#strands of bronze and gold

[alley-cat777]

Book Review: Strands of Bronze and Gold by: Jane Nickerson

Lucky Beauty. Her beast was a man in beast trappings. Far scarier is a beast in the trappings of a man. Strands of Bronze and Gold by: Jane Nickerson Initial Thoughts: It is not easy to write a retelling of the story of Bluebeard. It is one of those stories where you know how it will end, or at least you will have a vague idea. The way to get the readers invested is to trick them into believing…

[crowlion]

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Our sweet sister ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Aemond has been waiting for years to marry his favourite sister, Aegon agreed it was the only way of keeping her close of making sure she only belonged to them. But her being given away to a dornish prince changes everything.

Warnings: NSFW, +18 mdni, targcest, murder, threesome (my first), making out, mastrubation, grinding, fingering, oral (both m and f receiving), vaginal sex, breeding kink, mommy kink, titty sucking, creampie, switch Aegon, dom Aemond and Aegon being drunk as always.

Word count: 3.3k

The early morning rays shone through your window in the Red Keep as your handmaiden finished up with your hair. She always had a need to have your hair perfect, not one strand out of place. With some pins she adjusted the headpiece with the sheer black fabric and green and gold details. Your mother, Queen Alicent, could arrive any moment with your twin sister Heleana, to pick you up for prayer at the sept. 

You absolutely despised it but you could never disobey your mother. You were her favourite daughter after all. She always tried to get close to Heleana but you knew your twin preferred to keep her distance from everyone. Even though you were twins, you didn’t really look alike. Both of you of course had the silver hair and lilac eyes of house Targaryen but your facial features were different from hers.

The door opened and your mother and sister entered your chamber. “My dear, how did you sleep?” Alicent asked as she adjusted your headpiece a bit, at which your handmaiden frowned. “Fine, shall we leave?” You stood up and Alicent stopped fussing with your hair, following you out instead. Strolling through the halls with your mother and sister in front of you, Aemond walked passed giving you a small smile. To which you mouthed a silent “Help me”, he chuckled as he gave you one last sympathetic smile over his shoulder. 

You thanked the gods the morning passed swiftly, for you were already on your way back to the Red Keep. When you reached the door of your bedchamber you hurriedly went inside as your handmaiden stood at the ready for your, often daily, dragon ride with Aemond. She helped you quickly change into your dragon riding attire. You and Aemond have always been extremely close, always there for each other, both the favourite children. But ever since Aemond started to grasp for more power, he started to lose the favour of his mother, her now fully turning her attention to you. 

Your eldest brother, Aegon, had never been much loved by your mother. And because of your maturity and grace, he started to cling to you instead. This was the root of your complicated but deep connection with your older brother, everytime he got scolded or drunk he would turn to you. Now this used to be in an innocent way but lately the winds started to shift, Heleana was more distant from him then ever, his mother had just been ignoring him and his father on the doorstep of death. You hadn’t seen him yet today, so you assumed he was still asleep, you would check on him later. 

As for now, you would take to the skies with your other brother. You couldn’t admit it but the way people were terrified when the two of you flew together made you feel so powerful. Yes the two biggest dragons of the realm were a godly sight indeed. You claimed Vermithor, The Bronze Fury, at age ten and two. That evening at Dragon Stone with your family was an interesting one. Everyone either preparing for bed or still drinking and talking was disrupted by the notice of your absence and the terrifying screeches and roars from the Bronze Fury below. Your mother demanded you to be rescued at once, for Vermithor was known to be relentless and fierce, having not accepted a rider after the old king died. But you were much like the dragon when it came to fierceness, you weren’t afraid. And so when the guards, dragon keepers and your family arrived at the cave where the dragons resided. You stood there, in your nightgown, hand on Vermithor’s nose. After years the Bronze Fury had been claimed... by a little girl.

Aemond joined you in the training yard where your horses were waiting to take you to the outskirts of the city, for Vermithor and Vhagar were both too big for the Dragon Pit. You were both quick to mount and race through the city to get to your dragons. When you arrived, Vermithor and Vhagar were both resting next to each other, they too, formed a close bond, as they only had each other outside the dragon pit. Both of them lifted their heads and grumbled and roared at the sight of the two of you, knowing they could fly with their riders again. You both climbed on your mounts and took to the sky, frightening the shit out of towns beneath you. 

It felt good to be with Aemond, natural but powerful at the same time. You knew his desperate want for the throne but that still couldn’t change how you saw him. By the time you came back the sun had begun to set and you both knew supper would be soon. So you returned with your brother to the Red Keep where two guards were waiting to take you to the dining room. As you both entered your mother wore a disapproving look on her face, she didn’t like the two of you flying for so long but when it also cut into her time with her family she really got annoyed. “You stink of dragon.” She began. “We only just got back mother, time gets away from us on dragon back.” Aemond defended. You took your seats next to each other, Aemond to your right. Aegon to your left. Heleana to his left. Her head down as she mumbled to herself. Aegon slumped in his seat as always, probably already drunk and waiting for supper to end so he could sneak out to his whores. 

There was a tension in the air, your mothers and grandfather's eyes were on you. Only then did you really take in your mother, teary eyed, red cheeks, looking down. Weird. You thought, you looked at your grandfather, the hand of the king, questioningly. “You are twenty years old already,” He began, you still looked at him confused but deep down you knew where this was heading, again. “For 4 years I have been searching for a good match for you, I have tried again and again to match you with someone you could grow to like, maybe even love and yet, you refuse them.” Otto stood up from his chair, “Alas, I have had enough. Your father, sadly, cannot make these decisions anymore, so I have. Now an opportunity has arisen, one that I have been waiting for.”

“House Martell is looking for a fine lady to marry their second son, prince Robyn. I sent a letter a while ago and they have agreed to accept your hand.” Two hands slammed on the table as Aemond stood up in rage. “You will do no such thing! She is a Targaryen princess! She will not be married off to some Dorne cunt!” He yelled, you could only look down. You knew this day would come, where they would be fed up with your defiance and force you to marry. But it seemed your brother would not give up without a fight. 

What you didn’t expect was for Aegon to stand up as well. “My sister is the most beautiful and fine Targaryen princess of the realm, I stand with Aemond. You will not marry her off to some plain man of house Martell.” You were taken by surprise, Aemond’s reaction was expected but you didn’t know Aegon cared so much too. Otto Hightower leaned slightly over the table. “She will marry him, he and his family should be here on the morrow. End of discussion!” He sneered. You stood up and left without a word. You went to bed that night knowing your calm, easy life in King’s Landing was alas over. Aemond however, thought otherwise. 

After everyone had gone to bed he was still awake, mauling over the dinner. In a fit of rage at the memory he left his chambers and almost ran to his older brothers. He could hear the disturbance inside yet he did not care, not when his beloved sister was about to be sold off like a broodmare. He passed the guards and pushed open the door. Aegon's bedchambers were completely destroyed, cups, tapestries, pillows, blankets were everywhere, glass and wine splayed on the grounds and walls. Aegon was standing over a small table that used to hold his wine. “Brother.” Aemond urged. Aegon looked up, his eyes bloodshot and fist balled up. “There is only one way to stop this, to keep her here.” Aegon didn’t even respond, he just nodded. They were very different from each other but they both had one thing in common, they loved you.

You woke up from a restless sleep to the entire Red Keep in disarray, you could hear shouting and arguing from inside your bedchamber and just as you were about to open the door. Heleana entered your bedchamber, hands covering her ears. You knew if Heleana looked to hide with you, it was bad. “What is it? Hel, what happened? Tell me.” She looked at the ground and muttered. “They’re dead.” Fear struck your heart as you thought the worst, her children? Your brothers? “What?! Who is Heleana?” You grabbed her hands and sat her down on your settee. “House Martell, at least, the prince and his father. Qoren Martell is now to be their new king.” You couldn’t help but smile. “How did they die?” Heleana finally looked at you, “They say Aegon and Aemond left in the middle of the night. No one could stop them as Aegon mounted Sunfyre and Aemond mounted Vhagar, they burned them on the Fork Road until nothing but ashes were left. Grandfather is furious as you might have heard.” 

That was the end of a short betrothal between you and the prince of Dorne. It took two weeks for things to finally calm in the Red Keep. But the two brothers' plans to keep you here were not completed. Sure their enemy was dead but it would be sooner or later the hand found a new match so they had to make sure you couldn’t marry. You were sitting in your bedchamber on your settee, in your nightgown, your long silver hair down while reading a book about The First Men. When all of a sudden your bedchamber creaked open, as you looked up from your book both Aegon and Aemond entered your bedchamber. You weren’t allowed to speak to them, for two weeks you hadn’t been able to leave other than to pray by your mothers request. You couldn’t help but smile as both of them entered with a mischievous grin on their faces. You also noticed the guards outside were gone. 

“You know you aren’t allowed to be here.” You said closing your book. They didn’t say a word as Aegon went and sat down on the settee in front of you, while Aemond settled next to you. “For two weeks we have lived in agony of not seeing you, not speaking to you. But as you know, Aegon and I have taken matters into our own hands. You, are ours. And we will do anything and burn anyone to keep you here.” Aemond spoke as he moved your hair behind your ear, placing a featherlight kiss on your neck making your eyes flutter shut. A fire started to burn inside you, heart thumping in your chest and a tingling feeling in your abdomen. When you opened your eyes you saw Aegon looking at you through half lidded eyes, his lips parted as you noticed a bulge in his pants. You weren’t stupid, you knew what sex was and you knew what they wanted and oh did you want it too.

“You, I think, know how we can keep you here. If your innocence is ruined, you’ll have no choice but to marry Aemond. You’ll stay here and have his children and of course you can keep taking care of me as well, right sister?” Aegon spoke, now standing up and moving to sit at your right side. You could only nod as Aemond groaned and moved his hand up your thigh, while Aegon grabbed your chin and smashed his lips on yours. Moving his lips feverishly against yours. Teeth clashing, tongue entwining and hands moving to rip off any clothes that were on you in the first place. Aemond finally had you bare next to him as his hand moved between your thighs, his lips and tongue moving over your neck. You moaned in Aegon's mouth, even your filthiest fantasies couldn’t compare to the real thing.

“Need you so bad mommy.” Aegon whined against your lips. You could hear a faint chuckle from Aemond who now used two fingers to tease your wet folds. “Listen to him, you haven’t even touched him yet and he’s already begging for it.” You couldn’t even speak as Aegon refused to stop kissing you. Aemond now circling your clit with his fingers making your free hands grip the fabric of the settee. Aegon started to remove his own clothes while never leaving your lips as Aemond paused to take off his as well. Both men now in their breeches, their hard ons evident between their legs. The effect you had on them made you feel like a goddess. You had them wrapped around your finger and they had you wrapped around theirs.

Aemond moved off the settee and kneeled between your legs, you looked down at him as he undid the clasp of his eyepatch, the sapphire in his eye socket twinkling in the candlelight. Aegon moved his lips down towards your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and suckling on it like a babe. Aemond started to kiss between your thighs moving further until he reached your aching cunt. Tongue darted out as he began to lap at your folds. You could barely breathe as pleasure consumed you. Aegon sucked and licked at your breast hungrily, holding the other in his hand and using his right hand to pull down his breeches enough to free his cock. As Aemond continued to eat you like a starved man making you moan and whine, Aegon started to pump his cock, eager for that pure bliss. "Fuck- mommy-" Aegon mumbled.

Both brothers groaned and panted against you, Aemond now palming himself through his breeches. He couldn’t help it, he was too impatient. Precum started to leak from Aegon’s tip, he moaned and whined around your nipple. You couldn’t take it anymore, the erotic sounds, the feeling of one brother fucking you with his tongue and the other sucking on your breast while he was pleasuring himself, with a gasp and a plead you reached your peak. Seeing spots of how hard you squeezed your eyes shut. Your thighs clamping together around Aemonds head, which he forced right open before he stood back up. You hadn’t even noticed he removed his breeches as well. His cock stood proud, also leaking from the mere sight of you bare before him.

Aemond eyed Aegon hungrily, also seemingly turned on by the noises he made. Not to mention the sight of him at your breast while fucking his own fist. Aemond pulled Aegon of your nipple by his jaw and forced him to face his brother, before pulling him in a harsh kiss. Aegon made a strangled noise at the action and stopped pleasuring himself to hold the back of Aemond’s head, not wanting to let go of him. Then Aemond pushed his knee between Aegon's legs right against his hard cock. 

Aegon gasped against his brother's lips, you whined at the sight, never had you seen such an erotic scene before you and you were begging the gods to not let it stop. Aemond didn’t stop there but started to move with more pressure against Aegon’s cock, capturing his moans in his mouth. Aegon removed himself from Aemond’s lips for a moment. “Please- don’t stop- feel so good.” He mumbled. Your hand unconsciously slid down your body, touching yourself was the only way to relieve that nagging ache that returned again. But to Aegon and to your surprise, Aemond did stop. Making Aegon whine at the removal of the contact. “On the bed, both of you.” Aemond commanded, and both of you scrambled towards your bed. 

Aemond followed, positioning you like you weighed nothing. Putting you on your hands and knees, commanding Aegon to move towards your head while he stayed behind you. Aegon knew exactly what Aemond wanted and already held the base of his cock to smear his precum across your parted lips. Aemond grazed your other lips with his cock, smearing your arousal around. He reached out his hand to Aegon. “Spit.” Aegon did as told immediately and let his saliva drop onto his little brother's hand. Which Aemond used to coat his cock making it easier to breach your maidenhead. Aegon entered your mouth and hissed at the feeling, somehow this was better then any whores cunt. His sister and his brother sharing the bed with him was better than a thousand whores. 

You softly sucked on Aegon’s cock while Aemond pushed the head of his into your cunt. You whined around Aegon while Aemond sank further into you, a shuddering breath leaving his lips at the feeling of his sister's tight hole around him. He had waited so long, feeling sure that the two of you would be wed but that day never came, and it would never unless he took the matter into his own hands. Moans, gasps and panting filled the moonlit room, it was almost an ethereal sight. Three silver haired bodies becoming one. When Aemond felt you relax and Aegon started to carefully fuck your mouth, he started to move as well. Wanting nothing more than to fill you with his seed that would hopefully take root so he could finally make you his wife and mother of his children. "Oh mommy feels so good-" Aegon whined.

As your moans grew louder, Aemond started to fuck into you harder. Gripping your hips so he could move you against him as well. Aegon was the first to finish, being already so pent up and horny he didn’t last long in your warm wet mouth. With a gasp of your name he filled your throat with his cum, fingers entangled in your hair for support. He pulled his softening dick out and laid down next to you catching his breath. Aemond started to now pound into you like a wild animal, it seemed as if he was so lost in pleasure he couldn’t hear or see anything else but you. Aegon however, with a clearer mind, sat up and moved closer to you. Letting his hand trace your body to where you and Aemond were connected. 

Moving his fingers until he found your clit, you confirmed with a moan. He let his fingers rub against your sweet spot adding to the pleasure of your building orgasm. You pleaded for more, and Aegon started to move his fingers in rhythm with Aemond. This was all you needed, all you needed to scream out their names while gripping the sheets in ecstasy. Your walls clenched around Aemond, making him see stars. Aegon removed his fingers and watched in awe as his brother fucked you relentlessly. 

However Aemond’s thrusts were getting sloppier. And his cursing and groaning made it clear he was about to peak as well. With a couple of final thrusts he came hard. Making sure to go as deep as possible, he spurted his cum right against your cervix. Surely filling your womb with his spent. Giving you a couple of lazy trusts he made sure to be completely milked empty before pulling out. Letting himself fall on the bed next to you so he could pull you against his side. Aegon, not wanting to be left out of it, crawled against your other side, cuddling up next to you. What you didn’t notice, was how the door was accidentally left ajar. Your brothers made sure the entire Red Keep knew of your bedding. Surely they can’t deny Aemond his sister now?

[harrietvane]

So, you can buy one of the books from the 1999 The Mummy at the upcoming March 2024 Propstore auction.

From the listing for Lot #250:

The heavy book is primarily made of resin finished in gold paint to resemble solid gold, and features several intentionally tarnished bronze components. The book's embellished metal spine displays 12 individual strands attached to each internal page. Designed to hold the front cover in place, four metal vulture-like clasps are inserted into the scarab emblems and are adjoined to uniquely designed hinges. Located within the book are 12 resin tablet pages covered in ornate hieroglyph detailing. To open the book, the circular mechanical emblem on the cover must be twisted in an anticlockwise direction, which causes the two clasps on the right side to pop up. To close the book, the two clasps should be pushed down into their corresponding slots and held. The emblem should then be turned clockwise, causing the locks to fix back into place. Intentionally distressed for the production, there are some small chips on the cover. Dimensions: 14.5" x 14.5" x 4.75" (37 cm x 37 cm x 12 cm) Estimate: $50,000 - 100,000

The clasps and lock mechanism are fully functional. BYO key, though.

[penvisions]

by the grit of sandpaper {honor me}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: As the seasons change, you and Joel tackle both big things and small that make up life in Jackson. Underlying it all, is one thought that prompts him to craft something he thinks will be even better than the cutting boards you lovingly used every day.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, joel just needs his own warning actually, arguing, reader gets overwhelmed, reader deals with ptsd and general trauma, mentions of child loss, mentions of lost family / loved ones, winter weather as a trigger, lonliness, reader struggles with seasonal depression, mentions of outbreak day, heated interactions, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, reader has no canon name but a commonly used nickname, some descriptions f hair length and skin tone are made (they are not set in stone), this may be triggering so please be careful if you are sensitive to any of these, i just want y'all to be safe

A/N: i've had this in my drafts for the longest time and finally got around to finishing it. not gonna lie, i made myself sad with some of it but i think this is a good and realistic depiction of a healthy relationship and dealing with hectic life stuff. so glad to be sharing more of them with y'all, they mean so much to me

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The deep timber of a guffaw bursts into the bright blue sky, scaring a collection of birds into flight from where they were searching for food by the water’s edge.

“Oh, shut it!” You shout, no heat behind your words but bubbling laughter, water sparkling all over you as it soaks into skin and fabric alike.

Joel uses one hand to mime zipping his mouth, even as the corners of his lips lift up into a grin. He’s glowing in the midday sun, bronze skin on display as he mirrors your choice of a tank top to stave off some of the heat. Joel is standing proudly at the shore, pebbles and larger rocks firm under his sturdy boots. His weight has accented itself, the stones shifting to accommodate him. He’s a vision, fishing pole in the thick curl of his hand, propping it up on his hip in an almost suggestive manner. His other hand steadies the pole, the line cast out shaking to the very end where it disappears into the gray blue lake.

You huff, shaking the cool water that had splashed all over you. The fish you had caught wiggling something fierce as you tried to unhook it from the end of your line. It had flipped and flopped, slapping its slimy, scaled body and sharp tail thrashing against your scrabbling hands. The splash of it diving back into the water had been large, spraying you to soak through your tank top. The light color of it darkened and damp combined with the near panicked expression you had throughout the entire moment.

Chuckles rumble from between flashing teeth until he catches sight of the blood dripping down your arm. Twisted up and at an angle for you to access the damage as the sting set in.

His focus never leaves you even as he leans down to rest the handle of his fishing rod down, wedging it between two larger boulders to keep it propped up. His longer hair tousles from where he had it tucked behind his ears, a strand falling to curl over his forehead as he’s suddenly in your personal space.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” You soothe even as you feel the sting of the water that trails down your arm and seeps into the cut.

“Darlin’, you’re drippin’ blood.” Joel quietly disagrees, taking the handkerchief from his back pocket and dabbing at the wound before holding it tight, curling his palm over the four inch line.

You can’t stop the hiss that escapes from deep in your chest, the pain flaring at the pressure. His eyes fly up from where he’s looking for any signs of blood seeping through the fabric to catch the grimace that pulls your lips down at the corners. You see the panic flit in the back of his eyes, the sun turning them amber as they take stock of you all over now. Worry evident in the grip he keeps on your injury and the other palm that cups your shoulder to keep you both steady on the rocky shore.

He's quiet, mind working a mile a minute as the weight of your injury settles atop his shoulders. But you don’t want it to affect him this way, the sight of blood suddenly jarring him back to the gruff man he had once been. The horrors of the world too much for him to not be consumed by it. You want your Joel back, the one he had been just moments ago.

“Hey,” You whisper, other hand coming up to cradle his strong, scruffy jaw. “I’m okay, Joel, I promise.”

“You better be, otherwise I’m gonna swath you in bubble wrap.” His plush lips well with color as he chews at his bottom lip, peeling the fabric from your cut to check on it. The blood clotted, wound sealing up as best it could, and he lets out a relieved sigh that fans his warm breath over you.

“Joel, bubble wrap doesn’t exist anymore.” You say with a roll of your eyes, hoping he sees the feigned petulance. He fastens the handkerchief securely around your arm, tying it off to keep it in place as he rests his forehead against yours and closes his eyes in a long blink. You see the tension leak out of him as he takes a deep breath, the beating of his heart calming beneath your palm on his chest.

“Hush, lemme just worry about you, okay?” He’s a provider, a caretaker, a protector. It’s in his nature to switch from carefree and silly to focused and shielding in a heartbeat. It was something you admired, mirrored in him as it makes up a part of you are as well. Two sides of the same coin, connected. Bonded. Understanding.

“That goes both ways, Miller.” Your breath hitches as he pulls you flush against him, the feel of his firm body against yours still takes your breath away even after all this time. His lips quirk up at the corners before he captures your own.

The day spent at the lake was Joel’s way of getting you out of your head, with the anniversary of Aiden’s death fast approaching at the end of the week. He did his best not to push conversation if you spaced out during meals or he found you out walking among the budding olive trees. He did his best to make you either a mug of warm coffee or a chilled drink and press it into your hands to help soothe the thoughts that consumed you. You know you could come to him with anything, talk to him about anything and he wants you to know that he’s there. Even if you can’t find the words sometimes.

He's watching now, as you linger in front of the second bedroom. Aiden’s bedroom, the door closed by his own hand all those years ago as you both set off for the patrol that plagues your nightmares. Joel hadn’t meant to, but he had bumped the handle one day as he waddled down the hallway with planks of wood that would become shelves in your shared bedroom. Book collection growing as he brought more home from patrol and Ellie traded for ones that she thought you would both like.

That same fire that had consumed you six months ago as you hurled hurt words and wooden spoons alike at him in your kitchen had reared up. You had just so happened to be coming home when he had realized the door opened and you caught sight of him with his hand on the knob as his curiosity got the better of him. A quick glance was all he had taken, but that split second in which he glimpsed an unmade bed and piles of clothing along the floor before he began to close it had been enough for you to rush at him with sharp words and quick motions.

Through your tears you had demanded why he would do such a thing, invade his privacy like that. Your privacy. And he realized his mistake, the split-second decision made out of curiosity had caused enough damage that he had slept on the couch out of guilt for disturbing you when sleep came to him late that same night. He had woken up to you curled atop him, throw blanket he had rucked off over your tangled legs and your head pressed right over his heart.

Now though, it’s you who stands in front of the door with a hand on the knob. Joel steps out into the hall with a towel around his waist, skin warm from the time spent in the sun and the water he had used to wash off the remnants of the trip.

“Olive…you okay?” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to spook you. You don’t startle, but you do turn to look at him with wide eyes and a firm set to your lips. Wet footprints mark the hallway as he approaches you, reaching out to rest his hand atop yours and remove it from the brass. Your skin is cold against his as he places your palm over his heart. It thuds against his ribcage as you look up at him with such conflicted eyes, tears brimming the lash line and then falling over to race down your cheeks as you suck in a shuddering breath.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Breath with me, okay? You’re okay, sweetheart.” His own palm spreads warm against your chest, the neckline of your tank top scrunching up with the action. He breaths deep, counts to three and then exhales, making sure you mimic him until your heart beats at a calmer rate. He doesn’t care that the warmth of his skin cools and the droplets of water on his shoulders now chill him in the conditioned air of the home. He’s worried about you, about the shakes he sees move your shoulders, the arm of the hand he holds, the wobble of your head.

He ducks his head to catch your eyes, a tiredness he knows all too well tinging the color of them. You look like you’re about to say something but your mouth snaps shut seconds after it opens.

“Take your time, I’m here, not goin’ anywhere.” The spot of blood on the handkerchief draws his brows together and he carefully ushers you towards the bedroom. You move pliantly, allowing him to set you on the edge of the bed. He kneels to take your boots off, socks too. And you seem to come back to yourself while he disappears to wash his hands and gather supplies for the cut.

“Joel?” You croak, throat thick.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He speaks softly, voice washing over you and almost massaging your tense muscles.

“Can we…can you…h-help me tidy up h-his room tomorrow?”

“I’ll help you with anything, but are you sure?”

All you could do is nod, reaching for him the moment he finishes wrapping the bandage around your cut and tucking it into itself.

“He would’ve li-liked you, I know it.”

“I would’ve liked him too, Olive, I promise you that.” He offers you a soft smile, eyes so earnest that it makes you feel like he really would’ve, that he’s not just saying it to make you feel better. But that’s the thing about Joel, he doesn’t say stuff he doesn’t mean. His words are important.

“He loved me, just wanted to see me happy. You make me happy, y-you make me so happy, Joel.” Your lip quivers as you look down at him with tears trailing down your cheeks. “He deserved to be happy too.”

“He was, sweetheart, you made sure he was. Safe and happy here in Jackson, you gave him the chance to have a life here.”

“It wasn’t long enough.” Words barely choked out on a sob has him surging up, forgetting the wet cloth and tube of ointment on the floor.

“It never is.” He crowds you, arms wrapping around you and hauling you up the bed with him. You tried to move with him, but all you did was cling to his chest with your head buried in his neck. “He knows you did your best, he knows.”

A simple question, a simple answer; both led to a hard afternoon where Joel proved just how much he loved you as he helped you to finally open that door and step inside the second bedroom. Just a clean, nothing too strenuous, nothing too much for you to handle. Just picking up the clothes that had been piled up, dusting the furniture and making the bed over again once everything was washed and dried. Clothes put back into drawers and hung up, going through them left for another day. Joel had been beside you every step of the way, helping where he could, with his hands, his strength, his words.

Later that day, he lets you be the big spoon. Your arms secure around his chest as you tuck yourself around his back and simply breath with him until sleep claims you both.

“Thank you again, Rick, I really appreciate the help.” You smile at the teenager beside you, sitting in one of the wooden chairs Joel had been excited to craft to fill the space of your newly completed porch. His freckled cheek was stained with dirt, as were his arms from his offered task of cleaning out the gutters of your house. You and Joel had been trying to decide when it could be done as he shared lunch with you in the kitchen earlier that week when the boy had chimed in that he didn’t mind taking on the task.

Joel let you lead the interaction, even though you both shared the house and the land it was on with Ellie, it would always mean more to you.

“It was no problem, ma’am. Wanted to show my appreciation for the opportunity to work alongside you in the kitchen.”

“I’m happy to have you there, there’s no need to thank me.” You raise your glass of tea in a silent cheers, the temperature is begging to wane. Days warm but evenings getting chilly, the nights cold enough to turn on the heat.

“Everyone around town says that you used to patrol, still do sometimes.” He’s a little subdued now, like he’s worried about saying the wrong thing. “With you’re uh- with Mr. Miller.”

“I go out with Maria and Tommy sometimes too, but I try to focus on the kitchen these days.” Is your way of confirming the teenager’s assessment. You had really stepped back from patrol, opting to only go out with Joel on overnight or longer ones. Tommy and Maria sometimes if someone called off or fell ill. You realized that going out beyond the walls was something you just…didn’t want to do anymore. Even before Joel had become your partner, but he had needed someone to show him the ropes while Tommy took his own leave to focus on Maria and the pregnancy.

“Do, um, do you think I could maybe go on the next one with you, both of you?”

“Oh, well.” The overnights would be too much for him, or maybe they would be perfect since it’s a longer journey for him to get the feel of the job- how serious it was and all the planning and caution that goes into it. “That’s certainly something I can run by him and Tommy, see if we can work it out.”

“I would really appreciate it. I know I’m still kinda new myself, only been here just shy of eight months. But now that I’m a little acclimated, I want to help out more.” He’s genuine in his words, something that you both appreciate and worry about. So many of the teenagers here haven’t had to face the hardships of the outside world, being protected by the town, the community built within the walls. That had always been an issue between you and Millie, until the influence of her mother no longer affected her so deeply. It’s a challenge to get the younger generation to realize just how fucking insane the world is now.

But then again, they had no memories of the way things were before.

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking over the young boy’s words. You offer him a not as he finishes the glass of iced tea you brought out to him and takes off back toward the house he’s set up in with two other boys and the town butcher.

“Look mighty fine up there, if I do say so myself.” Joel’s voice hollers from the gate he had put up around the front yard. His hands are atop it, his eyes trained on you as you realize you must’ve been spacing out.

“My partner was kind enough to build it for me with his own two hands, pretty impressive, huh?”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like a real keeper to me.” He struts up the walkway and takes the steps easily, hands cradling your face as he dips to press his lips to yours in a breathtaking kiss. His tongue traces your bottom lip before tangling with yours as you return the kiss with just as much fervor.

“Gonna make us late, darlin’.” He murmurs against your mouth, not willing to disconnect completely.

“I was sittin’ out here already to go and you’re the one who decided to take his sweet time coming home.”

“Was busy helpin’ with the paddocks. Horse kicked one of the partitions clean off its hinges. Foal needs a lotta discipline before he’ll be ready to train for ridin’.”

Joel holds his hand out for you to use as an anchor to stand, letting you wrap your arm around it and tug it into your front as you both walk side by side down the walkway and toward the street. Ellie bounces out from the backyard and her own little studio to join you both as you make your way toward Tommy and Maria’s for a little bonfire dinner.

Hours later, once the sun begins to set and cast the evening sky in a swath of deep navy blues and gorgeous deep purples, you find yourself back inside the house. Maria had asked after Tupperware for the leftovers from the grill and you had jumped at the excuse to take a moment for yourself.

Joel’s name leaves your lips in squealed laughter. He had snuck up behind you to scoop you up into his arms as you tried to reach for something in a cabinet that was too tall for you.

“Gross, get a room.”

“Tommy!”

“Nope, y’all should know better. You are guests in my home and still can’t seem to keep your hands off each other.” Tommy grabs the sippy bottle of juice that you had refilled before disappearing as soon as he had appeared in the room.

“I wasn’t- Joel just- you’re a traitor!” You shout after him even as Joel continues to trace his fingers over the sensitive skin of your ribs. He keeps it up, hands closing around your ribs to pick you up and plant your butt right atop the counter. He’s between your legs, smirk in place as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“Looks like it’s just you an’ me, sweetheart. Wanna tell me why you were lookin’ me up and down out there?”

“You know why.”

“Needly little thing you are sometimes, huh? Just can’t help but watch me, this is a family event, ya know. Nothing but innocent fun around the fire. ‘n you had to go and make it dirty with your squirmin’, tryin’ to get some relief right here between these pretty legs, hmm?” All you can do is gasp as his thick fingers swipe up the seam of your jeans, just enough pressure behind them to squish your already slick and puffy lips together.

“J-Joel…” Hands fly to catch his wrist, to catch the longer strands of his hair that are curling around his neck and pull.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He’s crowding you, fitting himself perfectly between your thighs and pressing into you. The bulge in his own jeans is obvious as he swoops in to take your lips with his, devouring any argument you have about the setting.

Joel curses as silently as he can, the little crystal dish on your bedside table is empty. None of the rings you wear occasionally are nestled there. He opens the smooth drawer, peering inside only to find a journal, a cookbook with a bunch of bookmarks, and an old polaroid camera. Hands on his hips, he glances around the bedroom, looking for anything that could help him with the task that’s been weighing in his mind and heart the last six months.

It had come out of nowhere, the thought shocking him one day as he sat on the porch he had added to the front of your house to mimic the one on the house he and Ellie had been in before moving in. The project had been daunting, there was nothing but a small concrete stoop with few steps and two wooden support beams. But now there was a decent porch that runs across half of the front of the house from the front door to the living room window. You had been working earlier mornings, to help with the gardens and harvest after ensuring the town had a hearty spread for their breakfast.

It was fall now, marking the passage of a year since your relationship had begun to shift. An entire year of being with you had made him feel whole again, it healed parts of himself he had ignored for far too long. He had spent the summer months getting the work done around his other projects. Replacing fence lines around the gardens, house repairs, the shed and detached garage he had fixed up for Ellie’s living quarters and his workshop right beside it. He had insisted, saying he didn’t mind turning your house into a home for all three of you. The smile you had given him was blinding and he vowed to make you smile like that as often as he possibly could.

That same smile had broken out on your face the afternoon you had trudged home from your busy day.

And the thought of bending down on one knee in front of you to keep it there had him moving to meet you as you approached. He kissed the smile on your lips, hands cradling your face before he trailed them down to your waist and lifted you in a spin that cropped up a bout of giggles that melted his heart.

Now though, determination to make the moment perfect made him hyper aware of every moment he shared with you. That it was hard to just not reach for your hand and ask you as easy as it was to breath.

Even though he’s sure you would fawn over the question and give you an easy answer all the same. But he wanted to put work into it.

He finds you sprawled on the couch, mouth open and harsh little puffs of air sounding into the air as you slumber. Crouching down to get the throw blanket from a basket beside the couch, he drapes it over you and feels his chest fill with warmth as you instantly snuggle down further into the cushions. The glint on your fingers as you curl them around the edge of the blanket and bring it up under your chin catches his eye and he feels his heartbeat pick up.

Your jewelry. The rings he had been looking for are set daintily in place.

He’s careful, more careful than he’s ever been before as he gently reaches for your right hand. Eyes watching your face as he slips his own, thicker fingers around one of the rings and begins to slide it from its place. He gulps as he sees how they dwarf yours, thick and strong where yours are slim and long. Then his stomach flips and heat pools between his legs as he recalls the way you had begged him the night before, to fill you with them. The sounds you had let out, the memory of them alone makes him swell in his jeans.

Just as he’s got the ring in his grasp, your hand twitches and a deep hum has his eyes catching your own sleepy ones as they crack open.

Through your blurry squint, you see Joel’s handsome face, the broadness of his shoulders and the curls atop his head warming your heart. Yawning, you reach for the hand you were sure had just been tangling with yours. He had pulled it back and sleepy confusion colored your features.

“Mmm, what’re you-“ You kiss each of his knuckles, dragging his hand up with both of yours, his shoulders sagging at the soft feel of your lips on his skin. You drag them over each dip and ridge, “Doin’ up so early?”

“You fell asleep after your shift, sweetheart, it’s not so early anymore.” The slip of his tongue along his own lips has you boldly opening your mouth, his eyes dilating at the soft pink of your own tongue as you swirl it around two of his fingers. It must be something about the warmth of the sun hitting the living room windows, the depth of which you slept and then waking up with Joel crouched beside you. But you needed him, your body yearning for him in the basest of ways.

“Let’s waste the afternoon together.” You press the words to the pads of his fingers, not bothering to wait for a response before you suck them into your mouth to the knuckle. Joel’s eyes roll as a groan rumbles from his chest, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your hallowing cheeks.

“Anythin’ you want, darlin’.” And then he’s pulling his slick fingers from your chasing mouth and trailing them down beneath the blanket to press between your legs, his mouth descending on yours.

You notice the way he nearly runs to his workshop after patrol on days he’s home early, his eyes focused and his hands clenching at his sides in the way they do when he’s anxious or thinking something over.

You leave him be, Joel would come to you about what was bothering him when he wanted to. There was no need to push the communication, you trusted him implicitly.

But he was busy most afternoons, well into the early evening lately and while it didn’t worry you…it worried you. He was distant, despite the other day when he had played hooky and put off his afternoon handy man tasks. Coming to bed late, after you had already crossed over into semi unconsciousness.

Often finding the leftovers of dinner still on the table or on the stove and cleaned up after he ate if he beat you home in the evenings. Ellie too, had noticed he was a little more reserved. She had been soothing, spending more time in the kitchen with you at home and dropping by the gardens with another girl’s arm interlocked with her own.

It had to be the time of year, September bleeding into October. His birthday had been a quiet affair, another cake like the first one you had given him. Yellow cake with chocolate frosting that ended up on the tip of his nose as Ellie dipped her finger into the excess and swiped it across his face. He had smiled so bright and his laughter had been loud, his shoulders easing the second he had walked through the door after patrol to find you both waiting for him with it. Just an evening with his two girls on the day he missed his other one with all his heart.

Forever intwined with his birthday was the trauma of the day the Outbreak took place, the part of himself he had lost in his daughter the day after. Something he would carry with him until his last breath, though he admitted that you made it easier to shoulder. Your kindness and love allowing him to heal from it in ways he had never thought he would be able to.

But today when you walked down the street and unlocked the front door there was no sign of anyone having been home for hours. And then you remembered that Joel had gone off on an overnight patrol with his brother and the thought doesn’t sit well. It was a hard day for you, this late in fall. Much like Joel’s own. But unlike him, you hadn’t shared the specific date.

It was still hard to talk about, even if you had made peace with the passing of your own child. Had admitted as much to Joel, to Tommy, Maria. But Ellie…you hadn’t shared it with Ellie. Even as you hear the happy laughter of hers as she treks down the street outside. Unable to quell the low mood and not willing to bring her own down, you grab your bag and make your way down the hallway to your room.

The next day you sleep as late as possible, rest not having come easy throughout the night. Thankfully, it was the week you normally take off for the harvest. Your absence in the mess hall kitchen accounted for and supplemented by Millie and Callie. She had taken her mother’s place in the space, the older woman choosing to keep to herself in the wake of all that happened the year before. The gardens her preferred job now, though her hands were beginning to bother her as arthritis set in.

With little sighs of exertion and some slight frustration at yourself for feeling things so deeply, you dress modestly in a plain tee and flannel. The sleeves are pushed up by noon, the entire flannel disrobed by three as you flit around the trees and gather the olives that are ready for picking. You’ve got two barrels by the time you hear Joel and Ellie walking down the street, the teenager laughing and joking. Joel’s voice is a more even tone, a deep rumble that calms you even as you think back to how distant he had been before he left for the overnight patrol.

Two weeks of kisses planted to your forehead as you slept, of blankets rustling and strong arms wrapping around your already passed out form, of notes being the main form of communication. It was bound to happen, a tough spell. Emotions so intricate and surely hard to deal with as the seasons changed. The date on the calendar looms in the back of your mind as well, the day that everything shifted. That you told Joel how you feel and he told you the same, that you decided to act on those feelings. Maybe that’s why you were so hyper aware of his actions and the long, busy hours he led.

Dinner wasn’t even prepped, no thoughts of food but for the pitted delicacies that were ready to harvest. The street quiets once again as they enter the home, sounds of life wafting from the slight openings of the glass. It was too chilly in the night to have them open but air flow during the day and a lower setting on the heat allowed for a good temperate environment.  

The smell of coffee swirls out of the side window of the kitchen, the breeze picking it up and bringing it to you just as Joel descends the few stairs at the back of the house with two steaming mugs.

“Told ya I’d help with that, sweetheart.” He looks tired, his jacket marred with dirt and his scruff glistening in the low sunlight. “Didn’t have to start it alone.”

He’s pressing the mug into your hands and dipping his head to press a kiss to your forehead, your stomach fluttering at the smile you could feel on his lips before he pulled back and you could see it for yourself. The basket you had been using to gather the harvest hangs from your arm, opposite the one that now bears a small, still silvery scar from the day on lake.

“Just needed to get outta my head,” You don’t quite meet his eyes, prompting him to hook two fingers underneath your chin and tilt your head up. His warm eyes search yours, the emotions swirling inside of you on display for him to see, to search, to calm.

“Lemme get some dinner started, sun should set soon. Come sit with me?”

“Joel, I’ve already started this tree, I don’t want to leave it half undone.”

“I’ll help you, then dinner, yeah?”

“You’ve had a long day,” You sigh, unable to quell the guilt and shame of feeling so utterly alone with him standing in front of you, with Ellie in the house. “You should shower and get some rest.”

“Don’t wanna rest until you’re taken care of.”

“I’m not ready to go inside.” There’s an edge to your voice, one built up from the past few weeks of things just feeling like too much. He clocks it, the simmering emotions just beneath your tingling skin and the slightly raised words you aim at him. You’re not looking at him, eyes focused just to the right of his own, a curl catching your attention and making it easier to focus. But you’re overwhelmed and don’t know how to handle it.

“Okay.” He’s stepping back, cautious but willing to give you the space you needed. To not push the matter or force you into following him into the house. His fingers caress your skin as he pulls it away and your eyes flutter shut as tears burn hot beneath your cheeks. “I’ll, uh, be inside.”

“Okay.”

 You don’t ever make it down the hallway, finishing up the harvest on the tree and then setting everything in the utility room before showering and then promptly burrowing into bed. No lamps turned on, no lights in the bathroom, no pages of the book you were currently working through read or tea had.

Just, straight to bed. Despite the sounds of Joel and Ellie having dinner with quiet conversation. The smell of roasted vegetables strong and the clink of glasses almost too much to bear. You want more than anything to force yourself out of bed to join them- but you can’t. The weight in your stomach, the soles of your feet, it’s too much.

“Olive?” Joel’s deep voice calls in a soft whisper from the cracked open doorway, but you don’t stir even as you lay with your back to it. You have no idea how much time has passed but you realize as your eyes focus and your ears stop buzzing that there’s no longer any sounds of conversation or life being lived down the hall. It’s quiet.

When his steps round the bed to his side, he startles a little when he notices that your eyes are open and glinting in the moonlight that filters in through the curtains haphazardly pulled over the glass panes.

“You’re awake.” It’s not an accusation, it’s a soft realization. He’s sitting to remove his boots, jeans shucked off and folded on the chair tucked into the corner by his bedside table. Flannel shrugged off and socks tugged up to his calves before he sinks onto the bed and slips between the covers.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s goin’ on, but you can’t tell me that everythin’ is fine.” He reaches for your fingers that are curled around the edge of your pillow, keeping it tucked underneath your cheek just the way you like it. “’m here, promise.”

And the petulant no, you’re not is quick to cut the air at full volume.

Harsh breath through his nose is the only response you get before he’s pulling you into him completely, intertwining your legs together and cradling your head with the back of his head as he tries to catch your eyes.

“I know I been busy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not just that…y-you’ve been di-distant too.”

“I don’t mean to be.” He acquiesces quietly, knowing that the truth in your words is something he can’t really argue with.

“Always in the damn shop, makes me feel like that stuff is more important than me and then I get pissed off that I even feel that way. No matter how fleeting it is.”

“Your feelings are important, no matter how small or big. I…I’ve been working on something for you. But that’s not an excuse for how things have been.” He’s pressing his forehead to yours, a deep breath jostling you both as it stutters out of between his plush lips. “I wanted to have it done in time for the holiday but I keep fuckin’ it up.”

“Don’t want anything- j-just want you.” Your nose is cold when you nuzzle it into the crook of his neck, right where his collarbone peeks from beneath his shirt.

“You’ve got me, I swear it to you.”

“It’s been…it’s been really hard the past few days…”

“Past few weeks.” He breaths the words into your hair, his scruff rustling there as he buries his face into the crown of your head, arms tightening around you. “’m sorry for lettin’ things get to me.”

“Me too…”

“We’re gonna be okay, yeah?”

“Yes, Joel, of course. It’s just…it was just…a few days ago was…this time of year….that’s when I l-lost-“ A hiccup steals the admission from you, tears wetting the skin of his neck as you’re suddenly overcome with voicing exactly what had you so overwhelmed.

“Shh, it’s okay, you don’t have to- if you don’t- if you can’t. I get it, believe me, Olive.”

“I don’t want to keep it from you, it’s just- it’s a l-lot and it’s he-heavy.”

“I know…I know…but I’m here, I’ve got you.” He holds you until you’re breathing evens out and you fall into a restful slumber. His mind reeling with how much he’s been focused on what he could provide for you when you were right in front of him and struggling with something he had been too blind to see, even having been through it himself. One of his hands snakes down and traces the scar that’s exposed from your rucked up shirt- his shirt and thinks back on how shy you had been when he had first met you, how grateful and thankful he was that you two connected…

The next few days are spent tending to each other, tending to the harvest that needs to be collected, divvied up and handed to the general store on main street. To people who want the fruits of your trees for trade. He’s by your side through it all, helping any way he can even if you can’t find the words in a specific moment. No patrols for either of you, no kitchen shifts for you to run to for long hours. Just the two of you and the trees that gave you back your purpose once you had found a place here, safety.

The trees had given you purpose when you had lost your child and again when Aiden had passed. It’s a purpose that seems to realign everything in you each year and for that you’re grateful. The man beside you making you feel like things are finally settling for the better, even if he’s got his own past that haunts him in the quiet moments.

Joel feels it too, how good this time to yourselves has been. How much you both needed it.

It’s when the last line of trees needs to be focused on when bubbles of laughter and small jokes are shared, your voices lighter after so much devotion and time spent together healed the jagged edges of busy life that had caused discordance. He’s trailing soft fingertips through the belt loops on your jeans while you reach for the topmost branch atop a step ladder when he catches the subtle shake of your shoulders. He’s worried for a second that tears have taken over but he hears the huffs of your laughter and smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.

When you step down with something cupped in your hands, he can’t help but be mesmerized by the sparkle in your eyes as you hold them out to him. But he’s also cautious, because he’s learned your penchant for placing random things in his hands. With a shake of his head, he’s stepping back with his hands raised in surrender- refusing whatever you’re trying to give him.

“Nu-uh, you little troublemaker. I dunno what you’ve got but I don’t want it.”

“It’s not bad!” You giggle, unable to reign it in as the thing in your hand tickles against your palms.

“Then why you giggling like a maniac, huh? You may be cute, but I ain’t fallin’ for it this time.” He tries to maintain an even face but you can tell that he’s holding back laughter. Especially when you go to tease him with your next breath.

“Awe, is big bad Joel Miller afraid of a little catapillar?”

“When you’re tryna put it in my hands, yeah. They feel gross and look ugly as hell.” The lines around his eyes deepen as his moustache pulls down with his frown.

“Joel!”

He just raises a brow at you, the thick arch of his making you stare at him in open shock. He looks far too good, even as he’s trying to be serious right now. Eyes bright as he watches you. You can see that he wants to laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching the longer you hold out your hands. Parting them, you show him the bright green creature, lined with black dots and fuzzy legs. He visibly shivers as the thought of it crawling on him crops up in his mind and you can’t help a bark of laughter at the distaste he’s frowning with.

“Put that thing down. I got somethin’ better for you.”

Oh, you’re no fun. It’s just a silly, little guy. He ain’t gonna harm anyone.” You turn around to place him on a lower branch. Right beside two olives that you had yet to pick. The creature happily crawls onto the branch and proceeds to take microscopic bites of the fruit, forgetting all about being plucked from the higher branches. Wiping your hands on your dirty work jeans, all traces of laughter dissipate and your breath hitches when you turn around.

Joel is down on one knee and he’s holding his own cupped hands out to you now.

“Was tryna to figure out the best way to do this, but uh- figured I should just take the moment.”

“Joel…” Your bottom lip trembles as your heart races, he looks nervous. The strong, broad man kneeling in front of you looks nervous and it makes you nervous in turn. Feeding off of his energy in a way you always have.

“Now, I realize that while being so focused on gettin’ this right that I kinda fucked things up. Took a long time because first I had to swipe this to use as a reference,” He uses one hand to reach into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out your simple silver band that had gone missing weeks ago. And then it hits you: he’s made you a ring. “I love you, think you deserve the whole goddamn world. Whatever I can provide for you, I will. For as long as I can and as long as you want me to.”

“Olive,” His beautiful brown eyes catch the midday sun as they connect with yours, emotions swirling them. He unfurls his fingers and sitting in his palm are two wooden rings. One is larger than the other ever so slightly and you can see the shine of epoxy on them as they glint. “Will you honor me in becomin’ my wife?”

You’re nodding your head enthusiastically, hair bobbing in it’s clip to keep it away from your face as you take the few steps toward him. Your fingers brush his as you gently caress the crafted wood in his palms, a watery smile taking over your face as you realize this man had made you wedding bands from the very trees he was helping you harvest for the second year in a row.

“That a yes, darlin’?”

“Of course it’s a yes, Joel.” Your words leave on a breathy exhale as he let’s you slip the larger ring onto his left hand. He’s got his eyes trained on your own as he does the same, threading your fingers together and using that connection to haul you into his arms as he stands. He kisses you deeply, dipping you backwards slightly as he holds tight to the middle of your back.

And it’s the best feeling, of finding someone as special as him in the remnants of a broken world. Of finding someone who loves you through the good times and bad, through the happy moments and hard moments, through everything and anything you both had to do to survive and make it to this point. Joel Miller is one of the good ones and now he’s yours forever. You're his forever.

taglist: @pedrospatch @morning-star-joy @sawymredfox @pascalpvnk

@littlemisspascal @merz-8 @orcasoul @sabmat @dreamingofleon @keylimebeag

@picassopedro @tuquoquebrute @alejaa-a @jessthebaker @joeloverture

@joelscruff @swiftispunk @tightjeansjavi @undercoverpena @corazondebeskar

@honeyedmiller @novas-dreamworld @slugz-writes-shit @hiroikegawa @dugiioh

@persephone-girl @furiousmushroom @copperhalfcent @lizlil @hiddenbabynyc

@part2joelmiller @formulafun @noisynightmarepoetry @sofiparallel

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@communism-bitches @slugz-writes-shit @mosssbawls @vie-is-punk

@ohhellotherebumblebee @koshkaj-blog @amyispxnk @wand-erer5

dividers by the lovely: @/cafekitsune and /saradika-graphics

[popcornforone]

So Golden

Day Seventeen of the Seasons of Life Drabble Challenge

An Oberyn Martell Fic

MASTERLIST

Day 17 prompt of Lake from @fanfictionoverload @lady-bess @berryispunk I knew I wanted to be glorious & seductive. So it had to be getting someone time with Oberyn.

Synopsis:- You & Oberyn admire the view & each other.

Word Count:-450

Warnings:- there is sex but it’s more it’s just mentioned that they make love no real description of it.

Thanks for the read peoples

The summer sun draped itself lazily over the shimmering waters of the lake, casting ripples of gold across its surface. Oberyn lounged by the water’s edge, his bronzed skin glowing under the glorious light, a goblet of Dornish red in his hand.

“You’re staring,” he said, not looking up but smirking nonetheless. You tore your gaze away, though it was impossible to ignore the picture he made, a loose linen shirt open at the chest, revealing the faint scars earned from battles & duels, each one telling a story.

“I’m admiring,” you corrected, setting down the basket of fruit you’d carried from the villa. The walk had been long, but the promise of a quiet afternoon with him made the journey worth it. He finally turned his attention to you, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Good. I would be offended if you weren’t.”You laughed, sitting beside him & feeling the warmth of the earth beneath you.

“Do you always think so highly of yourself?”

“No,” Oberyn replied, his tone softening. “Only when I’m around you.” Your breath caught as he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw.

“I didn’t bring you here just to flatter you,” you teased, trying to steady your voice. He always makes you weak at the knees

“No?” His smile widened, but he set his goblet down and leaned closer, his knee brushing yours. “Then why did you?”

“To enjoy the quiet. For once.”

Oberyn laughed, the sound rich & unrestrained.

“You think I can be quiet?”

“I think,” you said, tilting your head & meeting his gaze, those brown eyes glistening like the lake, “that you enjoy pretending to be larger than life. But here, with me, you don’t have to.”

He paused, his expression unreadable, before leaning in. His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, then with the fire he was known for. The world around you seemed to still, the rustling leaves, the singing birds, even the distant murmur of the lake became calm. When you finally pulled away, his hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“You undo me,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“As do you,” you replied, leaning into his touch, “you remind me what it means to feel alive.”

The sun sank lower, the golden hour painting the world in the most glorious golden haze. But neither of you noticed. Making love to Oberyn was always easy, but as the sun glowed across the lake as you orgasmed, the quiet & serene scene you originally had, burst into life. The ripples of pleasure trickling over the both of you, not just the water.

[namidew]

Here’s the next part of the design concepts for my story, this time featuring Athena, Ares, and Aphrodite !!

Normally in depictions of Ares and Athena, they would wear armor, but I drew them without it because I wanted to try to incorporate their other motifs !!

Details below for design ramblings !!

Athena - The design of her face and the shape of her hair combined is meant to have a faintly owlish resemblance, her expression stern to represent her domain of wisdom and connection war. For my story, she’d be a bit more steely and essentially logical, showing more of wisdom than knowledge by her actions being based on past experiences. Her peplos is in reference to greek pottery with its black and orange, and her epiblema is in reference to her birth from Zeus’s head (the version which I am going with for my story) with it weaved to resemble the brain from a side view on either side. Lastly, the shield on her back is the aegis (or aigis?), which in this version, is a shield. Her having a shield but no spear represents defense and more “distance” from battle (despite hoplite soldiers using both) to represent strategy, and Ares having a spear but no shield represents offense and closer proximity in fights, thus closer to see the uglier side of war: the bloodshed and death.

Ares - He and Athena have complimenting details in their spear and shield, and in their color palettes. Both of their weapons are bronze, but appear brown due to the shading. Both have very fiery colored clothing, showing their connection of war despite their differences. Said differences include Ares’s (at least, within my story) tendency for impulsiveness and better emotional intelligence. He has scars not because his injuries didn’t fully heal, but because he (within my story) thinks they’re cool. His near-black, dark red(ish) chiton and hair represent blood and death, both common on the battlefield. his himation is red for blood, with orangey details for the metal of weapons or metallic taste of blood, and in resemblance of vulture wings. He has a more boyish appearance in reference to the young age in which Ancient Greece (as well as many other civilizations and modern day countries) could draft men to war.

Aphrodite - Her hair is red due to its perceived beauty in Ancient Greece and its rarity within the global population. Several strands of her hair are shaped like hearts. Her face is meant to resemble a dove, with eyes blue like the sea. The pearlescent jewelry is in resemblance of the sea foam from which she was born (the version I’m using), her ionian chiton colored in resemblance of the sea behind the sea foam (and funnily enough, it is sea foam in color.) In addition, her necklaces resemble the pattern of feathers (dove) or scales (sea theme.) Her hair color is exactly the same reddish-orange shade as the details on Ares’s himation. If you look closely, there is a very faint heart shape within the shading of her forehead. A consistent element in my designs of the Olympians drawn so far is a metallic element, as seen in Apollo, Hermes, and Dionysus having matching gold jewelry, Artemis having silver hair bands, and Ares and Athena having bronze war gear. I’m not entirely sure what Aphrodite’s jewelry is made of, perhaps pearl, or perhaps white opal? Maybe the metallic design element will be a “children of Zeus” design choice.

Thank you if you’ve reading all this rambling, it’s much longer this time. All in all, I’m fairly happy with the designs of these three, but now I have to go back and add more details to the other designs to balance it out a bit. Anyway, if you have any ideas or suggestions for future designs, please do tell me !!

[renlyslittlerose]

Heartbeat Drives You Mad - Chapter 25

Tags: Alternate Universe - 1980s / Getting Together / Explicit Sexual Content / Depression / Grief/Mourning / Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism / Older Man/Younger Man / Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms / Loneliness / Anakin Skywalker in Booty Shorts and Tube Socks / Codependency/ This Fic is a Horny Depressing Mess / Just Like Obi-Wan Summary: Anakin was wearing his customary shorts - blue with yellow banding today - and a cut-off shirt. He was dark all over, skin an even deeper shade of brown that made him look like liquid honey and bronze, supple yet sturdy. The sun had bleached his hair, bringing out the blond tucked away in the brown strands, curls on top of curls shimmering like spun gold. He leaned back next to Obi-Wan, hot against his side and smelling of cigarettes, clean sweat, and the sun. — After a devastating loss that Obi-Wan can’t seem to recover from, he decides to pack up his life and move to a small lazy town on the outskirts of a desert. Depressed and alcoholic, Obi-Wan figures fucking his pain away with the pretty nineteen year old neighbour boy is a good idea. Turns out, it is anything but a good idea.

Thank you to @tideswept for the moodboard 💖

[no-name-publishing]

El Dorado and Peregrine by @nigeltde-fic

Very excited to finally have these two incredible stories on my shelves, and grateful to the author for having written them. Some extra glamour shots and writing below the cut like always

The bookcloth is plain linen bookcloth that I've painted with gold and bronze fabric paint and set with an iron. I struggled for a while to decide what materials this should be done with, and ran some experiments that all kind of blew up in my face lol. Sometimes the tried and true is such for a reason.

The top endbands are sewn with a single strand of satin finish cotton sewing thread, around a worsted weight cotton yarn core coated with PVA glue. The bottom, 'golden' endbands are sewing with a single strand of yellow polyester thread, so that it can be kinda shiny looking.

And a cheeky little video to show the insides, including original art. The fonts used were Century for the main body, and Calfine for the decorative. Thanks for lookin!

[butternutt613]

What sprung forth from this idea. 538 words ft. some moodboards! Thanks for brainstorming w/ me @ravenwind-75 @amethystandemma @heylorrain

The Song of Sand and Dreams

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice a gentle ripple against the endless hush of waves. Her gaze was fixed on the man before her, his eyes like moons suspended in a velvet sky, his skin dappled with constellations that shimmered faintly in the light of the rising dawn.

“You mortals have called me by many names,” he murmured. He turned toward the horizon, where gold and rose melted together in the birth of a new day. “Dream Keeper. Morfeo. Drøm. حالم. The Oneironaut. Sandman. But in this form, I prefer Ominis.”

“Are you God?” she asked softly, her fingers plunging into the fine ivory sand. It spilled through her hands like the seconds of a fleeting memory.

“I am among them,” he replied, his pale gaze tracing the path of the grains as they fell. Slowly, he extended his hand, catching the cascading sand in his palm.

When his hand was full, he cupped it gently, cradling the grains like a secret too precious to share. Then, with a whisper of breath, he exhaled into the hollow of his hands. As his fingers unfurled, the grains transformed. Golden butterflies burst forth, their wings catching the dawn's light and scattering it in a thousand shimmering rays. They fluttered upward, fragile and luminous, each one a fragment of magic.

“Will I see you again?” she asked as she extended her hand. One butterfly settled on her palm, its gossamer wings brushing against her skin, delicate as a breath. It lingered, its touch the softest kiss.

“Perhaps,” he said, lips curving into a faint smile. “When your head rests upon your pillow, when your eyes surrender to the night… I will be there, watching over you.”

That was enough.

She smiled, radiant as the sun’s first rays. The dawn kissed her skin, turning her eyes into liquid honey and her bronze skin richer and full of life. The light danced across her features, painting her with the warmth of a summer’s day. With her eyes closed, she lifted her face to the sun.

She was stunning.

Ominis reached out, fingers aching to brush back a strand of her umber curls, to feel its silken texture between his fingers. But as his hand moved closer, it passed through her like a shadow.

She was awake.

The girl vanished, dissolving into the sunlight. Ominis sat motionless as the dream unraveled, the beach fading into nothingness, the melody of the waves replaced by the quiet hum of the ancient throne room. Ominis was alone again, surrounded by hundreds of softly glowing orbs suspended in the still air. Each one the dream of a mortal.

Golden butterflies still fluttered around, delicate remnants of the dream that had just been. Their light mingled with the orbs, casting faint, shimmering reflections onto the polished obsidian floor.

Dreams. Ominis had guarded them for eons. Ominis had shaped the hopes and longings of mortals, crafting the delicate tapestry of their hearts’ desires as they slept. It was their purpose, their eternal role, and Ominis had never questioned it.

Until now.

Something stirred deep within Ominis, something ancient and unfamiliar. A flicker of yearning, of hope.

A dream of their own.

A dream to see the sun-kissed girl again.

~~~~~~

I hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts!!

All photos and art found on Pinterest or Canva and credit goes to the creator

[k-nayee]

CHAPTER 6. A FIGHT FOR HER

❝Where love and cunning meet, even the cruelest fates can be unraveled.❞

Warrior M.List | Act One

Previous | Next

˚＊˚✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ˚＊˚

Countdown: 8 years remaining

The early morning sun filtered through the large windows of Penelope's chambers, casting a warm golden glow over the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and chamomile—calming yet bittersweet.

Penelope sat before the polished bronze mirror, her posture rigid and her gaze distant as though she were staring into something far beyond her reflection.

Despite her practiced composure, you noticed the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly as they rested in her lap, the faint rise and fall of her chest as she took steadying breaths.

The weight of the day ahead hung over her like an invisible shroud.

You stood behind her, carefully weaving the final braid into her thick dark tresses. The strands were soft beneath your fingers, the rhythmic task offering a grounding distraction.

Outside the hum of the wind added a soothing rhythm—though it did little to mask the tension that clung to the room.

Her hair cascaded freely, fluttering in the gentle breeze wafting through the open window. At the crown of her head, where a few braids intertwined, the golden cufflinks you had chosen gleamed, catching the sunlight.

Pride flickered within you as you secured the final braid. "There," you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. "Perfect."

Penelope's lips twitched. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her honeyed-brown eyes catching the light. She wore a dress of emerald-green silk, the material flowing like water with each movement.

Gold bracelets adorned her wrists alongside a matching necklace that rested elegantly against her collarbone. The entirety of the ensemble brought out the depth of her eyes; making them seem like pools of calm amid a storm.

"Just...stunning," you said, your tone genuine and soft.

For a moment she didn't respond. Her attention lingered on the golden cuffs in her hair, the bright metal gleaming against the deep richness of the inky tresses.

Her fingers brushed over one of them, a faint wistful smile ghosting her lips. "The style and use of these jewelry...it isn't Greek."

"No," you admitted unable to hide the fondness in your voice. "It's something the women in my tribe used to do. We'd adorn our braids with beads or cuffs, each piece carrying meaning." You hesitated before adding, "I thought it'd suit you."

Penelope tilted her head, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. "It does," she said quietly, a faint catch in her voice.

But the softness in her expression didn't last. Her shoulders tensed as she straightened; her lips pressing into a thin line. "Surely won't be difficult to attract a new master..."

The words settled heavily between you, stark reminder of what this day truly meant for her. Today was the day: the contest to determine her suitor. The winner, the person who is deemed worthy of her beauty and lineage.

Yet to Penelope it felt more like a transaction, exchanging one oppressive household for another.

"It's not fair," you said gently, stepping beside her.

Penelope let out a soft humorless laugh. "In this world, fairness for women does not exist. You know that as well as I do."

Her words stung. Not because they were unkind, but because they were true. The years you'd spent in this palace, the sacrifices you'd both made—dreams stifled beneath the weight of duty.

"I know," you murmured, your voice low. "But look on the bright side..."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what bright side would that be?" Her tone was as dry as the dusty training fields outside.

"Well," you feign a thoughtful expression, "at least Sparta still considers you a viable bride. What's the cutoff age again? I could have sworn twenty-five was pushing it..."

Penelope's sharp eyes snapped to yours, and for the first time that morning, a genuine laugh escaped her—lips curling into a wry smile. "You mean unlike you? Twenty-one and still unclaimed? Quite the scandal."

You chuckled, raising your hands in mock surrender. "Touché. But hey, I'm not the one wearing gold and silk, paraded around like some prize."

Her smirk softened into something more genuine, a glimmer of light breaking through her otherwise stoic mask. "And I'm not the one braiding a royal's hair and pretending not to be bitter about it," she quipped back.

Before you could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from beyond the chamber doors, pulling both of you back to the present.

The doors creaked open revealing a guard clad in armor. He bowed slightly before speaking. "Lady Penelope," he announced in a clipped tone. "You are requested in the throne room for the contest preparations."

The faint light that had returned to Penelope's face vanished instantly. She squared her shoulders, her composure slipping into place like a well-worn mask.

"Very well," she said, her voice calm and devoid of emotion. "It seems my stage is set."

You note the tension in her hands—the way they clench as she rose gracefully from the chair, smoothing them over the fabric of her dress.

As she walked past you she paused briefly. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer than usual, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite name upon meeting yours. "Thank you," she said quietly.

You nod, your throat tight as you watch her follow the guard into the hall. You wait, standing perfectly still until the sound of her footsteps faded completely.

It wasn't just custom—it was law.

Icarius had made it explicitly clear: no servant was to follow too closely behind a member of the royal family, especially during events of such magnitude. It was another rule designed to enforce distance and remind you of your place.

When the silence returned, you exhaled a slow breath and made your way toward the throne room, each step weighted with purpose.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The throne room was a flurry of motion—its high vaulted ceilings amplifying the buzz of activity.

Servants and officials scurried about, their voices blending into a cacophony of hurried commands and murmured conversations.

Your mind thrummed with the countless tasks ahead of you, already mapping out the most efficient path to complete them all.

You knew Icarius had assigned you these tasks on purpose. What other reason could there be? You were Penelope's personal servant—your sole duty should have been to attend to her, not to fetch goblets, direct kitchen staff, or assist with the placement of ceremonial weapons.

It wasn't the first time Icarius had done this either. His disdain for her—and you by proxy—was palpable though unspoken, his orders designed to ensure you were too preoccupied to linger by Penelope's side when she might need you most.

"Move faster," a steward barked, gesturing toward a stack of polished silver trays. "The feast won't wait for your dawdling."

You bit back a retort, your fingers curling briefly into fists before you smoothed them out. Words would only earn you punishment and there wasn't time for that—not today.

As you moved among the servants, banners bearing the royal family's crest were being secured along the walls, the crimson and gold fabric rippling as they caught the occasional draft.

Long tables were laid out, draped with pristine white linens and piled high with fruits, roasted meats, and ornate pitchers of wine. Everything was prepared to impress, every detail curated to highlight the grandeur of the event.

You weave through the crowd doing your best to remain unnoticed.

The suitors began arriving, each one more pretentious than the last. They filled the space with their laughter, their booming voices tinged with arrogance as they boasted of their exploits.

Some were older: their fine clothing and polished weapons declaring their wealth and status as much as their confident strides.

Others were younger: their eyes filled with ambition as they spoke too loudly, desperate to prove their worth through charm or bravado.

You felt a flicker of disdain curl in your chest as you poured wine and adjusted goblets, the suitors' demands growing more grating with every passing moment.

"Make sure my goblet is never empty girl!" one man barked, shoving his jeweled cup toward you without so much as a glance in your direction.

Forcing a polite nod, you refilled his drink, your fingers tightening around the pitcher for a moment before you moved on.

From your position near the food tables you caught sight of Penelope at the far end of the room. She was seated beside her father on the raised dais, the embodiment of calm elegance.

Her posture was perfect, her chin lifted, and her expression unreadable. But you knew her well enough to see through the mask.

The slight tightening of her jaw, the subtle way her fingers brushed against the bracelet on her wrist—it all betrayed the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Your lips pursed as a new resolve to complete your tasks quickly reignited.

You would be there for her as you always had been, no matter the obstacles placed in your way.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The sun hung high in the sky, casting long shadows across the bustling courtyard. You carefully loaded another armful of weapons onto a wooden cart, the metal cool and weighty against your arms.

The clang of swords and hum of murmuring spectators was a steady rhythm that kept your mind distracted from the lingering ache in your shoulders.

You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. Though a part of you was frustrated to have missed the first trial—a treacherous swim through creature-infested waters of the Ketos' domain—you felt a flicker of relief as your endless list of tasks began to dwindle.

Rumors swirled among the servants, snippets of gossip painting the aftermath: a surprising number of suitors survived, some already gaining favor with the crowd.

One especially stood out—a young king from a small island in the south, his audacity and wit sparking whispers of admiration.

The survivors now rested in the shaded tents near the arena, their wounds being tended to while the next stage was readied. Despite the laughter and chatter among the gathered nobles, there was an undercurrent of unease, a grim reminder of how many had already perished.

You adjusted the straps of a quiver slung over your shoulder, your mind elsewhere as you stepped back—only to collide with something solid.

No not something. Someone.

The impact knocked you off balance as you let out a startled yelp, the weapons in your grip nearly slipping to the ground.

"Watch it!" you snapped instinctively, irritation flaring before you could stop it.

"Well if it isn't Nobody. You're not trying to run me over are you?"

That voice...

It was deep yet familiar, sharp and playful as it cuts through your frustration like a knife.

You look up, your breath catching in surprise and disbelief.

"Odysseus?"

He stood before you, his grin as infuriatingly cocky as you remembered. His dark hair was longer now—damp and slightly curling as strands clung to his forehead.

Time had refined him; he was no longer the scrawny boy you once knew. Broad shoulders and lean muscle replaced the wiry frame of youth, though the mischievous spark in his blue and brown eyes remained unchanged.

His posture was easy, almost lazy, yet it radiated a confidence that was somehow both irritating and endearing.

"Well well," he drawled, crossing his arms as he looked you over. "I'd say it's nice to see you again, but I've got a bone to pick with you first."

A mix of relief and guilt surged through your chest leaving you momentarily speechless. "Me?" is all you could manage, your brows furrowing.

"Yes you." He pointed at you accusingly, though the playful glint in his eyes softened the gesture. "You vanish without a word—no goodbye, no letter...nothing. Spent weeks wondering if you got eaten by the boar—which I killed by the way. And now here you are: casually bumping into me like it's no big deal."

His words hit harder than you expected, stirring memories you'd tried to bury. You'd left so abruptly back then with no explanation, convinced he wouldn't care.

"I didn't think you'd notice," you muttered.

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Of course I would! You saved my neck remember? I don't forget things like that. Though your name..." He trailed off, snapping his fingers. "Never got that did I?"

Your heart skipped a beat, though you quickly masked it with a shrug. "You didn't seem like the type to be sentimental. And my name is ____ if you must know."

"____ huh?" His grin widened, a spark of genuine delight lighting up his face. "Well ____," he said, testing your name on his tongue, "unfortunately, I have very few who are on my people I am sentimental to list. Fortunately for you, your name's now on that list."

You rolled your eyes despite the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "So I see you're competing for Lady Penelope's hand?" you asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

"Oh you bet!" he said, light but earnest. "I mean her being royal and beautiful is a bonus. But that intelligence I've heard of?" He lets out a low whistle. "Let's just say I couldn't resist. Plus, I'd heard rumors about an exotic pretty little servant hanging around. Wanted to see if it was you. And now that I know it is..."

His grin softened, the teasing melting into something quieter, more sincere. "Maybe after the next trial we can catch up?"

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard as a shy warmth began to creep up your neck. Suddenly unable to meet his gaze, you avert yours.

Eyes drifting downward—you froze.

There, tied around his wrist, was a familiar braid of leather.

Your bracelet.

Your breath hitched and your chest tightened. He still had it. After all this time.

Odysseus followed your gaze, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the object of your focus. "Something wrong?"

You opened your mouth but no words came. The knot tightening in your chest refused to loosen, leaving you rooted to the spot, overwhelmed by emotions you couldn't yet name.

Before you could gather your thoughts, the sharp blare of a horn echoed from the arena, shattering the moment.

"I should go," Odysseus said, backing away with his usual grin. "Don't disappear this time alright?"

And just like that he was gone; leaving you standing in the courtyard rooted on the spot, overwhelmed by emotions you couldn't yet name.

[bokutizer]

early mornings with them.

Includes : Kaeya, Thoma, Ayato Tags : fem!reader, fluff

kaeya : it’s bizarre. seeing this witty, charming man look so relaxed, at ease, and so... quiet beside you. it's bizarre having him lying next to you but not hearing the suave voice of his that never fails to warm your cheeks. speaking about warmth, he tends to run hot during the night, which leads to you often catching yourself unconsciously pulling the blanket a little higher over his naked torso. the morning sun casts a light shimmer over him, the messy blue strands look brighter, his bronze skin taking on a caramel like hue, and his long lashes move with every little twitch of his eyes. only archon knows what is going on inside his head, let alone his dreams. yet as soon as those eyes blink open and that usual smirk graces his lips, your soft expression turns into rolling eyes and pouty lips, masking the rapidly beating heart inside your chest.    "like what you see, princess?"

thoma : it’s like having an overly large lap dog sleeping beside you. finding sleep without being physically close to you is for him nearly impossible. he doesn’t care whether his arms are wrapped around you, his hand is holding yours, or whether your leg is limply thrown over his waist; he needs to feel you. knowing that you, his love, his friend, his family, his everything, are near him is enough to let any uneasy thoughts and doubts disappear. and once he wakes up, it’s like experiencing the sunrise for a second time. blonde hair shining like gold and a smile so warm that not even the sun itself could compete with it. sleeping with thoma is all sleepy smiles and giggles, shy kisses, and tender words of encouragement for the upcoming day. sleeping with thoma is giving each other comfort and refuge as well as strength and energy for any approaching hardships. "good morning, beautiful. did you sleep well?"

ayato : a man of politics and justice, so reliable, so independent, so strong. and yet seeing his light blue hair softly fall along his temples and frame his exceptionally pretty face, his skin as light as porcelain, and the dark circles beneath his eyes that could never make him look anything less than maybe a little more human; you know that he'll soon have to get up and pursue his duties. so all you can do is gently wrap his arm around your waist while burying your face in his neck, savouring this tranquil moment with him. his busy life has taught the both of you to enjoy each other's company as much as possible. so when you’re slipping way too quickly back into dreamland, you don't notice his hold on you tighten a tiniest bit, don't feel his lips against the top of your head, and don't hear his words. "i'm missing you already."

[klance-dreams]

Okay but please imagine Keith’s reaction to seeing Lance after he’s finally spent some time at the beach again? In his natural element, bronzed like a literal god, burnished from the sun? freckles like constellations?? Lance with wavy, curly salt water-hair, eyes soft and relaxed.

+ Keith meeting back up with the paladins after too long away with the blade. 👀

He loves space of course, but even after his time in the quantum abyss, he’s still not used to the way all warmth & body heat was constantly leached away. Despite his memories of cursing his time in the relentless summer heat of the shack, he’s found himself beginning to miss the hot scorch of the desert sun against his skin.

The blade gave Keith a rare opportunity for downtime that somehow happenes to align with an impromptu holiday/break that Allura has planned for the paladins on a sunny, earth-like planet filled with tropical islands, flora & fauna.

To Keith’s surprise, Lance was the one to call and invite him to join them; sunshine already infused in his voice at the idea of seeing a beach again.

For Keith, the mere thought of getting to see Lance in his natural element? He wouldn’t miss it for anything.

He promises to Lance on the spot (he would promise Lance all the moons and stars if he could) to meet him there later in the day.

When he gets there, everyone has already been enjoying the sun & surf for hours. Pidge is sunburned and squinting at the glare against her datapad, glasses reflecting at a sleeping hunk whose legs have been covered by a crude sand castle. He’s spooning a large collection of fruits that look strangely similar to the ones Keith remembers from earth.

Shiro and Coran seem to be playing a complicated Altean beach game that Keith intends to avoid; Allura lays out on the sand, the mice resting in the shadow of her hair.

Keith thinks someone might have called out a greeting to him, but he can’t be sure, because the second he sees Lance? All thougts leave him, head empty.

It’s too soon to blame the redness in his cheeks on the sun, but he can feel how hot his face has gotten anyway.

Lance is sitting in the sand, waves lapping his ankles. His hair is wild & curling behind his ears from the salt water breeze.

The sight of him alone is enough to warm the cold ache Keith has been feeling.

Sand sticks to the bronzed slope of his back, glittering like flecks of gold, effervescent in the bright sun for Keith’s eyes to follow.

His shoulders are broad and already tanned and freckled where Keith knows his own would be red and sore.

His eyes sweep over the scar on Lances back, and the ones on his arms and sides that Keith wasn’t there to protect him from.

But here? With the blue of the ocean to rival his eyes? Lance looks untouchable.

Looks like a god, burning bright and warm and full of life, and when he turns around at the sound of Keith’s name being called out, Keith’s breath catches in his throat because this sight?

This is one he got to see in the quantum abyss. It was one of the visions into his future that he held onto like a lifeline, like a treasure.

The image of Lance’s smile, a true joyful smile, playing behind Keith’s eyelids and keeping him sane on the worst of those nights spent stranded in space.

Lance, eyes dancing bright and smile brighter as his wide mouth forms Keith’s name on a joyful laugh and he hops up to throw his arms around Keith in a hug that feels like /home/ in a way Keith hadn’t known before Lance.

For one delirious moment, the déjà vu is so strong that he’s afraid he and Krolia never made it back at all. That they were still stuck out there in the cold emptiness of the abyss. The way the vision blends with the Lance he has in front of him makes Keith want to hold on tight and never let go.

Especially when Lance leans back and their eyes meet and lock, electric.

Keith still hasn’t even said a word, but Lance only smiles brighter and knocks their foreheads together.

Says, “hey samurai, it’s been too long”

One traitorous hand drifts up against Keith’s will to trace the new freckles dotting Lance’s cheeks, which flush the lightest pink at the attention or maybe the intensity of Keith’s gaze as he floats into Lance’s orbit, pulled to him like the moon to the sun.

Lance’s leans into the hand Keith cups against his cheek, and finally, finally their lips meet; Keith’s cold and chapped and Lance’s, warm and soft, tasting of the ocean.

When he has to pull back to catch his breath, he finally murmurs back a warm and gravely, “hey sharp shooter,” lips pulled up into a crooked grin and eyes tracking the way Lance melts into him at the nickname like always.

They stay like that for a while, catching up on what they’ve both been up to when Lance says offhand, “hey where’s Kosmo?”

Before Keith can answer, they’re both knocked into the surf by 200 pounds of excited space wolf.

Keith wants to be mad, but the way Lance pops up from the water sputtering makes him grin through the hair plastered to his forehead.

Lance takes one look at Keith, waist deep and fully clothed down to the fingerless gloves, mullet drenched, and bursts out laughing at the sight

and Keith can’t even be mad. He pretends to be, crossing his arms and ‘sulking’. He tries to blow his bangs up and out of his eyes before he remembers it won’t work and that sends Lance into tears. Keith sits back watches Lance laugh for a minute, committing the sight to memory.

He’s gonna get revenge on Lance for laughing, but first he needs to level the playing field.

Lance’s laughter slowly winds down as he watches Kosmo run off to greet the other paladins, laughing again when the wolf shakes water all over Allura and Hunk.

While Lance was distracted, Keith had taken his shirt and gloves off, tossing them back onto dry sand and adding his soaked jeans to the pile for good measure.

Keith was slicking his hair back from his face when Lance turned back toward him and froze at the sight, suspiciously quiet.

// …tbc? transferring twitter treads. original thread here!

[infamous-light]

A Dance with Danger Ch. 1

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

AO3: A Dance with Danger

Summary: Sheriff Agatha, a determined and relentless law enforcer, has been obsessed with pursuing the notorious outlaw Rio Vidal for years.

As their cat-and-mouse game intensifies, Agatha finds herself torn between her duty to uphold the law and the thrill of the chase.

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings: none for this chapter

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a deep amber glow over the dusty little town of Westview, painting the buildings and cracked sidewalks in hues of warm gold and burnt orange.

A lazy wind drifted through, stirring faint whirls of dust that danced playfully along the ground. Despite the gentle breeze, it did little to cut through the oppressive heat that settled over the town like an unwanted blanket, heavy and suffocating.

Inside the sheriff’s office, the air was thick, a dense mix of leather, gun oil, and stale ink that seemed to cling to every surface. Shelves along one wall were overloaded with case files, their edges frayed and yellowed, some tilted at precarious angles, held up more by sheer luck than organization. On the main desk, an old tin of fountain pens lay on its side, scattering a few loose pens and ink-splattered nibs across the visitor sign-in sheet.

Near the back of the room, Sheriff Agatha sat alone at her desk, shoulders hunched forward, the familiar creak of her wooden chair filling the silence as she leaned in. Her fingers brushed along the edges of a weathered, creased wanted poster that had been thumbed through countless times, almost reverent in its well-worn state. It was a face she knew all too well, one that lingered like a ghost around the edges of her mind.

The name stared back at her in bold, black letters: WANTED: RIO VIDAL

Beneath the name, the photograph of a woman’s face was captured in startling detail.

The sepia tones gave her skin a bronzed, sun-kissed hue, emphasizing the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the narrow line of her jaw. Strands of dark hair spilled loosely over her shoulders, framing her face with an almost careless elegance. It looked as though she had just run a hand through it, leaving a few rebellious curls to fall forward, drawing attention to her lips. The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth – a teasing, almost arrogant curve that hinted at some private amusement, a secret she only knew.

But what stood out to Agatha the most were her eyes. Even through the grainy photograph, they gleamed with a challenge beneath her dark lashes, the kind of look that dared anyone who met her gaze to try their luck.

Agatha clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing into a glare that could burn holes right through the aging poster. Her fingers tightened on the edges, and a crease ran down the center, splitting Rio’s infamous face in two as her knuckles turned bone white.

Agatha’s gaze continued to shift downward, landing on the words etched across the page: DEAD OR ALIVE, stamped in thick, unforgiving block letters.

It sent a fresh wave of heat through Agatha. She’d be damned if she allowed Rio to die – no, she didn’t deserve the luxury of death. Not after everything she had done, the way she’d humiliated Agatha at every turn. She wanted to see Rio alive and locked behind bars, stripped of her freedom, and forced to face the consequences of her actions.

She wanted Rio to feel the bitter sting of helplessness.

The image of Rio, shackled and powerless, ignited a fire deep within Agatha – a desperate need to reclaim the honor that Rio had so effortlessly taken from her but also to seek justice for all the wrongs that Rio had done.

The thought brought forth a memory, one still raw and sour, as if etched into her bones.

It was the day Agatha had come so painfully close to capturing Rio – an ambush that still haunted her dreams. The stagecoach had been rolling along a winding, desolate backroad, carrying precious cargo. Agatha had been tracking it for days, certain that Rio would target it. It was a simple enough plan: wait for Rio to strike, leap into action and take down the notorious outlaw, and finally end the relentless chase that had consumed her life for far too long.

But Rio, as always, had been one step ahead.

Agatha could still see it – the moment when everything went wrong. She and her deputies had been crouched low behind a cluster of twisted, gnarled bushes; their breaths held in anticipation. Then, without warning, the sharp, heart-stopping crack of gunfire shattered the air. Agatha’s fingers dug into the dirt as her heart skipped a beat. The sound had barely settled before she sensed a shift behind them.

Slowly, as if out of a nightmare, Rio emerged from the tree line, astride her imposing black horse.

In a heartbeat, chaos erupted.

A piercing yell cut through the air, and in an instant, Rio's group swarmed them from all directions.

Agatha fought with everything she had. Bullets cut through the air, each one a breath away from striking; her heart thundered as she fired back, every shot aimed with precision. Her eyes darted through the frenzied blur of figures and smoke, searching with a fierce urgency. Then, she caught a flash of dark hair – Rio. A wicked gleam danced in her eyes, amusement mixed with something darker, something tantalizingly dangerous. The sight of that sly grin made Agatha's pulse stumble.

But before Agatha could steady her aim, Rio was gone, dipping over the crest of a hill atop her horse.

Instinct ignited within Agatha as she swung herself up onto her own steed, her muscles coiling with tension as she gripped the reins tightly. With a fierce resolve, she spurred her horse forward, galloping hard to close the distance between them. The ground thudded beneath her as she urged her horse faster, the wind whipping through her hair and stinging her cheeks.

Before Agatha could grab her trusty rope, coiled neatly at her side, a stray bullet whizzed past, grazing one of her horse’s legs. It reared back in fear, its powerful legs kicking wildly. Agatha barely had time to react before she was thrown off her saddle, the world spinning erratically around her as she hit the ground hard. Pain lanced through her side, and she gritted her teeth, rolling quickly to the side as she braced herself against further injury, her muscles seizing from the impact.

Frustration surged through her veins, raw and boiling. The sting of failure bit deep as she lay there, watching Rio slip away with that familiar, insufferable smile tugging at her lips. It was the kind of smile that twisted like a knife in Agatha’s chest.

She would not – could not – let herself be humiliated like that again. The memory of that shame burned like an unhealed wound, refusing to fade away.

Agatha forced herself to refocus, her gaze shifting down the page, catching on to the reward sum printed boldly beneath Rio’s picture: $100,000

The number loomed like a challenge, larger than life, impossible to ignore. It hadn't always been this high. The bounty had doubled after Rio's latest stunt – robbing a U.S. governor’s train. It was an act so brazen, so recklessly daring, that it had turned the entire state of New Jersey on its head.

For a fleeting moment, Agatha’s hand trembled, though she clenched it to keep it still, forcing herself to remain calm even as the anger bubbled inside of her chest. It was infuriating to think that Rio would dare pull off such a move under her own nose – the very place where Agatha had worked tirelessly to maintain order.

It made her look bad, weak even.

Agatha gave a sharp shake of her head as she shifted in her chair, trying to focus on the current moment. Just as she decided to review another case file lying on her desk, the office door swung open with a hard creak, and Deputy Herb burst in, his face slick with sweat, chest heaving with each hurried breath.

“Sheriff!” He huffed; his hat clutched tightly in his hand. “Rio just hit the Westview Bank downtown!”

Agatha straightened, every muscle in her body tensing as her gaze sharpened. “What!?”

Deputy Herb leaned heavily against the doorframe, sweat dotting his forehead as he struggled to steady his breathing. “She robbed the bank not even fifteen minutes ago,” he panted, his voice ragged. “Cleaned it out – every coin, every bill. One witness claimed he saw her heading north.”

Agatha stood, her fingers brushing over the cold steel handle of the revolver holstered at her hip.

“She’s taunting us.” She muttered, almost to herself.

She knew what Rio was playing at. This latest bank heist was another provocation, a deliberate slap in the face to the law – and to her. It left Agatha simmering with a mixture of anger and anticipation.

She turned to Herb, her face setting into a hard mask. “Gather any available deputies. We’re going after her.”

Herb gave a quick nod and vanished into the streets. Agatha wasted no time as she grabbed her leather gloves and headed toward the door. But before she stepped outside, she paused, her gaze drawn back to Rio’s wanted poster lying on her desk. The image of Rio’s smirk seemed to mock her from the faded paper, and Agatha's lips curled into a snarl.

“Not this time, Vidal,” she spat, each word sharp as a blade. “This time, you’re mine.”

With a flick of her wrist, she pulled her hat low over her eyes, the brim casting her face into a shadow, and stepped out into the fiery light of dusk.

***

Agatha sat tall in her saddle, the leather creaking softly beneath her.

Her eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the sun, squinting as she scanned the horizon for any signs of movement. Dust swirled in the air, kicked up by the pounding hooves of her horse and the horses of her deputies, who rode closely behind her.

“Sheriff!” Called out one of her deputies, a young man named Norm, his voice strained as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Do you think she’s still in these parts?”

Agatha's grip tightened on her reins.

“She is.” Agatha replied firmly, her voice steady as she kept her gaze fixed ahead.

The fresh horseshoe imprints they followed wound through the dry desert, dotted with scraggly bushes and rugged rock formations. Each measured step deeper into the wilderness felt like a step closer to finally bringing her to justice.

As they continued north, the terrain grew increasingly treacherous, the ground shifting beneath their horses' hooves. The deputies exchanged wary glances with each other, the unease settling over them like a thick fog. The heat of the day began to wane, casting long shadows across the landscape. It was the perfect time for an ambush and Agatha could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle with warning.

“Hold up,” Agatha signaled, raising a hand as they approached a narrow pass flanked by steep cliffs. This is where the horseshoe prints ended. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

Agatha's heart thudded in her chest as she listened intently, straining her ears for any hint of movement or sound. It was quiet, too quiet, and that made her gut tingle with unease.

Suddenly, a distant echo of laughter reached them, light and melodic. Agatha’s pulse quickened as she recognized it – a sound that sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was unmistakably Rio.

Agatha silently motioned for her deputies to dismount, each one slipping from their horses.

“Everyone, fan out,” she commanded, her voice low and firm. “We’re close.”

Agatha crept forward; her senses heightened. Each step felt heavy with expectation, the weight of their pursuit pressing down on her shoulders.

As they rounded a bend, Agatha’s breath caught in her throat.

There, just a few yards ahead, stood a large wooden shack, abandoned and half-hidden by the jagged rocks.

“Stay sharp.” Agatha whispered to her deputies.

They nodded. Agatha could feel the tension radiating off them like heat rising from the desert floor. As they drew closer, the door suddenly swung open, and there she was.

Rio leaned casually against the doorframe, silhouetted by the warm glow inside. She was clad in an all-black ensemble that hugged her figure, the fitted leather jacket accentuating her curves. Beneath it, a dark, form-fitting shirt clung to her. The neckline dipped subtly, revealing a hint of delicate lace that peeked out from the collar. Her sleek black pants, tailored to perfection, hugged her legs with a high-waisted cut that added to her height. Perched atop her head was a black cowboy hat, from which her hair cascaded over her shoulders in wild waves.

A wicked smile graced her lips as she caught sight of Agatha.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Sheriff Agatha,” Rio drawled, her voice smooth and velvety. “I was wondering when you’d finally catch up.”

Agatha’s heart pounded in her chest as she withdrew her revolver out of her holster, the metal cold and familiar in her grip. She pointed it at the outlaw, her aim steady despite the tension crackling between them.

“It’s over, Rio! Hands up!”

Rio chuckled lightly. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

Agatha's grip tightened on the revolver. “You think this is a game?” She snapped. “You’ve crossed the line one too many times.”

“Crossed the line?” Rio arched an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling into a sly smile. “I prefer to think of it as… dancing on it.”

Rio took a deliberate step closer, hands raised in a mock gesture of innocence, fingers splayed as if inviting Agatha to join her in this twisted game. Agatha felt the heat rising on her cheeks, an unwelcome flush that betrayed her resolve, but she refused to let it get to her.

“Get back, Rio,” she commanded. “I won’t ask again.”

“Such a serious little sheriff.” Rio purred, her voice dripping with honeyed mockery.

Before Agatha could muster a retort, Rio flicked her wrist with a flourish, sending a knife spiraling toward her. Time slowed as Agatha's instincts surged to the forefront; she ducked quickly, narrowly avoiding the deadly projectile. It buried itself deep into the rough bark of the tree beside her with a solid thud, splintering the wood around the impact.

Regaining her footing, Agatha shot a seething glare at Rio who only gave her a devilish little smirk in return.

“Come on, Sheriff,” Rio said, her tone playful. “You don’t believe I’d let you take me in without a fight, do you?”

In a flash, Rio darted back inside the shack. Agatha immediately sprinted after her without hesitation, her deputies following closely behind.

“Agatha!” She heard Deputy Herb call out, but the words faded into the background as determination consumed her. She couldn't afford to lose Rio again.

“Rio!” Agatha shouted, her voice echoing in the open space. “Show yourself!”

A flicker of movement caught her eye, and Agatha turned just in time to see Rio slip behind a stack of crates.

“Do you think you can hide from me?” Agatha growled.

In quick, short strides, she moved toward the crates, feeling the weight of her deputies’ gaze at her back.

Just as she reached the back of the shack, a sudden rumble jolted the ground beneath her feet. Dust and debris fell from the roof in a choking cloud, swirling around her as a landslide above shook the very structure to its core. Agatha stumbled back, her breath catching in her throat, the air thickening with the gritty particles that filled her lungs. Rocks and dirt continued to pour down around her like torrential rain, blocking any chance of escape. She couldn’t see anything.

When the chaos finally settled, Agatha found herself pressed against the wall, the wood splintering beneath her palm. Her heart raced, a wild animal fighting for freedom as she fought to regain her composure; though, panic clawed at her throat, hot and suffocating, as thoughts of her deputies flashed through her mind. Were they safe?

“Hey!” Agatha shouted, her voice cracking with urgency as it echoed through the dust-laden air. “Can anyone hear me?”

Each second stretched into an eternity, amplifying the silence until, finally, she heard Deputy Herb's voice break through, gravelly yet reassuring. “We’re fine! Just a bit shaken!”

Relief flooded through Agatha, momentarily lifting the weight of her worries. But that fleeting comfort was quickly followed by an overwhelming sense of disbelief. She couldn't believe that Rio had rigged the entire place with dynamite!

Just when Agatha thought she had a handle on the situation, Rio had slipped away again.

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. ﹙ the hex demon rhytaari. ﹚:  valerius ariti .𖹭 ݁

. . . a touch of gold !! 🍒 : “ but when you are here, I feel my heart stutter and lose it’s beats a thousand million times in a minute. you shine brighter than any moon and sun I have ever come acorss, my darling ”

꒰ verse ꒱ of the abhorration

꒰ species ꒱ demon lord, rhytaari

꒰ ethnicity ꒱ greek

꒰ age ꒱ unknow ( thousands )

꒰ gender ꒱ male

꒰ mbti ꒱ enfp

꒰ alias ꒱the hex, the rhytaari of hexes, the auric, xra’fei’s right-hand, valerie ( talisen 781 ), vale ( standard ), the prince of ruin, the prince of desolation

꒰ story ꒱ 

a creature so beautiful and divine, with an allure of the heavens should be anything but a devil. a honeyed voice that speaks hexes and curses as though they are poetry and gold eyes that shine with serenity yet hold only deception.

the rhytaari of hexes, valerius ariti — otherwise known as vale when he disguises himself within the material plane. taking on the stature of an art student, a lover of music who roams the halls of verse 781’s elritea university.

a demon from the depths of the abhorration, adorned in chains of gold and gemstones alike. some see him as vain, some see him as a gentle breeze within the depths of hell; but all he is, is a scourge — with a smile.

 

꒰ appearance ꒱

long, straight silky light gold hair that extends down to his waist

deep amber eyes with feathery lashes

dark bronze skin tone. gold veins running down his chest from his lower neck and up his wrists/forearms

6’5” in height when in disguise, but his true form scales to 7’6”, slender figure with just enough lean muscle

long nails painted dark cold colours, can extend into large claws

wears some gold chains and necklaces in his human form with gold rings

opal bracelet

standard lobe piercings with dangling opal and gold earrings

demon form:

even longer hair

in his full demon form, he has a series of five eyes in a semi-circle around his upper face, all solid gold in colour without any pupils. each eye has a small circular opening ( that is also gold ) atop

two large. amber horns extend from his middle eyes and circle back. the tips of these horns are tainted white. strands of his hair sometimes drape over these horns ( yak-like horns )

a broken halo of amber gemstone

diamond-shaped opals encrusted into his forehead

three pairs of arms with his hands extending long white claws

clawed feet

long pointed ears with gemstones encrusted

two elongated tongues

lots of gold chains hanging from him, along his horns and joining to around his wrists

robes that hang around his waist and just cover what it needs to

gold veins that are visible along his forearms and legs

tiny opal and amber jewels encrusted along his chest

 

꒰ personality ꒱

valerius is serene and elegant, graceful in many ways and is one of his biggest charms, along with one of the most deceiving parts of him.

has a very eloquent way of talking, like he’s weaving in charms into his sentences and words — quickly catching the attention of the person he speaks to

refined yet charming, he gets to most people by just his presence.

artistic and considered to be quite creative, especially in terms of painting

masks as a sweet and kind person, both in expression and voice

is actually quite callous, cunning and borderline cruel. his serene appearance is what throws people off and also makes those who know better fear him.

patient, but only so he can let his temper grow and see how far it pushes, until he eventually compulses and lets out everything that has been kept inside. it gives him a thrill, to see the faces of fear when he does.

can be quite sadistic and doesn’t mind hurting a few people or more for his own amusement

forgiveness is not his strong suit, even if he alludes to it. he can be particularly vengeful

can be perceived as vain, especially given his consideration in his looks and the jewellery that adorns him

deceitful. but it’s not something one would expect especially given his honeyed words and acting skills. he knows how to break things or people.

if his anger shows in the typical way, run. it takes him a lot to get there — and you don’t want to be an innocent nor guilty victim of it.

apathetic when it all boils down to it, whether he be carrying out his deeds as a rhytaari or a demon. almost bored yet of course, this is masked

the only exception is the rare people that he cares about

 

꒰ with a lover ꒱

so very sweet and tender when it comes to you, his voice much more soft-spoken and calm around you and his hands leaving tender and gentle touches on your face and back to help soothe you when you become overwhelmed.

acts of service are a big thing, he always helps you in any way that he possibly can. In any way he possibly can — if you ask him for help, he will come running immediately and assure you are given the help needed.

at first glance, one wouldn’t think this man could not let a single tease roll off of his tongue. but as a matter of fact, he is extremely teasing with you. though usually in a way where he makes sure you feel alright with it.

loves drawing or painting you. has so many illustrations of you in his temple and will at times sigh as he stares at all of the art. nothing could ever replicate you or the beauty you carry inside and out, not even his art.

despite being calm, and usually a very held together man, it is important to remember that Valerius is both a rhytaari and a demon. which can set off quite the protective side, along with a certain hint of repressed possessiveness. when you are caught up in something, he is always the first to be there.

at times, he may be a bit self sabotaging. this is caused by his heart thinking that you are way better off with someone else that is not him. yet at the same time, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he let you find another.

once again we skip back to the possessive tendencies, and as he is a demon, he has an urge to mark you up all pretty to assure people know who you belong to.

gives you lots of kisses, especially around your hands, shoulders, your back — places that leave behind that loving tingle of his kisses after. leaving the touch of his lips lingering.

puts his jewellery on you sometimes, sometimes to show you off with it on. sometimes to show people who you belong to — jewellery is important to him, it has always been, and what’s better than putting it on you?

holds you through the night because he loves spooning. the second you leave bed, he’ll try to pull you back in and cuddle you closer. groaning quietly into your shoulder, to wait just a bit longer before going.

very verbally affectionate! he adores giving you new nicknames and leaving your head spinning with all of his poetically beautiful paragraphs and sentences as he holds you close or sits next to you, whispering into your ear.

 

꒰ strengths ꒱

hexes and curses: as his rhytaari name suggests, he is a rhytaari of hexes and curses, a master of it. getting a curse or hex from him is nasty

demon physiology: the attributes and abilities of a high-ranking demon

dark magic: specialises in dark magic, due to his origins with the realm of the abhorrent

light magic: despite all of the dark curses and magic, valerius does know quite the light magic as well, though, rarely shows it.

curse lifting: it is required that anyone who throws curses and hexes must know how to lift them. otherwise they will be frowned upon heavily.

the rhykana: the magic that flows through all rhytaari and make them as powerful and as destructive as they are.

 

꒰ weaknesses ꒱

. . . 

 

꒰ relationships ꒱

xra’fei: boss, or as valerius would say, his plague

lucía herrera 781: girlfriend

rishen herrera 781: lucía’s older brother, classmate, bully

alessio arias 781: classmate, bully

zhào talisen 781: classmate, bully, talisen’s onesided rival.

zhào yŭ xī 9948e: best friend, also lucía’s best friend.

jìngyí ( verse-less ): forced work partner, enemy

 

꒰ extra ꒱

he really enjoys reading

is also very into art and music

he has a temple in the abhorration

he disguises himself as a student in the university of elritea and goes by the name “vale” instead

really likes butterflies.

[thoughtsafterdark]

Veni, Vidi, Vici

She exists, breathes, quirks her neck to the side, thinks, breathes. Breathes. Breathes. Soft air escaping baby pink lips like a moan, floating away and away. Her breaths are the kind you dream of. The deep contended sighs that carry you to sleep on a soft bed, toes burrowing into cold sheets. The peach haze memory of flaring nostrils in the backseat of your parents car on a late night trip when you were 3, the sound of rain pattering on the roof. The weight of your mother's arms around you as she carried you to bed. The comforting voice of your father in the next room.

And I think to myself, oh to be dead. To slash at my jugulars and pour myself all over her. To bathe her and tarnish her, pale white gooseflesh turned red and sticky, thighs matted together. To lie dying and festering at her feet, to rot and fill the grove with heat as her tears water my grave. To feed the nightcaps and worms until my nitrates become sweet nitrogen and at last she can breathe me in too. To be on the inside of her chest, rising and falling like the rolling tide. Pillowy and graceful like that of a swan. To mark her and paint in her a tapestry of indecency. An insult to the virgin goddesses she reminds me of. To love is to destroy. To collapse a wave function. We cannot see without touching, touch without seeing. Our hungry hungry eyes grow teeth.

She sits against windowsills, legs tucked underneath her, making notes, sipping coffee. I take her in before she notices me and the cold glass silence around her breaks. She is so gloriously mundane it exerts a kind of regal stillness. Her hair is chocolate brown, tinged with bronze. Like salted caramel on my tongue. Like straw spun to gold by cursed princesses in tales of old. She ties it into an effortlessly messy bun, stray strands framing her face, she is running late but is still put together. She is organised chaos. She is that girl. The one we all wanted to be, with the alarm and the watch and the bag and the car, the sports captain who eats pizza over the sink by the window. The one men want and we are meant to hate. She is voyeurism made flesh. She exists to be seen, a walking wet dream.

What kind of monster am I, who loves like a man. The way Orpheus loved Eurydice. Faithless and desperate.

She is steely moonlight across a grey green plain. Tendons and muscles gleaming, lithe and strong and leaping. Teeming with ichor. Amber eyes burning with resolve. Leather bow and quiver hitched over a shoulder as she glides across creaks, crouches in the underbrush. Nimble as a doe, fierce as a lioness. The huntress with the unforgiving gaze and the unwavering arrows. The one who skewers men and whispers to wildlife amongst the pines. Who nurses a tender and loyal heart. Artemis the eternal maiden, voice of the wilderness and protector of the young.

As I sit here on another grey drizzling morning in the hum of traffic I wonder if you remember. The sound of splashing water and girlish laughter, tangled limbs in freshwater lakes, honey sweet kisses like freshly pressed olive oil and figs. The crunch of red earth between toes and the hard rock cliffs at Ephesus, the glittering aquamarine of the Aegean below as we run and chase and hunt and spar until the copper tang burns our lungs.

I look at you now as you drive and I know that I would clutch at your putrid corpse and tell it stories of my pain, until my mother and comrades dragged you from me until I dragged your murderer three times around his own city until his father begged me for mercy until they mixed our ashes and laid us to rest on the hill.

Do you see it with the clarity I do? Our story already written? I know how this will end, as it has a thousand times before. But I wait for you every morning anyway, on the curb we've agreed on. I get into the car, I watch you drive. And every day I lose a little more of myself to the thing we will become .