#rainbows pottery studio

[dailychrisevans]

CHRIS EVANS Announcing fundraising winner Rainbows Pottery Studio’s IG

[shougojo]

what do your moots remind you of?

tysm for turning this in nonnie, i was really exited to try this <3 & the fact i thought i had NO MOOTS when i literally have like 33 💀

@wvnrqs — ribbons & bows, old newspapers, pretty swans, tulips, bubbles during a summer day, vintage books

@ode2rin — cats, plushies, desserts, pillow sheets, clouds during a sunset, slice of life vlogs

@yuzurins — chirping birds in pretty meadows, bubble tea, spring mornings, green tea, flowers, plants

@okkalo — golden coins, rainbows, duckies, cardigans, soft breeze at night, lakes, cherries

@noomon — the sun, diaries, simple yet beautiful things, love letters, projectors, mini fireworks

@yoisami — serenity, raindrops falling down a window, youth, modeling posters, strawberries, bunnies

@mikareo — twinkling stars, lattes, romance k dramas, museum of arts, recording studios, eclipse

@rinzsu — instagram posts, cookies, snowman, masquerade balls, photo albums, the beach

@hanrinz — stars, k-pop concerts, snowflakes, headphones, mini skirts, candles on a rainy day

@rosequarzo — japanese folktale, lucky money, headphones, fantasize by ariana grande, toast, waking up at 2am for a snack

@adoregojo — modern universities, polaroids, black & white manga, hairclips, milk tea, bonnets

@riekiss — winter wonderland, snow angels, jewelry, dolphins bumping noses, mini skirts, slowly plucking petals off a flower

@popponn — frogs ofc, matcha, perfectly healthy & straight grass, keroppi, bootcut jeans, chanel soap

@rewh0re — autumn leaves, wooden instruments, music notes, greek & rome mythology, poetry, sacred monuments

@y2kuromi — sand castles, colorful ice cream flavors, perfect pair by beabadoobee, staying up to talk with friends until 1am, pretty seashells, butterflies

@pokkomi — glitter & sparkles, staring at clouds, fantasy genre, cargos, hello kitty, angels

@yunymphs — models, laufey, coquette aesthetic, anything gucci, attractive girls, money

@520cafe — sparrows, cats chasing after yarn strings, thirsty by aespa, picture frames, rice with soy sauce, playlists

@etoiile — lipstick, fashion, staring at the starry night sky, french cookies, milk, daisies

@moonswolfie — coffee, studying with a candlelight during a rainy day, scarves, autumn breeze, biscuits, puppies

@kyoghurts — saturn, friendly aliens, lipstick stains on a white shirt, peach eyes by wave to earth, carp streamers, chalk

@kxttqi — lilies, sunrise & sunsets, lion cubs, melting candles, strawberries, pretty instagram posts

@kaiser1ns — book shelves, j-pop, cheesecake, birthday streamers, lucky money, tigers

@rninies — aventurine, unforgiven by le sserefim, pochacco, mangoes, flip phones, figurine boxes

@iluvies — kaomoji, koi ponds, expensive restaurants, red velvet cake, pottery, bunnies that have their nose scrunched up

@lovedazai — sweet bananas, lily of the valley, bouquet of roses, the smell when you walk into a bakery, prom nights, fairytales

@scopuo — jjk theme song, video games, dvds, tote bags, japanese apartments, thrift stores

@culturity — watching edits at 3am, stargirl, cleared remix by lilithzplug, nokia phone, laces, ramen

@myuroll — my melody, rubber duckies, alice from wonderland, koi fishes, cake rolls, the feeling when when someone gives you a compliment

@noirflms — flower petals, cherry blossoms, coquette clothing, hoodies, pinterest whispers, apocalypse by cigs after sex

@wishmemel — wish me mell, chocolate covered strawberries, the moon, pretty nails, new york at night, mcdonald’s chicken nuggets

@saelique — ocean waves, san-x, doves, kindergarteners (bc ur cute & fun ^^), friends to lovers trope, headphones, staying in bed for 5 more minutes b4 school

@yeritos — pudding, iced coffee, pearl necklaces, mesmerizing color palettes, skipping rocks, mary jane shoes, lamp

[giverobinagfbrigade]

What if Steve took up pottery after everything.

He’s spent 4 years destroying things, tearing things apart with his hands and once it’s all over he wants to turn those same hands to something positive. To turn them to making something instead of pulling it apart. He cycles through hobbies, sketching making his hand cramp and the constant re-drawing tearing holes in the paper, the permanence of paint on canvas to terrifying and embroidery causing an ache in his eyes with it’s miniature stitches. All until he reaches pottery, it never make his hands cramp or his eyes ache and he could work the clay and re make the pots over and over, shaping and reshaping until it was just right.

So it sticks. At first he used the wheel in the studio at the school but with gentle encouragement from the party and Joyce he buys a second hand potters wheel and a small kiln from a house clearance. He sets them up in a corner of the garage furtherest from the house and late at night or rather, early in the morning he sits and works the cool clay over with his hands, the hands responsible for so much destruction, until it’s pliable. He takes it and forms it into whatever shape he can feel it trying to be. Over the weeks he creates many items, pots, jugs, mugs, cups, plates, bowls, dishes, stands and occasionally, when the spin of the wheel isn’t what he needs he sculpts tiny creatures and people with his fingers.

The first of these creations are plain and rough to the touch, unable to be washed as they were left unglazed. When Steve realised that you can’t use an unglazed mug for actual mug things, he purchased glazed, at first just clear and 5 colours, black, white, red, yellow and blue, but slowly he expands his collection, amassing all manner of different colours and finishes.

After the first couple of months practice, when the cups are even and the lids fit their pots, Steve begins to make things to give to the people he holds dear.

The first gift he makes is for Robin. It’s a little bird on a ships wheel, painted onto a mug, it’s slightly wonky and the paint is a little wobbly but it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. She cries when it’s first handed to her and she treats it like the smallest breeze will break it. But she still drinks her coffee from it every morning and cleans it the moment she’s done, lest the drink stain the glaze.

The second is for Dustin. This is a little jar, with a tiny cats head sculpted onto the lid. Painted with little scribbles of equations and formula, planks constant painted slightly thicker than the rest. Dustin hugs Steve so hard it makes his bones creak when it’s handed to him and he holds it in his palms like it might disappear in smoke if he lets it go.

Third is for El, he throws her a plate and spends hours painstakingly glazing the sunset from hopper’s cabin onto it. It’s a little thicker than it probably should be but it might not shatter so sharply if it ever breaks that way. She hugs it to her chest like a teddy and kisses Steve’s cheek. She tells him she loves it, and he knows she isn’t lying.

Number four is given to Erica. Unlike the others this one wasn’t thrown it was sculpted by hand, smoothed and stretched until the clay formed a tiny horse. He paints it the colours of the rainbow and places the fires piece into a tiny box. Erica sniffles when she opens it but she still calls him dickweed when she thanks him. He knows she adores it when he sees her wearing it on a chain like a necklace three days later.

Five is for max. This one the result of hours of research. Steve first throws a mug, then with the help of Robin and 2 books on braille he adds tiny lumps of clay to write two phases on the mug accompanied by their English written counterparts. First is “Max’s mug touch at your own risk “ the second is “ handle “ followed by an arrow in the opposite direction of the handle. Even through her heavy glasses he can see her tear up, but before he can reach out to hug her she reads the handle sign and cracks up, laughing so hard the tears track down her face anyway when she realises the arrow is misleading. The thick black lines of the writing a stark enough contrast against the white mug that she can see there’s writing rather than just feel it.

It’s a little while between the faith and sixth pieces but it makes it even better when it’s finally handed over after the end of season game. The sixth piece is for Lucas. It’s a little person holding a ball aloft like the Statue of Liberty, standing atop a goblet style cup that Steve took an age to throw quite right. Lucas tackles him to the floor and says it’s the best trophy he’s ever won. He sheds a couple tears when he reads the inscription on the bottom plaque.

Number seven is gifted to will, technically it’s two pieces. Created after hearing him talk of the perils of painting and drinking after hellfire one night. Two cups, different in size and shape as well as design, both painted a beautiful gradient, one of purple to green and the other blue to gold, with the purple and green with “paint water”written in curling letters across it and the blue and gold with “drinking water” in the same letters. Will thanks him sincerely and hugs him for far longer than normal. A week later he hands Steve an envelope containing a painting of a knight that looks suspiciously like him wielding a familiar bat like club. Steve is the one crying this time.

The eighth piece is given to Johnathan. It’s another piece shaped without the help of the wheel. This time a pipe, glazed in shining oxides and bright colours, painted over in tiny white stars. Few words are exchanged when it’s handed to him but even when struck speechless Johnathan finds a way to communicate his gratitude, holding open his arms to Steve. When he gets his words back, Jon invites him to christen the pipe, Steve politely declines. He’s sure the pipe receives much use.

Nine is handed gingerly to Hopper, a near perfect plate with “best dad I’ve ever had” painted i swirling letters across it, coloured a beautiful red. Hop clears his throat, tells him it’s beautiful then hugs him with almost too much force, cracking a joint in Steve’s back which sends them both chuckling. It’s on display in the cabin the next morning.

The tenth is presented to Mike. A small box which seems to confuse the boy until he opens it to find a version of his character laying inside. He stares down at it for a few moments, mouth open like he’s not sure what to say. Then very tentatively he wraps his arms around Steve in the first hug he’s ever given him. He speaks, a little muffled my Steve’s shirt “ You really are amazing Steve. “ . Steve pats the kids hair and beams.

Piece eleven is given to Joyce. It’s the biggest piece he’s made yet. A large round thrown plant pot, made in lovely terracotta clay he found specifically for this. Made after Joyce confessed she’d been trying out gardening. She kisses him on both temples and both cheeks and tells him she wouldn’t mind a third son. Steve cries again this time.

The twelfth is given to Nancy. It’s another hand sculpted piece, this time a beautiful pen holder, painted a soft pink and decorated with gold filigree work. He wrapped it in pink tissue and places it gently in her hand, Nancy is so quiet Steve starts to panic but as he opens his mouth she drags him into a rib creaking hug. “Oh Steve it’s beautiful.” He just smiles and tells her this way she’ll always know where she put it when inspiration strikes. She squeezes him a little tighter.

The penultimate piece is given to Wayne Munson. With everything that’s happened, and the slowly growing relationship between Steve and his nephew, Wayne is almost his second adoptive father. Steve takes a little while deliberating on what to give Wayne, a mug for certain but he wasn’t sure what to decorate it with. But after being startled awake for the third night in a row the idea finally seemed to materialise. When Steve handed him the finished mug a week later he clapped him on the shoulder, placed the mug on the table and wrapped him in a hug. He called Steve son and this time they both shed some tears. The next time Steve entered the house the “ best uncle in law “ mug was proudly displayed with the rest

The final piece, well pieces, were given to Eddie. It was a slowly growing collection, crafted over the course of several months. The first of these was a simple cup, painted a marbled red and metallic black courtesy of Steve experimenting with oxides. The second a mug proudly displaying the words “fuck Mordor” in beautiful curling script across one side and a painted mountain the other, created just after he and Eddie began reading the series together, taking it in turns to read a character aloud. The third and final piece was far more sentimental a small replica of a human heart, created after much study of library references, painted to look like a sunrise. This he placed into a little box with a note reading “ to my sunshine, you’ll always carry my heart with you .“. Steve placed these three together in a bag, each wrapped in tissue. He took them with him on a quiet Tuesday night on a visit to Eddie. And with shaking hands he held the bag out towards him. Eddie took it, looking perplexed until he opened the first wrapper, revealing the mug. Eddie had watched all the others slowly be gifted pieces of Steve’s pottery, even his uncle, and wondered if and what he would receive. He held the mug reverently in cupped hands, “ Oh Stevie, it’s beautiful-“. Steve only smiled, biting his lip and gesturing back to the bag. Carefully Eddie removed the second gift, the cup. Holding it just as carefully as the first, stroking over the surface with his thumbs, before placing them both and the bag down onto the table and holding Steve’s face in his hands. “ There’s one more. “ Steve smiled at him “ I need to kiss you till you can’t see straight first.” Steve only laughed and leaned in, meeting Eddie halfway. It was a soft kiss, full of unspoken affection, and when the two separated he gestured back at the bag. Eddie smiled and shook his head before taking the last piece out of the bag. Slowly he began to unwrap the tissue, then he opened the box. He went dead still, exhaling a shaking breath “ Oh sunshine -“ he reached out to cup Steve’s cheek with one hand, cradling the tiny ceramic heart with the other, “ that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve beamed “ It’s a human heart baby, it’s not exactly cute.” Eddie shook his head “Oh it’s plenty cute, you made it it’s gotta be.” He paused “ I love it. Nearly, nearly as much as I love you. “. “Yeah?” Steve bit his lower lip, smiling. “ Oh definitely honey, I love you so much.” And if that same heart had a permanent home in a picture frame above eddies bed next to the note it came with, then no one mentioned it.

//AN : Okay if you made it this far holy shit thank you, I apologise for the gifts being cheesey as fuck or kinda shitty but I tried. This was born after watching the great pottery throw down with my parents.

[keithsandwich]

More Than That

Pairing: Keith/OC (Maeve)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Rating: Mature

Tags: Modern AU, Pre-Relationship, Pining, Massage, Accidental Boner, Love Confessions, Nudity, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Kiss.

Summary: Keith finds himself ready to get a massage, but the massage therapist is the woman he has feelings about.

Notes: Based on this post. No beta, so please, be nice! If you see any errors, let me know!

He opened his eyes to see a white wooden ceiling with a basket pendant light. The light was off. There was no need for it when the sun shined brightly through the open window. Sunbeams hit the little prisms hanging next to the flowy curtains, casting little particles of rainbow around the room. And the room, as it slowly unfolded to his perception, was a very simple and small one, with a light-colored tapestry hanging from the wall across the window. There was a vintage counter with many drawers. Above it were some little amber glass bottles, plants, candles, and sticks of incense burning — their smoke spiraling beautifully in the air and spreading a sandalwood and jasmine scent. The sound of a gentle running water complemented the scenery nicely.

Keith was so relaxed laying down in the middle of the room that he felt like he had woken up to a dream. 

A door opened and closed behind his head, and another mix of aromas joined the already delicious scent symphony. Bergamot, rosemary and basil in a coconut base. It was cozy. Before Keith could close his eyes and let himself sink in that comfort, a soft, hushed voice made his eyes snap open and his heart race inside his chest.

“Told you I wouldn't take long.”

Maeve appeared in his field of vision, beaming brighter than the sun and holding a small pottery bowl. She walked across the room, and as Keith followed her with his gaze, a sudden realization made his breathing falter and the palms of his hands sweat coldly.

He was naked.

Well, almost. There was a towel wrapped around his hips, and he prayed he was wearing his boxers underneath it. He wished he could check, but that would be too weird. Now that his other self had got him into that situation, Keith had to go along with it somehow. 

He tried to rationalize it. Maeve offered massage therapy along with other forms of natural healing in her studio. He was most likely in a room at the back, ready to receive one after he scheduled it behind his back. He probably knew Keith would have a panic attack about it, and was enjoying watching the whole situation.

His chest was moving erratically and tensely as he struggled to breathe, knowing that the woman he had been daydreaming about was getting ready to touch his body with her bare hands. 

“You know, being so tense is a little counterproductive here,” Maeve said with a soft laugh while tying her hair up in a messy bun. “Relax. I promise I won't hurt you.”

“I-I’m so sorry, I… I've never had a massage before…” he lied. Keith had had massages before when he suffered a muscle strain. It was very different then, however. Not being in love with the massage therapist made the whole experience much easier.

“First of all, you have to breathe.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath herself, moving her hands up and down in front of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled. Maeve looked so cute he simply couldn't close his eyes and mimic her. Keith had to watch her soft movements, her pursed lips, her kindness overflowing in every gesture. 

It was almost unbearable. He wished he could run away so he didn't have to hide how much he wanted to kiss her.

“Are you feeling better now? Or do you need a few more minutes?” 

Maeve had grinned beautifully when she opened her eyes. There was no way Keith would ever be ready for this, but he knew he would be wasting her time if he kept stalling her. Maybe closing his eyes and breathing could indeed be helpful.

“I'm sorry I'm taking so much of your time. Go ahead, I… I think I can relax more during the massage, I mean… that's part of the benefits, right?”

Keith laid his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. He could still feel the warmth of her smile in her voice.

“You'll see there's nothing to be scared of. Soon you're gonna get all comfy, I'm sure of it,” Maeve sounded quieter and quieter as she spoke, until her voice vanished and only the running water remained. 

She touched his right foot first, delicately, but not so light it would tickle him. Still, he shivered. It was her touch, after all, spreading that fragrant oil on his skin and working on it with undivided attention. Maeve applied the right amount of pressure on the sole and made circular motions on each toe. Keith bit the inside of his cheek to try to prevent any weird sound from coming out. 

There should be a way to go through it without doing anything inappropriate. Maeve was a professional massage therapist, touching him professionally. No matter how he felt about her, his first priority was to respect her. 

Maeve… a profissional. 

Maybe he should focus only on the later part. With closed eyes, Keith could pretend it was someone else giving him a massage, anyone else. Just a… random therapist.

A therapist that didn't have the best smile, one that highlighted the cute little freckles spreaded all over their cheeks and their nose. A smile that reached gorgeous green eyes; eyes that mesmerized him. Eyes that made him captive, and Keith had to watch himself not to stare at them for too long.

But when he did, Maeve would giggle, blush, tug her hair behind her ear and look away with that smile on her face.

No, she wasn't the person who was now massaging his calves with firm, yet delicate hands, no. He tried to visualize again that faceless therapist. A person without a name that tasted so sweet on his tongue whenever he said it out loud. Maeve, Mae, may I make you mine? Mine, mine, my, Maeve. 

His cheeks tingled and burned. He felt so pathetic.

Keith took a deep breath and tried to concentrate again.

Those hands sliding up to his thighs belonged to someone else. Someone whose hair didn't smell like a mix of tropical, aphrodisiac flowers. That scent that whenever blew his way aroused instincts Keith wasn't even aware he had within himself. His body would tremble as he struggled to control the need to take each lock of Maeve's hair, each braid, and devotedly kiss it. He would press his lips together while resisting the urge to pull her silky strands aside and nuzzle against the back of her neck, where that scent was probably stronger.

And he would almost cry when thinking of it alone, yearning to discover what other aromas were hidden in Maeve’s body.

Keith felt the touch going up towards his covered hips, fingers that would slip underneath the towel, but graciously turn around his hip bones and make their way down without the slightest of the brushes against his… pelvis. He clenched his fists; wishes too dirty to admit filling his mind. 

Once, when they were working together in his lab after hours, they accidentally bumped into each other. Maeve had been washing some beakers when Keith tried to reach for a flask on the shelf above the sink, being careful not to touch her. “Excuse me,” he had murmured softly, keeping a safe distance while stretching his arms out over her. She was so small next to him, it shouldn't be a problem. Still, he had to stand on his tiptoes to get the flask he wanted while maintaining the space between them. That's when Maeve turned around unexpectedly, as if she hadn't heard or felt his presence behind her, causing him to lose his balance. Keith was able to hold the edge of the sink in time to prevent a fall, but in this, he ended up pressing her body against his for a brief, shocked moment, when they looked at each other's eyes awkwardly before he moved away, apologizing like never before.

Those few seconds were enough to etch the memory of her frame on his flesh. Her heat, her breath, all the curves and soft parts. The way her lips parted only slightly, as if she was about to say something. Keith could have so easily slid his tongue between them, claimed her taste, and made Maeve his. But it only happened in his fantasies later while remembering this moment, again and again. Each time making him feel dirtier, more perverted, more unworthy of her trust.

And it was very, very inconvenient remembering all of this now, as her hands were on his body. Except… they weren't.

Keith almost froze in fear, but he had to open his eyes to see what happened. And when he did, he found Maeve staring at the towel on his hips. And the towel on his hips had that shameful, disgusting, completely inappropriate volume he tried so hard to avoid, but his mind tricked him. She suddenly moved her startled gaze from that part to his eyes, her cheeks bright red. 

“I'm sorry!” they said in unison. 

Keith sat straight so quickly he felt dizzy, and Maeve shook her head and touched his shoulders, intending to make him lay back down again on the massage table.

“Maeve, I'm so sorry, this is so disrespectful of me to… to… you know, ah,” he babbled. His mind was so hazy he had to rub his temples to try to think straight. His stomach was churning. “You must think I'm a creep, but I didn't mean… it… I don't want anything weird, I just…”

“Keith…” Maeve said his name patiently a few times until he finally let her talk. And she did, still holding his shoulders and looking into his eyes so sweetly it only made everything worse. “Relax, this is normal. This is absolutely normal, you don't have to feel so bad about it. It's just a physiological reaction, you know that, don't you?” She smiled reassuringly and slowly moved towards the door, making soothing hand gestures. “Try to breathe, I'm gonna bring you a glass of water. Hold on. Don't go anywhere.”

Maeve left the room gesturing the whole time. Keith could tell she was worried about him. She was way too good to him, much more than he deserved. His chest was hurting with guilt. He knew the right thing to do was to get away from her, don't contact her again until those feelings vanished and he was able to behave appropriately with her — like a friend. Just a friend.

Or not. Maybe never seeing her again was the only option. Keith would never be able to be just friends with her, and Maeve deserved so much more than a failure like him in her life.

He sighed heavily and lifted up the towel to check the situation down there. Boxers on, excitement down. Feeling gloomy like that was useful for at least one thing. 

“Here we go!” Maeve got back with a glass of water and her typical warm smile gracing her face. Keith accepted the glass without thinking while she leaned against the counter in front of him. “Are you feeling better now? Just say the word and we'll continue.”

“Maeve… Sorry, I don't think I can,” he said, looking down at the water. “I'm sorry for wasting your time, but I did something unforgivable. You shouldn't be so nice to me, that… That wasn't just a physiological reaction,” Keith admitted. He had to. He should do at least one right thing to her. 

“What do you mean?” Her smile was fading, but it was still there, weak and confused. “You didn't do anything wrong, it was just your body, that's okay…”

“It's not just my body.” Keith felt his throat getting dry, so he took a sip of water. He could feel her puzzled stare on him, but needed that moment before continuing. “Mae… sorry, Maeve. I can't get a massage from you because I want you. I have feelings… For you.”

“Keith…” She placed her hands over his that were still around the glass. He looked at the delicate fingers she must've washed to take out the excess of oil before pouring him water, but they were still soft and fragrant, and they enveloped him in warmth. He didn't know why she was touching him like this, not after his confession. “Do you know why I've apologized to you too?” Keith couldn't remember her apologizing, all he thought about was his own shame. Her face flushed and she continued before he could express his confusion. “Because I was staring at you inappropriately. I… I have been interested in you for a long time now, but I thought…”

“Interested in me?” he interrupted her, making Maeve look at him with eyes that begged him not to make her explain any further. “It’s just… You know that I'm a loser…”

It was her time to interrupt him, but not with words. Maeve leaned forward and planted a kiss on the corner of his lips. Keith could feel the softness of her mouth, the closeness of her gesture as she pressed her nose against his cheek, and her eyelashes fluttering ever-so-slightly as she closed her eyes. The air coming out of her lungs gently filled his own. It made his heart race madly, coursing so much life through his veins he could just burst in joy. He smiled. The tension left his body and he tilted his head towards her kiss with a need that was much sweeter than the ravenous desires he had for her.

For Maeve deserved nothing but sweetness. Even if she wanted him too, he would do it the right way, accepting the love she was giving without being greedy. Keith could only be grateful. The most beautiful woman in the world had just kissed him.

It felt like paradise.

Maeve looked into his eyes after pulling back from the kiss and then lowered her stare sheepishly. She took the cup of glass from his hands and put it on the counter slowly, as if she was still in a daze herself. 

“I think you're right, I can't give you a massage right now, it wouldn't be profissional of me,” Maeve said with a small laugh. Keith couldn't stop smiling, even if he tried. Taking all the steps that would hopefully lead them to share a real intimacy would be better than pretending he was just a patient, and she was just a massage therapist. They were more than that. She had just confirmed it, and he hadn't felt that happy in a long, long time. “I'm gonna brew us some tea while you dress. We can… Just sit down and have some tea together.” 

“We can…” he echoed her words, too enthralled with what just happened that he couldn't say anything else. Keith couldn't even move for a moment after she left the room to give him privacy to dress. The scent of the oil they shared, the touch of her hands and lips, her breath, her care — it all lingered and embraced him in a way that left him full of love and frightened at the same time. What if it all went away the moment he left the room?

What if Maeve changed her mind?

Maybe being in love was a pleasure and an agony, but this is where he was right now. And Keith would not run away.

.

.

.

Tag list: @bicayaya @olivermorningstar @queengiuliettafirstlady

[happyk44]

Percy rarely goes to museums with Annabeth. For one, hearing her talking so passionately about things he doesn't understand (or care about) makes him horny. Two, he gets easily bored on museum tours and wanders away frequently, which irritates her. And three, as much as Annabeth loves explaining things to people and appreciates that Percy likes when she infodumps on him, she's always disappointed that he can't give back much, if anything at all.

He tries to engage and ask questions, and she'll specifically try to word her information in ways that make coming up with questions easy, but it's hard for the both of them, and sometimes it's not worth it, and despite both their best efforts, they can get frequently annoyed with each other on these trips, because Annabeth wants to take in everything at sometimes near glacial speeds just so she can hit every detail of what is offered, and Percy just wants to move from exhibit to exhibit at a steady, consistent pace, then get a hot dog from the cart outside.

Luckily Nico loves history, and arts. His passions don't always line up with Annabeth's and vice versa, but having dozens of conversations with various ghosts under his belt, he can match her energy really well. And she's always able to engage him, because even with shit she doesn't find particularly interesting, she still likes to learn.

So it doesn't come as much of a shock when Annabeth starts calling out that she's heading to opening of a new exhibit an art or history museum with Nico. Or that he's gonna take her to see some recent archaeological finds, or on a casual tour of some random country/city/town/village to scope out the architecture.

When this started while Annabeth was still living at camp, people used to laugh that Nico was her secret boyfriend. It was so funny because Annabeth and Percy are meant to be, written in the stars, and Nico is gay. But it was almost true.

She'd call their outings dates sometimes, and despite spending the whole day together they'd still spend hours talking in the grass afterwards, and she'd perk up just as excited to see him as she was to see Percy or Grover. Always ready to tell him about something new, or the answer to something they were both wondering about. If she saw him walking by, she'd call out to him - pausing in conversation to run up and say hi.

Which is why Percy isn't all that surprised when he comes home to their tiny studio apartment a few days after moving in to find Nico splayed out on the floor in front of the bed idly talking with Annabeth as a documentary on the civil war plays from a large monitor Annabeth took from camp and attached to her laptop, because they do not have the space for a TV.

It's a few months in when Nico shows up one afternoon with tickets to an art gallery in Spain. Annabeth isn't around, but Percy is and he grins widely when Nico tells him why he's there.

"You know if you weren't gay, Nico, I'd be worried you were trying to steal my girlfriend."

Nico fidgets rapidly in place. His thumbs tucks and untucks around the tickets in his hand. Then, he huffs, "Maybe I am."

And isn't that a thought.

Percy scratches the back of his head and throws on the kettle. Coffee tastes disgusting, no matter the amount of sugar and milk he throws in, but he won't deny the caffeine gives him that sweet clarity he's begun to get far too used to each morning. How Nico manages to take it straight black and oh so bitter is a mystery.

"Well, she is my girlfriend, so don't be surprised if she says no," he laughs, back to Nico as he pours a generous amount of ground beans into a cat mug, then a moderate amount into a mug from a pottery session with Estelle. They swapped cups afterwards so she got his "how manh different blue glazes can I fit on this" mug and he got her "so many rainbows and unicorns and they're all handdrawn and awful" mug.

It's one of his favourite things in the whole world.

"Who says she'd say no," Nico fires back when Percy hands him his cup of bitter darkness.

Percy adds far too many Splenda packets for one mediocre cup of coffee and considers that, leaning against the counter while the heat from his mug warms up his hands.

He takes a slow drink then answers, "Then I guess I'd want to see what all the hype is about."

They don't do museums. Percy takes Nico to some skateparks first. Nico is shit at balancing, but he tries anyway, and asks Percy about the different moves other skaters are doing. He doesn't talk much though, which Percy appreciates. He doesn't mind talking about what he likes, but there's also just a serenity in being able to observe, which Annabeth isn't the most akin to. She likes to learn, wants to know things, is almost militaristic in her need to acquire more and more information.

Percy just wants to be. Exist in tandem with the flow of the world.

They go to aquariums and zoos. At the aquariums Nico makes small comments here and there, and asks little questions like "Are they talking to you? How do they feel about living in an aquarium? Wouldn't it be bad to have sharks and small fish in the same tank?" Percy answers where he can. He likes telling Nico about all the things the different animals say about the people passing through. Nico laughs and groans and rolls his eyes at every fishy comment.

Zoos are more observatory, with Nico taking the lead for information. He mentions offhanded the better conditions of the animals than when he was young. Eyesight sharp, he points out the ones Percy can't spot, laughs when Percy recoils from creepy crawlers. Spiders are one thing. Giant roaches are a complete other thing. But Nico coos like they're kittens and jumps at the chance to touch and hold when it's offered.

He's much more tactile than Percy thought. Barely flinches when someone taps his shoulder to squeeze by. When the kids at the park help him readjust his passing or pull him up from a fall.

Doesn't shy away when Percy lets his hands drift to wrap around his. Just breathes a little shakier, but holds on.

They walk through cemeteries, and have picnics beside graves so old no one visits them anymore. Annabeth comes and wants to know everything about the person they're using as a backdrop. Nico indulges her without hesitation, and the sound of their voices flow into gentle background noise in Percy's ears. He talks when it strikes him. And when finally exhausted of her need to know things, she lays beside him, head on his chest. The ghost will shimmer out of view and Nico will tuck his knees to his chest, and smile down at them.

Sometimes Percy wants to pull him into the middle of them and keep him there.

Sometimes Annabeth wants to do the same.

Sometimes Nico wishes they would.

They're not incomplete without him. They love each other to end of the world and beyond, through treacherous walks in hell, through staring down gods and titans. Percy knows all her secret fears. Annabeth knows all his deepest loathings. They have date night dinners at cheap fast food restaurants because neither can tell the difference between a five dollar plate of pasta and a thirty dollar plate of pasta. They still get dressed up because it's fun to look fancy at a place that isn't, and because it's date night and they supposed to look nice on date night. They go to movies and make stupid jokes in the back of the theatre. He listens to her verbalize every thought she had on the film, all her meta and theories and grievances, and he easily gives back as good as he can because, hey, this isn't a boring museum where he has to look at a statue and pretend to have feelings about it.

But there's something about Nico that makes the world feel bigger. He's not a missing piece, and he's not a frame holding their picture together. He is not a need, not a requirement.

He's a visceral want, a desire, an enhancement.

No, the painting of horses above their front door wasn't necessary, but doesn't it make their apartment look better? Add a smile when it's seen? Feel right to have in that spot?

Doesn't it make their tiny studio feel like home?

"You should stay," Annabeth whispers one night. Percy's half asleep, vaguely aware that the movie he was dozing through had come to an end, credits rolling with peppy music echoing through Annabeth's speakers.

Nico is sat on the edge of the bed, never too close, not when the world is private between them. He lets Percy hold his hand in crowds, lets Annabeth loop their arms together. But when the world goes quiet and everybody else drifts off, he shifts away. Always so subtle. Releasing Percy's hand to pick up something or sort through his bag. Removing his arm to point at a picture. Shuffling out from under arms thrown over his shoulder to find a bathroom. Or get something to eat.

And he sits on the edge. Like there's a boundary wall keeping him out.

There isn't.

They would never put one up for him.

He doesn't answer as he slides to a stand.

"Spend the night," Annabeth insists, a little louder. She reaches for him, loose and weak. Not wanting to push. But wanting him anyway. Hopeful.

Nico turns and rubs the back of his neck. "I don't-"

"You don't have to cuddle," Percy murmurs. "Just." He leans over Annabeth's stomach and smoothly pats down the open spot beside her. "Sleep with us."

Nico fiddles with his hands. Then tilts his face away. The thin sliver of moonlight through the broken blind illuminates his him sweetly. Reflects the soft line of his jaw, and the nerves in his eyes.

"We're toeing the line," he says at last. The acknowledgement of their situation hangs heavy in the air. They've never talked about it before. "And I've been fine with that, but if I stay, then..."

What does it mean when the seventeen year old you've been going on faux dates with spends the night in your bed? If he leaves, he's just a friend. If he stays...

"What if we want the line to break?" Annabeth says and Percy hums an echo of an agreement. Black eyes go wide as Nico turns to face the two. "The line doesn't matter to me." Percy hums in agreement again. She reaches out for him, and so does Percy. "So just stay."

They still don't talk about it after Nico slowly slinks into their bed that night. They keep their distance at first but each night he stays, they creep closer and closer to him until one morning they finally wake up tangled against one another like human oragami.

But, no, there aren't any labels. There aren't any talks about what it all means, or who they are to each other. No talks about introductions, or secrecy.

There's no real need. They carry on as normal. And the changes that do happen, the shifts in dynamic, are too small to worry about. Nico's clothes finds space next to theirs. Percy fills the cat mug up with bitter darkness every morning that Nico awakes by his side. Annabeth drags him to museums and lectures. Percy laughs whenever he falls down at the park. They struggle to read aloud plaques about animal facts. Nico summons ghosts at cemetery picnics and sits tucked in between them, like the space there was made for him.

And when Annabeth kisses his cheek, just on the edge of his mouth, there's no shock or disturbed jealousy. Instead the image twists something pretty in the pit of Percy's stomach, and goes hotter the next time Nico returns her affections, this time clean on the lips. When Percy wraps his arms around Nico's waist and nibbles sleepily at his throat, Annabeth smiles gently and makes silly jokes about whether Percy wants a real breakfast, or if Nico's throat will be enough.

It reminds her of them in the early days of cohabitation, when Percy would slide up, sleepy, into her back, and nuzzle at her cheeks and neck and shoulders, and she'd flip pancakes, telling him food would be ready soon, that he didn't have to resort to cannibalism.

It's strangely comforting to see her life reflected on someone else. Maybe it's just because it's Nico. Nico who doesn't look at other girls like he looks at her, and Percy, and other pretty boys. Nico who corrects her and doesn't back down when she gets indignant because she hates being corrected. Nico who massages her ankle when it aches since it never healed quite right, and gentle nudges her bones and joints in proper place each time.

Nico who holds Percy back when he walks up clawing at the air from nightmares that still plague him, although they come by less and less. Nico who makes over-sugared coffee for him even though he thinks it's disgusting and an affront to the very nature of coffee. Nico who battles hard and meets Percy head on in every spar, no hold backs needed on either side.

Nico who slips into their bed more and more each night. Nico who lets them hold him when he cries. Nico who takes them to his family's grave so he can mourn his mother, his sister, and all the others he can just barely remember. Nico who doesn't hide from their curiosities. Nico who lets them rub ointments into old scars and bully him into resting when he's clearly tired but too stubborn to lay down.

Nico who they love, deeper than the ocean, and as unyielding as the strings on a loom.

They don't know what it really is between them - intense platonic polyamory, an interconnected romantic triad, a split romantic triad, a friends with benefits thing, an exclusive arrangement? Who know, who cares?

It's theirs - museum dates, and skatepark fails, and ghostly picnics, and stupid jokes in the dark of a theatre, and tangled mornings, and all.

[bun-lapin]

TWST Mementos HC: Octavinelle

A/N: Headcanons I have for what kind of memento/object of sentimental value the characters from Twisted Wonderland would give you to symbolize your special relationship. This time it's about Octavinelle!

Azul: An expensive, one of a kind teapot and cup that he bought from a master pottery studio. It's a deep blue color decorated with lines of gold in a kintsugi style. He has a matching tea cup and will often bring new tea blends for you to try together.

Jade: A large terrarium he made for you containing soft moss, some ferns, and a few tiny mushrooms. The inside is decorated with beautiful shells and crystals placed carefully in the moss. At night, the mushrooms give off a gentle glow and make the shells and crystals sparkle with light. Whenever Jade visits you, he'll check on the terrarium and offer advice for its care.

Floyd: A candy jar he decorated with googly eyes and a smile made from glued on seashells. The jar itself is made of a beautiful glass with a rainbow sheen. Floyd likes to call the jar "Mr. Candy". When he notices the candy in the jar is getting low, he'll yell "Time to feed Mr. Candy~!" and then dump all the candy he's currently carrying into the jar.

[bigboxcar]

Mugshot Monday - "Double Rainbow Bloom Mug" by Amy Brummond at Pine Zen Pottery with Up North Tea by Well Rooted Teas

Happy Labor Day for those who celebrate!

I'm so happy to have this mug--it made me smile as I enjoyed some afternoon tea on this hot sunny day in Minneapolis.

I've been following Amy Brummond at @PineZenPottery on Instagram for years and have always wanted to buy one of her mugs.

This weekend I got my chance when I met Amy in-person for the first time at her studio in Anoka, MN.

The first thing I noticed after arriving was all the awesome pine trees that her house and studio are nestled within. It's gorgeous and so peaceful. "Pine Zen" is a perfect name for her space.

There are 2 kinds of Double Rainbow Bloom mugs--this one is an "outie" where the stamper design sits on the surface of the clay. The "innie" is the same design, but the stamp imprints into the clay.

Both designs are so gooooood.

If you're looking to buy one of Amy's pots, you'll want to check out Amy's shop sale set for September 8 at 8pm CT. She'll have about 100 pieces for sale including lots of different mugs. 🤩

Amy added a small packet of some delicious tea with my purchase. Well Rooted Teas is a local Minneapolis tea maker offering hand-crafted teas with herbs from local organic farmers combined with wildcrafted native botanicals. It's really really good.

Cheers! 😀 Summer is officially over, y'all!

See also my 700+ photos from the Mugshot Monday project here: www.MugshotMonday.com – Every Mug Has A Story

[georgiapeach30513]

Rainbow pottery studio posted about Zendaya stopping by. Is that the same place that Chris did the raffle with?

Sounds like it. But I don’t follow them.

[sidewayspeace444]

Did you see the IG post Rainbows Pottery Studio made regarding the wedding? Talk about cringe 🤮 I think they’ve been sniffing too many pottery fumes if they think what we’ve seen over the past year is a “magical love”.

https://www.instagram.com/p/CxGhEr8Oyd3/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

Someone should add HITTY to the S because that’s how it looks

[potterybyliampeters]

A small batch of “Crackle” Bowls and More. Glazed in a rainbow of colors 🌈❤️🌀😁#potterybyliampeters #ceramica #ceramiclicious #ceramics #pottery #textures #texturedpottery #handmadewithlove #handmadeisbetter #handmadeinsanfrancisco #sanfranciscoart #bayareaartist #handmade #texture #clayprocess #cooleffect #ceramicart #ceramicartist #pottery #artsaveslives #gallery #crackle #bowl #cracklebowl #cracklebowls #laguna #cone5 (at Rubys Clay Studio and Gallery) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpGcRtJvzWp/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[halloweenvalentine1997]

We sat on the banks of the Seine and looked in its depths. We lay on our backs and pushed the clouds away with our imaginations until we could see nothing but blue, blue that hurt, blue that became the black of the universe. “What are you looking for?”, you asked, and I said, “I’ll know when I see it.” We tried to find my blue in the pottery sold by a Turkish man in a street market; in a handful of bursting berries. We stopped in front of a Chinese restaurant with a tank full of live fish and stared at their rainbow scales. We brushed our fingertips over the heads of pansies in window displays, and counted the navy knapsacks of schoolchildren in uniforms. We went back to the studio, finally, and you mixed paint: aqua and cerulean, indigo, sapphire. You took your brush and stroked them in stripes on the back of my hand, up the inside of my arm. We watched the twilight, all the blues of night being born, and you turned me into art. It was when you moved in me, when you cried out my name, that I found the color I’d been searching for. That blistering blue of your eyes. I’ve been looking for it ever since.

- from The Book of Two Ways by Jodi Picoult

[erindrewpotter]

Rainbow blessings on my workspace 🌈

Find me on Instagram: sketchingerin

Etsy: HandsInTheDirt

[allthingskakashi]

• Forelsket •

[ Kakashi x Reader]

Fluff Prompt: “I like the way your hands fit in mine”

Tags : Fluff, Hokage Kakashi, Potter/Artist! Reader 

Words : 1.4k 

A/n : Okay soooo here it is, my first fanfic after over a year, i am so nervous about this and hate it vehemently to be perfectly honest, but it has been so long and i really wanted to post something. I’ve been struggling with writing a lot lately and am finding it super difficult to finish anything i am starting because nothing seems to be working out the way i wish it would but anyhoo...i managed to finish this so....here it goes.  Any criticism is completely welcome, i’m very very rusty so i am fully prepared for this to flop. The anon who had requested it probably is not even here anymore, and i am so sorry it took me a year to finally get to writing this lmfao. Okay that’s it. Hope it doesn’t disappoint too much. Thank you so much for reading!! ily <3 

Kakashi had never seen so many pots in his life.

Nor had he ever seen you, in your faded blue overalls, hair stuck to your face and strewn about in every direction, with mud in places of your body mud should never be.

His gaze danced along the ceiling-high shelves, with queues of vases, pots, and bowls of varying shapes and colour stacked in neat rows. The amusement in his half lidded eyes wasn’t concealed.

“So this is what you do”, he stated, his voice taking the tone of a little boy seeing a rainbow for the first time.

“This is what I do”, you repeated. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

When you’d mentioned to Kakashi, the Rokudaime, that he could stop by at your studio sometime to watch you at work—which, despite your multiple protests, he seemed really insistent on doing, you hadn’t thought that he’d turn up at your door, apron in hand, at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday morning.

Especially after that night.

And yet, here he was.

“Well...” Kakashi muttered sheepishly, “I had some time to kill.”

“And....what’s the apron for?”

“I thought I could help you”, he stated, as if him being in your studio in the middle of the day, after that night , offering to assist you in pottery—something you were pretty sure the Copy Ninja had never done before, was the most natural thing in the world.

“Help me...you”, you registered his words, raising an eyebrow at his lean, tall figure that was watching you with a kind of confidence you could not even hope to feign.

“Help you, me, yes“, Kakashi replied with the same nonchalance with which he’d walked in.

You exhaled.

“Right...Okay.”

Rubbing your hands on the pockets of your overall, you watched Kakashi slip the apron in over his head. It had the Konoha Medical Department’s emblem embroidered on the breast pocket—he must have borrowed it from the Laboratory.

You wanted to laugh.

He seemed to have put a fair bit of thought into this.

And well, it was not like you hadn’t been driving yourself crazy for the past few days either...

**

That night had been like any other, with you and Kakashi walking back to your respective homes, engaged in amiable chatter. 

It had rained copious amounts the day before in Konoha, and every step of the cemented road was littered in large puddles of water.

There had been a particularly large one at the lane right across from yours, and Kakashi had taken your hand in his—a completely ordinary gesture for a man of his heart, to help you cross—a gesture that he’d have made for any layperson, be it a child or the elderly, friend or stranger in passing. You knew that. 

And yet, despite the normalcy of the gesture, despite the sheer predictability of it...you’d found yourself buckling at the knees at his touch, the sensation of Kakashi’s hand gently, but firmly gripping yours transcending beyond just your palms.

You couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it felt for your hand to be in his, how completely, devastatingly painful it felt to realise that it would only last mere seconds.

You’d wished there would be more puddles, wished you’d fall into one if that is what it took, and that’s when it happened. The words rolling off your tongue before you had any way of halting them. “I like the way your hands fit in mine”.

The words had been clear, despite how much you wished they had carried even a hint of ambivalence in them. But they were clear, and so was the intent of their speaker.

Of course, Kakashi had masterfully shrouded his surprise, and of course, you’d changed your verses immediately, shifting the conversation to the following day’s forecast before hastening your pace with incoherent mumbles of being late for something, but no amount of escaping, digressing, talking about the weather and pretending like you had said something else could alter that event.

The words were out there. You’d heard it with your own two ears.

What followed the events of that day was of course, complete and unadulterated avoidance. There was no way you could show face before him anymore, but with him being the Hokage, that posed a few complications. He was everywhere.

And so you’d started coming in for work at the crack of dawn to avoid having to work late, you’d gone to markets miles away from your neighbourhood to buy a packet of ramen, you’d taken dingy alleys and unlit lanes to travel home—all to avoid coming face to face with Kakashi.

And you’d succeeded.

Until today.

Because here he stood now, in your small studio, the Rokudaime—in all his glory, wearing the Konoha Medical Department’s apron that he borrowed so he could come help you in the middle of the day on a Wednesday—with a glint of eagerness in his eyes that made your stomach flip within your belly.

“Well?”, Kakashi’s voice tugged at you come out of your stupor. “What should I do?”

You looked around yourself, wrecking your mind to come up with something you could ask him to do that would suit his stature, and his dexterity—or lack thereof, in this regard.

“Um...” you fumbled, watching him eye the abandoned mould on the wheel in front of you which you’d been working on since morning.  “I guess you could...help me make this vase for a wedding order I received yesterday”, you said, eyes avoiding his.

He beamed at the invitation.

“As you say”, he replied with a....(was a tease in his tone?)...as he took his place on a stool behind the pottery wheel.

The absurdity of the scene in front of you made you fall short of words.

Kakashi’s expectant eyes waited.  

You reached for another stool, placing it opposite Kakashi before sitting down facing him, already feeling his eyes on you.

“Okay so um...you just...place your hands on the mould, and do this...” you explained, moving your hands in sync with the wheel as you shaped the clay into curves and bulges, building it into the form of an amphora.

Kakashi’s dark eyes stared in awe, watching in marvel as you let the familiar feel of clay take your mind away from the unfamiliarity—but not adversely so, of Kakashi being so close to your, watching you, your feet almost touching.

“Can I try?”, his voice broke through your concentration.

You let the wheel come to a slowly dwindling spin, before retracting your hands from the piece. Kakashi brought his forward, pressing his palms onto each side of the vase, touching it as if it were the wings of a butterfly.

He looked up at you for reassurance. “Yes, that’s it”, you mumbled, watching Kakashi’s masterful hands moulding your piece with the same diligence and skillfulness of a seasoned potter.

“Wait, hold on” you scrambled, leaning ahead to wrap your hands on his as he fumbled to bring the mould to a narrow concave at the top, his hands faltering, but gaze as steady as ever.

It took a few seconds for you to come to the realisation that your hands were on Kakashi’s, the mud from your palms staining the back of his hands in slimy brown goo.

But by the way that his eyes softened on yours...he didn’t seem to mind.

You continued in silence, the soft whining sound of the wheel the only noise between you, keeping you apart and yet somehow binding you together.

The vase was beginning to take form, growing from between Kakashi’s hands...and yours. The outcome was turning out impeccable, not a curve out of proportion, not an inch of jagged surface.

You willed yourself into meeting his gaze.

A crease made its way onto the smooth black stretch of his mask.

“What?”, you asked, your voice soft, expectant. Like you wished he would say something, grant legitimacy to this moment, let you know that his lingering gazes were not a mirage of your own creation.

“I like the way your hands fit in mine.”

Something red and burning crept up your neck.

The vase was done.

You’d always had a custom of naming your creations. Attributing each piece with a name granted them a kind of sentiment that you hoped to invoke in all those who appreciated and purchased your work.

Sometimes it was difficult, assigning a name that befits a piece. But this one...you knew what this one would be. You’d learnt the word in a book.

Forelsket / Norwegian (n.)

The euphoric experience of falling in love for the first time.

Your eyes met Kakashi’s, gleeful smile tugging at the corners of your lips, before erupting into a wide, beaming, infectious grin.

[tomhollandnet]

rainbowspottery: Spider-Man swung into RAINBOWS 🌈 Pottery Studio last weekend with his beautiful leading lady, Zendaya. What a pleasure it was to see the mega-stars enjoy the experience of RAINBOWS while in Boston shooting a movie.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Darker Shadows

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Azriel

Rating: PG-11/T-

Original Idea: Nothing in particular. Finished the first 4 books. Dunno if I can stand Nesta long enough to read ACOSF, so I wrote this with no information from ACOSF. Have fun.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Whaaaaa...? I break my ongoing hiatus for this? Yep. I did. I hope a few more one-shots join this one, but I am making no promises. This one just came to me for about an hour so surprise! Happy August.

^^^^^ 

“Darker Shadows”

Azriel said nothing as he slipped through the door to our apartment, quiet and soft as the shadows surrounding him. I watched from the sitting room adjacent to the foyer. He must have known I was there—the shadows must have informed him—but he didn’t so much as look at me. Just rested his forehead on the door and sighed.

“Long day?” I asked.

He blinked his eyes open and turned. “Incredibly,” he replied.

I patted the sofa next to me, indicating he come sit.

Azriel’s shadows seemed to grow more numerous around him as he crossed to me. I realized why as his leathers thumped to the floor in his wake, leaving him in a light undershirt and undershorts.

No matter how long we lived together, he was always so modest.

Part of me wondered if it was more insecurity than modesty; but I would never invade his privacy that much to ask. He’d tell me when he was comfortable.

He hit the sofa cushion next to me hard. His wings barely missed getting caught behind him. Ever the precise, too. One arm and one wing wrapped over my shoulders. He was warm, even if his underclothes were cold from his sweat. I snuggled into his side. We both stared at the fire for a while.

“Did you eat up at the House?” I asked.

The shadows shrouding him retreated a little, going back to their usual shades. He glanced at me with those sharp hazel eyes before returning his gaze to the fire. “Yes. Rhys and Feyre were hosting a dinner for the Palace governors. A private celebration of rebuilding the city so quickly before the grand, public celebration in three days.”

I snorted. “Bet they loved that,” I said sarcastically. Among the family, it was well-known that Rhys and Feyre both hated formal parties and dinners with a fiery passion.

A glimmer of amusement joined the reflection of the flames in Azriel’s eyes. “Oh, they slipped out an hour in. I heard them in the library… having fun amongst the stacks. I left them to it and didn’t interrupt.”

I couldn’t stop the laughter that burst from my throat, but clamped it down hard to not disturb the neighbors.

Azriel held me tighter. “Would have been more enjoyable if you were there,” he said. His voice was soft, almost as though he didn’t actually want to admit it.

Reaching up, I cupped the side of his face. “Sorry I couldn’t go. I’d have liked to have been there.” I gestured to my wrapped leg. “I just don’t think I could handle a party today. If Rhysand had decided to host it three days from now with the rest of the celebrations, I would have been able to make it.” I made a face. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

I reached around his wing to the end table, picking up my glass and handing it to him. He downed the rest and handed it back to me. I chuckled and set the glass on the coffee table instead.

After shuddering at the freezing chill of the water from my glass, Azriel turned to me. “How’s the pain?”

I shrugged. “Better than it was,” I said.

“At least you’re healing quickly.”

“Mmhmm.”

“How did you spend your night?”

I waved a vague hand to the small pile of books on the coffee table. “Just decided to read a little.”

“A little?” Azriel quoted. “You read five novels in four hours.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t finish them all. When I got bored I’d switch between them.”

“None of them holding your attention?”

“Not like they used to. Not since—”

The War with Hybern. Azriel knew. We all broke in some way over the course of it. I hadn’t had the attention span I used to since.

Azriel smiled at me. “Bathe, then bed?”

“Sounds great,” I replied.

He scooped me into his lap and stood up. I yelped at the sensation. My bad leg dangled looser than my good leg. My yelp earned me a twitched smile from my spymaster.

He carried me into the bathing room and sat me on the edge of the tub before turning it on. As it began to warm up and fill, he helped me unwrap my splint and undress. I returned the favor as best I could.

We bathed quickly and then got in our sleep clothes after drying off. After carrying me to bed, Azriel poked the point of my ear. “Goodnight,” he said softly.

I smiled, never able to contain my affection. “Sleep well,” I replied.

He doused the faelights and climbed under the covers.

We snuggled against each other. One of his wings draped over the both of us, keeping us warmer than the covers could. That warmth, his scent… it helped lull me to sleep. I could fall fast asleep on stone if Azriel was beside me.

—

Azriel watched his own scarred hand brush her nightshirt away from the skin of her back, revealing two sharp scars and an elaborate tattoo. Another rare Illyrian/High Fae hybrid, she’d been born with wings. Unlike Rhys, who could summon and desummon his wings at will, hers had been permanent.

Until her High Fae mother ordered her wings removed when she was still a child. Barely more than a toddler.

Azriel hadn’t met her until Rhys disappeared Under the Mountain. She’d been fifty-seven-years-old at the time. He’d seen her in the Rainbow, in one of the pottery studios, on a hot summer day. Her clothing revealed her back. The deep, disgustingly neat scars that made it clear how her wings had been taken from her, and the deep blue-black ink covering most of the exposed skin. She’d told him once she got it to both hide and show off the scars. When he’d asked why, she’d simply replied, “I’m stronger than the people who tried to hurt me.”

She hadn’t told him it was her mother—who’d wanted her to be a normal High Fae—for another decade.

He hadn’t been in love with her at the time. But during those fifty years everyone was stuck in Velaris, they became good friends. Azriel found her company much more peaceful than the other members of the Inner Circle. He loved them all—his family—but there was no harm, or shame, in being around someone who was quiet.

Then, a human girl broke Tamlin’s curse and Amarantha was dead. The High Lords and the members of their courts were released from Under the Mountain. And Rhys came home. And Azriel was both busier and freer than ever to spend time with his new friend.

He’d been so quietly pining for Morrigan for so long that, at first, he hadn’t realized the subject of his affections had changed.

During that final battle, when Prythian’s forces were spread so thin and even every reinforcement that came didn’t seem to make a dent… she’d taken a hit. A bad slash across the lower back.

And Azriel had seen red. His powers had already been mostly used up, his Siphons dim, and his wings badly injured.

But he’d gone to rescue her anyway.

His wings had screamed at him the entire flight back to a healer’s tent and then back to the battle. But during those moments, as she bled in his arms, he knew his feelings had transcended just friendship. “If we get out of this alive,” he’d said, “I’d like to treat you to dinner.”

She’d hummed, her side vibrating against his torso. “Mmm… dinner sounds nice. Afterwards, I can buy dessert.”

“We’ll see,” Azriel had said, smiling.

After they’d both healed and returned to Velaris, they’d done just that.

They’d been together ever since.

Azriel smiled at the memories.

—

“You’re staring,” I said quietly. His staring and touching had woken me.

“You’re incredible,” Azriel replied. “Have I told you that?”

“Today? No. This week? Many times.”

A soft chuckle. “So long as you know it.”

I rolled over so I was facing him. With his wing bent over both of us, I felt like I was in a sheet fort.

His eyes harbored a small glint in the half-light. I stared at him. “What is it?” His question was gentle.

I shrugged, feeling my scars pulling on my skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said.

“Charmer,” I teased.

That earned me a chuckle. Though his smile dropped after a moment. “Does it bother you?” He asked.

“What?”

“That you can’t fly?”

My humor disappeared. The phantom wings I still felt sometimes shivered in the back of my mind. “Sort of,” I replied. “I’d only barely taught myself how when Mother forced me to get them removed. It’s hard to miss what I didn’t really know. But I remember the wind over my scalp. My entire body fighting desperately to keep me aloft. I loved it. But now… now I get to fly with you and remember what it felt like. It’s not quite the same, but it’s enough for me.”

Azriel kissed my forehead. “Sorry I woke you,” he said.

“It’s okay. Any extra time I get to spend with you is worth it,” I replied with a smile.

[chrisevansluv]

Check out this tiktok account, made in earlier December, 4 TikToks about the owner of Rainbow Pottery harassing this girl⬇️

https://vm.tiktok.com/TTPdhSMX3R/

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

The tiktok owner did create an official complaint with the BBB 12/9⬇️

https://www.bbb.org/us/ma/boston/profile/home-furnishings/rainbows-pottery-studio-llc-0021-512636

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Also for shits and giggles the owners Allison Nichols Carroll was on the reality show big brother around 2008, season 9⬇️

https://bigbrother.fandom.com/wiki/Allison_Nichols

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