#stained glass ? done. Pottery? been done for years

[bitchfitch]

I am a jack of all trades and that's something I've put a lot of time into over the years because I find the processes behind various crafts to be absolutely fascinating and learning the craft is the joy. not doing it. which is why I burn through so many hobbies constantly. Once I know the process once Ive pushed myself to achieve relative competence at it, I get bored. There's always more to learn and new things to try within a craft, but it's a rapidly diminishing return the further I get into something mostly because like. there's way more overlap between crafts than people tend to think so once you have a grasp of x you apply it to y to achieve z. making z boring because x and y were already known.

it's too the point that I'm running out of hobbies. The lands left to conquer require heavy machinery or animals and I'm Bored. I need a new craft again but I can't Find one

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

[mendeshoney]

this close isn't close enough

a/n: happy thirsty thurday fellow harlots ^_^

this is a small little part 3 ish/sequel to take me back to eden (you can find part one here and part two here) that just popped into my head and i figured i'd jot it down for you all to enjoy. it does discuss wanting and trying for a child, so if that's not something you're comfortable with, this may not be for you, so read with caution. this is for @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech because without them this fictional andrei wouldn't exist! title is from "melt" by kehlani

warnings/tags: nine year age gap, older man x younger woman, slice of married life, baby fever, fluff, lots of smut, shower sex, hotel sex (semi-public, against the window), oral sex, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy/impregnation

word count: 12,163

“Almaznyy?” Andrei calls out, removing his reading glasses with one hand as he shuts his laptop with the other, then rubs the bridge of his nose.

He counts to ten in his head, waiting for your response, but it doesn’t come. The soft and familiar whrrrrr of a machine echoes back at him instead, and he sighs, a small smile stretching across his face as he gets up from his desk to wander down the hall.

When he makes it down the hall and to the threshold that leads to you, he's not surprised in the slightest to find you at your pottery wheel. Your back is to him as you sit on your stool, headphones on as your body lightly moves along to the music playing, hands firm and shaping the clay in front of you into what he knows is the makings of a teapot.

Beside you, on the work table, Andrei sees two mugs newly finished with their handles attached, two finished matching saucer plates that need to be painted with glaze and fired, and two little spoons, already fired and glazed, probably newly taken out of the kiln. Beyond that, he also spots two jars - one for honey and one for sugar cubes, you had told him - and three brand new jars of glaze.

He takes a second to himself to just silently admire you, his beautiful wife of nearly two years, and lets his heart beat wild and content in his chest.

Andrei had converted one of his guest rooms into your own little art studio not long after you moved in with him, and by converted, he means he took out all the furniture, stripped the carpet, and let you decorate and furnish it how you saw fit.

He tried his best to learn as much as he could about what kinds of art you liked creating, the tools you used, but in truth, a lot of it was lost on him, and you had more mediums of art you were interested in than you cared to admit. Andrei had ended up giving you his card instead, telling you to buy whatever it was you needed or wanted, so that the space became exactly what you had always dreamed of.

You had been meticulous about it, too, and Andrei adored every second of watching you design the space back then. The flooring was first - you insisted on water and stain proof vinyl floors - followed by shelves, storage drawers, a small desk, your massive work table, and other organizing things. Then, once you had a place and space for everything, you bought canvases, a pottery wheel, clay, easels, paints, a sketchbook, pencils, pens, markers, and more.

You’d bought a kiln, too, which had its own place in a little shed he bought and had built for you outside. Since you'd gotten back into pottery and started making pieces, you'd been able to sell some to a few of the wives, girlfriends, and partners of players on the team, as well as some of Andrei's co-workers in the Canes' front office. You had even put a few up of your paintings and drawings you'd done on your larger canvases in their charity auctions over the last couple of years, which had given you a significant amount of your own money.

Andrei encouraged you to go legit and open up a shop, which was an idea you'd been slowly getting used to. You'd set up a website so far, and had sold your first collection a couple of months ago - planters and vases and hanging planters and such - which had done extremely well, but you insisted you wanted to still be able to find fun in doing it again instead of allowing it to feel like an obligation.

To help with that as of late, had been your project of a tea set for his mom's birthday, which was still months away. You'd been using the kiln a lot more because of it, for test pieces as well as the actual pieces themselves, so more often than not lately, your art studio is where he found you.

"If you call for me and I don't respond to you in ten seconds," you'd told him when you first started on the set, "I'm either in here, or at the kiln out back."

Quietly, he observes as you shape the lump of clay in the center of your wheel into a sphere, then, unhappy with the roundness, you carefully squeeze at it until it's back into another lump, before shaping it out once more. The rise of your shoulders before they tense as you start to create a hole in the middle of the clay, and the fall of them again when you start to pinch at the walls until it forms into the exact shape you want.

Only when you stop the wheel and dip your hands into the bowl of water beside you to get rid of the excess clay does Andrei approach, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders to give you a gentle squeeze.

You tilt your head back, bumping it into his abdomen gently as you gaze up at him with his favorite dazzling smile. He carefully removes your headphones, putting it on the work table and smoothing your hair down.

"Hi baby," he murmurs, bending down to press a kiss to your forehead, the tip of your nose, and then to your lips.

You hum softly before sitting up, turning yourself around on the stool to face him. "Hi handsome," you return, grabbing a towel from the work table and wiping your hands before settling them on his waist, fingers playing with the belt loops of his jeans. "Did you call for me a lot?"

"Just once," he says, unable to resist bending down to kiss you again.

He loves looking at you like this, soft in the mid morning light, a blissful smile on your face with dots of clay and glaze over your cheeks and on the little apron you have covering your clothes. He loves how he can smell the vanilla of your body wash among the earthen scents in the art studio, and how it makes him feel like he's completely at peace.

Andrei loves you. His almaznyy. His beautiful diamond. His wife.

"What's going on?" You ask him, those beautiful eyes crinkling at the edges in another one of his favorite smiles when his hands descend into your hair, carding the strands between his fingers.

"I bought the tickets for us to go and visit Evgeny and Sara." He says.

"Oh good," you say with a nod before leaning into his touch. "When do we leave?"

"Next week," he says, tugging playfully on a strand of your hair and chuckling softly when you pout at him for it. "Is that okay?"

You wrap your arms around his waist, rubbing your face into his clothed abdomen, your verbal response muffled in the fabric. Andrei laughs, scratching gently at your scalp. "What was that, almaznyy?"

"Da," you say, leaning back to look at him again but keeping your arms secured around his waist. "That's fine with me."

He smirks when he spots a familiar glint in your eyes, watching the way your pupils dilate then blow out a little wide when he cups your face in his hands, thumbs caressing at your jaw. "My busy little almaznyy, you've been working hard lately, haven't you?"

You nod, humming in agreement. He nods too, letting one of his hands trail down and to the back of your neck, deftly undoing the knots at the top of your apron. "So diligent," he praises, "What did I do to deserve you?"

Your eyes track him as he removes his hands from your body, lowering himself to his knees so he can wrap his arms around your waist to get at the ties behind you. He buries his face into your neck as he does so, adoring the way your head immediately tilts to allow him the room. He ghosts his lips across the skin as he undoes the ties around your waist, ignoring your little whines of protest when he pulls the apron off of you and tosses it to the side.

He sits back on his haunches, looking up at you with a Cheshire grin of his own. "You got clay on your clothes too, almaznyy." He playfully chastises, gesturing towards the little flecks of clay on the black shirt you're wearing - which is most definitely his - and to the miniscule spots on your sweatpants. "Think we should probably get you cleaned up in that case, shouldn't we?"

A small smirk crosses your lips as you nod, and Andrei smiles, surging up to wrap you in his arms. You go easily, both your bodies on muscle memory as you wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, and he lifts you into his hold easily, standing with you and carrying you off down the hall to your bedroom.

~

The warm spray of the shower cascades down his bare back as Andrei fucks you slow and deep against the tiles, his arms settled into the space behind your knees as he holds you up and open for him.

Your cries echo around the bathroom, your arms wrapped around his neck and fingers tangled in his hair, grasping at the strands desperately, his name a repeated plea on your lips.

"More," you beg sweetly, and he smiles, eyes locked on your face. He lowers you a little bit, and on the next push in, your eyes flutter shut as your mouth falls open in a beautiful cry, pussy squeezing around his cock in a way that makes him so fucking dizzy.

"Come on baby," he coaxes, pressing you impossibly closer against the tiles and against himself, burying his face in your neck to suck a bruise into the skin. With every press of his hips forward, your clit grinds against his abs, and he can feel the way your body begins to tense up and shake in his hold, your nails disappearing from his scalp to dig into his shoulders instead.

His name leaves your lips in another desperate plea, and he chuckles, nipping playfully at the skin of your neck, your jaw, before capturing your lips in a filthy kiss. He licks into your mouth, massaging his tongue with yours before he pulls away just slightly, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth as he goes.

"Is my pretty wife going to come on her husband's cock?" He taunts, and he sees the way the words go straight through you, your eyes glazing over, body going almost lax in his grip.

(He'd gotten much filthier and practically insane with his dirty talk over time. It started not long after you'd left Eden and began officially dating nearly seven months after meeting, and had only gotten more intense during the three month time span that you'd been engaged. It didn't help the fact that he noticed you particularly loved when he called you his wife, regardless of the situation.)

"Andrei," you plead. "Please."

"Please what, pretty baby?" He murmurs, dragging his lips against yours lazily, "What is it my pretty wife wants, hm?"

Your pussy squeezes down again and he groans, stealing another filthy kiss from you. "'M so close," you say between kisses, dragging your nails across his shoulders again.

He keeps your legs hooked over his bent arms, reaching his hands down to squeeze at your waist, thumb rubbing gently over where he knows a little diamond tattoo sits at your side, fucking you onto his cock in deep, sharp thrusts that steal your breath from you, and your eyes squeeze shut as your body shakes even more in his hold.

Andrei latches his lips to that sensitive spot on your neck, pressing his body tight against yours. That, and the added friction as your clit rubs against his abs, your sensitive nipples brushing against his chiseled chest, has you coming around him with a loud cry. Your pussy clamps down, pulsing around him and Andrei groans, holding you tight as he fucks past the grip, chasing after his own orgasm.

He groans low and deep, electricity shooting up his spine as he comes, filling you from where he's buried deep. It sends your body into a second orgasm almost immediately, and Andrei curses, muttering a string of Russian in your ear at the unexpected sensation.

You both take a blissful, fucked out moment to calm down, heartbeats slowing and breathing returning to normal.

"Okay?" He murmurs after a few minutes, and you nod, sighing happily in his hold. He taps your hips, and you nod again. An unhappy sounding noise leaves you when he gently pulls out, and his heart aches a little bit, thinking you’re probably sore. He’s immediately pressing apologetic kisses to your forehead while lowering you to the ground. His hands stay on your body, keeping you steady until you manage to stand on your own.

When his eyes finally get back to your face, there's an expression there he hasn't seen before, one he can't quite place. There's a tinge of disappointment there, and longing, and it brings a frown to his face too.

He cups your face in his hands, tilting your head up to look at him. When your eyes lock, the expression fades, and the smile that takes over your face is so brightly it almost knocks him off of his feet.

"What's wrong, almaznyy?" He says, thumb brushing against your cheeks.

You lean into his touch, hands circling around his wrists. "Nothing, Drei." You promise, "I'm perfectly happy."

There's nothing in your voice or in your face now that tells him that you're lying, or that you're hiding anything from him, so he has no reason to not believe you.

Still, he stores the expression he saw away for later, keeping it in mind just in case.

He takes his time washing you both off after that, enjoying the content noises you make as he shampoos your hair and wraps you up in a fluffy towel when you're all done, pressing gentle kisses all over your face before seizing your mouth in a kiss he hopes tells you "I'm so in love with you I think my heart might burst without you."

~

Andrei quickly darts out of the way as a little boy zooms past him, his father chasing after him and tossing a “sorry!” over his shoulder as he goes.

He laughs a little, calling out a “it’s okay!” in their way as he double checks that he still has a hold on your drinks and food before he keeps walking. 

He heads back into the airport lounge and straight for you, handing you a cup of hot chocolate and a warmed up croissant from one of the bistros in the terminal. You accept it with a happy smile and a murmured ‘thank you’ before he snuggles up next to you on the little couch you’ve both managed to commandeer for yourselves.

He glances over at your airport outfit once more, mostly because he can’t help but appreciate how cozy you look.

Admittedly, he’s still got a small habit of dressing up when he flies, so he’s his standard in black pants and a white shirt, and you insisted on matching with him when you got dressed this morning. You’re in black lounge pants, a white shirt, and you have a gray sweater tied and resting around your shoulders.

Andrei figured out that when you fly you prefer to have your own blanket with you, which you have curled around your shoulders right now as you take a sip of your hot chocolate.

You look more ready for a cozy winter than you do for a week-long vacation during the summer in San Jose.

“Is it good baby?” He asks, taking a sip of his own coffee. You nod, holding the cup to your cheek. Another thing he learned - you get cold easily, but especially in airports.

“Very,” you nod, leaning your head to rest on his shoulder. “Spasibo, malysh.”

“You’re welcome, almaznyy.” 

He’s content to relax like that with you, and when he takes his phone out once you’ve finished your drinks, you help him with the crossword puzzle game he became addicted to once he saw you playing it yourself.

The two of you are engrossed in trying to figure out a six letter word for the clue “tough” when there’s a blur of pale yellow accompanied by a flurry of giggles that crashes into your legs, and it makes both of you jump up a little in surprise.

It’s a baby boy, Andrei realizes, one who’s most likely just learned what running is given the delighted and mischievous expression on his face, and when he turns to check if you’re okay, he’s surprised to find you out of your seat, blanket abandoned, and kneeling on the floor in front of the child to see if they’re okay.

The baby looks like he’s seconds from crying, but then you’re smiling, speaking at him quietly and gently, and to Andrei’s amazement, the baby stops, looks at you, and then bursts into a fit of giggles.

You laugh, happy that you could make him feel better, and continue to speak to him while he babbles away at you. He’s seen you do it with Luka, coaxing him away from a tantrum he’d been seconds away from, and calming Mila down when she scraped her knee while learning to ride her bike that first time, and it still amazes him how good you are with kids. Something warm and fuzzy starts to grow in his heart, and it stops short when a woman who Andrei can only assume is the baby’s mother approaches.

“I’m so sorry!” She says, jogging toward where you and the baby are on the ground. “Leo’s just discovered how fast he can move but we’re still working on finding his brakes.”

“It’s alright,” you reassure her through a laugh. “My nephew Luka was the same.”

My nephew - Andrei still loved that you thought that way.

“He probably had places to be and we were just in the way, weren’t we Leo?” You tease, pulling a funny face at Leo. His mom laughs when Leo bursts into giggles, picking Leo up into her arms.

“He’s fast,” Andrei notes when you stand with her, “How old is he?”

“He just turned one,” his mom gushes. 

You make a little cooing sound. “Is he your first?”

Leo’s mother shakes her head with a laugh. “You’d think so, but I have a three year old too. His name’s Sky, he’s with my husband over there, we finally just got him to settle down but then this little guy decided it was time to sprint.”

You and Andrei look over to where Leo’s mom gestured, finding the three year old who almost ran him over earlier eating snacks while his dad watches over him, all the while looking over at his wife and smiling when he sees her.

Andrei knows that smile, he probably sends that same smile your way about a hundred times a day. 

Ulybka vlyublennogo muzhchiny. His mom had said. The smile of a man in love.

“You should think about getting them into sports soon.” Andrei says when he turns back toward the mom, “Sky almost tackled me in the terminal earlier-”

“-And Leo barely flinched when he ran into me!” You tease, making another funny face at the baby. He giggles, suddenly growing shy as he hides in his mom’s shoulders.

She laughs, “Everyone’s been saying that to me. I might just have to consider it.”

Andrei reaches into his pocket, grabbing his business card from his wallet and hands it to the mother with a small smile. “If you ever think they’re interested in hockey, give me a call or send me an email. I’d be happy to get them set up.”

The mother takes Andrei’s card with a curious look, and when she reads his name, her eyes light up in recognition, and she smiles, laughing a little to herself.

“I knew you looked familiar! My husband and I are big fans. We were there for your last cup winning game. It’s so nice to meet you!”

Andrei catches the glance you shoot at him from the corner of his eye, can see the tense line of your shoulders in his peripheral, but he gives the mother an easy smile, and your body relaxes.

Now that he has you, that time in his life isn’t so painful anymore.

“Thank you,” he says genuinely. “I’m glad that you were there, it felt good to have home crowd support.”

“I appreciate your offer, I’ll definitely reach out.” She says, then looks at both of you. “It was nice meeting you both, you’re such a lovely couple!”

You both say your goodbyes, you waving at baby Leo, who waves back shyly, then looks at Andrei. Andrei waves too, and to his surprise, baby Leo waves back to him too, before burying his face in his mother’s shoulder.

You finally return to your seat on the couch next to Andrei, wrapping both of your arms around his, resting your chin on his shoulder as you smile brightly up at him.

“That was hot of you.” You say, which has Andrei laughing in surprise.

“What was, almaznyy?”

“You and your business cards.” You say, scrunching your nose a little. “I liked it, it was very authoritative.”

Andrei shakes his head, booping your nose with his finger. “Calm yourself down, almaznyy. I’m still not interested in being part of the mile high club.”

You roll your eyes with a shrug, but relax fully against his side. “Offer still stands.”

~

You're laying on the floor of Sara and Evgeny's living room, laughing as you bounce eight month old baby Alexei up and down against your belly, watching as his little legs kick back and forth and he babbles his joy. From beside you, three year old Luka lays on his belly as he plays with the train set Andrei had bought him last Christmas, and five year old Mila rests on your other side, coloring diligently in the sketchbook you'd bought her for her birthday.

She'd seen you drawing in one of your journals and had become both enraptured and amazed as she observed you, and then had been overjoyed when you handed her the book and pencil so she could create her own drawings as she pleased.

Her parents had been worried that she might accidentally press the pencil too tight and ruin one of your other drawings, or accidentally draw over something you had done, but either way, you would have cared less. "It's good for her to do it this way," you had told them, "so she knows what she makes is important, too."

On the couch above you, Sara's feeding a bottle to Alexei's twin brother Aleksander, watching you and her children. She smiles, nudging you gently in the side with her socked feet.

"You're a natural at this," she praises. "The kids always seem to behave better when you're here."

You scoff a little, making nonsensical noises at Alexei as he babbles back at you. "Hardly," you say. "I think it's because Andrei wears them out first."

When you and Andrei come around, he tends to round up his niece and nephews, tiring the older ones out by running around while you and Sara or Evgeny or Andrei's parents help with the twins.

Sara shakes her head. "No, he might wear them out, but they still have plenty of room to be crazy. You settle them down. This is the quietest they've been all day."

You look at your nieces and nephews at where they each are, peaceful and happy and content, and you shrug, smiling a little to yourself. "I guess so."

Sara laughs, nudging you again. "So, when are you gonna have some little ones of your own? We're outnumbered by boys here and it's your turn to pop a baby out for once."

You falter slightly, almost dropping baby Alexei straight on your face before you catch him effortlessly, trying to ignore the wave of dizziness when you launch yourself upright into a sitting position. Luka and Mila barely spare either of you a glance, too focused on what they're doing. You gaze at Sara, holding Alexei tight with one hand while shushing her with the other.

"Not so loud!" You half whisper, half yell.

Andrei and Evgeny were just in the kitchen not too far away, and while they were probably distracted by shop talk, you couldn't risk him hearing like this.

Sara narrows her eyes at you, frowning, whisper-yelling right back. "You told me on the phone last week that you were going to talk to him about it! And the week before that, and two weeks before that!"

You groan, shaking your head and beginning to bounce Alexei again when he starts to fuss. Sara shakes her head right back at you, gesturing for you to follow her as she heads toward the twins' nursery, instructing Mila and Luka to "wait right here while mommy talks to your aunt."

As you head to the nursery, you pass Andrei and Evgeny who are, as expected, engrossed in their conversation, but it doesn't stop Andrei from tossing a wink at you as you pass by.

You pointedly ignore the way it makes butterflies swarm and swoop in your stomach, smiling softly in return before ducking out of sight and into the nursery. Sara shuts the door behind you, giving you a pointed look as she does so.

You'd had best friends before, obviously, but never an older sister figure, and none quite like Sara. When Andrei had introduced you two, she'd been nothing but welcoming, friendly, and someone you'd come to rely on quite a lot since then.

When she announced she was pregnant with twins last year, you'd been overjoyed for her, and often traveled back and forth between San Jose and Raleigh to help her with the babies, especially since it had been Evgeny's first year working with the coaching staff of the Sharks, having previously been in the front office.

Maybe it was the excitement you got in helping her decorate the nursery, even though most of it was taken care of since they had things from Luka and Mila, or maybe it was just all the preparation you helped her with, but it had given you severe baby fever.

Like...severe.

Severe enough that you were practically ready to be pregnant that very same day until reality kicked in and knocked some serious sense into you.

You'd asked her how she and Evgeny had approached the topic of having kids, if she had advice on how you should broach the subject with Andrei, and she had only one thing to say.

"They're pretty direct people," she had said. "It's best to rip the bandaid off with something like that."

A couple of months ago, she texted you a picture of the twins in the matching pajama set you'd bought, and something in it made you want to finally talk to Andrei about it. So you told Sara that you would.

But...

The second you'd gone to Andrei in his office about it, you suddenly got cold feet. Realistically, you two hadn't actually talked about having kids before. Things with the two of you had been unconventional and fast from the start, so granted, you both had done things a little messily and quite backwards.

Still, the worst he could say to you was "no" or "not right now baby," but despite your past mess you two had always been on the same page, so the idea of hearing a "not right now" was okay, but hearing "no"?

Yeah, not something you had exactly prepared yourself for.

So instead of allowing there to be room for a "no" or "not right now," you just...didn't say a word.

Which Sara was definitely going to yell at you for.

Or at least, whisper yell, what with the twins going down for their nap and all.

Sara lays a droopy Aleksander into his crib, and he falls asleep the second his head hits the pillow. She takes Alexei from you next, sitting in the rocking chair set up in the corner of the room to start to feed him his bottle while you sit on the floor, gazing at baby Aleksander through the bars of his crib.

"What in the world are you waiting for?" Sara asks you, voice soft but firm in the nursery. 

You groan a little to yourself. "I just haven't gotten around to it, okay?"

"Yes, but why?" She presses. "You know he won't say no to you."

"I actually don't know that. He might not be able to say no when I ask for help, or ask for something, but children are not things to ask for. It's an entire human being you're bringing into the world, you know!"

Sara gives you a deadpan expression. "Of course I know, I've brought four of them into existence."

"Then you know that it's a lot to ask. Even if I want a child, even if I want to be a mom and raise my kids and bring them up, that doesn't guarantee that Andrei wants the same."

"He'll want them with you." Sara insists. "He'll want them because you'll be their mother and he's in love with you and those kids will be half of you and he'll be so proud to say that they're your children."

The idea fills you with hope, but you tamp it down. You have to be realistic about this. You know your husband, and you know that while Sara's right and he will do anything for you, he also probably won't handle this being sprung on him as a surprise, or appreciate being confronted with it out of the blue.

"Just get rid of your birth control and tell him you want a kid." Sara insists, and your eyes bug out of your head.

"Are you insane?" You whisper yell. "That would definitely give him a heart attack."

"Don't be so dramatic," she says, rolling her eyes. "He's too young to have those."

"I'll talk to him," you promise, more to yourself than to Sara. "But I'm not using any of your suggestions."

Sara shrugs. "Fine by me, but there'd better be a new baby next Christmas, and it won't be mine."

~

In the kitchen, Andrei watches with fond eyes as you disappear into the nursery with Sara and the twins. He's listening to what Evgeny's talking about, he really is, but his eyes are locked on the silent screen of the baby monitor, showing you handing Alexei off to Sara after Sara's put Aleksander down.

Watching you with his niece and nephews all day had filled his heart with something warm and fuzzy, something he couldn't quite place.

The way that you cared for his family since he introduced you to them was something that made Andrei incredibly happy, and he could tell that the way that they cared for you in turn made you just as happy.

He often caught you speaking with his mother on the phone, trying your best to only stick to Russian as best as possible to make her comfortable. His father didn't reach out often, but when he did, you did your best to converse with him too. Sometimes, when you thought Andrei wasn't looking, he'd see you reading through a Russian textbook in your art studio, brushing up on the language.

You talked to Sara almost every week, the two of you growing to be as close as sisters, and that made Andrei happy considering the only real sibling relationship you had was still pretty strained. Even after Andrei married you, your brother Joshua still wasn't his favorite person, which was unfortunate, considering his husband Sam was an angel and one of your favorite people.

Evgeny had also grown closer to you a little, considering how much you helped him and Sara prepare for the arrival of the twins. There were times he'd reach out to you if he couldn't reach Andrei for any reason, and Evgeny often teased Andrei about how more often than not, it seemed like a freak accident that he'd managed to find someone like you to be his wife.

"Believe me," Andrei had told his brother. "I know."

He listens intently to his brother as he discusses what's going on with the Sharks, clearly seeking Andrei's advice, but all the while, Andrei keeps his eyes on you, watches you through the baby monitor as you sit with Sara and the twins.

Everything about your body language screams comfort, like there's nowhere in the world you'd rather be, and it brings a smile to his face unconsciously.

Evgeny pauses in his ranting, glancing to the baby monitor and rolling his eyes, shoving at Andrei. "Obrashchat' vnimaniye," he scolds. Pay attention.

"I am!" Andrei insists, turning his full attention back to his brother. "You were saying?"

Evgeny opens his mouth, then closes it, a curious expression crossing his features. "Have you thought about it?"

"About what?" Andrei asks, moving his brother so he can go into the fridge and steal one of those obnoxious glass bottles of water Evgeny insists on buying.

"About what comes after marriage," Evgeny says. "About having kids."

Andrei almost drops the water bottle on the kitchen floor, can hear it shatter in his ears, but he's pretty sure that's his brain doing that. "About what?" He asks, voice practically an echo in his head.

Evgeny shakes his head. "Ty takoy idiot."

Andrei turns to face him, frowning. "I am not an idiot."

"You are, actually. Have you two not talked about having kids?"

Andrei opens his mouth, then shuts it.

You two actually hadn't. Not really. Not at all, now that he thought about it.

Evgeny shakes his head. "Listen, I know you're enjoying your never ending honeymoon phase, but it wouldn't hurt to ask."

Andrei takes a swig from his water, glancing at you on the monitor.

You've got Alexei in your arms now, feeding him the rest of his bottle while Sara rests on the rocking chair, eyes on Aleksander.

His heart does a little flip, imagining you holding a little baby that's got your nose and his eyes, and it brings back the warm and fuzzy feeling he'd felt earlier.

Maybe...maybe it was worth a discussion.

~

Since Evgeny's house had gotten crowded with all the kids, Andrei had booked a suite for the two of you at the Marriott.

It had a lovely view of the city, especially at night, and Andrei enjoyed it even more with your naked body pressed against one of the many floor to ceiling windows, watching the way your face twisted with pleasure in the reflection of the glass.

The lights were off in the hotel room, so there wasn't a single chance of anyone seeing what the two of you were up to, but the thrill was there all the same. He wanted to show you off, show off his beautiful little wife, the only diamond he ever needed.

Your palm prints littered the window as you pushed back against him, and Andrei groaned, tightening the grip on your hips, fingers pressing against where he knew that little diamond tattoo rested beneath the waistband of your thong.

He could barely wait, barely think by the time you both got back to the hotel. The second your jeans were off, he pulled your thong to the side and slid in to the hilt, burying himself inside of you and making you come all over him in seconds.

It wasn't often that Andrei took you from behind. More often than not, he preferred looking at you, preferred watching the beautiful faces you made and watching the way your body reacted to his own. But in times like these, where there was something that could help him watch you, he couldn't exactly complain.

He releases his hold on one of your hips, letting his hands wander up your torso, bringing you upright against him as he bends his knees a little, adjusting for your height difference so he can cage you against him as he fucks into you.

Pleasant and happy noises leave you as he plays with one of your nipples, then the other, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses on your neck. His nails gently scratch at the valley between your breasts, making you shiver, before trailing his hand down your stomach.

He had every intention of putting his fingers to your clit, rubbing gently there the way you liked when he took you like this, but instead, his hands lingered on your stomach, on where he could feel the slight bulge of where his cock fucked in and out of you, and he found his hands resting there instead.

A shiver ran through your body, your pussy pushing back on his cock again as if on impulse, and a deep, pleased noise rumbled through Andrei's chest.

"Almaznyy?" He murmured against your neck, finding the sensitive spot below your ear and sucking against it gently.

You gasped in his hold, shaking a little, and he chuckled, pressing his hand against the little bulge of your stomach, the hand he still had on your waist tightening its grip, pressing his fingers a little more into the diamond tattoo.

"Can you feel me here, moya krasivaya zhena?" He asks you, cock throbbing when you squeeze against him in excitement. You loved it when he called you ‘my pretty wife.’ "Can you feel me fucking you?"

You nod, frantic, hands gripping onto his arms. "Please, malysh, wanna come."

"You wanna come already?" He taunts. "Gonna come for me in front of the whole city?"

A soft whine leaves your lips as he thrusts in particularly hard, emphasizing his question.

"Yes," you answer, nearly breathless.

“And what about me?” He teases, pressing his hand against your stomach a little more. "You want me to come inside, almaznyy? Want me to come right here?"

In the reflection of the window, he catches the way your eyes slam shut before you throw your head back against his shoulder, mouth open in a silent cry and body seizing as your orgasm claims you. Your pussy clenches impossibly tight, and it sends Andrei over the edge in seconds, pushing down on your waist to bury himself inside of you, cock throbbing almost painfully as he comes.

The two of you shake silently for a second, and Andrei holds you both upright as best as he can until he can feel your body as it calms down. He pulls out gently, not wasting a second before he scoops you up, walking you over to the bed to lay you on it gently before he climbs on beside you.

You go to him almost immediately, and his arms open on instinct, welcoming you in his embrace as you bury your nose in his chest.

He wants to say something, anything. He wants to ask you if what just happened was okay, if you're okay, if he didn't cross a line, if you maybe wanted to try that again sometime soon or maybe if you want to try it in a different position.

But then he hears your breathing start to even out, feels the way your body goes lax in his hold, and he resigns himself to discussing it another time.

~

The following day, you and Andrei head back over to Sara and Evgeny’s for lunch. You help Sara put the kids down for their naps after you all eat, and Andrei and Evgeny handle the dishes.

When you and Sara come out of the kids’ rooms, you’re met with a chorus of laughter from Andrei, Evgeny, and then their mother’s voice echoes through the living room.

Peeking around the corner, you can see Andrei and Evegny crowded around Evgeny’s laptop, definitely on FaceTime with their mother.

She signals to you to hang back, and you nod. You’re more than happy to give Andrei and his brother the alone time they need to speak with their mom, so you lean back against the wall, Sara against the one opposite you, and you smile at each other when you hear the brother excitedly converse with their mother in Russian.

Your fluency has gotten better, but it’s not one hundred percent - same with Sara’s - so the two of you can only really pick up on bits and pieces here and there, catching tidbits of their mother’s praises for her boys along with her normal chastising.

You two are looking fit!

Still, you both need to eat more. 

You’re working too hard.

Are you ready for the upcoming season?

Oh my brilliant boys!

How are my daughters?

How are the grandkids?

Evgeny, you’d better bring them by soon so I can babysit.

Andrei, how are you doing?

Are you and my favorite girl happy?

When are you two going to give me more grandchildren?!

That last part sends a shock through your body, and Sara nudges you with her foot at the same time Andrei begins to stutter and stammer in the living room.

Their mom starts to say something else when her voice gets quieter, and you realize Andrei’s turned the volume down. His voice gets a little quieter, and Evgeny’s loud laughter drowns out whatever Andrei says in return to their mother.

Sara gives you another pointed look, as if to say “So you still didn’t talk to him about it.”

You roll your eyes, and she nudges your foot again before dragging you down the hall and into her and Evgeny’s bedroom. 

“For the love of God,” she says. “I know you said you’re not taking my suggestions, but you are going to have to take this one, specifically with the promise that you’ll at least save it until you get back to Raleigh.”

You answer her with a deadpan stare, and she sighs, exasperated, before gesturing to you. 

“You have to seduce him.” She says plainly. “It’s how I did it with Evgeny, and it’s how you’re going to have to do it with Andrei instead of tiptoeing around.”

You’re slightly dumbfounded, so all you can manage is a weak “What?”

“Remember when I told you to rip the bandaid off?” She asks, and you nod. She waves a hand around, “Well, that’s what I meant by that. Seduce him. Rip the bandaid off.”

“Seduce him…” You say, and it sounds more like a question than a statement.

Sara grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you a bit. “You know he loves you, you know he thinks you’re hot. Use it.”

Sara doesn’t know how you and Andrei met, no one does except Lottie, Oli, Mason, Eli, and you and Andrei. She has no idea about your past.

Which means she has no idea that if there is anything you know how to do, it’s seduce Andrei.

~

You try your best to clear your mind, focusing on exfoliating your skin as you shower and the things you’re planning on doing once this shower is done.

It had been a week since you’d returned from visiting with Sara and Evgeny, and this morning, you’d gone to see your OBGYN doctor to discuss…well, a possible game plan.

You agreed that after you finished this round of birth control pills and had your period, you and Andrei would probably start trying.

And well, after you spoke to Andrei about all of this, of course. 

But Sara was right, seduction might have to come first. You were too out of sorts to wait any longer.

He had been gone this morning when you went to your appointment, having to be at the practice rink to watch the team’s morning skate, and when you had returned home after running some errands, he’d been in his office for a string of phone calls, which he said he’d be in and out of till about two this afternoon.

It was about noon, then. So you’d gone on a run, had a little pep talk with yourself to prepare for the impending conversation, and strategized.

The pep talk you had was simple - if during said conversation, Andrei voiced that he didn’t want kids, that was that. You would not be forcing him into anything he didn’t want or trying to convince him, and the two of you would likely talk things out from there.

If he did want kids, perfect, you could talk about that, but, you could also give him a bit of extra motivation.

Which brought you to the seduction strategy you’d developed so carefully on the way back from your run.

It was about one in the afternoon when you got back, so you threw together a quick lunch for you and Andrei to have - once he was done with his phone calls and you - and it was about one thirty when you hopped into the shower.

You’d gone for a wax right after your doctor’s appointment, as part of the errands you ran, along with a mani pedi, but a little extra gentle exfoliation on the legs never hurt anyone.

Once you finished in the shower, you toweled off and applied the vanilla lotion Andrei loved the most on you, before slipping on one of your favorite sundresses. It was also one Andrei liked on you, particularly because it was just the right side of see through. 

Hence, why it was a key part to your strategy.

It might be devious, and it’s definitely playing dirty, but you need a little ammunition on your side, if not for the sake of a small confidence boost to get you through the conversation.

You did this for a living, for a time. You did this specifically for Andrei before, it shouldn’t be too hard to do it for him again. Sure, the way that you seduced him now looked different, the way that you were together now had changed drastically, but Sara was right. At the very least, Andrei loved you, and he never failed to remind you how attractive you were to him.

So hopefully, this worked.

You checked the time on the clock on your nightstand - one fifty five. A quick glance in the mirror assured you this was the best option outfit wise, and your nerves reminded you that you’d both probably need a little bit of liquid courage for this next bit. Heading back out to the kitchen, you make yourself a quick margarita and pour Andrei a shot of his favorite whisky. 

If there was anything you knew about your husband, sometimes he just needed a little something to take the edge off before he could plow forward with whatever it was he needed to do. He was bound to be nervous once you brought up the idea of having a baby, especially if you were going to be playing just a little bit dirty about it. 

You grabbed both glasses and headed back down the hall to Andrei’s office. Just as you crossed the threshold, he was bidding whoever was on the other line goodbye, and you took a deep breath to steel yourself.

Andrei is your husband. You love each other. You reminded yourself. He is your husband. You can get through anything together.

Andrei smiles when you hand him his glass, his reading glasses perched on his nose making him look both hot, authoritative, and innocent all at once. “Now how did you know I needed this, moya zhena?”

You shrug, playing innocent. “A lucky guess.”

You both toast, clinking your glasses before each taking a sip of your respective drinks. You try to hide your smile behind your glass as you do, but you should’ve known better.

Andrei’s almost always looking at you, so nothing ever could get past your loving and doting husband.

“What’s that smile doing there?” He teases, and it’s then that he seems to finally take in what you’re wearing.

And that you’re wearing nothing underneath it.

You try another innocent smile, but Andrei raises a brow in suspicion, quirking his finger and summoning you to his side of the desk.

Placing your glass down on the mahogany, you round the desk to his side, obeying when he taps the desk and jumping up, taking a seat but keeping your legs crossed.

You don’t want him distracted.

“Are you about to ask me for something expensive, almaznyy? Because if you are, you’re off to a good start.”

You never actually needed to do anything if it was expensive, including asking him for anything, since you did have your own income, and you both knew that. But still, every now and again you liked to pretend like you did, liked the way it made Andrei nervous and pliant, like he didn’t meet you the way he actually did, like he wasn’t familiar with the concept. 

But that wasn’t what you were going for here.

“Well,” you start, “it’s sort of expensive. An…investment, if you will.”

He frowns slightly. “Don’t tell me Jarvy’s wife actually talked you into wanting to buy that monstrosity of a beach house.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of you, having almost completely forgotten Tessa’s attempt to expand her real estate portfolio by tempting you with an even bigger sunroom than the one you and Andrei had now.

You shake your head. “No no, I don’t want that house.”

“But you do want a house?” Andrei inquires.

You shake your head, nerves suddenly racing through your veins. It makes your hands shake, so you reach out for him, cupping his jaw with your hand, leaving the other resting in your lap. You thumb over the stubble along his jaw, humming to yourself, trying to gather the right words.

It makes Andrei nervous. “Listen, almaznyy, whatever it is, we-”

“I want this house, Bubby,” you interrupt, wanting to be out with it but also not sure if you were remotely prepared for the rest of his sentence. At the pet name, Andrei’s eyes get brighter, his entire demeanor softening. “I want this house, with you and I in it, and maybe…maybe a little one running around in it, too.”

There. You said it…kind of.

But it was out there now. 

And Andrei…

There’s surprise in his face, definitely, and you’d been expecting that. But there’s also no…opposition. Nothing that says he doesn’t want to have this conversation, nothing that screams disagreement, nothing that says he doesn’t like the idea.

There are nerves there, like yours, but amongst the nerves and surprise is…hope? Something wistful. 

You lean into it, trailing your hand from his face to his arm, then down to the desk where his hand rests beside your legs. You take it, intertwining your fingers, playing with his hand a little.

“Bubby,” you continue. And that time you’re definitely playing dirty, saying one of his favorite pet names like that, like you want something - which you do, no question - and it makes Andrei’s whole body relax. “I want a baby,” you say, this time, plainly, so there’s no question and no doubt. “I want to have a baby with you.” You glance up at him, finding his intense gaze already on you. “What do you think?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and if you didn’t already know your husband, his lack of a response might concern you. But the look on his face tells you that he’s thinking, and so you wait, giving him enough space and time to collect his thoughts.

Finally, he squeezes your hand, a little sigh of relief mixed with a laugh leaving his chest, eyes crinkling at the corners as a brilliant smile takes over his features. He says nothing, just maneuvers you to part your legs so he can haul you off the desk and into his lap. You go to him easily, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into his neck, breathing him in. One of his arms bands itself across your waist, the other across your back so he can cradle the back of your head in his hands.

“I didn’t know how to ask you.” He says softly into your ear. “I’ve been thinking about it, too. How to ask…how to tell you…”

“Ya tozhe,” you tell him. Me too. “I didn’t know if it was something you wanted.”

“We never talked about it,” he agrees. “And we should have, and I’m sorry we didn’t.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, malysh. We’re talking about it now, aren’t we?” You say, pressing a small kiss to his jaw.

He tightens his grip on you. “Because you were brave enough to do it. You’ve always been the brave one of the two of us, almaznyy.”

“You were the one who brought us together, Andrei.” You remind him, “I couldn’t have done that. Only you could have, and you did.”

“I would do it again.” He swears, leaning back a little to press a kiss to your forehead. 

You pull back a little, puckering your lips, and he laughs, leaning down to kiss you softly, gently, and like he has all the time in the world. You love when he kisses you like this, like he’s afraid you’ll break or disappear into thin air. It makes you feel precious, like the very diamond he continues to call you.

“Bubby,” you murmur between kisses, “how many babies do you want?”

There’s a choked noise that bubbles in his throat, so you pull back, looking at him in concern. He reaches for his scotch, but you bat his hand away, handing him the bottle of water he always keeps on his desk instead.

He takes a couple of grateful swigs, and much to his disappointment, you climb off of him and climb back to your perch on his desk, giving him some room to breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Didn’t mean to take you by surprise there.”

Andrei shakes his head, putting the closed water bottle down and reaches for his glass, downing the rest of its contents. When it's empty, you take it back from him, putting it on a far enough corner of his desk before reaching for your glass, taking down the rest of your margarita, then set the empty glass next to Andrei’s. Once those are out of the way, you lean back on your hands, your attention solely on Andrei once more.

He’s got a little glint in his eye as he considers you, letting one of his hands come up to rest on your legs, caressing your skin. “You know me, almaznyy. I’m not picky.” He starts. “I’ll be satisfied with as many babies as you’re willing to give me.”

You smile, pleased with his answer. In reward, you nudge the hand he has on your leg a little, and Andrei beams, gently grabbing your calf so he can part your legs, this time, to take in the sight of your bare pussy.

Carefully, you pull up the hem of your dress and push yourself to the edge of his desk, and Andrei takes your ankles, gently placing one on the armrest of his chair, putting the other over his shoulder. He scoots his chair in closer, your leg sliding down his back a little and allowing his hands to rest on your hips.

“We should…” he starts, swallowing. “We should probably talk about this a little more.”

You smirk. “We are talking, though.”

“In depth,” he clarifies. “Get into specifics, and things.”

But even as he says it, you can see in his face you probably wouldn’t get further than the next five minutes. “We can still talk about it after, too, okay? We’ll sit and have a real conversation about it.”

He blinks, nodding, then glances down at where you know he wants to bury his face.

“If you wanted a baby, almaznyy,” he says, warm breath fanning over your lower abdomen, “you didn’t have to play dirty.”

“Dirty?” You ask, innocent as ever. “What do you mean?”

Andrei narrows his eyes at you. “The first time you walked into this office on a mission, you were dressed just like this.”

“You mean when I used to be your assistant?” You tease, and he pinches your thigh playfully.

“Moya zhena,” he warns. He may be playful, but it seems you’ve pushed a few too many buttons in that area today.

Shame, you think. Maybe I can try again after dinner. 

You roll your eyes playfully, pouting a little. “I was nervous and needed some confidence, alright?”

“You look plenty confident to me,” he reassures you with a slight nod, then he’s bunching up the fabric of your dress and pressing against your stomach, his nice way of saying ‘lay back moya zhena, let me take care of you.’

The first swipe of his tongue in your folds takes you by surprise, a pleasant squeal leaving your lips and echoing around his office. His second taste of you is slower, his tongue laying flat against you and dragging from your entrance to your clit, his lips circling around the bud and sucking in a way that elicits a pleasant moan from you.

Andrei’s hands crawl up your body to the neckline of your dress, and you help him a little, slipping the straps off so he can pull the neckline down, cupping your tits in his hands and squeezing.

He’d been particularly fond of the first time you’d had sex in this house together. Had cherished the memory of you in that light pink sundress and on this desk in a similar fashion. It was probably why you’d chosen to approach him this way, he thinks absentmindedly, lips and mouth settling into the familiar pace you love when he’s got his face between your thighs.

Andrei can feel his pants get a little tighter the wetter you get, his chin coated in your slick and nose nudging against your clit as his lips and tongue work you open. He’s so perfectly at peace here, totally content to just lick at you and taste you for hours at a time that he nearly forgets why you’re sprawled out on his desk like this.

You tugging at his hair serves as a gentle reminder that kicks him into gear, and he smiles against your skin, pressing kisses to the junction of your thighs and nipping at you a little.

“Andrei,” you say, breathless. “Potoropites', pozhaluysta.” Hurry up, please.

He shakes his head, gently letting your legs fall to the side as he sits up in his chair, draping his body over yours. “Not this time, almaznyy,” he says, wrapping your arms around his neck before he wraps his own arms around your back, cupping your ass in his hands.

Your brain kicks into gear just in time for you to wrap your legs around his waist, and then he’s lifting you up, pressing filthy open mouth kisses to your neck as he navigates the hallway carefully, taking the measured and familiar steps to your bedroom.

He lays you gently on the mattress, placing you delicately among the pillows before he’s shedding his shirt and pants, kicking his boxer briefs off to the side and then settling back between your legs.

This time, your thighs squeeze at his head when he sucks your pussy into his mouth particularly hard, tongue dipping inside of you, and your fingers fly into his hair, scratching at his scalp in warning.

“Behave, moy muzh.” you hiss through gritted teeth, even if the way you writhe against his face tells him you like it. 

“You started it,” he reminds you, tugging on the dress resting around your middle. You huff, grabbing the bottom and peeling it off, tossing it in the direction of Andrei’s pile of clothes. 

Your eyes sparkle with mischief when you watch the way he takes in the sight of your naked body. No matter how many times the two of you do this, Andrei always looks at you the same way.

Like he’s in love, like it’s the first time, like for all he wants to take you apart, the way he’ll put you back together will be well worth it, and if it isn’t, he’ll work for it until it is.

“Pridi ko mne, lyubov' moya,” you beckon him. Come to me, my love.

His bottom lip drags against your clit as he rises from his position, tongue darting out to lick at your arousal still coating his lips, and the sight alone licks at the flame of arousal sparking low in your belly.

When he crawls up your body to kiss you, he props himself up on his arms, not wanting to rest his full weight on you, his delicate little almaznyy. Normally, you love it, but right now, you need something a little different. 

Your arms wrap around his neck as you seize his mouth in a bruising, desperate kiss, pulling him down to you and taking him by surprise as you manage to flip him onto his back on the way down. You take full advantage of his surprise by making your way down his body to settle between his legs, wrapping your fist around his cock and taking him into your mouth.

Andrei groans, sitting up on his elbows to watch you.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to make a baby if you keep doing that,” he warns, cock throbbing against your tongue as if to emphasize his point. 

You bat your eyelashes at him, sucking at the head of his cock and using your hands to stroke at him at the same time. He hisses, one of his hands flying to rest in your hair, the other resting behind his head and emphasizing the chiseled muscles of his arms, chest, and abdomen.

Sometimes, you couldn’t believe this man was your husband.

“Almaznyy,” he warns when you take him down your throat, swallowing around him. You’re slow to come off his cock, letting him leave your lips with a dramatic ‘pop.’

“I’m still on birth control,” you tell him. “So we can’t make a baby tonight anyway, probably not for another month, at least.”

His brows furrow, both from your statement and the way you twist your wrist, stroking his cock the way you know he likes. “Then what - ah yebat’ - what are we doing?” He asks, trying to focus on the conversation as you take him back in your throat. You hum a little, and he tugs on the strands of your hair again in warning.

You pull off of him, gently stroking your hand up and down, squeezing as you go. “Practicing, of course.”

He lets his arms fall out beside him, collapsing against the pillows and dragging his hands over his eyes. “Almaznyy,” he huffs, hips stuttering when you squeeze him at the base.

“Hmm?” You hum, ready to take him in your mouth again, but Andrei moves quickly, hauling you up his body and cradling you close as he flips you over again. He positions you among the pillows, placing one under your waist so you’re practically propped up for him. He positions himself so his arms rest in the crook of your knees, your ankles near his head as he folds his body over yours.

He takes his cock in his hand, running the head through your folds. “Practice?” 

You nod, “Practice, for now.” You reach out, pushing his hand out of the way so you can line his cock up with your entrance. “Which is why the desk was perfectly good, and-”

The rest of your words are stolen from you when Andrei bats your hand away gently and slides inside of you, slow but precise, bottoming out and nestling his body close to yours. Your eyes flutter shut when you squeeze around him, and his hands come up, cradling the sides of your face as he murmurs encouraging words to you, staying still until you’ve adjusted to his size.

“Almaznyy,” he calls, and your eyes blink open, glazed over and hazy and you’ve barely even started. “Good?”

You nod, tilting your hips a little, trying to fuck yourself on his cock. He laughs a little, shaking his head. “So damn impatient.” 

He raises his body off of yours a little, angling his hips and setting a steady pace, one that has you whining in protest almost immediately, grabbing at the muscles of his ass and trying to drag him closer.

“I won’t break Andrei-” you start, but he cuts you off with a particularly hard thrust that has your eyes rolling back into your head.

“I don’t care if it’s just practice, almaznyy.” He tells you, “and I don’t care how many times we have to practice. I’m going to make it last, and I’m going to make sure that you remember all the ways I fuck you and make love to you until I put a baby in you.”

You gasp a little, and Andrei smiles to himself, thoroughly pleased. He sits up, placing his hands on the backs of your thighs and settling in to fuck you just the way you like. He fucks you in deep, strong strokes, the head of his cock brushing up against that sensitive spot in your pussy every single time.

It steals your breath from you, and all the telltale signs of an orgasm approaching signal to Andrei like a beacon. The way your breathing catches in your throat, the way you can’t keep your eyes open, how your legs start to shake.

He takes his thumb and rests it on your clit, rubbing in lazy circles until your back arches off the bed, a satisfied cry echoing out of your throat and into the pillows beside your head when you come. Your pussy squeezes down in a way that makes Andrei’s head go dizzy, and then he’s coming with a groan, pushing your hips down onto him as he buries himself to the hilt, his orgasm sudden and a shock to his system.

It takes him a second to catch his breath, and moves your legs off of his shoulders to make it easier to pull out of you and give you reprieve, but a noise of protest leaves your throat, and your ankles lock at the base of his spine. 

He pauses, glancing at you curiously when he notices the look on your face.

Andrei thinks back to before you left for San Jose, the day he took you in the shower, and how upset you’d been when he set you down on your feet.

It clicks in his head, then. What you’d been upset about.

He’s still hard - he’s practically always hard when he’s around you - so he moves his hips, slowly pulling back an inch before pushing back inside. You throw your head back, his name leaving your lips in relief, and he smirks. 

Fucking you in shallow thrusts, thumb circling your clit, Andrei watches in fascination as he pushes his come back inside of you with his cock, watches the way your pretty face twists in pleasure, and hums satisfactorily to himself. 

“Is this what you’ve been needing, moya zhena?” He asks, eyes on yours the whole time. “How long have you wanted this?”

You can barely answer him, your head thrown back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed, back still arched and pushing those beautiful tits of yours up. Andrei takes them in his hands, massaging them, and you keen, pushing into his hands and pussy trying to retreat from his cock with nowhere to go.

The sensation feels different for him. He’s hypersensitive now, all too away of the slick slide of his cock, of your mixed come leaking out of you before he pushes back in, feels heat begin to prick at his skin when your pussy continues to flutter and squeeze, like it’s trying to keep him inside of you. With every brush of his finger over your nipples, your pussy squeezes and you try to pull off of him, but in the next breath you’re winding your hips, pushing back down until he’s buried to the hilt.

Andrei pushes your legs up again before he rests his weight on you gently, his shoulders under your knees, burying his face in your neck and placing his hands under your ass, cradling you closer to him as he starts to fuck you in deeper strokes, drowning in the pleased little noises leaving your lips.

“Ty chuvstvuyesh' sebya tak khorosho, dorogaya,” he murmurs against your neck. You feel so good, darling. 

“Andrei,” you finally manage to breathe out, and relief floods through his veins. There were times when you two made love that you got so lost in the pleasure that you couldn’t speak to him, and it worried Andrei to no end. But you always came back to him, always called for him, and the same calm washes over his body, a shiver running up his spine.

Your arms come up, wrapping around his neck and arching your back, giving him more access to you. Andrei hums, pleased, sucking a bruise into your skin while his cock starts to throb from where he’s fucking you, can feel a second orgasm creeping up when he bites down gently, raking his teeth over the sensitive skin and you start to squeeze and clench around him.

“Gonna come again, almaznyy?” He asks, nosing along your jaw. “Want me to come again, too?”

You nod, turning your head and Andrei meets you, slotting your lips together and swallowing your moans down when you shake gently beneath him, back arching and pushing your body closer to his. His eyes squeeze shut, electricity zipping up his spine when your orgasm tips him over the edge and he’s spilling into you again, groaning against your jaw.

His arms come out from under you and he gently eases your legs back down against the bed, massaging the muscles as he does. Instead of resting them against the bed though, you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at his lower back, and Andrei laughs. 

Gently, he rolls you both until he’s laying underneath you instead, careful to keep himself nestled inside of you, and he smiles to himself when you do a half cat-like stretch before sprawling across his chest. 

A pleased little exhale greets his ears after a moment, and his hand comes up, rubbing gentle circles in your back. “Made you lunch,” you tell him, voice hoarse. “‘S in the kitchen.”

“Spasibo, almaznyy.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We should go eat it then, it’s probably cold by now.”

“It’s the chicken caesar salad wraps you like.” You say, lips dragging across his chest as you speak. “And I made strawberry lemonade this morning, should be ready by now.”

He nods, tapping your flank gently. “We should get up, malyshka. Get cleaned up.”

You nod, but you’ve got that look in your eye like before, like you’re disappointed as you carefully lift yourself off of him and roll onto the mattress beside him. Andrei rolls onto his side, cradling your face in his hands. “What’s wrong, moya zhena?” 

You shake your head, a small smile gracing your lips. “Nothing’s wrong, just…excited, is all.”

“Excited?”

“To start a family with you,” you clarify. 

“Then why do you look so sad?” He wonders, thumbing at the pout in your bottom lip.

You laugh, nose scrunching a little before cuddling into him. “It’s silly - I just wanted to start now.”

“It’s only a month, right?” He asks. You nod, nose rubbing at his pec, and he smiles to himself. “That’s good - plenty of time for us to practice, then? Wanna make sure we get it right on the first try.”

You snort. “Perfektsionist.” Perfectionist.

“Only the best for you, moya zhena.” Andrei says, teasing. Underneath it though, you both know that he’s serious. Because if anything, even as he rises from the bed and lifts you in his arms, carrying you into the bathroom, you know he never does anything half assed. 

Now that you’re both on the same page, he’s going to do everything he can to ensure you’re well looked after from beginning to end, and when your little baby eventually comes, he’s going to work twice as hard to make sure the both of you are taken care of, and that you’ll want for nothing.

You, his almaznyy, and your future child, his malen'kaya rubin. His little ruby.

[mybrainismelted]

Weekly tag Wednesday! 🏷️

This week we are going to talk about leisure time!  Let’s do some relaxing, shall we?

Name:  Kat

Location:  Ontario, Canada

Age:  2(Nosho)-2

You have an unexpected extra day off work or school!  What are you going to do? Sleep in if I knew about it in advance.  Then sit my ass on the couch and doomscroll, probably.

What is your favorite way to spend a summer day?  Relaxing at the cottage, hop on a floaty in the lake for a while, end the day with a campfire.

What is your favorite way to spend a winter day?  Inside.  Definitely inside.  In my comfy clothes, with a blanket, probably either reading or watching movies.

What do you do to unwind at the end of the day?  Read, and scroll tumblr.

Do you play any sports?  Nah.  I’m clumsy.  Me and sports do not mix.

Other than fanfic, what is your favorite genre to read?  Fantasy and Sci-Fi

What is your comfort movie/tv show?  Ok, well… Shameless.  But other than that, Dirty Dancing probably.

Do you write or draw?  I write, mostly fanfic, but I’ve been known to dabble in other things over the years.

What other arts or crafts do you do?  I crochet, and I’m learning to knit.  I’ve done some classes on stained glass and pottery.

Describe your perfect breakfast:  OK, hear me out.  I used to go to this buffet breakfast and I assembled the most amazing thing… eggs benedict on banana bread french toast.  Sweet from the banana bread french toast, salty from the back bacon, savoury from the eggs benny…. So frigging good.  Add a side of fresh strawberries with whipped cream and a coffee, and we are set.

That’s all for this week, folks - see you next week!

Tags under the cut.

tagging @deedala @michellemisfit @energievie @celestialmickey @spookygingerr @jrooc @blue-disco-lights @ms-moonlight-inn @thepupperino @sam-loves-seb @samantitheos @deathclassic @creepkinginc @crossmydna @suzy-queued @sgtmickeyslaughter @francesrose3 @lingy910y @too-schoolforcool @darlingian @wehangout @palepinkgoat @stocious @spacerockwriting @gallapiech @sleepyheadgallavich @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx @mmmichyyy @nymacron @doshiart

[leajoyrambles]

It started as a joke. The attic was haunted, we said. It was cursed. We didn’t go there, didn’t sort through the boxes and boxes of photos and books. Not since she died. We would dare each other to go up there, then squeal and giggle like the piglets in the pen as we chickened out.

It started as a joke, but I don’t remember how the joke started.

I guess it started with our uncle, in a way. He didn’t go into the attic, not even with Auntie. Us girls, her little brave ones, we did. But only with her. She said we weren’t allowed to go up there without her until after she died. And then she did.

And we still didn’t go, because our uncle went up there, trembling, telling us to stay put, to get the buttons Auntie wanted to be laid to rest with — keepsakes from her childhood — and after the funeral, he wrote an illegible letter in the middle of the night, in the midst of the heart attack that took him away, too. And no one came for us, for any of us, because we never knew Uncle’s family, and all of Auntie’s was gone.

There were ten of us girls, nine of Uncle’s nieces and me, Auntie’s. The oldest was Cecile, fifteen years old two weeks after the funeral, and the youngest was Loria, twelve and a half. The years passed, all of us living out our lives on the farm, no one else for miles, with only a few of us ever leaving at a time, to trade the flax and wool and wheat we didn’t need for the smoked meat and ivory sewing needles that we did. I was never one of them — I think I was the only one who never left the farm — but I never wanted to be. This was Auntie’s home, the only thing I ever knew of my mother or grandparents or other aunts and uncles by blood. I didn’t even know their names.

Until now.

It’s been ten years. Cecile is married to the whittler, pregnant with her fourth child, all boys so far. Ila is living with a maid, raising two orphan girls. Meda has made a career as a seamstress and never once expressed an interest in romance. Dia and Loria both died of rot fever when it swept through three years ago, and I was the only one who didn’t catch ill.

We grew up. And I’m alone.

So I finally went into the attic, and this was what I found:

Leather-bound books full of cramped, insensible writing, twenty of them written by the same tremulous hand and three written by three others. Three diaries in a language I do not know. There are three wooden crates, two containing a piece of pottery each, broken beyond recognition, and one with an intact clay crown bowl — very ceremonial, and very valuable when made from any material that didn’t decay. It was named not for its shape, which was shallow and wide and perfectly round, but for the intricate design of birds flying in circles around the sides, always done in multiple colors, in order to resemble diamonds catching the light.

A crown bowl is made by those in mourning, filled with things that meant something to the dead, and buried with them. Auntie told us stories about when the queen died and was buried with a crown bowl made of stained glass, which made the light dance as it was carried to her casket, filled with flowers and folded pages from her diary and love letters from her husband.

When Auntie was dying, she asked that I be the one to make her crown bowl, and I did. Every day by her bedside, watching her life force slowly wither away, I made it. It was wooden, carved painstakingly from a river tree, painted with sparrows in red and yellow and white, filled with buttons and blue roses and, by her request, she was cremated and her ashes put into the crown bowl. It took a week for her bones to turn to ash in the low-burning fire on the riverbank, and we placed the crown bowl on the river, to be carried away. How it floated, I still don’t know.

Clay crown bowls are a bad omen, said to entomb the soul within the body. Why anyone would keep one around, I have no idea.

I go through stacks of age-yellowed photos, photos of Auntie’s wedding and all of our birthdays, until I come across an envelope pressed between two sheets of glass. It’s the most expensive preservation method a farmer can afford, and my hands shake as I move the glass and read the inscription — it’s to me, written in that same cramped handwriting as the twenty books, and I realize with a start that it’s Auntie’s handwriting.

The contents of the envelope are, somehow, both unassuming and terrifying. There is a letter, written in that language I do not know, and there is a photograph.

A clean, glossy photograph, black and white and gray, taken here on the farm. A photograph of three girls, identical, not yet ten, standing in a row, holding crown bowls full of a dark liquid. The bowls are clay, I realize, startled. Three identical clay crown bowls that I recognize because they look just like the intact one in that crate.

I’m not exactly superstitious. The crows in flight in the background, thirteen of them, is not something I take to heart. The fact that the girls are identical, which is said to be the mark of demons, does not frighten me. The clay crown bowls are only baffling. Their frightened expressions are all eerily similar, all focused on the camera so that it seems they are staring at me. None of this frightens me, strange as it all is. <p>

No, what frightens me is that I recognize these girls — or, perhaps, one of them. It is younger, perhaps, but it is recognizable nonetheless, that face. <p>

It is the face I see in the mirror.

I remember writing one of those diaries, in a language I once knew. We are learning pottery and weaving turned into we are learning magic and then Mother is acting strange and then, the last passage, and I remember my hand shaking as I wrote: Mother is mad.

It is a strange realization, that in a decade and a half, I have not recalled a memory from before my ninth birthday. But I remember now. I remember standing, tremulous, holding a clay crown bowl, uncertain of my fate. I remember wondering at its contents, thinking, surely, it was ashes mixed with blood, or ink made from half-lung berries, or demon guts. I remember a voice that once murmured lullabies chanting a funeral song over the living.

But Auntie came. Auntie stopped her — killed her — but she was too late.

Too late to stop the pitch-black liquid from seeping over Anora’s skin, turning her to stone. Too late to stop the inky fluid from turning red in Telona’s hands as blood seeped from her pores in a horrible torrent.

And too late, I recall, to save my soul from being severed from my body and flowing into the liquid, which rose up and took a form identical to my living one.

It was a corpse, I realize now, but not a human one.

And now I understand why I never left the farm. Why I could never stand to be amongst humans in any place that was not natural, that was not wild. I understand why Auntie would hide these secrets up here, in a dark and enclosed space, which humans may fear but which a thing like me would merely abhor.

It is a cruel irony, this reversal of roles, that a human should be immortalized in the body of such a creature. I am uncertain, even now, whether the deaths of Anora and Telona were the accidents, or if my half-survival was the mistake. My life force, I know, is anchored to that crown bowl — the only one of three still intact — and that means that my body can never stray far.

An undead changeling, after all, is exactly the kind of abomination that would be bound to its own grave.

“May I have your name?” I whisper, and the words taste sweet, as though they were always meant to be there, just as air is meant for my lungs and blood for my veins.

But is it? When did my lungs last ache? Have I ever checked to see if my heart was beating? Do I even have a heart or lungs at all? This body is an imitation of humanity, and yet I cannot imagine taking another form. Was it the magic that bound the changeling corpse to this form, or was it my human mind? My hands remain as they are, calloused and stained with pale scars, as I pick up the crown bowl.

I can feel my humanity slipping further away. The birds have fallen silent in the trees. A spider scuttles through a crack in the wood, suddenly terrified.

I may be an abomination, but I refuse to be a monster.

I raise the crown bowl high above my head. My arms tremble, but I’ll not have to hold it for long.

The attic was haunted, we said.

Text: I find the photos in an envelope, mono-color, clearly taken here on the farm. Three identical girls stand side by side, looking terrified, each holding a bowl of black water. 

[fullmoonandstar]

So my dirty mind has been thinking thoughts about Steven Grant in the past week. Lots of thoughts (I might need some holy water)

Anyways, Steven got hurt in the chest during a fight and now reader needs to take care of it, put some cream and shit, accidently grazing at his nipples and finding out they're so f**king sensitive, he would come undone just by playing with them, baby's shaking and blushing... I might or might not have a nipple play kink...

Feel comfortable to write it queen...love ya

Also, I'm just happily jumping around cause I've found ya, like a only femdom Moonknight blog?? I could surely die happy rn. You're surely my favorite account from now on

laters, gators

not exactly what you wanted but I wrote something???

Send me asks <3

cw: mentions of cuts, blood, erection

Summary: Reader is the first responder at the museum and Steven has some cuts on his chest that they have to clean

The door to your office flew open to reveal Donna’s frown. Not really someone you expect to see on any given day as the gift shop manager, Donna, had nothing to do with you. Selling merchandise in the museum was not your job and you were thankful for that. 

"What can I do for you?" you asked. 

"Nothing but Stevie…"

She motioned Steven from the gift shop to come into the office. You jumped up from your chair when you saw the red streaks on his white shirt.

"You’re bleeding! What happened!?"

"I - it’s -"

"A kid broke a display and he scratched himself on the glass" Donna answered. 

"It really not that bad. They are not deep." Steven said.

"That’s for me to decide. Thanks, Donna."

She rolled her eyes and strolled out of your office but not before giving Steven another look. The few times you had talked to Steven he had gleefully receded facts about whichever relics happened to be close by. You found it cute how happy he was sharing what he knew. His boss Donna did not like him all that much but was hesitant to fire him. Your colleague had speculated that she just liked to have someone that she could bully. It never got to the point that she had been reported but she was not the nicest person; she was particularly unpleasant with Steven. Always calling him Stevie, putting him on shifts that no one else wants and giving him the work that she did not want to do herself.

"It’s fine, really, I don’t want to interrupt your work. I can go home and change."

"I’m one of the first responders here and this is a work incident. It has to be recorded. Please take off your shirt. I will get the bed."

The bed was foldable, something you would see in a doctor's office. The museum had bought it when a general practitioner retired and it was seldom used as usually the worst wounds anyone gets around here were paper cuts. 

You rolled the foldable bed from its place in the corner of your office into the middle. There was not enough space in your office so you had to move your desk to be able to unfold the bed. You fumbled with the folding mechanism but it had been a while since you last had to use this. When you found the right sequence and the bed unfolded, you turned around to see Steven very much not shirtless, looking at the artefacts on your table. 

“Those are replicas.”

He looked up with sparkling eyes. 

“They look amazing though.”

“They do! The real ones are in the archive but the museum wants to display something so they commissioned these.”

Steven seemed to have forgotten about the fact that his white sweater was ripped and bloody because he was transfixed by the ceramic replicas. You let him pick them up and study the fine lines and perfectly faded colours. The artists had done a fantastic job at recreating the 2000-year-old pottery based on references that the museum had provided. 

He asked questions about how they were made and as much as wanted to answer all of Steven’s enthusiastic questions, the darkening stains on his ripped shirt were making you nervous.  

“Steven, I really gotta have a look at that.”

“..? This?” He held the broken bowl up for you. 

“No, your chest.”

“Oh. Yes. Sure.”

Steven took off the jacket he wore over his sweater and avoided looking at you. It dawned on you that it was maybe a bit awkward for him to undress in front of you. There was something very intimate in taking your clothes off even if it was not with a lover. You busied yourself with getting the first aid kit. 

“Please lie on there when you’re done.”

You checked the expiration date on the kit and walked over to a now shirtless Steven. He had always struck you as someone who would rather spend his time with books, inside, so it was a bit surprising to see that he was rather fit. Several parallel red streaks ran along his skin, some had already stopped bleeding. 

“I don’t think you need stitches but we have to clean the cuts otherwise they could get infected.”

“Alright.”

You dipped a sterile cotton ball into the disinfectant. 

“This will sting a bit.”

Steven flinched when you dabbed the soaked cotton over the cuts. Goosebumps spread over his skin like wildfire and he breathed audibly through his nose. One of the cuts ran close to his nipple and as you cleaned it your hand brushed the bud. Steven sucked in air through his teeth. You yanked your hands away.  

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he said a little too fast. “It’s all good.”

The cotton stained red with the blood you had cleaned off and you would need to pick up a new one from the jar of new ones. Steven had his eye closed shut, a vertical line rose between his brows. You looked around for your rubbish bin to throw the blood stained cotton into it and saw it on the other side of your desk. Steven did not notice when you got up and brought the bin over to the side of the bed. He was concentrating on something and now you could make an educated guess of what it was that needed all his attention. His pants were notably tight around his hips. You looked away as soon as you noticed what you were seeing; It was not your place to judge him for what turned him on. You could almost hear his silent prayers to the gods that you would not see the bulge in his pants and you were adamant that you would pretend you had not noticed. 

"That’s it. I’m done."

You threw the last cotton swap in the trash and place the tweezers on your desk. They would have to be sterilised later for the next incident. Steven was visibly relieved that you were done and he looked at his stained shirt, pondering if he should put it back on. 

It was an accident but it did not matter, he saw that you saw the tent in his pants. You did not mean to look but when he moved to get up your face al most at eye level with it. He used the shirt to hide it and you raised your hands.

"I’m so sor-" - "I didn’t see anything." - "-ry I … it’s just. I’m really sorry."

"Steven," - you touched his arm, it was just the lightest of touches. "I don’t see anything."

He stopped apologising but his face was flushed and a cold sweat had appeared on his brow. Maybe the shock of getting discovered would help him calm down. 

"I didn’t see anything," you repeated. "Unless you want me to."

A/N: I feel like i'm still warming up XD I will write a full on smut eventually :3

[emj-tolj]

Bringing a World of Adventure Hunting in to Your Home

Not everyone is not living in a position to wander the woods, desert, beach or ruins. I had that situation at one point in my life. And yes its depressing. And when you read others doing all these things its can really get to you. However there are a huge number of things yo CAN do to counteract the depression. Lets visit a good many of these things:

1) Everyone’s first Go-to is Roleplaying. Be its table-top or online. But not all Online games bring out the true desire to adventure, as they are limited to telling a specific story. As such I suggest avoiding using game maps and make you own real maps. Right down and study any runes in the game, study the magic tech in the game, write side stories of your character that can not be done in game. Create a history to the character you made. Some games are limited what you character looks like. Draw your own character and hang it by your game station.

2) If you have adventure wear, wear it about the house/apartment. Does not have to be all of it. Boots, a shirt, a vest, tunic, wristbands, cloak 

3) If you  have the money and talent turn kitchen into a tavern or saloon, line shelfs with bottles and plates and other tavern/saloon wear. Avoid cheese props. Study movie sets and get ideas from that. 

4) Likewise turn your bedroom into an Inn room. Go ristic and simple with natural colors and materials

5) Burn in a cauldron or censor wood chips, herbs and incense, 

6) Hang posters of nature about the walls in natural wood frames. If you can obtain some old wood window frames, you that as your poster frames. If possible find images of nature on line and print them out. Try to make all the images co-inside, so its looks like you are looking out into the same view. Change the posters with the seasons if possible 

7) Place realistic life-size animals about your home: Snake, turtle, mice, birds, chipmunks, insects. If you have a ficus tree or a cluster of plants, place a birds nest with eggs in it

8) Play sound effects and ambient sounds in the house. Youtibe and other sites have a plethora of ambiance and sounds from cave to camp sites, tavern sounds, market squares, pirate ships, forests 

9) Add a fountain/s in your home. Fountain pumps can be bought anywhere these days, 

10) Terrariums! Make them and add them to your home. Even of the plants are fake 

11) Aquariums! If your adventurous aestheic love is the see or any water setting like ponds, these are fantastic to have. And do not limit yourself to just fish: Crabs, snails, turtles, frogs, lizards, snakes. Even if you are not allowed to have pes, build an aquarium anywhere. The flow of the water from the filtar moving the plants can lend to the imagination  

12) Wood, tin and copper and wrought iron objects 

13) Leather bound books. Line a shelf with them, 

14) Candles and lanterns. Some people can not have things where they live for safety mode. Even if you never burn them, have a cluster of candles anyway. Just the look of lanterns and candles plays with the mind. You can also invest in battery ones but I think they are silly looking

15) Bowls of fruit: Wood bowls and real fruits and nuts about the house. 

16) Seasonal and year round garlands and wreaths about the house. Clusters of ferns. If you do not have a green thumb, go fake if need be. Ferns and spider plans are my fave. 

17) Drift wood and moss covered wood. 

18) If you have your own Adventure clothes and gear do not bury it in a closet. Get a mannequin and display it, 

19) Fur, leather, blankets, wool, sheepskin throws and pillows.

20) Banners and tapestries 

21) Invest in a couple of mortar & pestle sets, one for the kitchen and one for the bathroom is you have the room. (Confession: I collect them) 

22) Hang herbs and dry plants in the kitchen.   

23) Clay pots and assorted pottery about the house. Try to sick with OLD looking styles. Check out some sites or books on ancient styles for an idea 

24) Antlers add a wonderful feel to ambience. Even if fake. Now they are made into door handles, draw knobs and so much more. (DO NO go hung deer and elk JUST for their racks)

25) Bowls and vases of snail shells, acorns, pine cones, 

26) Rolls and displays of maps, 

17) Glass and Ceramic bottles: Display a few or better yet, use them! fill them with shampoos, liquid soaps, drinks and what ever else you use and look at daily  

18) Old style dip pens and ink vials on your desk along with scrolls of parchment and an old leather bound journal, 

19) Color glass baubles like the ones at christmas time and “witch balls” These are great if your Aesthetic is the sea or in the Witchy profession, 

20) Wood wand display. Not talking about Harry Potter here. Do a little reserach and find or make a REAL one. Display it on your desk or mantle staff. If you have a set, even better. 

21) A Statue of an ancient god, 

22) Baskets and wicker to hold things 

23) Metal goblets and drinking horns

24) If you have one or several hand your shields on the walls, 

25) Oil hurricane lamps, 

24) Hang and display Gourds about. If you know how to carve and stain gourds, all the better, 

25) Birds houses. In the house?? Sure, why not? 

26) Feathers. Sometimes just a vase of ling feathers helps. If they are feathers you find in your walks, just as better. Each one has a story  

28) Bowls of rocks. Not only does this bring the natural world in but its said that a bowl of rocks by the door and window wards off negativity. 

29) Old wood boxes. Just do not collect them but USE them. put whatever in them as storage. Afraid you will forget what’s in it??? All the better. There is your treasure at the end of your search. 

30) Corn dollies. These folk cultural dolls and designs have their roots into the ancient world. a display of them, especially during the late summer, really invokes the harvest season 

31) Ceramic and wood bake ware in the kitchen. Ads a rustic tavern feel. This could include   bread boards and bowls, wood spoons, rolling pins,

32) Replace DVD covers with parchment or wood texture covers. Sometimes a wall of game and DVD cases can kill an ambiance you are striving for. If you can not print out all these coves, hang a tapestry over your shelf unit or add wood shutter doors  

33) Cover your library of bright color books with leather, paper of plether, No access to leather? See of someone has an old leather jacket they are ditching you can cut up

34) Wood flutes, harps, ocarinas, pan pips, lyres and rustic drums add to a great tavern-ish display.

35) A tall vase of cattails gives ambiance for this that over adventures in places like rivers and lakes, 

36) If you have a collection of crystals, sea glass and gemstones, show them off in a wood box or basket, 

37) Halloween Witch bottles add to the adventure appel. (I have a buhnch and have all my teas in them, 

38) Fancy yourself an Librarian or treasure seeker? Have a display of “artifacts” like (potters, tiles, scales, bones, glass, wood), Find some broken pottery shards and make them look like Greek pottery. If you sculpt make a remnant of a state or a bone or prehistoric tooth. Create your own artifacts and put stories to them.

39) Hang a bunch of leather sachets and small bags from a hook or sit them on a shelf, 

40) Find yourself a rustic tea set, 

41) Collect vintage clay and wood tops. Tops have been around since ancient Assyria and Babylon.

42) Display a collection of carving tools or depending on your likes, a small anvil and hammer,  

43) Hand on hoots of rack by your door or wall woven wicker hats, leather caps and witch/witch hat, head wreaths,

44) Display an old stick/straw/grass broom head wreaths, 

45) Display a helm or helmet you have in a place that speaks “I am at the ready”

46) Fold a small stack of old burlap bags and place on a shelf and use them to store things like potatoes and onions, 

47) Display and basket of wood knitting needles and wool,

48) Grow plants, flowers, herbs and small trees. Even small pots of just grass adds a sense of nature and Adventure (The ancient Greeks would grow grass for their New Years Eve celebration) I have lemon trees in my windows I grew from seeds.

49) A Fish Net works great to add an aesthetic look to your space.

50) If nothing more find an artist and have him/her draw your aesthetic self as you see yourself in different poses, gear and situations. Blow thing up power size and hang them about your space

51) If you can not do any of this, create a physical scrap book of pictures and images that’s screams your aesthetic ideals. Visit it daily and add to it.

NOTE: While all these ideas are great starts, DO NOT over do it. Less is more. Rustic and simple. Avoid cheesy plastic props and things like signs screaming “I am a Proud Viking!” Investigate films, movies and history into your aesthetic loves and the world behind it. Do not create clutter. Make you space livable and function to your NEEDS. Make you space your home, not a museum. If your space is cluttered and does not bring you a feel of your Aesthetic feelings you may need to pull back on some of your props.     

[headcanonspam]

Ahh insomnia, why must you follow me so? Anyway, since I'm not sleeping, might as well go off about my TOG opinions.

So I see a lot of takes about how Joe is a writer & artist (which is as it should be, he IS & honestly if that was all this fandom talked about I'd be down), but I only see bits & pieces here & there about the others and their relationship with creating stuff. So. A few thoughts.

Andy is used to being the subject of art -- far before Rodin, she was worshipped as a god and people certainly represented her likeness & prowress. But it is only with Quynh that she learns how to work beauty with her hands: first by beginning to embellish their armor & weapons, for things they (read: Quynh) use so frequently should be as beautiful as deadly. But it turns softer as well: Quynh teaches Andy how to do Quynh's hair, how to press flowers. But where Andy truly excels, & has always excelled, is dance: she loves to dance & she is good at it. Dancing in community, with Quynh, by herself. She is both the art & the artist & it only lasts until the dance is done: nothing is permanent in dance. Nothing is forever.

Quynh's life started hard and got harder and she hardened with it. But Andy doesn't berate her for loving beautiful things. When they have the time and the money and the supplies, Quynh is drawn to gardening, to growing. I think she's also drawn to things that she can hold with her hands & use -- pottery, weaving. And I think she loves to sing, especially to Andy, especially when Andy is dancing. I think she also loves learning how to play instruments, but singing will always be what she comes back to. When she's back in the world, singing is the last to come back to her -- it reminds her too much of screaming & drowning & screaming & drowning. She still heals, physically, obviously, so her vocal cords should be the same, but privately Andy thinks her voice never quite sounds like it used to. Andy would never say that though.

Lykon I associate most with that smile of his -- it says he's up to trouble and loving it. I don't know what he created when he was alive, but in a modern AU he'd be part of the trio of stealth urban installation social justice artist collective along with Joe & Booker. (With Nile discovering them & joining in & Nicky helping but insisting he's not *really* part of the team he's just being a supportive boyfriend, & Andy & Quynh doing their own thing but definitely knowing about it and offering assists when needed.)

Nicky isn't Joe's muse so much as his co-creator, even if Nicky would demur. But the two of them are -- along with lovers & all the rest -- best friends & to be friends is to have a conversation that never stops. And so I see them talking about art & poetry & writing and in a real sense naturally falling into collaboration. He & Joe pass their projects & passions back & forth until it is hard to tell where their individual contributions begin or end. That said, they are drawn to different mediums: I think Nicky is like Quynh in that he likes to work on crafting things with a use. Pottery, carpentry, gardening, textiles, cooking, blacksmithing. He builds them a house in Malta from the ground up. He always has projects half finished -- stained glass, mosaics, some fermented food experiments that might be from last year or might be from 150 years ago.

Nile loves art, but hasn't been able to indulge in it as much as she'd like, during her mortal life. I think that it will take time for her to develop her own sense of style & talents. But I do have some guesses as to how that process goes over her first dozen decades: she gets involved with some experimental theater; she takes up various instruments & drops them & picks them up again with renewed vigor; she paints; she paints a lot, in as many styles as she can; she gets deep into fashion designing; she works with clay & is touched when Joe & Nicky buy her a wheel & kiln for her favorite safe house; she doesn't get into cooking, exactly, but gets deep into archiving recipes, which is it's own kind of creative endeavor; she self publishes romance novel ebooks for fun. Eventually, she stops worrying so much about finding that one kind of art that she is good at & starts enjoying the moments of discovery, of being bad at something & still loving it, of improving, of being great at something, of not improving but continuing anyway, of making stuff & making stuff & getting to keep doing it, of watching other people make things, of watching how art evolves & loops back & iterates & unfurls & how she gets to be a part of it, this grand conversation that is creative endeavors, at least a little.

Booker likes art that is old & the sense of history that hangs around it. Books, obviously, but paintings & sculptures & furniture & clothing as well. He has a knack for forgery, of course, and part of that is how he understands things as material objects that exist in time & that are changed by time. Like Andy drawn to dance in part for it's ephemerality, Booker is drawn to forgery & historic artifacts because of the dual reminder that time changes everything -- but there's always ways to cheat. That said, he does have a secret soundcloud account for his electronic noise albums. And he definitely has a couple of phone games of varying qualities can be downloaded on the app store.

Joe, the artist poet warrior jock of my heart, has dabbled in all of it, but it always comes down, for him to the notebook/sketchbook he keeps with him -- for him every he makes starts with jotting down his thoughts, either as a drawing or in words. Conversations with Nicky that never finish, scenes he wants to remember, flights of fancy, questions he means to look into, grocery lists, songs to check out, it's all there, in the books & papers he's collected over the years, that Nicky has made margin comments on, that have been spilled on, smudged, sliced by errant swords, but always kept, scattered over safehouse and miles and time, ready to be picked up whenever Joe runs into them next.

[resolvebound]

Her comment of an imposter brought him a slight laugh and he gave a little shake of his head. Amusement warmed him as she said she would defend him from Porlyusica, his smile hidden as he reached towards the back of the cupboard for a particular cup. “Thanks,” he said, “I could do without a lecture from her.”

The cup he retrieved was unlike the others in his collection, but then again, they were all rather different from each other, an eclectic group. Over the years, instead of buying a brand new set of them, he’d tended to pick up the odd mug or cup at markets whenever they caught his eye. It had begun simply because he’d only needed one mug when he’d taken ownership of the cabin, there was no point in having a whole set. And then when Cana and/or Loke would visit or stay when helping him work on the renovations, they each brought one of their own to add to the cupboard. From then, he picked up the habit of looking out for ones that reminded him of those he was close to, or ones that pleased his eye.

He looked down at the teacup he’d selected, chosen for the way it brought to mind other cups he’d seen Evergreen with. On the dainty side, crisp white with a golden edge and a delicate swirl of vines and blue flowers (forget-me-nots or something, he wasn’t sure). The matching saucer had not been found among the wares of the stall he’d found the cup in, but he admittedly hadn’t looked too hard.

Placing it down on the kitchen countertop beside his own mug (purchased at a pottery stall some time ago, crafted in a lovely midnight blue and glazed with great care), he set about getting the water heated and the tea ready as he listened to Evergreen.

Thinking back, it seemed Magnolia was hardly ever uneventful, although he supposed the seven years when most of the guild was missing must have been…almost a relief to the town in some ways. He thought of the cathedral and its multiple rebuilds as she mentioned it, it was certainly not the only building there that had needed repeated restoration. He hummed a little in interest at the mention of the new windows, wondering how they looked. Stained glass was always quite something.

“I’m not one for crowds either,” he said, frowning a little and imagining he would have skipped out on the unveiling himself too. “But that’s cool, that it’s all done now.”

He wondered about the rest of the town and any changes they might have made while rebuilding. Despite how he’d said he’d been meaning to visit, truthfully, he wasn’t sure he was quite ready for it. Or to visit the guild. He tugged idly at the collar of his shirt and sighed, pushing the thoughts from his mind.

The mention of Master Bob had him looking over to his guest, curiosity winning out and giving a soft tilt to his head. “Do you miss being in Blue Pegasus?”

She smiled and nodded at the mention of tea. While knowing that she preferred tea was hardly advanced knowledge about her, she still appreciated it that he had taken the time to remember this. "If I ever turn down tea, you can assume I've been replaced by a low-effort imposter---clearly, they didn't do their research," she said as she wiggled more into the blanket. "And no worries, I'll defend your stitchwork from Porlyusica. I think she's too busy with research of her own to hunt you down."

Both Laxus' grandmother and Gray, Carena decided, had been through enough weirdness. Neither of them deserved additional trouble. Porlyusica granted was involved in anything that concerned Laxus because . . . well, they were related. While Carena knew that this did not always count for much, it could count for something. She liked to imagine that if her parents were alive still, they were still close.

But that was always such a strange question.

Everything about 'Evergreen' existed because her parents were gone. Evergreen would not exist if her parents were still alive. She would be an entirely different person---and sometimes, this knowledge was difficult to reconcile with her grief. She widely liked who she had become, but the knowledge of the price was sometimes gnawing on her when she did not want to examine it. Then, truthfully? There was much that Carena did not want to examine too closely.

Retrieving her sandwich from her bag and taking a first bite, she took the time to ponder the question Gray had asked. Most of the exciting things that had been happening had been exciting in a stressful way, and she was not keen on chewing through her mountain of small frustrations again. "Well," she started as she propped up her chin and used her other hand to massage the bridge of her nose. "I think we're all happy when Magnolia is . . . uneventful." She was not just thinking of the war, there had been plenty of other incidents. "The rebuilding of the cathedral is done now, they hired a pretty good artist for the stained glass windows. I think the unveiling of the windows was the last big event. I didn't go---I don't enjoy crowds all that much, but I've been hearing about it. The appetisers were apparently really good, but the champagne was flat. They should've bought the champagne from Master Bob's vineyard, if you ask me. His champage is pretty good."

As were his mimosas . . . and she had never seen Master Bob drunk before noon. She could not say the same for Master Makarov.

[ezrastokes]

[ CODY CHRISTIAN, HE/HIM, CISMALE ] —  [ EZRA STOKES ]  is a child of [ HEPHAESTUS ] with the power of  [ TECHNOKINESIS ] .  they were born in [ 1995 ] and have been in nemean lion since  [ 2010 ] .  with the change, they [ HAVE GRADUATED FROM ] the [ TECHNOLOGY ] role which makes sense since they’re usually [ FIRING POTTERY IN THE KILN AND BREWING A THIRD CUP OF COFFEE ] .  if you’d like to meet them try the [ MOON ]  building .  —  kati / she & her / est / 18+

links: stats / pinterest .

background

most of ezra’s early years were spent not fitting in and for most of that time, he didn’t know why. he didn’t understand why his father seemed to hate him so much, why his younger brother, caleb, seemed to get all of the attention. ezra chalked it up to just not being quite good enough, maybe because he wasn’t into sports the way caleb was, coming home with paint on his shirt instead of grass stains. 

for a while, ezra tried to fit in, went out for baseball to try and garner his father’s approval, but it was never really him. over time, he began to isolate himself instead, because it was easier to be on his own than face rejection and disapproval.

his mom was loving, but only behind closed doors. it always seemed like she was scared to show her affection for ezra in front of his father, like she felt GUILTY about loving him, about caring about him. she’d sneak into his room at night and read him stories or they’d spend all day together when his father was out of town. “ why does dad hate me so much ? ” he’d ask, and his mother would smile sadly and say, “ i’ll explain more when you’re older. ” 

ezra started developing his powers when he was about twelve years old. his mother had hoped it would never happen. it started small, realizing he could do things like make the toaster pop up without touching it or turn on the television with what seemed to be sheer willpower. his parents started noticing this too. he overheard them talking about it one night, fighting. ezra didn’t know what it meant, but over time, he’d listen at the top of the stairwell as the arguments got more and more heated, resulting in broken glass. caleb would sit with him sometimes. “ what are they always fighting about lately ? ” ezra would ask. “ you, ” the dreaded answer, but he’d already known. he just needed to hear someone say it. “ it’s because you’re a freak. ” 

anxious during a test at school, ezra set the printer going so hard that it started smoking and set the fire alarm off. to most people, it was nice to get out of the test, but ezra went home demanding answers. “ just tell me what i am, please ! ” rising frustration, appliances in the house whirring to life. ezra was getting more powerful, it was not just a PHASE that he could outgrow. his parents had to tell him the truth. 

his mother sit down and told him about an AFFAIR she had once, with the god hephaestus. he had been able to forgive her for it, but his father had never been able to get over the living manifestation of her disloyalty, the obvious misfit in the family that stuck out and didn’t belong. every day, ezra seemed less and less like he could be his father’s son. everything seemed to click into place for ezra, but it didn’t make him feel any better to be the product of circumstances he couldn’t control ; things would have been easier if he’d been born normal like caleb. 

his mother expressed concern for the way his powers were growing and that modern society might not be the place for him. she’d been told if such powers ever developed, that there was a place that he could go. so, at age fifteen he packed this things and began training at nemean lion. 

ezra naturally assimilated into the technology track with his powers, it seemed to make the most sense for him. in terms of helping heroes, he is most comfortable beneath the hood of a car, developing advanced transportation technology and essentially providing heroes with the best possible support. he also built his own motorcycle and car from scratch, they’re named thelma and louise respectively, his pride and joys. ezra is  a quiet person but get him talking about his hobbies / geeking out and you’ve hit the sweet spot. 

recently graduated and working, though he feels like he’s in no position to mentor the newbies…he’ll try. he would’ve been happy to be a student forever, but due to nl’s new status, he felt the need to rush his graduation and work a little harder so that they’d have the tech help they need for the heroes on the field fighting monsters and such. 

personality

PERSISTENT. essentially, when ezra sets his mind on something, he will accomplish it. in some ways, he can be pretty one-track minded when it comes to things, like he’ll start a task in the garage or at the kiln and he won’t speak to anyone for days until it’s done. balance ? he doesn’t know her. but achieving his goals ? yes, king. sometimes i think ezra believes that people are to be measured on accomplishments and his value only exists in terms of what he can do for others. however, you can definitely count on him to get a job done. 

PRACTICAL. ezra is a pretty realistic person, not the type to get caught up in a daydream or set an unrealistic expectation for himself. granted, he knows he can accomplish a lot, but he would never expect more of himself than what is tangible. he’s definitely not a naive person and is more inclined to believe actions over words every time. 

INDEPENDENT. ezra is the sort of person who has always felt like he’s had to fend for himself and is pretty mature. he’s good at taking care of himself and has never felt like he NEEDS other – not that anyone’s really need him. he’s very self-sufficient as a person basically and doesn’t rely on others to get things done. you’ll literally never feel like ezra’s a mooch, but he would let others mooch off him tbh. 

PESSMISTIC. as a result of that practicality, he can come off as rather negative in conversation or in ideals. essentially, ezra can be a real downer to be around sometimes because he will always anticipate the worst case scenario ! he’ll tell you he’s just being prepared though. 

SENSITIVE. although he comes off as tough or even unapproachable sometimes, this is actually because he’s EASILY hurt. he puts on a front like a badass but seriously he is a sensitive baby and if you say something that rubs him the wrong way he will legit never forget it. can literally hold a grudge for 8092390482 years like if you cross him slightly he will bring it up until you die. 

headcanons

if he’s not working with vehicles, he’s making pottery. he has a wheel in his room and is really passionate about art and ceramics. so, when he’s not working, he’s probably firing something.

yes, he has an etsy store <3 

has a little black cat named soot that is genuinely his best friend

has a natural affinity toward all things fire and smoke, developing the nasty habit of smoking cigarettes – american spirits, too, because he has no class. however, since he started dating his current girlfriend, he’s pretty much quit smoking to make her happy – and like, to be more kissable.

genuinely, his girlfriend cecilia baum ( y’all know her ? ) has been a super positive influence in his life because he used to drink, smoke, and isolate himself a lot more before getting to know her but honestly the act of developing a crush and trying to impress her all the time got him into better habits and her caring about him has made him care a bit about himself more too.

granted, it’s not JUST cece. making better friends and meeting people that care about him has been a positive influence on him overall

don’t ask me too much about cece, strud and i are mid-plotting but they are dating. 

you’d probably think like mechanic, artist, he must be super messy? however, ezra is really meticulous and organized, i would say he’s always been really mature and independent. he has his shit together, but he’s also fueled by a ridiculous amount of coffee in order to do so. 

though he does often smell like gasoline from working in the garage so much, though he personally loves that. 

really likes thrifting? like browsing thrift stores for hours and finding weird shit or interesting art pieces. he’ll treat thrift stores like museums, could spend hours walking around, but he’ll also spend hours walking around museums. 

wanted connections

best friends, bros, etc !! i’m looking for the people he really vibes with in a number of ways, his squad, his fam, the wholesome shit. the scott to his stiles, the schmidt to his nick, all of these things. 

but i would especially love to have like his DAY ONE, i will simply go crazy go stupid for a best friend connection and i feel like that person who supported him from the start and made him feel less alone on his first days at NL prob means the fucking world to him.

like, someone he’s protective of? maybe a little sister type connection, essentially someone that’s probably softer and more naive and he feels like he has to look out for them and keep them safe and such. 

someone to test out his vehicles and inventions. ezra is always tinkering away in the garage and he comes up with cool stuff for the heroes to use out when they’re saving the world, it would be nice if he had someone who was always down to literally come through in the middle of the night and be the elastigirl to his edna mode and all.

someone that he really clashes with. give me enemies for god’s sake, or anything, i feel like especially when he first arrived at NL he was a bit rough around the edges, hard to get to know. ezra definitely comes off as grumpy and standoffish around people he’s not super comfortable with and he’s pretty introverted, so they might have gotten a bad impression of him. 

or honestly if you play a char that’s kind of ? stuck up ? full of themselves ? that would really rub him the wrong way. tho he’s probably just jealous bc he lacks that confidence like damn. 

an almost? like a case of bad timing where they were hitting it off or maybe there could have been something between them but he started dating cece instead. maybe your character read into it more than it was and felt really hurt by it. OR he told them he didn’t want a relationship/do relationships and then started dating cece right quick like that’s gotta hurt. 

someone who is good w money. help him manage the finances of his etsy store and how to run a business because he doesn’t even know how to properly price his own goods, probably undersells himself. gimme the business mind to his art mind. 

drinking buddies! sitting around w a good glass of scotch talking about life after a hard day. ezra doesn’t drink so much but honestly their work is hard and ppl die so like, a lil something to take the edge off. 

roommates? is that a thing here? he is in moon building.

naturally also down to vibe and plot anything, exes, family members, enemies, besties, all the things, this is just off the top of my head !!! 

[fortune-fool02]

Child of Woe

Dio Brando x teenage son reader

Warnings: angst

This was mainly inspired by a Castlevania amv of Alucard. Please enjoy.

Their life had been peaceful in that manor of theirs. A father, a mother and their child living together as a family would be expected to. Though with the father being a creature of darkness and the woman a human, their love created what many would call an abomination of human and vampire.

But [Name] was nothing of a monster. He was as human appearing as his parents, the only features he inherited from his father were the fangs in his mouth, the cold touch of his skin and his father’s facial structure. With the addition of his own Stand that bared a resemblance to The World. Unlike his father, [Name] was capable of stepping into the sun’s light and be embrace by a loving warmth rather than a scorching agony that crumbled him to dust. 

This was the gift that his mother had bestowed upon him. The humanity of his mother’s blood allowed [Name] to be unharmed by the sun and for that, he was grateful for. And, as a family should have, they lived together without problems. Dio loved his wife and son. The wife loved her husband and son. And [Name] loved his father and mother. 

Sadly, this love was taken from them and used to severe the bonds that kept them together when members of the Church discovered them. Dio was out with his son when their manor had been broken into, the church members took his wife and dragged her to the centre of town. With the accusation of witchcraft and courting with the Devil, [Name]’s mother had been found guilt of such accusations and was burnt at the stake. 

[Name] was only the young age of eight when he lost his mother, and, in a way, he also lost his father that day. The news of his wife’s horrible fate broke something inside of Dio, the light that had once filled his body because of his love for his wife was snuffed out and a twisted anger took its place; plaguing his body with a parasitic rage that showed no mercy for anything. In one night of blind, heart-broken rage, Dio had slaughtered the entire town, not sparing a single soul -man, woman, child, animal, he didn’t care- he slaughtered them all. 

By dawn, the town streets were decorated with the corpses of people who lived here, the streets ran red with blood and [Name] knew at that moment, the man who had done this was not his father but a creature of rage and anger. 

[Name] had disappeared off the face of the world to is father, but he knew his son was not dead, he would have felt it if he had fallen such a fate. Yes, as the years had passed by, Dio’s anger towards all of the human race did not falter nor weaken. He and his family had done nothing wrong and he had everything taken from him. And so he saw it only fair that he took away everything they had. 

It was during the termination of one town that Dio had crossed a familiar face among the flames’ smoke. His son, [Name]. The years had taken their affect on the once small boy who was practically a mirror image of Dio in his teen years before he took the power of the Stone Mask; of course, the features of his mother were evident more than ever now. 

In [Name]’s hand was something he never believed he would hold; a blade. In the years he was gone, [Name] had grieve in his own way and learnt to not let his own anger consume him as it had his father. His mother would not wish for that nor would she wish for Dio to unleash such carnage upon those who were innocent. The members of the Church who had taken his mother’s life were long dead, all of the lives that have died by Dio’s hand were innocent.

Much to how it pained [Name], he knew what he had to do. He had to stop his father. 

The battle was far from humane, as neither of the vampires were willing to back down. In Dio’s eyes, his son had been tainted by the humans and so he had to be stopped; in the name of his deceased wife, Dio would wipe out every single human on this Earth for the pain they had endured. This pain and rage blinded his father and [Name] wanted nothing more than to rip the veil from his eyes and let him see that he did not need to commit genocide for his mother. But that was impossible as the veil was branded into his father’s eyes by how they glowed with rage. 

Dio grabbed his son by the back of his jacket and launched him towards the manor, breaking through one of the many windows and leaping in after him. Blood trickled down [Name]’s face, his efforts to stand back up were pointless as his father slammed his foot into [Name]’s knee, shattering the bone like glass and then sending him flying through a stone wall. 

Dio took one step into the room and froze, a deer in the headlights as his eyes scanned the room. A room he has not stepped foot in many years, as it caused far too much pain for him to but now here he stood, in the centre of the room and open to the attacks it inflicted upon him. 

“It’s... your room.” All the memories, all the images, everything came crashing into Dio as he looked around; each memory as vivid as the day it happened. When [Name] took his first steps in this very room, where he would read to his son at night to calm him and soothe his frightened mind when awoken from a nightmare. All of it. [Name]’s young voice echoing around him as he watched the phantoms of those memories wander by. 

What has he done? Dio looked away from the image of his young child to the young man who laid slumped against the wall, blood staining his clothing and skin. Even [Name] looked as if he had been struck by the memories. How could it have come to this? It all seemed.... unbelievable. The peaceful happy life he had of his childhood was nothing but a distant life now, stained with blood and tears. The echo of his mother’s soft voice whispered in his head. 

An almost pained gasp was heard from his father, his clawed hand curled towards his chest where his heart would be; the flaring rage in his eyes fading away, an empty void of grieve and guilt. The veil had been torn and his father could see clearly again. His head lowered, eyes shadows as his shoulders slumped. 

“I’m... I’m killing my boy.” The pain in his father’s voice was something [Name] has not heard in many years, ever since they learned the fate of his mother. And even then, it was mixed with raw anger. This pain... it was pure. No anger. No bitterness. Just soul-crushing pain that could crumble anyone to their knees. 

“[Mother’s Name], I’m killing our boy...” Dio turned his gaze to a painting that hung by the side. The three of them, happy together. [Name] rose to his feet, grabbing hold of his blade and limping over to his father, stopping in front of him. 

For the first time in a long time, Dio looked... defeated. Tired, pained and defeated. The three things [Name] never believed his father could be. Dio looked down at his hands, a lost expression on his face as if he had lost his way. 

“Your greatest gift to me... and I’m killing him.” He rose his head and locked eyes with his son, sorrow laced tears pricking them. “I must already be dead.” 

[Name] blinked, his own [Eye colour] eyes damp with tears. After all the pain and suffering they were forced to endure, this was how it ended. What once bonded them together had torn them apart and now the stitch was too far to be fixed. 

Dio lowered his head, aware of the blade in his son’s hand. He accepted this fate for the guilt of harming his son was too much for him. He had broken the promise he swore to both his wife and his son that he would protect [Name] with all the power he had, and that was something he could not live with. With a heavy heart, [Name] rose the blade, piercing it through his father’s chest. 

Blood spilled from Dio’s mouth, trickling down the metal and down [Name]’s arm. “...son.” the word left his lips with the same gentleness he used to soothe [Name] when he was a child. Biting back a sob, [Name] drove the blade further into Dio’s chest, wanting to give his father a painless end. 

“Father...” With one more push, the blade reached its target and Dio gasped in pain. His body cracking like pottery before crumbling into dust, leaving his clothing as the only evidence he was there. 

Silence screamed around the halls of the manor as [Name] stood there for a moment, looking at where his father once stood before the blade fell from his grip, clacking to the floor with a loud thud. Tears trickled down the [Hair colour] male’s face as he fell to his knees, his body worn and exhausted from the battle and the pain of the memories. 

He could only pray to whatever God there was that his father was reunited with his mother. Somewhere where they could be happy again. 

Just like they used to be...

[thestarburnfighter]

In Familia Virtus - Chapter 1

A Mighty Nein and OC story

Vianna Starburn was a merchant’s daughter, and she was supposed to be finding the latest town in the north east of Wildemount for her father to attempt new trade in. Trostenwald was a disappointment, and she had been preparing to leave farther north when a Tiefling, of purple skin and even more so colorful clothes, stopped her before she could mount her horse.

“Leaving this lovely town so soon? My dear, you’ve yet to see the best show they can offer!”

She had seen many swindlers and cheats before, but their demeanor was so carefree. Yes, they were definitely trying to oversell the appeal, but they weren’t looking to empty her pockets. Their smile was genuine as they bid her call them Molly, and with no true destination in mind just yet, staying one last night wouldn’t harm the family trade.

She was not quite sure what compelled her to join the people fighting. She was not a strong fighter, and everything she knew was mostly for defense. But she had a longsword and shield, and with seven other’s fighting against the sudden zombies as well, the small battle was easily won. Being told to stay in town as part of an investigation, however, was not in her plan.

Neither was engaging with this ragtag group that had officially trapped her here for Goddess knew how long. At least one of them had fled and was no where to be seen, and she knew at two had diverted back in the direction of the inn. The blue Tiefling, Jester, was quick to converse (more like talk at her) her about the towns baked goods as they passed by the bakery.

Viana made polite conversation with her as she mentioned missing the treats back in Nicodranas. She knew the bakeries very well there, and Viana was happy for the time being to talk about something of familiarity. However, the looming Crownsguard at the entrance of the inn reminded er of her current fate, and her mood turn sour. She tried to get back to her room once they all arrived back at The Nestled Nook, but they were very persistent at buying her a drink as a means to stay and talk.

The green half-orc in particular was promising a pint of her choice in the tavern, and the two Tieflings were encouraging her as well. The monk was apathetic, neither women caring much about each other’s presence, and the wizard and his friend- a goblin of all creatures, she had seen during the fight- seemed confused by her connection to them.

“I appreciate the offer, very kind indeed, but I’ve had a rather disappointing time here and would prefer to wallow in a bed rather than a drink.”

The purple Tiefling, Molly they insisted once more as she spoke, gently grabbed her hand and started to lead her to a table with the barmaid was bringing forth a round of drinks Molly had ordered just a moment earlier.

They spoke with a laugh in their voice, always ready to sell. “Come sit, please, and if you won’t allow him, allow me to get you something as an apology. You were well on your way out of here this morning, and I am the reason you’re no longer any farther.”

Viana sighed as she sat, “Very well. One drink, perhaps, will be alright. But the moment it’s done, I’m off to bed.”

“Of course dear, of course! Adelaide,” they called to the barmaid, “One last drink- a- what would you like love? Anything.”

“The Oveso is just fine.”

Mollymauk ordered it and turned his attention all on her as the group seemed to be settling with each other. The monk was almost aggressively questioning the man and goblin, with the half orc and Jester interjecting here and there.

“As we wait, tell me more about yourself, my dear. I don’t believe I’ve even gotten your name.”

They weren’t the only ones. Everyone stopped talking for just a moment to turn to her, and she realized she didn’t manage to keep close most of anyone’s name even though she had heard them a few times. She was quiet as she spoke, stomach fluttering a bit as everyone at the table looked to her.

“Well, my name is Viana Starburn. I’m going town to town on behalf of my father. He’s a merchant, and we deal mostly with craft wares. Pottery, fabrics, weavings, and such. I’m hoping we can expand here in the Empire.”

“Here in the Empire? Where are you from originally?”

“We do our trade mostly out of Palma Flora, but we live some miles from the town. It’s very small, directly south of Port Damali by ship.”

The half orc motioned to himself, “Jester and I are from the Coast as well. I’m Fjord, by the way. It’s nice to meet you. You did well with that sword.”

“Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself.”

The barmaid brought forth another round of drinks, including the wine. The monk leaned forward and introduced herself. “Name’s Beau. That’s outta Feolinn, right? Decent brand. Does your family trade wine too?”

“No, not our forte. But, the Oveso family pass by our home on their own trading route and we won’t say no to a fair trade. They’re a cheap wine anyway, and always quick to send their barrels out.” Beau seemed to like that answer as she smirked and leaned back.

The group fell back into learning about each other, and Viana quietly sipped her wine as the goblin, Nott, attempted to dazzle Jester with a money pot trick. Beau turned out to be from a wine family, and Jester was a cleric who worshipped a deity named the Traveler. When Fjord inquired about seeing a bigger magic trick, she used her God given powers and nearly set the Crownsguard on them again.

As the guards left, Viana quickly tipped back the half glass she had left and stood to leave. “As promised, thank you Mollymauk, but I do believe that signals my leave.”

“Come now, we were just getting started, and I know you were enjoying this. When was the last time you’ve had a talk with more than the barkeep? Surely you must be a bit lonely out here, alone and far from home?”

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first group of people I’ve met that’s nearly got me thrown in the local jail. My experience in the Empire hasn’t necessarily been a good time, and I’d like to make it back home without a stain on my family’s record. I doubt I can do that with any of you.”

The human man stood up, holding up his second trost, “Please, one more trick if you will. You’ll see we’re not so bad.”

Viana sighed and sat back down, earning a grin and a pat on the shoulders from Mollymauk. Caleb called for Nott to stand on the table, and began casting. Several light appeared from his hands and gently drifted over to her, covering her in golden light. She stood proudly, watching Caleb in thoughtful awe, before letting out a screeching vocal in an attempt to sing as the light surrounded her.

“The Goblight, ladies and gentlemen. The Goblight.”

From behind them, a drunk and sleepy patron called himself impressed before passing out in his glass. Viana chuckled and Fjord asked Caleb about his magic. The half orc was interested in expanding his own magic abilities, apparently having only recently learned some. Jester, despite being a cleric- was not up to show off any healing magic. With the attention off his magic, she noticed that Caleb was very quick to turn attention back onto others. He asked about Mollymauk’s plans for the next day, and they were rather melancholy in response.

“Well, they have all my things and they have all my family. I’m going to figure out what is going on. Try and find out what’s actually doing this. I assume since it’s none of us, it’s going to happen again.”

Upon hearing that statement, it was barely a thought for her to have to think. Viana placed a hand over theirs, “If it was my family’s reputation being falsely dragged through the mud, I’d do anything to set it right. I was there, and I saw, and I know at the very least you and Gustav had no part in what happened. I’ll help, if I can.”

Molly appeared shocked, “Truly? After all I’ve done to you?”

“You couldn’t have known. And if you did this to extort anymore copper from me, then you’ve failed quite miserably for you’ve now spent more than I to apologize.”

Jester leaned forward and asked, “But how can we because we can’t leave this tavern?”

Little plan was made that night as the group unofficially agreed to plan in the morning. They all head to their rooms, Beau and Jester tapering off first, Fjord and Molly next, and Viana just after them. Nott hurried on ahead, but Caleb paused her just a moment. He caught her eye, and his were a deep and sorrowful blue.

“I realized, I never got you that drink.”

“Don’t worry, one was enough for me. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Uh- Caleb. Caleb Widogast.”

“That was a neat trick Mr. Widogast, but I’ll be quite honest, it’s going to take a bit more than some magic to keep me from regretting staying a moment longer.”

He said with a smirk, “But you stayed, didn’t you?”

“Goodnight, Mr. Widogast,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Goodnight, Miss Starburn,” he started to turn away but quickly turned back, “Hold on, take more? I suppose we shall continue to see more of each other then?”

“Well, you’re staying here and seemed to have already enmeshed yourself in that group despite not being under order to stay. You’ll have to stay just as long as I, right?”

She turned away before he could respond and went to settle in her room. Viana had seen eyes like his before in her travels. Sailors who had seen the darkness below the waves, merchants who had done what they needed to protect themselves on the road, her brother’s a year into his firm.

Caleb had only started to pull her in, but Molly and Jester had a hand as well. Both Tieflings had charmed her, it seemed, but even still she could feel the mischief on them. And having grown up with mischief from her siblings, she knew it would extend to this group soon enough if not already.

Reputation was the most important thing a person could have, and she was innocent in this event, and so were the rest of them. If not for them, then for herself, she would help them be absolved, and then she would continue on to Zadash.

A few moments to dress for the night, to reorganize her pack, and finally an evening prayer to Avandra for her family. She fell quickly to sleep, the slow creeping exhaustion of the day and night finally hitting her.

[valkyrieofthehighfae]

The Arts of Fae Culture

Tagging: @roseofalderaan, @hounding-around, @capricornrabies, @notreallybeccab Every court has their own version of the arts that they enjoy. In the Blood Court, you’ll find musicians comparable to those such as Morbid Angel or Cannibal Corpse, while in the Court of Dreams, they celebrate painters, sculptors and writers. Each Court has their own unique spin on things, ranging in different styles, mediums, etc.

Famous Bands/Singers Among the Courts and who they’re based on: Figures of Sin - Ice Nine Kills Lords of Voodoo - Lords of the Lost Reclaiming Haven - Evanescence Shadow Panic - Blaqk Audio Avenging Valor - Avenged Sevenfold Nexus - Kerli Skeletal Greed - Slipknot Twisted Paradise - Aesthetic Perfection Emissary - Seether Soft Surrender - Too Close To Touch Angel - P!nk Shady Hollow - Emilie Autumn Poetica - Lady Gaga Damned Hearts - Motionless In White Assault - Davey Suicide

These are just a few famous Fae bands/singers that can be found on Ellodeem, some of them even going so far as to venture off world to perform for other planets. Regardless of what Court a band or singer is from, they’re considered neutral entities and are welcome in all of the Courts for concerts and performances. Music is highly regarded in the Court of Stars; it’s used for self expression, relaxing, they even use it to help power their magic. Music speaks for them when they cannot find the proper words and it’s considered a highly romantic gesture to share songs that make a Fae think of their mate upon hearing them. Musicals are also a big form of entertainment, the Star Fae making a big deal out of attending them at local theaters. Dance is another form of expression dear to the Court of Stars and the Court of Dreams as well. Ballet and ballroom are two forms of dance that are seen the most in these courts, though versions of the tango are seen in some of the night clubs hidden away in the cities. You won’t find many paintings or sculptures in the Court of Stars, blacksmithing and stained glass is more up their alley when it comes to other mediums of art, that being said, they do have a small museum dedicated to the small amounts of paintings and sculptures they do have. The Court of Dreams, on the other hand, have museums full of beautiful artworks: paintings, sculptures, pottery. They put a lot of time and effort into everything they do, sometimes spending years on one particular work before showing it to the world. They’re very meticulous in their art, everything has to be done a certain way or they’ll scrap whatever the had been working on and start over. The Winter Court and the Blood Court both have a very different approach to what they consider art. Sword fighting and crafting unique weapons for display and battle are the most popular ways of showing off creative abilities in these courts. They’ll put on impressive displays showing off their skills with a weapon as well as the craftsmanship that went into making said weapons. There are, of course, Fae who pursue other interests, such a music, Lords of Voodoo being a big name from the Winter Court while Skeletal Greed hails from the Blood Court.

The Court of Ashes delve more into glass blowing and creating beautiful glass creations that are highly popular among the other courts. The grand chandelier in the Court of Dreams ballroom was crafted by an Ashen Fae couple who considered that to be their finest work, and found themselves getting commissions from all over, even in the Night Courts.

The Court of Bones art lies in the form of fashion, their skills with crafting sturdy, but beautifully intricate fabrics and outfits and accessories is well known through every court and even those of the Celestial Court are begrudgingly impressed with their skills. While denizens of this court usually spend most of their time fighting with each other, fashion brings them together in a temporary truce.

Surprisingly, culinary work is the popular medium for those of the Court of Death. Fae from all over flock to their capitol city to sample the many different types of cuisine. They have festivals and street shows dedicated to the culinary arts that are highly popular and always a joy to attend.

These are a few examples of what can be found in the Courts, namely the most popular forms of artistic expression. No matter which court it is, the arts are a staple of Fae culture, no matter what form the art takes.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Fourteen:

By ten, Steve was positive that his students needed a nap. The first graders were complaining and arguing, and Steve was losing his mind. It was a good thing that his hair was already a mess because he couldn't help but run his hand through it in his frustration.

By two, Steve was positive that he needed a nap. Not only had it been the third graders, but the fourth graders, too. Sure, Spirit Week was always full of emotions, but usually it was the positive kind. Usually, the kids were excited, and in their excitement, they had a difficult time containing it, so they barely listened. But today they were in bad moods. Steve was sure that it was due to the kids' hairstyles being too taxing on their scalps in their creativity and painful maneuvers.

Luckily, by three, he was just quietly cleaning up the typical messes made. Plus, the school day was almost over. All Steve had to do was wait a little longer. Just a little longer.

As he wiped down the tables, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. Leaving the rag on the table, he pulled it out to find a message from Katie. Seeing the first line of the preview were just a bunch of jack-o-lanterns, Steve good-humoredly rolled his eyes and opened the message.

Look what arrived in the mail! The message under the Halloween emojis exclaimed. Followed by a photo of the spooky seasonal care package. The gray throw blanket covered with a bunch of black cat heads. Some of them wearing purple witch hats and the occasional white ghost cat.

Do you like it??? Steve replied, hoping that she did. He had a feeling that she would considering it was stuffed with junk food, seasonal body washes, candles, and cat related stuff like coloring books, pillows, and other trinkets that Ethan and Sophia picked out. Since the girl loved cats despite being allergic to them, Steve was hopeful that they had done well with their picks.

Are you kidding? I love it! Especially the Halloweentown University sweatshirt! Came through, followed with, Mya is eating all my Scarecrow Chex Mix, so imma have to steal J's. And Heather loves the cookies!

Before Steve could tell her that Ethan and Sophia helped with the different colored sugar cookies that were scattered with white candy eyes, a picture of Katie's roommate, Heather, with a stuffed mouth while holding up a bright pink cookie. A smile tugged at his lips as another picture, one of Katie holding up a black cat mug that Bucky had made for her and a pleased grin on her freckled face.

Make sure you thank your dad for that mug! He was so excited when he finished it, Steve sent. The smile staying on his face as he thought back to the Thursday night he came back from pottery club with so much glee it bubbled over, infecting Steve and the kids. Bucky had just been so proud of executing the mug, and Steve had been proud, too.

Will do, Katie replied.

Checking the time, Steve knew that she had class soon, and so he said, I'll talk to you later, sweetie. Have fun in class! Love you!

Love you too!

Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Steve got back to wiping the tables. His earlier frustrations melting away as he finished up. Making sure to take care of the rags, he put the little chairs on top of the tables, so the janitors would have an easier time cleaning the floor.

Once done, he gathered his things, locked his classroom and left his room. Walking down the hallway to Ethan's kindergarten class, Steve passed by the art projects the students made and bulletins with other projects. For a moment, Steve paused to read the short autumn stories. A small smile on his face, Steve continued until he stopped outside of the kindergarten classroom. Steve peeked into the room where Hildy had the five and six year olds lining up in front of the door. Spotting Ethan, he noticed that the little boy's face was red and he was frowning at the ground.

Steve's good mood started to slip away. And when he spotted Lance -- the little brat -- SHOVE Ethan, Steve's anger rose up like fire from the pits of hell. His eyes narrowed at the interaction. Even with Hildy breaking them up and bringing Lance to the front, Steve was still pissed. No one had the right to bully any kid, but especially not his kid.

When the final bell rang, Steve moved to the side while Hildy opened the classroom door. She gave Steve a nod of acknowledgement, but could tell that he wanted to talk to her.

Really, Steve's heart was broken. He didn't want his children to go through the same pain that he had experienced growing up. And when Ethan ran right into him, wrapping his arms around his legs, and burying his face against Steve's black slacks. Not wanting to touch the painted hair, Steve rubbed at his back.

"Steve," Hildy greeted him as the teacher assistant, Okoye, led the line of children out of the school building to be collected by their parents.

"Hil," Steve nodded, rubbing Ethan's back. Glancing down at the little boy, Steve grit his teeth to stop the angry tears from rolling down his face. He had to stay strong.

Returning his gaze to the woman in front of her as she tucked a strand of black hair behind her warm, tawny, golden-brown ear. Taking in a deep breath, Hildy said, "We're transferring Lance to Hope's class."

"Good," Steve let out a sigh of relief. Hoping that his little boy would stop coming home in tears. That was all he really wanted.

"We want it to stop just as much as you do," Hildy added. Smiling down at Ethan, she said, "But tomorrow will be better. Plus, it's The Little Mermaid! That's gonna be fun!"

Ethan peeked his face out to watch her, but didn't do anything other than that. Managing to make the little boy loosen his grip around his legs, he told her, "Thanks, Hil. It means a lot."

"Of course," Hildy smiled and gave Steve's arm a tender squeeze before turning back for her classroom.

Heading towards the exit, Steve didn't try to pry Ethan from his legs. Even if it would've been easier to make him hold his hand instead of hide behind his legs. He wanted to comfort his son. Especially with all the other kids around.

"Papa! Papa!"

Pausing where he was, he peered over the throng of students to find Sophia. Really, it should've been easier. Only, some of the kids were rather tall, considering their ages, so he had to focus and find the unicorn mane and hair-horn that Wanda had artistically crafted. Once he did, he sighed in relief and crossed the hallway to meet Sophia halfway.

"Hi, honey," Steve greeted the little girl.

"I got a sticker!" Sophia exclaimed, showing off the sparkly black cat on top of a happy jack-o-lantern.

"That's so cool!" Steve agreed, earning a toothy grin from the little girl as she cradled the sticker in her hands.

Sniffling, Ethan removed his red, tear-stained face to look over at his sister, so he could see the sticker, too. Fixing his glasses, Ethan complimented, "That's a cool sticker, Soph!"

Sophia preened and said, "Thank you!" Brows furrowing when she noticed his red, puffy eyes, she looked back up at Steve, "Papa, we need more stickers."

"We really do," Steve agreed. Still rubbing Ethan's back, Steve offered, "How about we go pick up some spooky stickers? How's that sound, bub?"

"With bats?" Ethan asked, tilting his head up to look at the petite blond. Wiping his nose on his jacket's sleeve and pushing up his glasses as he awaited Steve's answer.

Nodding, Steve confirmed, "With bats."

Leading the kids out of the school building, Steve teased, "Bats with hats." When the kids giggled -- even Ethan -- Steve continued, "Bats with hats on mats sitting next to cats."

"Papa, you're silly," Ethan giggled, still huddling close to Steve.

"I'm silly?" Steve feigned incredulousness. The kids laughed even more as they repeated that he was silly, so silly. Steve didn't mind. He wanted nothing more than for his kids to be happy. And if Steve managed to make them laugh every once in a while, he felt like he had fulfilled his purpose.

[cor-are-they-stars]

A Silver Lining

In nature, there is a constant struggle between those who seek the comfort of shadows and mists, and those who seek the brilliant light of the celestial heavens. It isn’t necessarily a battle of night and day, though often it is phrased as such. It is a great struggle that dapples the sky with lighting and clouds and gives personality to the great blue dome that serves us as a roof in our Earth home.

All this to say, Tsuki found it highly ironic that she, the moon kid, had to go head to head with a cloud boy.

Irony always seemed to find her.

She hadn’t really done any research on him; she hadn’t had the chance. Having had just arrived a few hours before on the train, fresh from Japan and her foster home with the Spellmans, she had been hoping she would be met by her sort of? sister at the station, but apparently this whole student versus student debacle had been happening. Welcome to Taiyuu, now go steal an orb and beat someone up while you’re at it.

Not that she was going to complain. She bounced from foot to foot, flexing her gloved hands and trying to ward off the bone deep tiredness that always found her around this time of the moon cycle, and especially after the long train ride. Her fingers tingled almost imperceptibly from constant erosion of waning crescent as she eyed him from one side of the lobby of the faux hotel that would serve as their arena the boy she would be fighting. All dark blue hair and wisps of fog, his floating on a cloud a few inches above the ground brought to mind images of old gods sitting contentedly upon clouds as they watched the world. She blinked her eyes a few rapid times, trying to flash herself into a higher functioning level. It was only mildly successful. That train had been irritatingly comfy. A sound like the hollow cry of a gong echoed across the fake city and alerted them to the match’s start. Before Tsuki could fully react, the boy scooped air into his hand. Thick grey tendrils of stormcloud gathered around his hand like hens gathering around a farmer sprinkling corn. Crackling and popping with electricity, the clouds turned on Tsuki with alarming speed and ferocity and shot towards her like great billowing bullets of the sky. Ah. So that was what “cloud quirk” had meant. Reacting on the instinct that had kept her alive for years, Tsuki dropped down behind a plush, impeccably white armchair. Lightning flickered briefly and with no break thunder roared in Tsuki’s ears as the clouds electrocuted the white chair. Well. Now she was awake. Head ringing, she made a snap decision and lept to her feet, grabbing a vase of plastic flowers from the small coffee table. The clouds flashed again, lightning spearing through her arm. A brief, awkward silence followed as the lightning passed through her highly see through arm harmlessly, as if it wasn’t even there, and scorching the wall. Kemuri-san looked mildly embarrassed and Tsuki grinned widely. She spread her arms, a few pebbles falling from the mouth of the vase and clinking on the floor. “Sorry, looks like I’m not all there today.” She vaulted over the chair, cackling and throwing a wide arc of pebbles and sad pretend flora as she dashed towards her opponent with her improvised weapon. As she swung at Kemuri-san, another crack sounded and the vase shattered in her translucent hands. The boy darted out of the way on his cloud, and Tsuki hit the ground with a roll, the scattered shattered pottery slicing open her cheek as she went over it. Getting back to her feet, Tsuki quietly marvelled over the boy’s excellent reaction time. If this was the kind of fighter this school boasted, she was proud to have gotten in. It was hard not to envy him. As she reoriented herself and prepared to charge him again, Tsuki noticed the boy’s gaze flicking toward the main feature of the room; a combination koi pond and fountain. And as her own eyes dissected the rippling patterns on the water, she saw what was in that fountain: a little orb, being cautiously nibbled by a large goldfish with an insatiable curiosity.

As if on a cue from an unseen director, the two dashed toward the water feature. Her legs were sure under her, even if her feet did sink nearly to the ankles in the floor. Tsuki had just started to pull ahead of the boy when she heard another crack and felt a searing heat on the small of her back as the lightning struck true. She stumbled and fell into the fountain with the fish. Cloud boy zipped past her and scooped the orb from the pond. Taking no time to gloat, he zipped to the stairwell to the first floor and freedom as if an invisible wind was pushing him. Tsuki’s body was abuzz, feeling like it was moments from vibrating apart. A drop of blood, brilliantly crimson against her fading out skin, billowed outward into the water to explore as she struggled to stand and shake off the paralyzing effect of the electricity. Now on her feet and buzzing more than ever, Tsuki’s focus sharpened. No way in heaven she was going to be beat on her first day by someone whose hero name might end up being Foghorn. Through the window, she could see Kemuri-san’s quick flight towards his goal line and her defeat.

Aw, heck no.

She sprinted toward the window, no plan in her mind but to stop his exodus.

Few things in life are more majestic than flight. A bird, wings outstretched as they glide. A cloud, meandering across the sky with the dignity of a monarch. An airplane, cutting a defiant path through the air as it carries lives to and fro.

A nearly invisible girl, dive bombing through a window yelling a battlecry.

Tsuki’s aim was near perfect. As she lept through the glass, fractures spread across its surface. It didn’t shatter, she wasn’t tangible enough for that. But a beautiful bullseye of cracks spread outward from her exit point. Her intangibility sent her flying right through him, a feeling that he would later compare to a convulsion and searing flash of dizzy confusion. Her gloved hands, unfaded like the rest of her clothing, wrapped around the orb as she hit the ground in a tuck-n-roll and came up on her feet again. With her newfound prize, Tsuki sprinted back down the sidewalk away from Kemuri-san, intent on the other end of the sidewalk where she was supposed to take the orb.

A cloud whooshed past her, dark gray tendrils and crackling lightning imminent as it positioned itself directly in her path, ready to intercept.

Uh, nope.

She took a detour, right into the hotel.

Running through the front door, she hurtled up the stairs to the lobby and up another and another, until she was on the fourth floor. Her footsteps made nary a sound on the knobby carpet as she ran at full speed toward an innocent cart of restocking towels. Tsuki dashed right through it, her slight tangibility managing to knock it over behind her. Not planned, but a pleasant bonus. She looked back to see Kemuri-san flying up the stairs and laughed triumphantly as he reached the impromptu barricade. That ought to slow him down.

He flew right over it.

Her laugh died on her lips and she refocused her energies on what currently mattered: getting away with the orb. Making a split second decision, she took a sharp left into a room and slammed the door behind her. Looking quickly to the side, she saw a small stack of papers.

From the hallway, Kemuri-san could see Tsuki's hand clip through the door holding a small sign that read "Do Not Disturb". She hooked it on the doorknob and retracted it through the wood. That ought to hold him. A small drop of blood from her vase-initiated wound dripped down her cheek, and she wiped it away. The red stain on her otherwise white glove was startling, and she paused a moment to admire it.

As the door flew open, Tsuki grabbed the first weapon she could think of. A pillow held defensively in front of herself, she assumed a stance that left her shielding the orb from Kemuri-san and his clouds. With a dismayed expression, she shook a hard-to-see finger at him.

"Didn't you read the sign?"

Kemuri-san let out a surprised bark of laughter, and Tsuki felt a tickle of satisfaction trace its way up her spine. The boy raised his hand, and a cloud flew towards her. The past few weeks of watching videos of baseball games to help her better understand the very American Spellmans gently took her hand and raised it in a batter's stance. With a solid whmpahf, she whacked Kemuri-san's cloud and also managed to clip the one that was keeping him aloft. The disturbance of the air dispersed the particles and Kemuri-san fell with a thump. In her few seconds of time, Tsuki threw her pillow at Kemuri-san, which he caught in surprise as he got to his feet. Tsuki grabbed the other plush pillow from the comforter-clad bed and brandished it. “Pillow fight. Me, you.”

Kemuri-san, finding absolutely no problem with this, came in swinging. She cackled in surprise and jumped away from the bed, wapping another cloud away. Kemuri-san’s pillow had an icy cloud wrapped around it, and every time their weapons connected Tsuki’s pillow grew colder. The slowly crystallizing and frostbitten pillow nipped at her fingers as she retreated from the onslaught of feather-stuffed cloth. Finding herself backed against the wall, Tsuki was caught off guard as a Kemuri-san got in a solid hit.

Apparently, he had forgotten her intangibility. She had too. The force was just enough to shove her through the wall, dropping the orb to the floor with a humble plasticky tmhp as she disappeared, pushed straight through the wall and into open air, four stories up.

Gravity refused to acknowledge her intangibility, and she dropped like a stone thrown into a lake, though she left far fewer ripples as she plummeted. From afar, she would’ve been hard to see. Merely a fast falling shimmer in the air. Air flew by her too fast to be breathed, and in the seconds of free fall fear became a good friend.

But then, like a quilt made of melancholy and discarded dandelions, a cloud wrapped around her and caught her in the air. Her brown eyes shot upwards and met the panicked blue of Kemuri-san’s. He was leaning precariously out the window, hand thrown towards her as a direction to the clouds. For a few moments she hung there, a dangling toy on a mobile. Her breath had abandoned her during the fall, but it slowly and sheepishly returned as the cloud slowly drifted back up toward the window.

Tsuki tumbled through the window frame, heart beating out a violent tattoo of fear against her head. She lay on the ground for a few minutes, waiting for her pulse to slow a little and thanking any and all gods who happened to be listening for solid ground. Kemuri-san looked breathless and terrified as his clouds slowly dispersed around Tsuki. “Are you okay? When you fell- I almost had a heart attack. I had no idea-”

Tsuki rolled over and got to her feet, pressing her hand against her chest. Her eyes darted to the corner, where the orb sat undisturbed. He hadn’t gone for it when she fell? Tsuki walked over and scooped it up, then turned back and offered it to Kemuri-san.

“Here.”

He had pulled her back in. Sent a cloud after her without a second thought for the orb or the competition they were in. He didn’t have to do that. Kemuri-san looked confused by her gesture, and she proffered it again.

“Take it. I, uh.” She circled a hand in the air, trying to find the words. “You didn’t have to help me. But you did. And, I appreciate that. It was just, well. Incredibly honorable. And sweet. I’m bad with words- just take it?” Kemuri-san’s expression was touched by understanding, but the concern wasn’t fully gone. He got to his feet as his clouds started to reform around him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tsuki waved a hand dismissively. “I will be. I just need a minute. It’ll give you a headstart.”

This was apparently good enough for him, and he took the lightly pulsing orb. Tsuki watched him hurry from the room and listened to his footsteps tthpm tthpm down the carpeted stairs as she caught her breath and berated it for ever leaving. As soon as her lungs were ready and her eyes had stopped spinning from fear, she jumped to her feet. Taking only a moment to pull a new, tangible pair of gloves from her pocket and discard the faded old ones, she ran to the door, then thought for a second before screwing up her face in concentration. Like the floor had fallen out from under her, Tsuki suddenly dropped down and out of sight.

Tsuki could surmise it had been alarming when she suddenly dropped from the ceiling of the kitchen, because Kemuri-san nearly dropped the orb as he tripped backwards in surprise. Huh. Lucky she had ended up here. Grabbing some heating mitts and pulling them onto her feet like crappy last minute shoes, Tsuki roundhoused the orb out of Kemuri-san’s hands and into the empty, bone-dry sink. Ripping off the mitts before they could pick up on her intangibility and fade past usefulness, she grabbed the orb out of the sink with one of her kid-gloved hands. She ran right through the counter, falling to the floor as an electrified frying pan Kemuri-san had thrown through a storm cloud clipped her and knocked her to the ground.

Kemuri-san snatched the orb and booked it out as he had been doing before she got in his way. As the shock was smaller this time, Tsuki was able to stick her leg through the counter and kick the pan into his path in time to trip him and send him to the floor. She phased through the counter the rest of the way and grabbed the prize again, booking it out the door and into the elevator and slamming her fist into the “up” button. The doors opened and she hurried in, frantically mashing at the “Close Doors” and “Floor 20” buttons. Kemuri-san scrambled out of the kitchen and flew at full speed toward the elevator. “Hold the door!”

The sliding doors glided closed peacefully, just before the cloud boy could get in. Tsuki awkwardly enjoyed a few quiet minutes of silence as the box slowly moved upwards, a tinny tune droning mindlessly in the background in a vain attempt at music. It wasn’t Mozart, but it was catchy and Tsuki found herself humming it as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to swallow the acidic fear that was clutching at her heart. You’ll be out soon. You’ll be out soon. Hang in there. By the time the elevator arrived at the roof, her heart was a butterfly-quick mess and her breath was quick and short. She stumbled out of the confinement and into the open air.

Tsuki crouched next to the box that held the elevator and clutched the orb close to her chest with trembling arms as she fought back the rising panic. She had thought she could handle it, but the nagging sense of impending harm and tightness in her throat told her she couldn’t. A minute of slow breathing carefully calmed her heart rate and she got shakily to her feet. She was still competing. She needed to finish this.

Kemuri-san stepped onto the rooftop out of the shack-like stairwell, and everything was eerily quiet for a moment. Then a fist caught him in the jaw, sending him sprawling. Tsuki, standing to the side of the door with her arm still extended from the sucker punch, looked startled. She dropped the orb, and scurried over. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to hit that hard! I am so sorry, is anything broken?”

She set the orb down and took his face firmly in her hands, examining his jaw to make sure it wasn’t dislocated. Her check confirmed, to her relief, that he wouldn’t suffer anything more than some swelling and tenderness. She let the still stunned boy go and helped him to his feet. The boy’s clouds were a shocking sunset pink, wispy from his surprise and crackling slightly at the edges. Tsuki tried to brush one away and was zapped for her troubles. The blue eyed boy touched his jaw gingerly and winced.

“Sorry,” Tsuki repeated, massaging her fist nervously. “I didn’t think that would actually work. Usually, people figure that one out and dodge! What a terrible first impression this has been, huh? Anyway. Uh, sorry about that.” The boy grimaced. “I bit my tongue.” ”Are you good?” Tsuki shifted from foot to foot. “I mean, you want to keep going?” Clouds McGee shrugged, looking a touch embarrassed. “I mean, if you are?” Tsuki shrugged and charged him. One of his clouds shot at her, getting in her face and blinding her. She dropped into a slide, sinking partway into the ground as she did. Hooking her foot around his, she flew between his legs and pulled him down before rushing back toward the orb. She was nearly there when he grabbed her foot and dropped her again, crawling frantically for the orb. Tsuki rolled to her feet and ran past the struggling cloud boy. Scooping up the orb in her arms, she bolted away from her opponent and toward the edge of the roof. His clouds rushed after her, one once again obscuring her face and the other wrapping around her legs. Stumbling slightly, Tsuki waved the cloud away from her face.

And found herself teetering on the edge of the rooftop. Tsuki glanced back at the charging, stony-faced boy, and made a decision. She had already faced fear of spaces- why not falling as well? Shuffling back slightly, she saluted him. “Thanks for the lift earlier. But I’m going down this time.”

And she stepped backward.

Orb cradled close to her chest, this time the falling felt more like flying. Wind rushed past her like a busy pedestrian, and the windows were a spinning film reel as she went down, down, down. She was little more than a shimmering thought with an orb in her arms as she went down… down…

CNRPK She hit the pavement solidly, arm absorbing most of the blow. Her intangibility helped, but not quite as much as she might’ve hoped. Her arm was definitely broken, and her heart was doing its panicked-best to escape her chest. Tsuki struggled to her feet, gingerly cradling the orb in the crook of her elbow and stumbling slightly in the washing wave of fear and exhilaration. She looked up, up towards the top of the building. There was the boy, staring down at her with alarm. 

Tsuki smiled shakily. And stepped back over the finish line. @taiyuu-high-oct

[hiiggsmonaghan]

Been awhile since I’ve done one of these. 

--

APOLLO: glitz and glamour. art galleries. turning the volume up. being made of gold. neatly organized music sheets. notebooks filled with poetry. bathing in the sunlight. the powerful urge to create. collecting vinyl records. beautiful cover of wonderwall. playing multiple instruments. tasting like sunshine. healing touch. speaking in prophecies. smile mingled with wrath. shunning lies. sporting shades. hanging out at music festivals with their friends. sleeps naked. arrow to the heart. paint brushes. probably has a tinder account.

ARES: armed for battle. wants to raise a dog with their significant other. soft spot for children. gives piggyback rides. scarred body. blood on their hands and face. willing to fight the world for the ones they love. fights against injustice. warm hugs. well worn combat boots. boxing gloves. bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles. fist raised in protest. ignites revolutions. fear is a prison. more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think. exhausted. damaged goods. force to be reckoned with. red roses. curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS: keen sense of a hunter. freckles like constellations on their skin. piercing eyes. disheveled braid. moonlight peeking through the shadows. the calm of the forest at night. lying on the grass and staring at the stars. mother doe and her fawn. Protecting their kin. the moon shimmering on a still lake. quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree. running with wolves. bonding while circled around a campfire. not being much of a people person. arrow hitting a target. popping egos. patience on 3%. touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA: discerning gaze. unreadable face. quiet museums. owl perched on their finger. armor that intimidates. eye for architecture. plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses. studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid. big fan of logic. loves brain teasers. ancient buildings. sweaters in neutrals and cool colors. hair done up. can kill you with their brain. heads to the library often to research. sharpened pencils. abs that can cut steel. stoic statues. pottery classes.

DEMETER: soil-covered hands. smile that can bloom flowers. skin loved by the sun. being the mom friend. can lift you and your friends. flowers kept in the pockets of overalls. takes pride in their beautiful garden. speaks to their plants. leaves rustling in the wind. stalks of wheat. picking fruit. greenhouses. heart as strong as a mountain. values simplicity. daisies dotted across a collarbone. curls crowned with flowers. folded pile of sweaters in warm hues. pulling out fresh baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS: drunk shitposter. on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second. seductive smirks. untamed curls. rich fabrics on dark skin. sleek furred panthers. theatre masks. stage productions. receiving a standing ovation. rose caught between their teeth. being the baby of the bunch. wild parties that last from sundown to sunup. creeping vines. inspiring loyalty. grand opera houses. masquerade balls. rolls of film. shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine spilled floor. pouring champagne into flutes. lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS: the calloused hands of someone who knows labor. sweaty brow. flame burning in their eyes. inventive mind. broad shoulders. steampunk goggles. nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes. ashes. striking a match. blueprints for future projects. fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades. wrestles with bitterness. work boots have seen better years. wrinkled plaid shirts. iron melted in blazing fire. huge jackets. crafting masterpieces. greased stained overalls. fascination with robotics. pain is fuel. stack of weaponry. even their muscles have muscles.

HERA: resting bitch face. dressed to the nines. cows grazing on a pasture. cool rain. loving and hating fiercely. hand clutching a string of pearls. large chandelier with glittering crystals. plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims. romance to realism. pictures of the sky while flying on a plane. files that under fuck it. downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix. like their selfie or you’re grounded. knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man. dark eyes that penetrate your soul. marble and gold.

POSEIDON: storm with skin. colorful coral reefs. waves crashing against the shore. stroking the soft fur of a cat. their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop. tousled locks. clothes smeared with paint. owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more. leather jackets. fondness for diy projects. handwriting that flows across the page. nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin. velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams. mood as ever-changing as the sea. the roar of a motorcycle. compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS: thunder in their heart. running on coffee. flash of lightning. un-natural charisma. eloquence. badass in a nice suit. aficionado of history. force of nature. lenny face. nightmare-filled nights. proud arm around their lover’s waist. high-rise buildings. planes soaring through a cloudless sky. technician on the piano. maintains order. strong handshake. juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease. expensive watch.