she forged on with renewed confidence. “Well, it’s just that… for the last week or so I’ve felt a bit off - nothing serious!” she hurried to add, seeing the worry wrinkle his brow almost immediately. “Just not quite myself. I had a suspicion of what might be going on, but after a test and a visit to the doctor, I know for sure. Graham… I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby!”

His eyes, always so expressive and open windows to his thoughts, widened almost comically. He shook his head, seemingly stunned, and opened and closed his mouth several times before he could manage to speak, but when he did, she heard the depth of feeling quavering in his gravelly voice, blinking glassily to hold back tears of his own.

“We’re to be parents? Truly?” he finally whispered. Even as he spoke he was easing to the floor to kneel before her, still holding her hand, his other coming tentatively to rest on her stomach, still almost ginger with stunned disbelief. “I never imagined … never thought… that we could… that I… that we… And you’re glad of this?  You’re sure you’re alright?”

She nodded fervently, now unable to voice her reply, so choked up was she by his reaction. Beaming up at Graham, she was blinking back her own silent tears and couldn’t even care that they were falling.

With his warm, strong hand covering her stomach still, he leaned to press a kiss there as well, making her tingle even through the fabric of her dress. Leaning to rest his cheek against her warmth, Belle found her own free hand combing through his wild curls in a soothing gesture, much as his obvious love and acceptance for the new life within her and his touch to her midsection had calmed her. She had never feared for a second that he would abandon her, but she hadn’t been sure how he would react to the idea of fathering a child. Graham had been alone all of his life until Ruby had found him in the woods and she and her Granny had taken him in. He had never known his own parents, never felt a mother’s caress or heard her sing him a lullaby nor been bounced on his father’s knee. His closest siblings were literally wild animals; ‘raised by wolves’ was more than a mere expression in her beloved’s upbringing. The fact that he wanted this little one, this blessing that would forever link them, that they would have a chance to raise him or her differently than they had been, to care for and protect, making them a family forever, meant everything to her.

When he did at last lean back again to look up at her fondly, Belle saw the hope in his eyes, making them even brighter and more lovely than she had always thought them. Rarely had she seen such uncomplicated, untainted hope in his face as she glimpsed in that moment, her heart fairly overflowing. “And you’re happy, Sweetheart? This is what you want?”

“Absolutely,” she assured, cradling his face in her hands. “There is little I could imagine wanting more. A baby… with you… it’s almost too wonderful to believe.”

He nodded his agreement, a wide, crooked smile breaking across his face with the power of a beam of sunshine. “It’s almost like a miracle,” he concurred. “A child… a pup… of our own.”

Belle nodded once more, “That is why I wanted to meet you here,” she acknowledged with a tilt of her head to her gathered research materials and notes. “I’ve been trying to find out what I can about werewolf-human couples and childbearing. We ought to know if a child of ours would have your dual nature and abilities, if there are many risks to such a child being carried by a human mother… those sorts of things.”

Graham’s forehead creased with worry for her almost immediately. “What did you find?”

“Not much, honestly,” Belle sighed, shaking her head in dismay. “I realize that it isn’t an everyday occurrence, but we aren’t even the only interspecies couple in our town. I would have thought there would be records of others somewhere, that there might be some trace or knowledge of offspring from such a union - at least in legends or lore, if nowhere else. We can’t be the first ones to ever become pregnant… can we?”

The former huntsman’s brow was furrowed in thought, and she hated to consider than he might already be regretting his excitement at the prospect of a child. She wanted the little one she already felt as a part of her, human infant or wolf pup, however they decided to refer to it. Even after a mere day knowing of its existence, she found she was willing to defend its life fiercely with her every breath, every bit its mother. Graham’s clouded aspect didn’t fully clear, but his voice remained calm as he answered her query. “I wouldn’t have believed so - as you say, in a town full of werewolves, fairies, dwarves, and the like, I had almost let myself believe our coming together wasn’t all that peculiar…”

She was already beginning to shake her head against whatever he said next, sensing his hesitation, his fear for her safety, and that lingering blend of self-doubt and shame from the scars he bore, even before he got the words out. “No, Graham, it isn’t… don’t start thinking that! I don’t. Not even for a second.”

He leaned into the hand she was still pressing to his cheek, but he shook his head firmly, not willing to be completely dissuaded as he pressed his lips together before continuing, “But if you would be endangered, Belle… I couldn’t bear it.  I would treasure beginning a family with you… for us to raise a little one together.  But if carrying my child - a part supernatural child - puts you at risk, if it could cost your life… then I can’t help but worry. You’re the best, purest, most wonderful thing in my life.  To lose you now… it’s unthinkable.  No matter what we might gain.  I’m sorry, my Heart, but it’s how I feel.”

Belle simply listened, knowing she couldn’t change his mind nor ease his fears. She would have to hold onto her faith for the both of them for a bit, but she could do that. Something inside told her this little one was going to be a gift, a miracle, and that she would be just fine and there to see it all unfold. Graham’s initial reaction gave her all she needed to know about her love wanting this new arrival just as much - it was only concern for her holding him back. Leaning forward, she rested her chin on his bowed head silently as they drew strength from each other in the hallowed quiet of the library’s walls. To her, her happily ever after had begun when Graham opened the door to her cell and set her free. Every moment they’d had together since had built on that promise, and this baby was one more thing she had once believed lost to her as a desire she would never see realized. If she needed to carry all the optimism for a time, then she would do so gladly - she held her biggest reason to do so in her arms, and an added reassurance was growing within her at every breath.

~~***~~***~~

The afternoon hours had proven rather long and tedious at the station for Emma. Graham had returned from a long lunch visit with Belle bearing a grilled cheese and onion ring order for her in thanks for covering while he did so, and they had chatted a bit as she ate, but something was clearly troubling him which hadn’t been weighing his shoulders that morning. Emma didn’t pry - that wasn’t their way - but she did watch her boss and friend as he retreated to his desk to “catch up on paperwork” and hoped he would let her help if need be.  They had worked together long enough and come to trust each other well enough that she felt reason to hope he would share with her when he was ready, but in the meantime she hated to see him struggling. It had been wonderful to see him happy this last half year, when Emma knew he had spent so much of his life isolated, controlled, and lost.

Needless to say, when Killian had arrived at a few minutes after 3:00, wondering if she needed help with anything, or if she wanted company to ride with her as she made afternoon patrol rounds, Emma smiled at him gratefully, happy for any small diversion from the quiet bordering on monotony. Bidding Graham goodbye, she stood with the announcement that she was heading out on patrol, and Killian followed her quietly with a momentary greeting and wave to his friend. He obviously sensed Graham’s worry in the air as well though, and didn’t even attempt to pursue teasing or conversation beyond the quick ‘hello’.

Once they were settled into the department’s sturdy, if dated, car, Emma backed out into the street, moving slowly down Main and sent Killian a playfully devious smile. “Couldn’t go another hour without seeing me, hmm?” she teased, winking at the retired pirate beside her in the passenger seat. She was more than glad for the company and entertainment, but some small part of her felt the need to hold off declaring it immediately, trying to play just a little bit cool.

“Me?” her wolf man scoffed back, mock affront in his jocular counter. “It was you who jumped up like your seat was on fire and practically drug me out of there the moment I arrived with the offer of my accompaniment.”

Shaking her head, Emma snorted in feigned derision, attempting a haughty flick of her hair over her shoulder, as if his very insinuation was ludicrous, but she couldn’t keep up the unaffected façade for long; instead humor quickly got the best of her, and her frosty, unfazed expression melted in laughter, his deep chuckle rumbling right along with her giggles as she rested her right hand over his forearm where it lay atop the glove compartment when she finally tried to catch her breath. “Okay, Hot Stuff, you win,” she panted at last, eyes actually watering they had laughed so hard. As they reached the end of the street, she turned to make a loop past the school, the convent, and then to check the more deserted and less tended area of Storybrooke out by the old cannery.

Killian waggled his eyebrows with excessive flair as if needling her to say the words of her admission in full. “I win?” he prompted, “Why Swan, whatever do you mean?”

She huffed, though only really making a show of annoyance. “Of course I wanted to get you alone. Why wouldn’t I? A dashing alpha like you?” Even as she made her slightly embarrassing confession, Emma blinked her long lashes coquettishly, gazing up at him from under them for a moment, in a way she hoped was tempting.

Killian swallowed hard, and just like that, Emma knew she had turned the tables on him. He gave her a look every bit as seductive, practically singeing her skin as he murmured, “Easy there, Darling. I doubt you can handle it,” lowly against the shell of her ear. She shivered in reaction with no way to hide it.

For a moment, she had all she could do to bite back a moan at the wash of heat he sent cresting through her veins, press her thighs together against the lust that threatened to overtake her faculties, and simply keep the cruiser on the road. By the time she could see straight again without a haze of desire blurring her vision, they had passed the cannery and were now circling back around the outer edge of Storybrooke’s limits, headed toward the forest and the town line. For his part, Killian appeared quite pleased with himself, sitting quietly in the passenger seat, but with a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Emma knew the time to explain her more serious reasons for being so happy to see him that afternoon would come. If Graham didn’t confide in her, perhaps Killian could offer a listening ear and help him with whatever was troubling him. Of course, they needed to know and deal with it swiftly if the issue wasn’t merely personal but the matter of some new trouble brewing in town. Right now however, she just wanted to sneak a few more private moments with this man she has come to love - and want - so intensely. She had never been able to let go this fully in a relationship before, to give up her doubts and her need to be in control, to let someone else take the lead and trust they were worth following. She didn’t go to prom and then to the local makeout spot with a date, didn’t get to attend college and smuggle her boyfriend back into a cozily crowded dorm room with her scrunchie on the doorknob as a warning to stay out. Emma had never been free to enjoy the youthful abandon that most did, and though Killian had been similar and understood that sort of stolen youth as few others could, he also inspired a bit of it in her now, and she wanted to enjoy it for at least a little while longer.

It was quiet all the way out at the town line where she parked by the side of the road near the “Leaving Storybrooke” sign. With the branches of the forest trees hanging over the pavement, their shade made the spot seem dim and secluded, even in midafternoon. Turning in her seat to face Killian, Emma arched her bow and shot him a challenging look, unbuckling her seatbelt and scooting a bit nearer as she did it. Licking her lips salaciously, her eyes automatically fell to his toned chest and the dark hair smattered across it generously, practically taunting her with its luxuriant abundance. Once her eyes locked onto his deeply opened collar, Emma couldn’t tear her gaze away from the feast before her; one hand moving of its own accord to brush through the thickly curling hair on his chest, appreciating the solid, warm muscle below it as well, and slipping beneath the loose material of his shirt to trail along his pectoral. Her hungry eyes took in his nearly sculpted beauty, and she wondered - not for the first time - why Killian even bothered with buttoning his shirt at all. She spent an inordinate amount of time doing just as she was now, imagining ripping it open completely and sending buttons scattering everywhere.

Killian’s head fell back against the seat, eyes slipping closed as a sinfully deep groan left his lips in response to her wandering explorations.  Emma bit her lip, knowing she was about to unman him even more completely, and yet, hardly caring, simply unable to resist the tempting image he made laid out before her. With one hand still planted on his chest, she let the other begin to work its way leisurely down toward his waistband, slipping her fingers teasingly beneath the tight denim as she worked her way to the button and zip.

Her boyfriend’s eyes snapped open at that, darkened with arousal that made her own pulse pound even more furiously. His hips bucked up toward her questing touch of their own accord, and a whine that sounded nearly as animal as it did human, escaped his throat, but he still managed to ask on a heaving breath, “Emma… are you sure? It’s the middle of the afternoon…”

Gazing down at him, Emma allowed the mischievous gleam in her green eyes to show him just how certain she was of what she was doing. As if to prove her point, she swung her leg over the center console and was already beginning to shuffle across to straddle his form in the passenger seat even as she nodded and answered, “Yes, but the whole town’s quiet. No one’s out here. It’s just you and me, Sailor,” in a low croon.

That last reminder seemed to be the final break in Killian’s tenuous control. His arms came around her, pulling her down on top of him fully and surging forward to kiss her with the same sort of fire that had already captured her. His hand was nearly fisted in her hair, drawing her head where he wished to kiss her more fully, and his hook traced over her curves, seeming to touch everywhere else at once.

Emma practically purred with satisfaction, hips rocking against his as they neared the point of no return, awkwardly close quarters and broad daylight long forgotten, when an inconvenient yet impossible to ignore sound broke into her consciousness. Heavy crashing noises approached through the woods nearby, moving quickly with no fear of noise or damage being left in its wake. She would almost swear the ground beneath them seemed to be quaking with the footfalls even before she heard the mournful howl of a wolf ring out on the breeze. Killian’s eyes were already riveted to the tree line, as if he had known what to expect from the first reverberation, and Emma’s gaze followed in time to see a large wolf break wildly from the forest, howling again and then bounding toward their car with purpose. The huge creature was nearly as tall as Killian when he shifted, but this one was more leggy and lean than her muscled mate - and where Killian’s wolf coat was startlingly black as night, this wolf was an exquisite near-white dusted with almost silvery grey accents across its back and haunches.

The look in the creature’s eyes though was what arrested Emma’s attention. Even before it reached the cruiser, she was throwing the door open, she and Killian scrambling out together to meet it. Just as she had seen numerous times with her love on full moon nights, there was still something compellingly human lingering in the lupine gaze as the wolf neared them, whining and circling, panting heavily, but refusing to sit or be still.

It motioned with its head as if asking them to follow, pawing the ground and then darting back toward the woods, only pausing to see if they would follow. Though Emma’s friend had never actually shown herself to them in shifter form, clarity suddenly came to Emma in a flash. “Ruby?” she whispered, awed and concerned at once. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The wolf dipped its head, as though giving a nod of confirmation, but then shook itself as if banishing all other questions and made for the tree line once more with a pitiful rumbling moan in its throat.

Killian’s blue eyes met hers, clouded with worry instead of lust, their private interlude pushed aside in concern for their friend. He nodded tightly, the tense movement in his jaw flexing before they plunged into the forest side by side, following the werewolf who had taken off again, leading them toward whatever new danger had arrived.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @branlovestowrite @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @spartanguard @laschatzi @bmbbcs4evr @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @darkcolinodonorgasm @therooksshiningknight @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @let-it-raines @drowned-dreamer @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814 @linda8084

[violetmuses]

Fate || Epilogue

A/N: Final chapter of the series! Thanks so much for reading.

Tag Team: @norabrice1701 @stylesthesunflower @dreaminrubies @lovie-barnes @zemoslittlebird @belle82devart @writteninsaturn @nerdysuperchick @schlean @karimac @winterrfalconn @burnthe-witch

====

2023

Helmut Zemo

“There was something strange in my sensations, indescribably new and incredibly sweet. I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be tenfold more wicked and the thought delighted me like wine.” - Robert Stevenson.

Half of the population vanished. Resources depleted. Countless mortals have yet to return or have died. In these past five years, we were left to feed without much sustenance, etched between shadows of the night once more to discover solutions.

In all of our previous battles, we did not find answers, not yet discovering which form Ulrich had taken on in the name of his survival. There was no ruse, but he is alive, somehow lurking among us as if ghosts and other creatures were useless.

In our quest to find pieces of truth behind this ancient miracle, another sense of fear crawled within my form. Vivian was now drifting away from me with each passing day here.

Despite our immortality, ashes of citizens were preserved rather than found during The Snap. Without deeming another host to live through or discovering more ways to feed, she would perish at last, immediately forcing me to be alone once more.

“She is not going to survive. Not this time.” Octavius whispered, standing alongside human medical staffers who dared to enter this home. Vivian, The love of my newest existence, was now bed ridden, awaiting her ending unless I interfered.

“How can you say that?” I then narrowed my eyes, folding both arms over the clothed chest of my grey sweater. The curtains of this bedroom were closed for obvious reasons, protecting us all from daylight and burning sun beams here.

“It is the truth, Helmut. Even some of our greatest heroes of the past could not survive battles of this magnitude. Please understand.” Octavius warned, lowering his voice without pretense.

“How can you give up so quickly?” I asked, still frustrated without yelling and hoping to not disturb Vivian in bed. This entire room nearly transformed into a hospice environment, prompting me to watch her movements, large or small.

Just when Octavius planned to respond, he fell to the floor, immediately screaming in agony out of nowhere. Several human medical staffers almost clamored towards him, thankfully aiming to help regardless of his otherworldly form in this space

Meanwhile, I did not know what to believe as candlelight here in the bedroom fanned out, shrouding us all within pitch-black darkness before I could reach Vivian’s bedside. Even our medics silenced their voices, zoning in on this issue.

“Vivian…” I shuddered near her bedside, hoping that even some type of pulse would still run through her iced veins. My own shell of this heart thumped once more with each passing moment as I attempted to find solutions to our slew of problems.

“I found Ulrich.” Whilst she rested underneath this rash duvet with added sheets, her voice croaked. One small and precious trembled just seconds later to hold my leftward wrist.

Yet, her eyes. Her perfect amber eyes were dimming, losing more and more of their precious glow that I remember from the night first we met.

“Where is he, my love? Tell me, please.” I asked, gently reaching out to sweep back her darkened and shoulder-length curls.

“I…”

“Yes, my love. Take your time. I’m right here.” I promised, knowing that words seemed to dwindle as her condition worsened now.

“I love you…” Her gentle and sweet voice had whispered as we faced another and Vivian, my angel, offered that smile. Even her fangers deemed brighteer than any murderous sunlight found outdoors.

“I love you too, Schatzi. Always.” I kissed her cheek, remembering our need for distance amid chaos near Octavius.

“No! It’s too late. Please spare me. No!” Facing me and these medics all at once somehow, Octavius shouted on that carpet floor, just when those humans strapped him down onto the nearest gurney.

“What is happening?” I whipped my head around, turning away from Vivian’s bedside once Octavius began to reversely cough.

“I’m so sorry, Helmut, but she’s gone. Vivian is gone.” One of the medics was courageous enough to slip past me and noted Vivan’s status, but I could barely hear those damn words.

“You bastard!” Only seeing red, I lunged for Octavius, planning the worst case in my mind without giving another rational thought. After I confronted him now, he would wish for that range of ongoing coughs later.

“I’m so sorry, dear friend.” His voice rasped once more, sounding more and more ragged this time around. I dared to fight Octavius in the darkness, but strong forces pulled me backwards and stumbled my own footsteps.

“No apology can excuse what you have just done!” In that moment, I realized that my own voice layered with another sound, deeper than anything expected here. Every human medic pedaled away from me, spacing us all now as faced everyone.

“It’s happening. He’s here!” Despite heaving through his words, Octavius panicked, trembling his hand forward as he acknowledged my form across the darkened bedroom.

Seconds later, candlelight returned to this bedroom, but the illumination still wasn’t bright enough to burn Octavius and me. At least yet.

“I hope you realize the error of your ways.” My now layered voice had chuckled as I stepped closer to Octavius’s gurney, looming over his strapped and seemingly helpless figure.

“I’m sorry for not telling the truth.” Octavius whispered, still agonized.

“I realized my fate, Otavius, what say you?” My “voices” questioned this shell of that so-called creature.

“Now, you are Ulrich. Now, Ulrich is you.” Octavius admitted, silencing at last to finally meet his own demise.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

A Warm Welcome [h.s.]

A/N: here’s some hades!harry! Sorry if it’s shitty I’m trying to get back in the game! And sorry for any typos and mistakes! Enjoy :-)

___________________________

Being a god comes with a large bundle of heightened emotions and Harry honestly wishes that they had an off switch. Celestial beings are called “celestial” for a reason, after all. They’re abnormally better than any human, and thus they must keep an attitude and air that enforces nothing less, but damn feelings for being able to get in the way so easily.

Gods must be calm and collected under the most extraneous situations, they must rule with an iron fist, and most importantly, they must forbid emotions from deterring them in any way. He’s not saying that he hates feeling emotions more intensely; some are worth the toil. Pleasure, for example, is felt tenfold what any human could handle and he can almost say that this alone makes the troubles worth it. But it’s moments such as now that bring forward overpowering feelings that he wishes he could cast aside: a dangerous mixture of excitement and anxiousness.

More specifically, the excitement and anxiousness that comes with the return of his beloved wife, Persephone (or as he calls her, Y/N), from being away for her given six months of the year.

All is normally well due to the fact that Harry usually throws big, extravagant parties for her returns because he wants the whole world to know that the light of his life is coming back to him, as well as to take off some of the pressure that comes with not seeing her for a long time. He’s talking about an all out, full-fledged celebration with hundreds of different types of flowers adorned all around the dark obsidian palace. All of the gods are invited (even those minor ones that Harry thinks are irrelevant but Y/N carries a fond for) and he brings down the musicians that play up in Olympus because he only wants the best for his precious girl. Amazing food, a ten story cake, and the finest wine and ambrosia brewed all across the seven seas.

But this year, Y/N sent a message with Hermes (whom he knows as Louis) down to the Underworld. As he had unfolded her note, the familiar scent of clementine arose from the scratchy paper and made his eyes pinprick with tears of longing. In her beautiful curvy handwriting, she explains how she doesn’t want a big party this year. That she wishes for the contrary, actually. She wants the whole palace to only themselves so they can take a long walk through all of its expanse and talk about everything that’s happened in the time they’ve been apart. She writes that she loves the parties he throws her, but for this return she just wants some quality time with no one else but him.

And so that’s exactly what he does. When the day arrives, he sends all of his servants out of the castle walls, leaving the place feeling hollow. He sits on his throne waiting for her, fidgeting helplessly. It’s a tall, black steel and celestial bronze number with red garnet and imperial topaz strewn in with the metal. It’s meant to be intimidating and fearful and, well, godly, and he couldn’t love it more. Harry usually feels right at home in the cushioned seat, but at the moment, he feels puny in its shadow; all do to the concoction of giddiness and nerves that stem from Y/N’s return.

He focuses himself on smoothing out the wrinkles in his black silk toga and on messing with the gold emblem that rests on the fabric above his shoulder, right where the back and front of the toga connect. The cherished possession was forged by Poseidon’s Cyclopes at the bottom of the sea, hence why it tends to have flashes of blue in certain lighting. He picks at the ruby eyes incrusted into the ghastly imprint of a skull, tracing the laurel wreaths around its head. His concentration then moves to his hair, which he had cut a couple of weeks back. He hadn’t said a word to Y/N about it in their letters because he wanted it to be surprise. He was sure she would like it because he feels that it fits him pretty well, but now as he sits here with nothing but his thoughts as company, he begins to worry. What if she thought he looked odd? She did really love his long hair– could never stop complimenting the perfect curls that liked to form across his shoulders…

Harry rises abruptly, toes curling against the worn leather of his sandals. His anxiety is going through the roof because he hasn’t seen Persephone in so long and he doesn’t want their first encounter of her return to be awkward. He quickly paces towards the closest mirror in the throne room, footsteps echoing, loud and empty, across the large room. Squaring his broad shoulders, he cocks his head slightly and finger-combs the fluffy, messy curls into place. He curses under his breath as one ringlet keeps curling weirdly in front of his ear and works on taming it, wishing he had some of that new jelly stuff Apollo uses.

He’s so engrossed in his hair that he doesn’t hear the large doors creaking open across the throne room. A single door cracks just the slightest and in slips the figure of a woman, the lights from the giant candle chandelier reflecting off the golden wreath atop her head. The big onyx jewel in the middle of the crown signifies her as queen of the Underworld, the gilded plants at the sides confirming her identity as the goddess of spring. She stands absolutely still at the door, leaning against it’s ginormous frame and watching the young man across the room mumble curses and fiddle with his short curls.

She knows his figure well– too well. It doesn’t take much to give away it’s Harry. The way he stands with his shoulders broad, the silk material of his toga hugging the taunt muscles of his back. The way he’s propped more on one leg than the other do to a back injury from taming his hell hound, Cerberus. The way his tan skin glints like copper, pulled tight over fit arms. Contrary to popular belief, Harry’s skin isn’t pale (underground kingdoms don’t exactly get the best sunlight) but rather a healthy golden tint. She’s not sure why, but she doesn’t question it; it’s a great look on him.

Out of everything, however, the one characteristic that stands out most of all is the way he gives off a certain cold aura that draws her own warm one towards him, as well as the way that every shadow created across the room seems to naturally obey his will, bending over him to cast a dark stain across his silhouette.

Y/N can feel his hollowness crawl across the room, sweeping over her like the waves of a relentless sea. There have been stories that the sheer strength of Harry’s presence has driven mortals to take their own lives do to the desolation he gives off. Being the ruler of death and destruction isn’t exactly a happy job and it’s burden had definitely taken its toll on him, but he had managed to find a way to stifle the vacancy.

That’s where Persephone came in. Her role as the goddess of spring meant that she was, quite literally, the physical embodiment of life and warmth, and thus his polar opposite. It was she that brought the proper seasons around for the mortals to do their harvesting in order to survive, and so it was she that could counteract the darkness Hades resonated.

And right now, she was about to take on the second role again and she couldn’t be happier.

Y/N allows the door to shut behind her, the loud sound of the two pieces of stone sliding into one another booming across the huge, quiet throne room.

Harry’s body freezes up, a sheen of ice materializing across his already cold blood. He can feel his black heart lodging into his throat, his nerves going haywire at her presence. He locks his gaze on her through the mirror, her body somewhat smaller across the large expanse of the walls. His emerald eyes twinkle unearthly, putting the shine of any actual emeralds to shame. One of his titles isn’t “the god of wealth and jewels” for nothing.

Hades turns slowly on his heels, facing Y/N fully. As he takes in her appearance, he can’t help the small, childish laugh that releases from his throat. She looks absolutely breathtaking, a pure white dress flaring out around her body, the shimmering fabric hugging her upper arms as delicate golden chains lay across the tops of her shoulders. A certain glow seems to swell around her, so warm and buttery it makes the candles seem dim. And all Harry can think is, there she is, all beautiful and stunning and all mine.

His feet are moving before he’s even stopped admiring her, walking briskly in her direction. Each step seems to shake the ground, the indescribable mixture of emotions that churns within him finding an outlet in every bound he takes. Y/N takes off too, walking with a certain grace to her that makes his heart melt. They meet in the middle of the room, both slightly out of breath and smiling like fools. He reaches a ring-clad hand out to her, cupping her jaw and swiping his thumb across her supple cheek. Electricity sizzles through their point of contact, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up to the tips. Every cell in his body is screaming to feel her’s, the slight touch setting forward a chain reaction of sensations coursing through his veins.

To his sudden surprise, she lunges first, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing the living daylights out of him. His arms unfreeze from their shock, instinctively wrapping around her waist, face burrowing into the slope of her neck and he takes a deep breath, eyes watering with happiness as the scent of sun and flowers and just life fills his drowning lungs. They tumble back a few feet, giggling like children as Harry spins her around, dress whooshing happily through the air. She cups his face, kissing his forehead softly and he can feel her gentle smile spread across his skin.

He sets her on the ground carefully, pulling her into his strong chest and kissing the top of her head lovingly. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. So, so much.”

“Me too.” Her voice is, for the kick of the joke, like the first breath of spring – it refreshes him, filling every crevice of his body with light.

Harry pulls back, leaning down to prop their foreheads together, staring into her caring eyes and grinning like an idiot. His dimples pop into place and she laughs, reaching up to poke at them playfully.

“You cut your hair!” She exclaims in awe, running her hands through the short locks and twisting them around her fingers. “It looks amazing, Har. Handsome as ever.”

“Y'think so? Was scared you wouldn’t like it…” He mumbles shyly, looking away in embarrassment.

“You look as incredible as any celestial being ever could.” Y/N nudges his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

He blushes (because that’s the perfect thing for the god of the deceased to do) and grabs her hands, intertwining their fingers together. “So you wanted to have a heartfelt chat with me, is that it? That’s why you turned down ambrosia squares?”

Y/N returns his jesting smirk, nodding her head. “Yes, that’s why. But also, it’s because I wanted some alone time with you and I want to be able to–” she leans into his ear, her words causing a shiver down his spine–“scream and have no one hear me.”

Harry immediately stiffens up, staring at her with wide eyes because she’s rarely the most needy in the relationship, and having her practically jump into his pants as soon as she sees him is a new experience for him. She gazes up at him with hooded eyes, slipping the left sleeve of her dress further down her arm. She presses forward, lips latching to Harry’s like he’s a lifeline.

“Already?” He murmurs against her mouth, feeling her hands grasping wildly at his groin and he hisses quietly at her eagerness. “You’ve barely been here five minutes, love. A bit shameful, don’t y'think? And also, I thought–”

He gets cut off by Y/N sliding her tongue down his throat, her teeny whines causing his knees to disintegrate. “Bet you’ve only gotten bigger than before. Longer, thicker– fuck, just thinking about it makes me wanna come.”

Harry pulls away, gently detaching her from him and looking down at her with slight confusion because it’s all so sudden and unexpected.

“Are you sure you want to do this now? I thought we could wait a bit, y'know? Do something romantic, like a big feast for two and then walk through your gardens for a bit! Bathe afterwards and just let natural instincts take their course.” He hates himself for being such a sap with her but he can’t help it. And her letter had suggested she wanted this type of welcome so he had been looking forward to it.

“Harry, I love you and I absolutely want to do all of those things,” Y/N stares directly into his face with the biggest doe-eyes he’s ever seen, chewing at the corner of her mouth as her eyes flicker to his reddened lips and he can sense how desperate she is. “But I’ve been horny from the second I set foot on the first stair of the palace. I just can’t hold off. I just…I want you to fuck me, Har. Right here, right now. Please?”

He blinks at her for a couple of seconds, weighing in what she’s saying. He decides to go with it, fingers sliding the golden chains from her shoulders as she continues clutch his neck. “Alright, kitten. I understand.”

He stops when the dress is about to expose her chest. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

Harry grins coyly, poking fun at her. “Like I said, s'really only been, like, five minutes. No shame, hm?”

“Not at all, considering you haven’t been in me in barely six months.” She quips back sarcastically, shoving one hand up his toga all of the sudden and squeezing him hard, revering in his breathy whimper, which she stifles with her mouth.

“Now take me.” She whispers into the heavy kiss, reaching up to pop the emblem open so that she could pull down his toga to where it pools at his banded waist.

And that’s exactly what Harry does. He takes her right then and there, in front of his throne, with both of her wrists pinned down to the cold marble floor, her dress hiked up her creamy thighs and her breasts swelling out of her garment, crowns discarded besides an alter. He throws her legs around his hips, bucking into her roughly as she gives small gasps of pleasure, his cock pulsing against her softness. He’s bent over her, whispering dirty promises into her ear as he pinches her clit, grinning triumphantly into her neck.

“Tha’s my girl, yeah? Baby’s been gone and hasn’t had a good fucking in months, hm? Wants Daddy to take her right here? Want me to fuck a new sense into you, darling?” Harry’s voice is low and strained as he works on keeping himself from coming, all of those weeks of using his hand being nothing compared to her warmth and tightness. “Fuck, it’s been ages. You’re…you’re so good for me.”

Harry means that in every sense of the thought. Y/N’s good for him because she brings out the best qualities in his death-ridden heart, and she’s good for him in a sensual fashion, breaking him down molecule by molecule and stripping him of his sanity. She’s his complete opposite and he wouldn’t have the same spark with any other person.

Y/N wriggles her wrists in his hold, whining as she arches her back to be closer to him, wanting to be enveloped by his whole body. Harry releases her hands, which immediately go to his shoulders as his arms wrap under her lower back. She snakes her arms across them and down his back, digging her nails into the tight muscles under his toga, throwing her head back and letting out a loud, cracked moan. “Harry, I’m– fuck, you’re amazing.”

Harry licks a stripe up her throat, kissing at her chin as her legs spasm against his hips. “Such a good girl for me, Y/N. Such a tight, sweet little thing…Missed you s'much– missed this so much.”

“F…Fuck me,” she whispers, her voice feathery and desperate.

Harry reaches above her, hands wrapping around the thick legs of his throne, the solid celestial bronze nailed down into the floor so that the chair works as a reinforcement. He pulls upward, arms flexing alluringly as he thrusts hard into Y/N, causing her to scream out.

“Want– to– make–you–feel–so good.” Harry grits out with every slam, head dropping down to allow him to peck chaste kisses onto her swollen lips. The sweat is making his eyes bleary and causing curls to stick to his forehead, but he doesn’t care. She’s here, pliant and slick and begging him for it and nothing else is important other than her.

A meek whine comes from Y/N, her head turning to give Harry access to her neck. He sucks the skin into his mouth, teething until he sees mauve and purple bruises blossom across her delicate throat. He’s panting against her jaw, small choking sounds scratching his throat raw as his thighs clench with every thrust.

“Did you…?” Hades swallows thickly, his sentence cut off by his mouth falling open as she gives a hard squeeze around his length. “Gods, jus’ like that, pet. Squeeze me nice and snug– tha’s it, kitten. So good for me, hm?”

Y/N nods vigorously, hands diving into the hair along his neck and she yanks him closer, noses nudging and breathing mingling. “So big, H. You’re so fucking big and it’s been so long and–”

Harry quiets her with one of his hands, his thumb sliding into the dip of her rough tongue. His gaze is trained on her face, watching as her eyes lull shut as she moans wetly around the digit.

“Suck for me. Can you do that?” Hades mumbles, biting onto his lower lip with fervor as she wraps her plump lips around the circumference of his finger.

“Mmm…” Y/N hums groggily and he can feel the tug of his skin in her mouth as she sucks excitedly, eyes fluttering open all wide and innocent.

“Shit, Y/N, just– just fuck me.” He whimpers brokenly, licking up her jaw to nibble at her left earlobe.

“Feels incredible…” She glubs over his thumb, tiny hiccups of pleasure bouncing against the far walls of the room with every hard slam Harry gives his hips. One of her hands fumbles with the one in her mouth, tugging at it weakly.

He lets her take it, watching as she presses it to her right breast, taking the same wet thumb and passing it over her nipple a couple of times. The shutter that racks her spine leaves her feeling lightheaded and airy, and she gives an encouraging hum. Harry adapts to her request, releasing his hard hold on the leg of the throne and using both hands to cup her chest, bringing them together and giving a long lap to each pebbled nipple. He uses his forefinger along with his thumb, tweaking the tiny nubs and staring at her, mesmerized by the face of sheer rapture her features mold into.

Hades leans down, pressing his warm, wet lips to her ear, his exhales causing her skin to grow red with need. “Did you touch yourself?”

Persephone hesitates for a second, and then nods bashfully.

He grins, humming with amusement. “How often?”

“Almost every night…” Her answer is soft and wistful, as if recalling a fond memory.

He teethes the curve of the shell of her ear, blowing on the wet patch it leaves. “Me too.”

She gasps gently as he gives a hard push and doesn’t relent back, keeping her on edge. The worn marble ground bites at his knees as he remains stationary, buried to the hilt inside her. His fingers pinch the buds of her breasts harder, his body in love with the way she thrashes against him.

“Sometimes I couldn’t sleep,” he continues, voice sultry and low, like blood-red velvet. “I would toss and turn all night, finally just laying on my stomach and staring at the tall headboard, all hot and hard. There would be nights where my hand just wasn’t good enough, so I’d grind my hips into the mattress, holding your pillow close so I could smell you as I did my best to come.”

Y/N’s breathing has gotten faster, her hips wiggling from side to side to try and pry her own pleasure from his unrelenting cock. He won’t move and she can feel him twitching inside her and she needs him to keep fucking her. But he won’t– he’s getting off way more from torturing her with his words.

“Harry, please. Wanna come…” Her eyes are swelling with tears from how destressed she’s grown, her hands grabbing his sharp jaw in her palms so she can force him to see how wrecked she is.

He simply smirks, ignoring her pleading. “Sometimes it would hit me while I was bathing. Those didn’t take as long though– the warm water helped a lot. I’d just rub one out nice and quick, leaning against the cold wall and gasping out your name, imagining your pretty little mouth taking me all the way in.”

Y/N is a shaking disaster, her hands hugging him to her so hard he was sure she was unknowingly tapping into her godly strength. Her gaze is set on the extravagant chandelier above them, all of the multicolored jewels embedded around different curved rails reflecting a kaleidoscope of shades onto their connected bodies. The flames of the candles on the source of light seem to grow dimmer, her eyesight getting more and more blurry by the second as she feels her release bubbling and churning at the pit of her stomach, clawing at anything it can get, which includes her ability to see straight. The cold floor against her backside suddenly becomes prominent, the contrasting temperatures making her head swim with ecstasy.

“Tell me about it.” Harry wraps one of his arms fully under her lower back, the other reaching up to stroke his knuckles against her cheekbone. He cups his fingers under chin and jaw, thumbing over her cheek and lips, infatuated with the ruby redness of her skin.

“I…I don’t–” Persephone begins weakly, shaking her head faster because she knows if she talks about it, she’ll implode entirely.

“Tell me, Y/N. Tell me how you fucked yourself with me in mind.” Hades slowly begins to push his hips back and forth again, euphoria inflating her muscles and causing her to yawp. “Just tell me and I’ll fuck you so hard, you won’t even remember what you said.”

She swallows heavily, mouth slightly agape with shallow inhales and exhales. Her eyes refuse to meet his, focusing on the intricate designs of the wall instead. “I…I used my fingers–”

He interrupts spontaneously, turning her head forward so that their eyes are level. “Look at me. Want you looking at me when you confess all of the naughty things you did.”

She just nods her head docilely, chewing on her bottom lip as he begins to speed up, toga draping down his body loosely with his hair flopping around and his tan skin simmering to the touch. He breathes in deeply, opening them with leisure. The look behind them is predatory with nothing but sheer lust.

“Go on, then. What’d my baby girl do without me beside her?”

“I used my fingers.” Y/N repeats quietly, eyes rolling back into her head as Harry suckles along the subtle dip of her collarbones. “And I–fuck, I…rubbed myself.”

He nods encouragingly, moving to bite down on her lower lip, pulling it away and allowing it to snap back into place. “You miss my mouth any?”

She digs her nails harder into his back muscles, feeling them flex under her fingertips. “Yes. Wanted you doing it…”

“I’ll do one better.” Harry leans back onto his heels, grinding his hips so that his cock slicks in and out of her fast and hard. He places one arm behind him for balance, using the hand on the other to slap Y/N’s dripping clit. Her reaction is immediate, body arching off the ground as he forces her legs to stay down. He slaps faster, pinching every now and then and letting his head fall back, neck vein protruding across his clammy skin.

“Little longer, peach. Warm little cunt gonna make me come so hard. Gonna take all of me in there and love every drop, yeah?” Harry gives a particularly hard smack to her folds, grunting heavily as she cries out excitedly.

It doesn’t take long at all for her to release, body slumping into the cold, shiny ground with her brain floating around high above the ceiling with the chandelier. Harry coaxes her through it, falling forward again so that his forearms are on either side of her head as he presses his nose to the underside of her jaw, pooling light kisses and mumbling encouragement. His hair tickles her cheeks, the smell of cinnamon and sandalwood evading her nose and causing her to melt.

“Tha’s my girl. Squeeze fo’ me– little more, sweetheart, c'mon. Daddy’s got you.”

He rides out his own orgasm, gasping and mewling lightly as he feels his balls tightening and then release in a flush of warmth. He gasps out as he feels the first ribbon of come spurt out thickly, trickling into her steadily as he continues to fuck her limp body.

“Oh, Gods, I’m–oooh, fucking hell!” His eyes squeeze shut as his whole face crinkles in pleasure, a hand fisting her hair as his hips jerk spastically against her’s.

He slides the other hand under the backside of one of her knees, hiking it up until it’s at the level of her navel, opening her up fully to be filled completely. He sports a tiny, wistful smile, drunk off his climax as he nips across her chin and with each word, he thrusts the last couple of times. “So– fucking– hot.”

Harry pulls out slowly, hearing her whimper quietly at the sudden emptiness. He sees himself spilling out of Y/N and begins chuckling as if he were high off his ass, giggling against her chin and blinking up at her with shining, watery green irises, the tiny specks of gold winking like stars. “So full of me. Won’t be able to get me out of your veins for days. Y'smell like me already…”

He sneaks two fingers between her thighs, bringing them up to his mouth and licking at her dripping release. “So sweet fo’ me.”

“Need–” she swallows, moistening the sandpaper that is her throat and blinking the black spots from her sight. “Need a cool bath. And you and wine and cuddles.”

And who was he to deny her that? He pushes himself up onto wobbly feet, gaining stability soon enough. He adjusts his toga, clipping the emblem back together and tugging it loose around his legs. The sweat had really done a number on the silk cloth. Leaning down, he slides his arms under her back and legs, scooping her up bridal style. She wishes she could move, but she literally cannot feel her legs and she quite likes being a right “damsel in distress” for a little bit if it gets Harry to carry her up a flight of stairs and into a tub.

“You’re burning up and I don’t think it has to do with your godliness…” Harry coons playfully, voice echoing around the bathing chamber as he slips the soft shimmering fabric of her sleeves down her sweaty arms, kissing each of her shoulders gently. He buries his face in her neck as he eases her out of the dress fully, large hands coasting down her arms and around her waist to cup her bottom. He gives it a good squeeze, breaking into laughter when she gives a sudden jump. “Hundreds of years old and still got it.”

Y/N shoves his shoulder, glaring daggers at him as he shrugs it off like it’s nothing, attempting to hide his shit-eating grin. She dips into the cool, bubbling water of the obsidian tub, sinking down up to her nose.

Harry leans his shoulder against the chamber wall, a small, fond smile warming his lips. She stares up at him, blowing bubbles into the water and wiggling her eyebrows childishly.

He chuckles lightly. “Gods, I missed you. Don’t think I can express it enough.”

Y/N floats over and sits on the stone step that circles the inside circumstance of the small pool, patting the water next to her in a signal for him to join her.

“Can’t seem to stop getting me naked, can ya, love?” He unlaces his sandals, toeing them off as he undoes the golden rope around his waist that holds his toga to his body. He pulls the garment over his head, tossing it in the general direction of a marble bench.

He descends into the churning water, going under and paddling towards her. His head breaks the surface, hair matted to his neck and head, covering his face completely. Y/N pushes it back, revealing the silly face he’s making underneath. She draws him closer, sponging her lips to his nose and giggling as he scoops her into his lap, head cuddling against his strong chest.

Hades’ chin rests atop Persephone’s wet hair as he caresses her back, feeling his heart swell in his chest. The couple sit there for a while, naked bodies pressed together, yet there is nothing sexual about it anymore. It’s innocent and sweet, filled with stories about their time apart and splash fights and Harry’s stupid jokes that Y/N rolls her eyes at but secretly loves. And Harry sits there, staring down at her laughing face with her nose scrunched up and her teeth showing and he knows he would never stop loving her.

Not in a thousand years, which he freely has to spare.

________________________________

A/N: ahhhHHHHHH HADES HARRY IS MY FAVORITE THING. I hope you guys like this! I haven’t been writing much lately and I apologize for that but I’m trying to get back into a routine of it :-) thank you so much for reading and for your patience and support and feel free to drop by my inbox with opinions❤️☺️

- Andrea :)

[theemptymenstory]

Chapter 2

Consciousness found its way to Tenga slowly. She let herself hang there in the blissful grey world between sleep and reality, when the mind is awake but not yet in contact with the body, and thoughts flitter untethered and a person simply just exists. Distantly, a bird chirped. The sound was happy, relaxed. The sound came again, but this time it was more clear, stirring Tenga back to life and bringing the weight of consciousness with it. With a faint feeling of sadness, Tenga eased herself back into the world.

A soft light was pressing against her eyelids, but she didn’t open them yet. First, she cast her mind down her body, mentally feeling for damage. Her muscles and nerves were still asleep, but a multitude of cuts and bruises announced themselves to her. Then she found what she feared most, the sickly pain of a broken bone. This was coming from her left hand, and she bore down on the pain until it became manageable, something to deal with later. Aside from that, there was nothing catastrophic. Slowly, ever so slowly, she began to sit up.

Instantly the pain flared all over. It was the protest of a damaged body being pulled from rest, her now-awake from singing its anger at the treatment she had given it the night before. But she gritted her teeth and managed to sit up, gasping as fresh scabs split open all over her.

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Her mind was numb. No emotions, not yet. That would come later, but for now she was detached. This was what had failed her last night, stopped her acting as she should have done, the terror consuming her. But now she was calm, and already thinking hard.

Her eyes fluttered open. A thin shaft of pale light had worked its way in to the burial mound, turning the interior a faint grey. Theedor lay next to her undisturbed, he was deeply unconscious and curled up into a ball on the floor. He had fared badly. Being less used to running through dense bush had left him with deep welts on his face and chest that Tenga had taken on her arms. His chin was covered in dried blood from where he had bitten his lip, and she could see tear tracks down his cheeks. Two sets of tracks she saw, one set down the face past the mouth, and the other sideways, running towards his left ear which was still pressed to the ground. She closed her eyes and shook herself. The image of Theedor rose in her mind unbidden, in the darkness next to her sleeping form, listening to those things outside…

She shook herself again. Make it up to him now! Concentrate.

They were in the entrance of the burial chamber, the area where the sick and dying were brought as Theedor had said. It was a small space, half-again as tall as a man along each side and made of mud-packed mossy stone with intricate carvings on every available surface. A heavy musk hung in the humid air, and thick dust lay over everything. Behind them was the narrow doorway that lead to the tomb proper. It was a black hole, about six feet tall, and carved roughly in the shape of womanhood. Tenga remembered Theedor talking about the rituals before. The belief was that death was a time to be reborn again in the next life. The elder women who delivered babies would also carry the bodies of the deceased through the opening, and were the only ones permitted inside the inner chambers lest the ancestors be disturbed. Living men were strictly forbidden, and were not normally allowed even within the entrance chamber unless under extreme circumstances and always accompanied by a woman. Their bodies could not create life, but merely sustain it when a woman had given it to them, and so the passage from this life to the next was kept from them until it was their turn.

Tenga turned from the doorway and the slumbering souls of the ancestors, and went to wake Theedor.

He was deeply unconscious. Tenga tried to wake him as gently as possibly, shaking his shoulders and whispering his name. She was desperate to be as quiet as possible so as to not disturb the tomb. The ancestors may have tolerated them this long, but she didn’t want to push their luck. Theedor was still fast asleep, so she did the only thing she could think of and pinched his neck. The effect was immediate, Theedor shot upright shouting and thrashing. Tenga easily caught the arm he blindly threw at her and for a second had to fight back the insane instinct to hit him back. Instead she held his wrist and hissed a warming at him to be quiet.

‘Theedor! Theedor it’s me, Tenga!’ She softened her whisper as he slowed down, and instead sat with his eyes darting liked a startled animal. ‘It’s ok Theedor it’s ok. Calm down, it’s day, it’s day and you’re alright.’ She kept whispering as he calmed down, his breathing gradually returning to something like normal. Tenga could almost see the memories of the previous night flashing across his eyes, but at least he was still. She took a deep breath of the earth-scented air and petted him absently as she ordered her own thoughts.

There was no way to know the direction they had fled and where the camp was, but the angle of the sunlight told her that it was either mid-morning or mid-afternoon. Either one was bad as daylight was now their most precious resource. Tenga patted herself down, seeing what was left of her kit. Her knife was still hanging from her belt, but her waterskin was missing. Aside from that, she had her tattered spring clothes and the boots on her feet, and a collection of new injuries. It was a pitiful selection, so she turned to Theedor to see if he’d faired any better.

‘What’ve you got left?’ She asked, more abruptly than she intended. Theedor looked up.

‘I…not much…’ He relieved himself of his equipment, putting it next to Tenga’s knife. It was a pathetic pile. Theedor had only his small herb-preparation knife, nothing like the hunting knife of Tenga's, and a small pouch of purified rowan ash that was used in a lot of ceremonies. His own water skin had been lost during the night, leaving the two of them with only the merest dregs to sustain them. Corsak's amulet sat on the top of the lot, and Tenga felt emotions stirring behind the stone wall of her mind as the opal caught the light and sent it back in fragments.

 Using the parts of their clothes that were beyond repair, Theedor fashioned crude bandages for the worst of their wounds. They were more for the psychological value than any medical benefit, but both of the felt better with them on. The water was shared between them as they were both dehydrated and the tattered water skin wouldn't have held anything substancial for long. Knives went back in belts, boots went back on feet, Corsak's necklace went over Tenga's head before she could stop and think about it. Finally, they both stood on shaky legs and pushed open the battered wooden door.

 ***

 The pain quickly fades to nothing, and then there is only blackness. Blackness for a long time. Such a long time, but time has no meaning here. There is nothing in which the time can exist, it is a word without meaning. There are no words here.

 Only the blackness.

 But then, can you hear it? The Other Place is calling, calling silently to you. Follow it, follow it away from this nothingness. The Other Place is promising you that there will be no more pain, no more need to fear. Can you feel yourself slipping? Moving towards it, towards the Other Place and its call.

 It's so easy. Your will is slipping too, draining away like water into dry earth. Was there a reason for you to stay, to go back? Something you had to do, someone to protect? It doesn't matter now, because the infinite darkness is receding and the light of the Other Place is in front of you, and around you, and becoming a part of you now. There is peace here, and contentment, like a warm bed after a long day when your muscles all relax and you just let yourself go. The First Place, the place you came from, is far behind you now. It's a darkness fading in the distance and the invisible glow of the Other Place dissolves your worries like memories of a dream. Finally there is peace.

 You try moving in this Other Place, but there is no body to move. Instead, you feel yourself travel through the glow, directed by your carefree will. There are others here you can sense, others in harmony and happiness, simply existing in a place that is free of the stress and danger of the First Place. Another brushes past you, and you feel that it is small and fast and gentle, and that it may have had a different kind of body in the First Place. That doesn't matter now though. All are the same here.

You sense that this place is not uniform. There are lumps, bulges and stretches, with quiet patches in between. You realise that you can sense all of it, that you can sense everything here in the Other Place. While you are here, your mind is as expansive and free as the universe. You experiment, setting yourself as wide as possible, soaking up the sensations of uncountable others coexisting, before condensing again and concentrating just back on yourself and your place in this Place. Rivers of minds flow here, mountains of thought soar and oceans of souls wash between them. There is a landscape formed by those that inhabit, but it is not flat. There are no dimensions here, and so this world of beings expands in every direction at once, through each other and part of each other. Twisting together and reforming all at once in a symphony that is both instant and eternal. And there is space for you, there is space for you in all of it. You spread yourself again and -

 A shock! Lurching. Unpleasant. Like falling awake from a dream. A ripple is sent through the Other Place, and the glow withdraws from you slightly. You sense you are being observed, that the other beings here are waiting to see what just happened.

 Another lurch! This one actually moving you, as much as movement had any meaning here. There is negativity here now, new and unfamiliar, and you sense that you are its source. The other beings retract from you, and you can feel yourself being dragged backwards, backwards and away, away from the Other Place. You realise with horror that you are being pulled, inexorably and unstoppably pulled, back towards the First Place. Away from the serenity and peace and back, back towards the First Place, with its darkness and its pain. The glow fades, surrendering you as easily as it engulfed you, and the promises of peace are replaced with longing and ache. Now it is the Other Place that is so far away, and the darkness is around you again, and the peace has left your mind and the pain is back like a heavy blanket being draped over you.

You are falling.

***

The Sunlight is like a physical blow as Theedor steps outside. Tenga covered her face with her arm and Theedor did likewise, waiting for the pressure in the back of his eyes to disappear. Through squinting eyes, they took stock of the world, bracing for the carnage and horror that they remembered from the night before. Theedor looked, and everything was...

 Normal.

 Totally normal. Unnervingly normal. Cool spring light filtered down through the budding tree branches, creating creating a dancing mat of patchwork shadows on the ground. The air was crisp against their abused skin, the sun having not had time to chase the last of the night's cold away, and the last of the dew clung to the tips of leaves around them. A bird chirped loudly in the trees, commenting on their sudden appearance but without alarm, and the familiar scent of damp brakken filled their lungs.

 It both sobered them and confused them. Theedor turned to Tenga.

'Where are we?' He knew it was a stupid question, and he knew she wouldn't know, but what else was there? He wanted to ask where the carnage of the previous night was, why there was no physical mark of the terror and panic that had consumed them the night before?

 'It's morning still, look at the dew. We have more time than I thought.' Said Tenga. She turned her head, scanning the sky and ground, 'I don't know which way we ran last night, I don't recognise any of this...'

 'We couldn't have gone too far.' Theedor offered, trying to be useful. 'We were half a day's walk from camp, and then ran for most of a night. That puts us about two day's walk away...'

 He trailed off, and Tenga finished his thought, 'But we don't know which way we ran Theedor. We can't just set off randomly and hope.'

 Theedor was looking around, trying to find anything that could help. The burial mound they had hidden in wasn't much use. Each clan did things in their own way, with unique rituals, markings, and dress according to their own deities or ancestors, but burial was something that they all agreed on. The Other Place was the final resting place for everyone, and all were equal there. Therefore only the tiniest of individual flourishes were permitted, and those were mostly in the inner chamber. The outside of the burial mound was pure stone and mud, without any signs that might tell them who it belonged to. There was some small scratches on the bottom of the door from small animals, but nothing that he could see aside from that. He swept his gaze over the dirt in front of the mound.

 The footprint almost carried a physical force when he saw it. Fresh, bare footed, Theedor would make out the individual toes of the footprints. He let out a choked sound, the only thing he could manage as the memories of the night came back unbidden. His arm flapped in Tenga's direction as he tried to get her attention. Now he was looking he saw more, and more, dozens of the things. He felt the warmth drain from the sunlight, the colours fade out of everything as his world narrowed to the ground that was littered with these signs of those...things...from the night before. For a minute, just for a minute, the sunlight and the birds and the trees had made everything seem like a dream, but here in the wide-open daylight was a perfect reminder of what had transpired. Bile rose in his throat as he heard Tenga come over, heard her gasp as she saw what he'd seen.

 'How did we miss these?' She whispered. Theedor looked over and saw that her eyes were darting and her mouth was set in a thin line. He knew her, he knew that she had a mental wall that she could lock all her emotions behind, and she had that look on her face now. And then suddenly she shouted happily 'The footprints!'.

 Theedor looked at her, startled and confused.

 'The footprints Theedor, they'll show us the way back!' She was right, they hadn't exactly been subtle last night. Theedor wasn't a clan hunter, but even he could follow footprints and smashed flora. He looked at Tenga again, and saw her grinning at him with her eyes shining with victory. Victory, and just a hint of mania.

 'You're saying that we track them? We hunt those things? The things that hunted us?'

 'Exactly! But not tracking them, using them to track ourselves, our own path! Look, we came through that gap there, which is...' She checked the shadows on the ground and calculated for a second, 'almost dead South!'

 Now they knew where to look, Theedor saw the ragged hole in the vegitation that they'd smashed the previous night. Nature healed quickly, but there path was still fresh and obvious. He looked towards the Sun himself and saw that it was making its unstoppable progress across the sky. And he knew what the setting Sun would bring. So, not trusting himself to speak, he nodded at Tenga, before they both squared their shoulders and started re-tracing their steps.