#thank god for rose/leaf brushes

[cybersodas]

As above, so below.

[beloveds-embrace]

The day begins like any other.

You wake up to the soft sound of the morning breeze rustling the curtains, sunlight spilling into the room in gentle golden streams. John is already gone, leaving only the faintest trace of warmth in the bed beside you. It’s no surprise- he’s a man of duty, all of them are, always rising early to tend to matters of the estate. But as you stretch and let out a soft sigh, you have no idea the storm you’re about to stir in his household.

You dress yourself today, in one of the lighter gowns Kyle had set out for you the night before. It’s soft and flowing, another gift from Simon, a delicate ivory fabric that catches the light and makes you glow as if spun from sunlight itself. You think nothing of it- it’s a comfortable gown, one that’s perfect for the warm weather of today. You fix your hair, a few strands left free to frame your face. It’s a simple look, practical even.

But it is enough to absolutely ruin them.

John is the first to catch sight of you.

You find him in his study, poring over letters and documents, glasses perched low on his nose. The moment he looks up, his quill halts mid-stroke, ink dripping onto the parchment below.

You don’t notice the way his breath hitches. You don’t see the way his eyes darken as they sweep over you, lingering far longer than they should on the soft curve of your throat, the swell of your breasts just barely visible through the gauzy material of your dress, the delicate shape of your collarbone begging to be kissed.

“… My Duchess,” he greets, voice low and strained.

You smile, unaware of how the simple gesture strikes him like a bolt of lightning straight through his chest. “Good morning, John. I didn’t mean to disturb you- I was just going to the gardens.”

His jaw tightens. God, you’re beautiful. Ethereal. Untouchable, almost, and yet here you are- his wife. His to hold, his to cherish, his to adore. The mere thought of it makes his heart pound painfully in his chest.

You’re so sweetly oblivious, so utterly trusting. You lean over his desk, pointing at one of the letters as you ask about estate matters, and all he can focus on is the faint scent of roses lingering on your skin and the warmth of your breath against his cheek. He aches to pull you into his lap, to ruin that pretty dress and leave you breathless and marked, but-

“My Duchess,” he rasps again, standing abruptly. You blink up at him, startled. “Don’t linger in the sun too long. I shall see you later.” It’s the only warning he can give himself before he brushes past you and leaves the room, his restraint hanging by a thread.

Kyle finds you next, standing in the rose garden with a soft smile as you hum to yourself. You’re radiant, the sunlight catching in your hair and making you glow like some goddess of nature.

He was supposed to be bringing you tea. Instead, he stands there frozen, tray in hand, just watching.

You turn and catch sight of him, greeting him with that bright, lovely smile that never fails to make his heart lurch. “Kyle!”

He clears his throat quickly, straightening his shoulders and bringing the tray over, though he’s painfully aware of the warmth creeping up his neck.

“My lady,” he murmurs, setting the tea down on the garden table and pouring for you. His hands are steady, but his mind isn’t.

He barely hears you as you speak about the roses, about the arrangements for the next gathering. His thoughts are clouded by the way you keep brushing your hair behind your ear, the gentle tilt of your head as you sip your tea, the way your lips press together so sweetly.

You lean forward suddenly, reaching to brush a leaf off his shoulder, and Kyle stiffens. You don’t notice.

“You’re always taking such good care of me, Kyle,” you say softly, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He only nods stiffly, stepping back quickly before he does something utterly improper.

Johnny is the worst of them.

You come into the kitchen around noon, asking him for a small snack to hold you over until dinner since you had a small lunch. He’s elbow-deep in flour and dough, sleeves rolled up and shirt slightly damp with sweat, but the second he sees you standing in the doorway, his brain completely short-circuits.

“Johnny?” you call again softly, stepping in.

He drops the spoon that’d been near, cursing as he scrambles to pick it up and then cursing again because his hands are now dirty. Yet- his eyes keep flicking up to you- how you look so soft and delicate in the kitchen’s golden light, how the dress hugs your figure and makes it so damn hard for him to focus.

You laugh at the sight of him like this, and the sound is like honey poured straight into his veins.

“Sorry, m’lady.” he says, voice rough, but you’re already stepping closer.

“It’s alright.” You reach past him to grab a plate, and he just about groans aloud at the way you brush against him, soft and warm and plush and utterly unaware of the effect you have on him.

“Johnny?” You look up at him, eyes so wide and trusting.

“Yeah?” He barely recognizes his own voice.

“You’re staring.”

He chokes, turning back to wash his hands as quickly as possible. “Sorry, m’lady. I’ll- uh- I’ll make something quick for you, promise.”

You only smile, sitting down at the counter and watching him work. He feels your gaze like a brand, burning into his skin, and he has never been so grateful for the long apron covering the very obvious evidence of his distraction.

And then there’s Simon.

You don’t even realize he’s there, watching you from the shadowed corner of the room as you flip through the books in the library. You hum softly to yourself, trailing your fingers over the spines, your dress shifting with every movement.

Simon feels like a beast barely kept on a leash. He’s gripping the edge of the shelf so tightly his knuckles have gone white, jaw clenched so hard it aches.

He wants you. Needs you.

You tilt your head to read a title, exposing the curve of your neck, and his breath catches. He imagines what it would feel like to press his lips there, to hear you gasp as he holds you close-

And then you turn and spot him.

“Simon!” You smile, moving toward him without hesitation, and he’s utterly undone.

“Hello, darling.” he murmurs, low and strained. Knows that he if lifts his hand to cup your cheek, his fingers would be trembling.

“I was just looking for something to read.” You say, so casually, so obliviously, as if you aren’t standing there looking like every single one of his fantasies come to life.

Simon only nods, forcing himself to step back before he does something he can’t take back.

By the time evening falls, the tension in the house is unbearable.

John’s jaw ticks as he watches you lean over the table, in a private dining room just for them, laughing at something Johnny said. Kyle’s eyes darken when he sees how your fingers brush against Simon’s as you pass him a dish. Johnny keeps flexing his hands as if he’s trying to resist the urge to grab you and pull you into his lap.

They’re all desperate, wound tight, and utterly at their limit.

And you- blissfully unaware- just keep smiling sweetly at them, unknowingly fanning the flames.

[stardancerluv]

What the Emperor Wants

Part Ten

Summary: Out in the country, feelings are revealed.

Notes/Warnings: 18+ mentions of arousal, dated beliefs in god/s, dated beliefs between men & women. Art/photos of sculptures used in collage are to display & give an example of some possible moments that take place in the chapter.

❤️s, comments, feedback, reblogs are all welcome and appreciated. It’s a longer chapter, but didn’t want to interrupt some of its flow. Thank you for reading! ❤️

There were so many people at the Villa, you were taken aback. So you were grateful for Aelia, at least you knew her. She showed you around while Geta tended to some matters.

Feeling terribly flustered, you found yourself outside. You smiled, spotting a small pond. Gathering your clothes, you sat down beside it. The sun was warm and the grass was soft. Seeing little fish swimming made you smile.

Leaning closer to get a better look at them, you saw your own reflection. You gasped. You had not realized how much of a lady you had become. You wondered, if your mother would recognize you. Did being around the emperor truly do this to you?

“There is the sweetest blossom of Rome. She is near fresh water. Neptune, I pray does not see you and fall in love.”

You blushed and glancing back at the clear, water smiling as a fishes swished by.

“Geta, such honey like words. Be careful we should not upset the gods.”

“I merely hope he realizes my gratitude to have such a blossom such as you.”

Your cheeks remained aflame with his words

“You are in touch with them more than I. Surely, they are aware of your true emotions.”

“I certainly hope so.”

With a soft sound, pushed himself away from the tall tree that had given you shade and he drew close; his clothes brushed you as he knelt near you.

“I already feel the good humors for being here.”

“It is the same for me. Though, I fear I may lose my way in those hallways at least once while we are here.”

You shyly looked away. A chuckle from Geta made your cheeks feel warmer.

“I had to reorient myself as well.”

Your eyes grew as you looked back at him. “Truly?”

He nodded. “Yes, I have some new furniture, works of art that have acquired since I was last here. Accommodations were also made for you.”

“I hope I wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

********

He swallowed, the good humors filled him to brim when he was around you. It made him restless. Made him want to do a great many things.

He slipped his hand into the folds of his clothing. His fingers easily found the small pocket that had been sewn into several of his garments. Usually he carried with him a small leaf, that he would urge Caracalla to chew on when he had one of his fits or just fretted.

Now, it held something different. A little trinket. A bracelet. He had been looking at the jewelry that he had debated wearing at the villa. It was the least he could give you for saving his life.

“Geta, are you alright?”

He rose his eyebrows. “Yes? What? Why do you ask?”

As he glanced at you he could see concern splashed on it.

“You appeared to be elsewhere, you had grown silent.”

“I am good. Very good.” He nodded. He let his fingers brush against the small treasure a final time.

“I have a gift for you.” Geta said softly.

Glancing around, he did not know why, it was not as if he cared for the words or thoughts of others. Drawing closer to you, where you sat by the pond.

“It is not everyday when one takes an active hand in saving my life. I found this treasure.”

He took his closed hand from the folds of his clothes. He opened it. The sun rays happy danced on its accents. It was lovely, gentle like you were. Not has bold as some of the pieces him or Caracalla would wear.

“Oh, Geta. I…I don’t know what to say. Such finery for me.” Your voice shook.

It caused him to inwardly tremble.

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It’s just, by the gods I never even wished.”

“That is why your emperor has bestowed it upon you, not them.”

“Yes. You have.”

“Allow me then to slip it on you.”

You nodded. “Please. I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

Easily he moved the metals as they should. He grazed his thumb over the bracelet.

“I like it. I chose wisely.” He placed your hand back into your lap.

“Oh, it is wonderful.” You brought your hand to your shoulder.

“Very fitting for one who saved me.” He smiled.

He watched as your eyes twinkled, your face became as brilliant as the sun above. His heart raced he wanted to kiss you. He would.

You trembled at the suddenness of it. But then he felt as you melted against him. Your lips responded to his.

Easily, moving just the right way he hung over you as you easily laid back. Your hair became even richer in color as the loose strands from the ribbons laid in abandon against the soft green grass. His heart beat harder as he hung over you, he anchored one of his hands in the soft earth.

Breaking the kiss so he may take a breath and allow you one as well, he smiled as you reached up and your fingers nestled in his hair.

Drawing close to you once more, his nose, his lips grazed your cheek. “You are as lovely as any nymph lucky enough to have caught the eye of a god.” He whispered in your ear. “But tell me dear nymph you will give chase and make me chase you?”

He pulled back so he could look at you as you spoke.

“Only if he wishes it.”

He smiled. “Good. Right now, I do not. I do not wish to live the tale of the mighty Apollo and Daphne.”

As he spoke those words he saw your eyes become watery.

“You know of their story.”

You nodded.

He swallowed. The words came and knot that had been tightening unbeknownst to him loosen ceased to be.

“My dear blossom.” He whispered in your ear. “I have come to care. Perhaps, my elation, my tenderness is from all that transpired. But, I promise to take care of you and devote my affections solely to you. Please do not wither into a tree where all I can do is only admire from afar.”

A tear slipped from one of your eyes. “No, I promise, as long as we can share a tenderness I will not take root and become a mere tree.”

His lips met yours.

********

You felt wonderfully rejuvenated. He had ordered a bath for the two of you. Any of the knots that had held over from the carriage ride were now gone. Now, candles flickered making shadows dance as the two of you lounged and ate.

Occasionally, you couldn’t resist looking at your wrist where the bracelet twinkled. You would not worry about what may or may not happen when you would be seen wearing it.

“How long will we be here at the villa?”

Geta, shrugged. “A few days at the very least. I already feel much better and it’s only been a day.”

You nodded and happily nibbled on the fish that was on your plate. It was fresh, mich fresher than what was served at the Domus in the city. It reminded you of the fresh fish your mother would serve your family.

“It is very different than the city. I had forgotten one can hear bird calls floating on the breeze.”

“They sound different than in the city.”

You nodded once again. “There they only know of their cages.”

“Beautiful cages, I had an artist craft a lovely one.”

“They were lovely and safe in it.”

A rich chuckle came from Geta, you glanced at him.

“Dondas, is also not harassing any of them here.”

You giggled. “Dondas is cute.”

Geta rose an eyebrow. “He’s a menace.”

“At least he makes Caracalla happy.”

“That is true.” He took a sip from his wine. “Speaking of animals, have you ever ridden on a horse?”

You looked off as if you could see the moment. “Only once.”

You still could remember the feel of the animal, how your mother had controlled the straps of rope used to control the animal.

“Oh?”

“The day, I learned how to treat a wound. My mother had snatched me up when she went to retrieve what was needed. I was small enough to ride with her and hold the items.”

“You need to have a real ride.” A pleased look came over him.

You watched as he pressed his lips together, while glancing at his arm. “Should you look at it again?”

“Yes. We don’t want darkness to seep in.”

“I will have them fetch whatever you need.”

*******

“Aelia?” You glanced at the woman who stood by the door. “Do you wish to watch me check on our Sire’s arm?”

“Oh? Yes. This is very fascinating. Never seen anything like it.”

He slipped from the top of his robe. The soft fabric pooled around his waist. His chest, resembling some of the carved statues you had seen in the gardens.

“It may still sting.” You said softly as you met his eyes.

He nodded.

Gently, you peeled back the cloth. It looked good. Not dark. Soon you poured some of the vinegar and clear oil on it to clean it.

Geta hissed.

You glanced at him under your lashes. “It doesn’t hurt too much does it?”

“I do not like it. I will be fine.”

******

You reached up to the broach that was the cause for all of this. Your finger traced the edge of it.

Geta’s and Aelia’s voice were only murmurs to you has you stood by window that led to balcony. Should you undo the clasp that held the fabrics of your clothes together, you wondered.

He had not dismissed you. Did he need you? A flutter excitement filled you. How he had wanted to be you before the party had stolen your breath. Apart of you should be scandalized, you were no harlot despite being his but it had felt so good. you enjoyed being joined with him.

You gasped as a warm hand settled on your stomach and you were pulled close. You’d know his strong frame now anywhere.

“My sire.”

An admonishing sound came from him. He was so close, you could feel the warmth of his breath.

“Geta, my emperor you wish to be this close?”

You turned your head just enough to see the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips.

“I do.”

You felt as he held you tighter against him. A gasp came from you as his arousal pressed against you. Your heart squeezed. Not in fear but in anticipation.

A soft, low chuckle came from him. “You feel what you have done to me.”

You nodded.

“You have entranced my loins.”

“I have?” You managed. “You have quickened my heart.”

“Oh? Have I?” His voice grew deeper.

You felt as his hand drifted up your torso, which made it beat harder.

“My emperor?” You breathed.

“I want to feel.” His hand then laid where it beat. A soft sound came from him. “I enjoy causing this response in you.”

You trembled as his hand then slipped under the soft fabric that had been wrapped around and draped from you. It was even warmer and softer feeling as it laid against your skin. His rings were a cool contrast.

Lightning then streaked across the ebony sky, and thunder crashed as if drums from all over were struck. Without a thought, a cry of surprise came from within you and turning you nestled against Geta. You easily found his throat and hid your face there. He smelled of honey, fruits. It was very pleasing, it felt right.

You felt as his hand rubbed your back. “My little blossom. Jupiter is just sharing his pleasure with us. From his perch in the sky above, he saw and heard us. He gave us his blessing.”

You didn’t move you. “Even though, I am just a girl who was blessed that you made me yours.” You whispered.

Despite the twinges of worry that prickled you, deep inside the desire to press your lips to his throat grew.

He chuckled. “Jupiter is very pleased. I saw you and made you mine, just as he goes after what he wants.”

The sky once again brightened as lightning streaked across once again, thunder rumbled not long after.

Hearing his words, you felt reassured. Making Jupiter happy was above all. Geta followed close to the mighty Jupiter. You felt such a great honor in all of this.

Following your urges, you pressed your lips to his throat.

@honey-eyed-munson @amethyst-serenade @screaming-blue-bagel @kitkat80 @blondie324 @alyisdead @hellomadamebutterfly @laura-naruto-fan1998 @helsa3942

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

[misshoneyimhome]

Imagine all the sexual tension between the OC and William at the work but she rejects his advances she's an intern kinda of a forbidden romance. I'm a sucker for OC's making him work for it and he's the type to be eye-fucking her all day and the guys chipping him. Would not be surprised if they end up sining at the locker room

God, I would die for this 🙈🤭 Just the mere thought of having Willy eye-fucking you from a distance... yes, please 😉

[btw, I hope it's ok I did this as 'you' and not as a third person]

This actually turned out a lot shorter than I expected 🙃

Warnings; mentions about sexual behaviour;

Word count: 2.2K

➼｡ﾟ

Dreaming about the things that we could be I William Nylander

“You know, you could just ask if you needed help,” a smug face met yours as you looked up after dropping all your belongings on the floor. 

“I’m all good Willy, but thanks,” you smiled up at the Swede, as you collected your things and rose from your kneeling position. 

“Just saying, you can always ask for help,” William chuckled as he went along on his way to the training session.

And you couldn’t help but smile at his remark as you watched him wander down the hall.

William Nylander had an effect on you. 

Though you didn’t always want to admit, he could really get to you. Not in a bad way. In a wonderful way. At any time of day, no matter where he could make you smile. 

But you also knew that you had to remain composed and act professional around him.

You were an intern at the MLSE, which meant you spend quite the amount of time around the players of the Toronto Maple Leafs. And somehow, you’d grown a little closer to the Swedish forwarder. 

William just always seemed to be around whenever you were around. You could always hear his wonderful laughter echo through the hallway, and he was always there to lend a helping hand if you needed it. 

But you had to keep your distance. William was a hockey player, and you were working at the office, so you knew you weren’t supposed to get involved. 

Yet, he always knew just how to push the boundaries. Every time you were doing any kind of work around the team, whether it’d be marketing jobs or making lists over equipment and travel schedule he’d find a way to be around you. 

Because to him you were absolutely gorgeous. 

Your smile had a way of brightening up his day even if everything seemed to fail, and your laughter could match his own heartfelt sounds. You were always incredibly stylish in your outfit, and it seemed like no matter what task was thrown your way you had a talent for finding a way to work it out. 

Of course, you weren’t perfect, but to him you were. 

Even on your most intense and stressful days, where you’d run around like a headless chicken, he’d find you so incredibly charming, and though he knew he had no abilities whatsoever to help you with your job, he’d always offer. 

And every time you’d tell him no.

You couldn’t have him around more than necessary. Despite him always keeping his eyes on you from a distance, practically eye-fucking you with his piercing blue eyes, you had stand put.

However, William would naturally always test the waters. 

Whether it was on the plane to the next away game, where he’d send you cheeky messages and then look in your direction, only to watch your reaction before you’d look up and notice his giant smirk. Or in the hallway before a match, where he’d come sneaking up on you, scare you and making you jump and shriek. Or those few times where he’d be one of the last one left in the locker room, and you’d entered without knowing him be there. 

Once you even accidentally caught him butt naked. A sight of delight to be fair, but definitely unprofessional.

William of course only smirked at you following the situation, as he passed you in the hallway, making you all blush.

“Like what you saw?” he’d ask with a mischievous grin.

And trying your best to brush off the light embarrassment, you’d simply shrug. “I’ve seen better.” 

“No, you haven’t,” he’d called you out before leaving the arena. And he was right.

His body was like sculptured for a Greek god. In your opinion he was the perfect balance of a toned, muscular athlete body mixed with thickness, showing his love for food. His big thighs were incredible, especially in those tiny shorts he’d always run around in. And when he did his interviews shirtless, or ran around without many clothes on, you couldn’t exactly complain. 

But he didn’t need to know the effect he had on you. And he especially didn’t need to know that you’d touched yourself by the images of him in your head. That would give him way too much satisfaction.

But nonetheless, you were constantly around each other. And with William’s flirtatious behaviour, always around for a quick naughty remark, you knew it was becoming a dangerous territory.

Despite both being single and having the fully right to be intimate with others, there was a fine line called professionalism.

However, his teammates didn’t seem to care about that. Naturally they’d picked up on your exchanged glances, as William wasn’t exactly subtle in his flirting, and had encouraged him to just get it over with and fuck you brainless. But William had no intentions of doing so.

For starters, he didn’t want you to risk your job, which you’d worked hard to earn. And secondly, if he’d want to sleep with you, it wouldn’t just be a quick fuck. 

He’d take his time with you. Properly explore every inch of your body, touch you gently over your soft skin, as he’d make his way to pleasure you orally.

He’d then use his large fingers to stretch your walls, making you prepared for his, what he’d considered, not so small cock. He’d make sure to make you come, intensely listening to the moans escaping your lips along with his name, as you’d coat his fingers with your sweet juices. 

After licking them clean, he’d then proceed to enter your core. He’d fill you up gently, before he’d start rocking his hips, feeling every inch of your inner walls as he stimulated them. 

He’d make sweet love to you; slowly and intensely build up your arousal which would eventually lead to both of you reaching your climax, letting himself release either into a condom if that’s what you wished, or preferably into your warmth, filling you up with his cum. 

But that scenario wasn’t likely to happen for the time being, though William was sure that there was chemistry between you.

One evening, just before a match you were once again walking around helping the crew in order to get everything ready. And as the boys came in one by one you made sure to capture the walk-in photos.

And William was looking sharp as always.

Your eyes met in a brief moment as he walked by, and he couldn’t help but offer you a cheeky wink. But you merely shook your head and chuckled. 

Then once in the locker room, the boys were naturally all over Willy again.

“Somebody’s finally in good time,” Auston announced with a grin.

“That’s just because he wants to impress y/n,” Mitch chimed in.

“And get a good look at her,” Jarnkrok teased further.

But William merely shook it off with a laughter. Though it might just hold a little bit of truth to it.

“I bet you also want to impress her with a goal tonight,” Auston spoke again with a mischievous smirk.

“Aus I always want to score a goal,” William smiled with a light laugh.

“Yeah, but this one’s going to be for her,” the Arizona forwarder wiggled his brows in a flirtatious manner, before the boys were interrupted by coach Keefe.

And as predicted, the Leafs managed to a secure a 3-2 win, with William scoring the game winning goal. 

The players then slowly made their way out of the arena, leaving you and the rest of the staff to clean up and gather their stuff for upcoming road trip. 

You were making your down the hallway, when you, as a few times before, then naturally walked into the locker room, eyeing William only in a towel by his stall.

“Shit Willy,” you exclaimed, quickly covering your eyes. “What are you still doing here?”

William merely let out a light chuckle, amused by your reaction to his state of lack of clothing.

“Well, the media took up more time than usual because I scored the last goal,” he explained with huge grin. “Come on, you can remove your hand, y/n - it’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

You could feel the warmth slowly coming to your cheeks while you were sure they were coloured a light pink shade, as you lowered your hand, and gently lay eyes on the handsome Swede in front of you.

His smirk was wide across his face as he caught your gaze, and you couldn’t help but put your lips lightly together before flashing him a sweet, almost innocent smile.

“Anyways… erm, will you be done… anytime soon?” You softly inquired, trying your best not to stare at his wonderful body. “So, we can finish up in here.” 

“Do you need me to leave in order to finish up in here?” He flashed you a grin as he stood from his bench.

And as you contemplated his words, you merely shrugged. “I supposed not.”

And then you began to collect the equipment that needed to be packed by the staff from the first stall before moving to the next, and then slowly you made your way around while William was putting on clothes and finished getting ready.

Buy your eyes couldn’t help but look in his direction. As much as you tried not to glance at him, you simply couldn’t help yourself. 

“Anything on your mind?” William teasingly inquired as he put the shirt over his head, purposely showing off his toned torso. 

“Nothing about you,” you replied with a confident smile. Though that was a total lie and William sensed it.

“So, you’re not at all intrigued by what you just saw?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his overconfident expression. “No Nylander, I’m not intrigued.” Lie. “You know, just because you’re an attractive, successful hockey player, it doesn’t mean that every girl will just fall on their knees for you.”

Again, a lie. Right now, there was probably nothing more than you’d want to do than to just kneel and take him deep down your throat in order to please him. And since you knew you couldn’t because of your professional boundary, you thought why not try and push the limit a little. 

But William was way ahead of you. Coming closer to stand right in front of you, completely invading your personal space, so you could smell his shampoo from his damped hair. 

“Maybe not all girls…” he merely smirked. “But a lot.”

You let out a gentle huff. 

“Well good for you Wonderboy,” you tried to remain composed as you looked up at him, arms crossed over your chest as you tried your best not to let your cunt drip in mere anticipation.

And William let out yet another soft chuckle.

“This is what I like so much about you,” he spoke gently, his fingers slowly tracing the sides of your arms. “You’re not like those girls… desperate and needy - no, you make me work for it, and fuck how much I want to touch you right now.” 

You were killing him. And you’d been killing him for months.

But his words sparked new thought within you.

“Wait, you like me?” you softly inquired.

Though you knew that there was a certain chemistry between you, you hadn’t really thought that William actually had feelings involved.

And then his smug expression slowly faded a little and became softer as he gently nodded with a sweet smile. 

“Of course, y/n… I’m fucking crazy about you.”

And now, here you were, all alone in the locker room, so close, so tempted, and yet you both knew that the fine line remained between you. 

But then, another question popped into your mind.

“Would you want me any less… you know, if I let you touch me?”

Your voice was soft and tender, yet with a hint of seduction, your eyes searching his, while you gently bit your lower lip.

And William was slightly stunned by your question. He hadn’t really thought about it like that, but perhaps that’s because he would never want you any less. He’ll no! He had become the desperate and needy one. And it was becoming increasingly difficult to conceal it. 

“No, never,” he merely responded, slowly leaning down a little, coming to share the air between you.

And as if all rational thoughts left your mind, you gave into the deep temptations, and gently straightened your position to stretch and close the gap between you as you gently connected your lips.

It was a heartfelt moment. William’s hands carefully sought your hips, putting a light pressure on them to pull you close, while your hands found his chest before sneaking their way up to his neck. 

Your lips gently massaged each other, air escaping your lungs, as you leaned into the intimacy.

However, your moment was abruptly interrupted by a cough form the doorway, prompting you both to swiftly pull away. It was Brad you’d come to check up on you.

“I don’t think you’ll finish tonight’s work like that,” he cocked an eyebrow, causing you to slightly gasp for air as embarrassment showed on your cheeks, and you offered him an excusing nod before returning to your task. 

And as Brad left the doorway, William couldn’t help but let out a laugh, earning you to do the same, as he came to place a gentle kiss on your neck.

 “Come over to my place?” he timidly asked, making you turn your head just a little to flash him a smile and nod before he left the locker room. Both of you still adorning wide grins and satisfied smiles. 

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 8: The Lake

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: T - nakey lakey time Word count: 6.1k

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Author's Notes: This chapter has a lot of segments preserved from the book, the lake scene being widely regarded as one of the golden moments in Benophie's love story. (And good god almighty what goats do I need to sacrifice to make sure we get it in the show?!? 😜) But the immediate aftermath of the lake scene also gives lots of readers the ick - me included - so as always, I have rounded things out to fit the cheeky, gentle character of Show!Benedict. Enjoy 💙

There were advantages, Benedict soon discovered, to a long, drawn-out recovery.

The most obvious was the quantity and variety of excellent food brought forth from Mrs. Wiggin in the kitchens. He’d always been fed well at Aubrey Hall of course, but Mrs. Wiggin truly rose to the occasion with him tucked away in his sickroom.

Another perk of staying abed was the simple fact that, for the first time in years, he could enjoy some quiet time. He read, sketched, and even closed his eyes and just daydreamed - all without feeling guilty for neglecting some other task or chore. 

Benedict soon decided that he’d be perfectly happy leading the life of the indolent.

But the best part of his recovery, by far, was Sophie. She popped into his room several times a day, sometimes to fluff his pillows, sometimes to bring him food or her medicinal tea which he genuinely believed was helping, and sometimes just to read to him. He wasn’t sure if her level of industriousness stemmed from a desire to earn the compensation he had promised, or to be useful as a means of thanking him. He was just happy that she came to see him so frequently. She was every bit the nurse he knew she would be.

She’d been quiet and reserved at first, obviously trying to adhere to the standard that servants should rarely be heard. But Benedict had had none of that, and he’d purposefully engaged her in conversation, stretching out the length of each visit. 

But mostly he just enjoyed being in the same room with her. It didn’t seem to matter if they were talking, or if she was just sitting in a chair, leafing through a book while he stared out the window. Something about her presence brought him peace. 

A sharp knock at the door broke him out of his thoughts and he looked up eagerly, calling out, “Enter!”

Sophie poked her head in, her shoulder-length hair brushing against the edge of the door. “I brought you some more tea.”

“Tea? Or tea and biscuits?”

Sophie grinned, pushing the door open with her hip as she balanced the tray. “Oh, the latter if Mrs. Wiggin has anything to say about it.”

“Excellent,” he smiled. “And will you join me?”

She hesitated, as she always did, but then she nodded, as she also always did. She’d long since learned that there was no arguing with Benedict when he had his mind set on something.

“Your color is back,” she commented as she set the tray down on the bedside table. “And you don’t look nearly so tired. I should think you’ll be up and out of bed soon.”

He smiled gamely, “Do you think so?”

“Yes,” she smiled and lifted the teapot. Benedict watched her hands as she prepared the tea. She moved with an innate sense of grace, and she poured the tea as if she’d been to the manner born. Clearly the art of afternoon tea had been another one of those lessons she’d learned from her mother’s generous employers. Or maybe she’d just watched other ladies closely while they’d prepared tea. Again, he noted that she was a very observant woman.

“Fix yourself a cup,” Benedict said, biting into a biscuit, “and come sit by me.”

She hesitated again. He knew she’d hesitate, even though she’d already agreed to join him. But he was a patient man, and his patience was rewarded with a soft sigh as she poured herself her own cup and sat in the chair by the bed, regarding him over the rim of her teacup as she took a sip.

“No biscuits for you?” Benedict asked.

She shook her head. “I had a few straight out of the oven.”

“Lucky you. They’re always best when they’re warm.” He polished off another biscuit, brushed a few crumbs off of his chest, and reached for another. “And how have you spent your day?”

“Since I last saw you two hours earlier?”

Benedict shot her a look that said he recognized her sarcasm but chose not to respond to it.

“I helped Lizzie and Anne with the laundry,” she said. “Then I borrowed a book from the library and read outside.”

“Really? What did you read?”

“A novel.”

“And your assessment?”

 She shrugged, “Overly romantic for my taste.”

“So you do not long for romance?” He gave her a lopsided grin.

Her blush was instantaneous. “That’s a rather personal question, don’t you think?”

Benedict tried to think of a witty reply, but as he watched her face, her cheeks turning delightfully pink, her eyes cast down to her lap, the strangest thing happened.

He realized he wanted her.

He really, really wanted her.

He wasn’t certain why this surprised him so much. Of course he wanted her. He was as red-blooded as any man, and one couldn’t spend a protracted amount of time around a woman as gamine and adorable as Sophie without wanting her. Hell, he’d wanted half the women he met, in a purely low-intensity, non-urgent sort of way.

But in that moment, with this woman, it became urgent. He suddenly had the urge to lean forward, take her face in his hands and kiss her passionately. Then pull her into the bed where he very conveniently already was. He wondered if she had ever been kissed before. 

Of course he wouldn’t act upon his urges - he was a gentleman, not a scoundrel. She had proven herself to be a personable, respectable, and highly intelligent woman and she was technically in his employ for the moment. He wouldn’t sully their mutual trust and friendly companionship by leaping upon her.

He frowned, cleared his throat, and tried to push his wicked thoughts from his mind by downing his teacup. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” he croaked. “Any chance you’d like to read some more?”

Sophie looked up at him cautiously. Was he flirting with her? She supposed it was only to be expected. He was a man after all, and had proven he was a cheeky devil in many of their past interactions. She was shaken less by the fact that he had asked her about romance and more by how similar the conversation was to the one they had had at the masquerade. There too he had tried to probe deeper, believing her to be avoidant of attachments. The truth of course in both instances was that she was hiding how much she did long for romance, because she wanted it with him.

She was grateful he had changed the subject. “Yes, I’ll read to you.” She placed her cup down and rose a little too quickly from her chair. She needed some distance from him until she stopped feeling overheated. She perused his bookshelf and they agreed upon a decidedly unromantic Shakespearean tragedy. 

Sophie kept her eyes down and read aloud, uninterrupted through the entire play. As she settled the book in her lap she found that Benedict had fallen asleep again. He could have been sleeping for an hour and she wouldn’t have known. He did look much healthier, which signaled to her that he was no longer in need of a nurse and she would have to leave soon. She hadn’t yet put any effort into looking for a new position, she had been too overwhelmed with navigating Aubrey Hall, interacting with the staff, and caring for Benedict. 

She would start looking tomorrow and would likely be gone before the week was out. She would leave Benedict for the last time. It pained her, but she knew it was for the best. She sat in silence by his bedside watching him breathe, studying the angles of his face, trying to capture the moment in her memory forever. She looked about the room too; the opulent fabrics, gleaming wood, and all of his artwork. She would miss Aubrey Hall, the beauty of its furnishings, and the warm, homey feeling it gave her. Quietly, she stood and walked around the perimeter of the room, slowly taking in each image on the walls. Sunny green landscapes bled into winter scenes which were overlapped with charcoal sketches of hands, flowers, the back view of a woman’s cascading hair.

Leaning against the desk she noticed the large sketchbook he sometimes had in his lap. She chewed on her lip, deciding how intrusive she should be. Knowing she would leave soon anyway, curiosity got the best of her and she sat at the desk, quietly lifting the sketchbook and laying it open. The first pages were of varied landscapes. Some were of Aubrey Hall and some were of Bridgerton House in London, dressed in climbing wisteria. Most of them featured no architecture at all, just a babbling brook or a windswept tree, or a rain-dappled meadow. And the amazing thing about his drawings was that they seemed to capture the whole and true moment. Sophie had that familiar feeling of stepping into the landscapes which she had confided in Benedict. He was a more talented artist than he had professed to be.

The portraits were fewer in number, but Sophie found them infinitely more interesting. There appeared to be at least one of each of his family members. Several of whom she thought must be his mother, then two dark-haired men, one dour and one jovial, who she recognized as Colin. Both of them looked incredibly similar to Benedict. A younger boy with dimples, then a series of four lovely young women. Three of them were smiling serenely, but the one with the darkest hair had a chin set with determination and eyes staring off, looking as if she were ready to conquer a nation. He had beautifully captured the new raven-haired Viscountess, whom she also recognized from the masquerade. The last portrait was of a devastatingly handsome dark-skinned man with short hair, scrunching his face in laughter. Sophie had no idea who that could be. 

Her favorite drawings were of what appeared to be some sort of outdoor game. At least five Bridgerton siblings were holding long mallets, and one of the girls was depicted in the forefront, her face screwed up in determination as she tried to aim a ball through a wicket. Something about the picture made Sophie smile. She could feel the merriment of the day, and it made her long desperately for a family of her own.

She glanced back at Benedict, still sleeping quietly in his bed. Did he realize how lucky he was to have been born into such a large and loving clan?

With a sigh, Sophie flipped through a few more pages until she reached the end of the book. The very last sketch was different from the rest, if only because it appeared to be of a night scene, and the woman within it was holding her skirts above her ankles as she ran across - 

Good god! Sophie gasped, thunderstruck. It was her!

She brought the sketch closer to her face. He’d gotten the details of her dress - that wonderful, magical silver concoction that had been hers for only a single evening - perfectly. He’d even remembered her long, elbow-length gloves and the exact manner in which her hair had been styled. Her face on the other hand, was less recognizable and almost wholly hidden by the demi-mask. Perhaps the contours of her cheekbones and chin were somewhat accurate, but the features of her face seemed soulless, nearly blurred. This made sense, she realized, given that he’d never actually seen her face in its entirety.

Well, not until now. Her heart began to pound. So he had thought of her after that night. He had thought of her enough to remember her in great detail and commit the time to drawing her, even if only just once. He had wanted to remember her - whether as a beautiful ornament of a mysterious evening or for some other reason, she could not say. But her discovery made it all the more clear - she needed to leave Aubrey Hall. She needed to leave before her secret was discovered and complicated matters any further. She would start to look for a new position right away.

___

The next morning after breakfast, Sophie decided to take a walk around the estate. Before she consulted with Mr. Dewitt about finding her next position, she wanted to form a complete picture of the grounds in her mind. She wanted to take in the fresh air and say goodbye to it all. 

As she set out through the gardens and across the lawn toward the lake she thought of Benedict, of how kind he had been to her and how much she would miss him. She would miss him more now than she had for the past two years, if that were somehow possible. Where before she had longed for the idea of him, constructed from their brief hour together at the masquerade and otherwise a bunch of fantasy, now she would miss him as she had come to know him. A gentle, witty man who had treated her with the utmost respect. It actually aggravated her. If he would just treat her like a servant, she’d have no trouble remembering that she was an illegitimate nobody and he was a member of one of the ton’s wealthiest and most influential families. Every time he treated her like a real person (and it was her experience that most aristocrats did not treat servants like anything remotely approaching a real person) it brought her back to the night of the masquerade, when she’d been, for one perfect evening, a lady of glamour and grace - the sort of woman who had a right to dream about a future with Benedict Bridgerton.

He acted as if he actually liked her and enjoyed her company. And maybe he did. But that was the cruelest twist of all, because he was making her love him even more, making a small part of her think she had the right to dream about him.

And then, inevitably, she had to remind herself of the truth of the situation, and it hurt so damned much.

Emotions swirling through her, she surveyed the expanse of the lake and marched onward into the wood that bordered it on one side. It was a lovely day, unseasonably warm and sunny, and the air held the gentle fragrance of the first blooms of spring. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d taken a walk for the simple pleasure of enjoying the fresh air. Perhaps in the forest she could find herbs or mushrooms to pick and bring back to the kitchens, maybe even go to the lake edge and dip her toes in the water if she was feeling particularly daring. The water was surely still freezing, so early in May. Still, it would feel good. Anything felt good that gave her a fleeting sense of leisure and peaceful, solitary moments. 

Sophie picked her way through the forest, stepping over tree roots, and pushing aside low-lying branches, letting them snap back behind her. The sun barely peeked through the canopy of leaves above her, and down at ground level, it felt more like dusk than late morning.

Up ahead, she could see a clearing, which she assumed must be the lake edge. As she drew closer, she saw the glint of sunlight on the water, and she breathed a little sigh of satisfaction that she still had her bearings about her.

As she drew even closer, she heard a large splash and realized with equal parts terror and curiosity that she was not alone. She was only ten or so feet from the edge of the lake, easily visible to anyone in the water, so she quickly flattened herself behind the trunk of a large oak. With her eyes she began to chart a path back through the woods that would be the quietest and most concealed. 

Her thoughts were broken by a crowing shout from the lake, “Aha!” Then the whistling noise of an object in flight, and a thud on the ground a few feet away from her. Completely bewildered, she looked over to see a ball roll to a stop in the dirt. It was wet and lavender in color, small enough to be held in one hand.

What on earth was going on? Had she been seen? Was someone throwing things at her? If she had a sensible bone in her body, she’d turn right around and run back to the house, but she just couldn’t quite keep herself from peeking around the tree and looking to see who might be lobbing objects into the woods and be mad enough to splash about in a freezing lake.

Dropping to a crouch to try and stay hidden, she leaned slowly around the trunk until she could see the surface of the water. 

And she saw a man.  

A naked man.

A naked Benedict.

It was wrong of her to stay.

So wrong.

So very, very wrong.

And yet she did not move an inch. 

She found a large, bald-pated rock, mostly obscured by a short, squat bush and sat down, never once taking her eyes off of him.

She still couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. He was, of course, partially submerged, with the surface of the water rippling against his rib cage.

The lower - she thought giddily - edge of his rib cage. 

Or perhaps if she were to be honest with herself, she’d have to rephrase her previous thought to: he was unfortunately partially submerged. What she could see of him was magnificent. He had lean, smooth muscles and broad shoulders. Water droplets glistened in his dark hair and across his pale skin, making him sparkle like a gem.

Sophie didn’t care if it made her wicked to stare. Dash it all, she was curious, and she was already in love with this man. She’d spent her life taking the safe road, the prudent path. Only one night in her short life had she completely thrown caution to the wind. And that night had been the most thrilling, most magical, the most stupendously wonderful night of her life.

And so she decided to remain right where she was, stay the course, and see what she saw. It wasn’t as if she had anything to lose, as she was planning to leave anyway. And so she sat back, tried not to move a muscle, and kept her eyes wide, wide open.

___

Benedict had never been a superstitious man, and he’d certainly never thought himself the sort with a sixth sense, but once or twice in his life, he’d experienced a strange surge of awareness, a sort of mystical tingling feeling that warned him that something important was afoot.

The first time had been the day his father had died. He’d never told anyone about this, not even his older brother Anthony, who’d been utterly devastated by their father’s death. But that afternoon, just moments before he had heard his brother’s cry for help and his mother’s screams from the front lawn, he’d felt an odd, numb feeling in his arms and legs, followed by the strangest pounding in his head. It hadn’t hurt, precisely, but it had sucked the air from his lungs and left him with the most intense sensation of terror he could ever imagine. 

He had been with his siblings in the drawing room, watching them play while his pregnant mother rested in the conservatory nearby. When he managed to regain control of his limbs amidst the shouts from outside, he gathered the children, holding little Gregory by the hand, and guided them all out the door to see what was going on. By the time they saw the bent form of their mother holding their father on the grass, he was already dead, having collapsed after being stung by a bee. Anthony had marched toward them all, eyes wide with shock and streaming tears, and could barely speak as he ushered them back inside, beginning the darkest period of their lives. Benedict still had difficulty believing that a man as strong and vital as his father could be felled by a bee, but there had been no other explanation, it was just a cruel twist of fate.

The second time it had happened, however, the feeling had been completely different. It had been the night of his family’s masquerade, right before he’d seen the woman in the silver dress. Like the time before, the sensation had started in his arms and legs, but instead of feeling numb, this time he felt an odd tingling, as if he’d just suddenly awoken after years of sleepwalking.

He’d stepped outside to steady himself with some fresh air, and then he’d seen her, and he’d known she was the reason he was there that night; the reason he lived in England; hell, the very reason he’d been born.

Of course, she had gone and proven him wrong by disappearing into thin air, but at the time he’d believed all that, and if she’d let him, he would have spent the rest of his life proving it to her as well.

Now, as he stood in the lake, the water lapping just above his navel, he was struck once again by that odd sense of somehow being more alive than he’d been just seconds earlier. It was a good feeling, an exciting, breathless rush of emotion.

It was like before. When he’d met her. 

Something was about to happen, or maybe someone was near. His life was about to change. It was the last thing he had expected when he decided to go for a swim that morning, to test his renewed vigor and shake the lethargy of being bedridden for days. He took a step into slightly deeper water, the soft sludge of the lake bottom squishing between his toes. The water reached a few inches higher on his body. He was bloody well freezing, but at least he was mostly covered.

He scanned the shore, looking into the trees and down in the bushes. There had to be someone there. Nothing else could account for the strange, tingling feeling that had now spread throughout his body. 

“Who’s out there?” he called out.

No answer. He hadn’t really expected one, but it had been worth a try.

He squinted as he searched the shore again, turning in a full circle as he watched for any sign of movement. He saw nothing but the gentle rustle of the leaves in the wind, but as he finished his sweep, his eyes landing on the ball he had tossed ashore, he thought he could see something in a nearby bush, and he somehow knew.

“Sophie!”

He heard a gasp, followed by a flurry of activity as the bush shook and twigs began to snap.

“Sophie Beckett,” he yelled. “If you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you, and I will not take the time to don my clothing.”

The sounds of her movement ceased.

“It’s alright,” he called out, trying to show her he was good humored, despite having to yell. “Show yourself.”

There was a beat of silence, followed by some more rustling and slow, hesitant footsteps. He watched as she emerged from behind the bush and moved to stand at the shore, dressed in her threadbare cloak and the lavender dress of the housemaids. Her hands were balled into fists at her side and her jaw was locked. She was flustered, and it was adorable.

“What are you doing here?” He grinned at her.

“I was on a walk. What are you doing here?” she countered. “I suppose this means you are fully recovered, though that”  - she waved her arm toward him and, by extension, the lake - “can’t possibly be good for you.”

“I am feeling much better, thank you.” He continued grinning, loving how it seemed to make her grow more aggravated. “I had to get out of that stuffy room and refresh myself. Were you following me?” He sank down and began to tread water playfully.

“Of course not,” she replied and he believed her. “That would be indecent.”

And then her face went completely red, because they both knew she hadn’t a leg to stand on with that argument. If she had truly been concerned about decency, she’d have left the area the moment she’d seen him, accidentally or not.

He lifted one hand from the water and twisted his wrist as he motioned for her to turn around. “Turn your back and wait for me to come out,” he ordered. “It will only take me a moment to dress.”

“I’ll go to the house right now,” she offered. “You can have your privacy and…”

“I’ll need you to walk back with me,” he cut her off, “in case the water has brought my cold back and I fall ill.” He stuck out his lip in an exaggerated pout and could practically see the steam coming out of her ears. “Or if I twist my ankle.” Still she glowered. “Or if you twist yours.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she sighed, exasperated.

“Stay put,” he ordered and started to advance out of the water.

Once he moved, her eyes bugged out of her head and she whipped around, turning her back to him.

Sophie crossed her arms and stared at a knothole in a tree trunk as if her very life depended on it. The infernal man wasn’t being particularly quiet as he went about his business, and she couldn’t seem to keep herself from listening to and trying to identify every sound that rustled and splashed behind her. Now he was emerging from the water, now he was reaching for his clothes, now he was…

It was no use. She had a dreadfully naughty imagination, and there was no getting around it. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she was certain her cheeks must be eight different shades of red. A gentleman would have let her weasel out of her embarrassment and hole up in her room back at the house for at least three days in hopes he’d just forget about the entire affair.

But Benedict Bridgerton was obviously determined not to be a gentleman this afternoon and was clearly taking his time getting dressed. 

“I’m sorry I came upon you unexpectedly sir, but it feels like you are just toying with me,” she grumbled.

“You are free to face me at any time,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I assure you that I asked you to turn your back for the sake of your sensibilities, not mine.”

“I’m fine just where I am,” she replied. The absolute devil was in this man.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably only three minutes, she heard him say, “You can turn around now.”

Sophie was almost afraid to do so. He had just the sort of perverse sense of humor that would compel him to order her around before he’d donned his clothing. 

But she decided to trust him - not, she was forced to admit, that she had much choice in the matter - and so she turned around. Much to her relief and, if she was to be honest with herself, a fair bit of disappointment, he was dressed, though his white shirt was clinging to him and transparent with the water from his skin. She swallowed to keep her composure.

“Do you truly need me to walk you back to the house?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” he said. “Take it as punishment for spying on me.”

���I wasn’t - “ Sophie’s denial was automatic, but she cut herself off halfway through, because of course she’d been spying on him.

Benedict raised an eyebrow at her, smirking, “That’s what I thought.”

She scowled at him. She would have liked to have said something cutting and witty, but she had a feeling that anything emerging from her mouth just then would have been quite the opposite, so she held her tongue.

“It’s very bad form to spy on one’s host,” he said, crossing his arms and managing to look both authoritative and relaxed at the same time.

“It was an accident,” she grumbled.

“Oh, I believe you there,” he said. “But even if you didn’t intend to spy on me, the fact remains that when the opportunity arose, you took it.”

“Do you blame me?” She had found her witty retort.

He grinned. “Not at all. To tell the truth, I’m quite flattered.”

“It was academic curiosity,” she smirked back at him. “I assure you.”

His smile grew sly but he didn’t say anything further. He just held her gaze until she felt her legs would give out beneath her.

“Well,” she chimed, tearing her eyes away from his. “Now that we have that settled, shall we return to the house?”

“Let’s,” he nodded, stepping toward her. “Ah,” he bent and picked up the lavender ball, giving it a toss in the air. “Almost forgot this.”

“What is that?” she asked.

“This,” he grinned, holding it up triumphantly with a raised pinky, “Is my chance for redemption.”

Sophie just stared at him with a furrowed brow.

“Pall mall.  Have you ever played?” She shook her head. “Well, it’s something of a family tradition you see,” They started to walk slowly through the trees, Sophie following at his side as he explained. “Every season when we come here for our country ball we start things off with an annual tournament. My brothers and sisters and I have been playing since we were children and now the competition is…” he stared off, searching for the right word. “Well, it’s brutal. A key part of the game is to knock your opponent’s ball off course and there is quite an established history of balls ending up in the lake.” 

Sophie smiled, intuiting the rest of his story.

“Last year,” he huffed, “my sister Eloise was rather overzealous and managed to send my ball,” he held it up again, “straight across the water. I had to sit out the rest of the games.”

“You couldn’t use another one?” Sophie asked.

“Oh no, no, no,” Benedict shook his head emphatically. “There are rules and we honor them. Well,” he smirked. “Some of us do. Anyway, there are no other balls to play with. The rest are all claimed, except red of course,” At this point they had stepped out of the wood and were back on the sloping lawn beside the lake. He looked pensively out over the water. “We never managed to find that one.”

Sophie smiled again. “I’m glad your swim reunited you with your ball and it didn’t share the same watery fate.”

Benedict looked down at her and stared into her eyes, saying nothing. He was looking at her today with a new intensity, a burning behind his bright blue eyes that reminded her of how he looked during the masquerade. It made her shiver in a wonderfully delicious way. She needed to make it stop.

She turned on her heel and began walking up the lawn toward the house. After a beat he followed behind her. “So, your family will be hosting the country ball again this year?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “They should arrive in a week or so.”

“Oh,” Sophie paused, remembering her task for the day was to look for a new position and make ready to leave Aubrey Hall. Now with the whole Bridgerton family and their aristocratic guests en route, it was more imperative than ever that she depart quickly. “I’m sure it will be lovely,” she said weakly.

At this point they had reached the edge of a garden bordered with flowering cherry trees. She slowed her steps, taking in the sight of the beautiful blossoms and enjoying the fragrant air. 

“What are your plans for the day, Miss Beckett?” Benedict asked behind her.

She turned to face him. “Actually, seeing as you are well again,” she took a deep breath, “there is no further need for me here. I shall find a new position as we agreed upon. I expect it won’t be too difficult and I should be gone before your family arrives.”

She was not expecting his face to fall the way it did, the way his lips parted and his brow knitted as if he had just received terrible news. His eyes darted for a moment, then he cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “Of course,” he nodded. “I’m sure Mr. Dewitt can assist you.”

“Yes,” Sophie sighed. “I’ll go and meet with him now.” But her feet were rooted to the spot. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to leave Aubrey Hall and she didn’t want to leave Benedict. Especially not when he kept looking at her like that, and not when he seemed to share some of her sadness at the thought of parting. But what was she supposed to do? Ask to stay on and work as a maid, drawing herself deeper into the heartache of being around him and risking the discovery of her secrets? Throw herself upon him this very moment and kiss him? No. Her mind knew what was right, even though her heart and her feet were not obeying it. So she stood, warring within herself until she managed to lift one foot and turn back around, feeling as if she had lead weights in her shoes.

Her eyes had barely left his when Benedict reached out and grabbed her by the arm, “Miss Beckett,” he yelped with urgency.

Sophie froze. He had never touched her, not unwarranted like this, since they had been reunited. He had helped her onto his horse and she had held him while they rode to the inn, but he had not reached out to her in any way since. Why would he? He was an aristocrat, her employer, and she was just a maid. But his grip was around her elbow, not too tightly, but insistent nonetheless. She looked back at him.

Benedict seemed to realize how inappropriate he was being and released her with a small nod of apology, “Sophie,” he said, softly. “Before you leave,” his eyes were darting again. “Would you allow me to paint a portrait of you?” 

“A portrait?” This was certainly the last thing she had expected to hear.

Benedict nodded, “A small one,” he grinned nervously. “You can keep it as a token of my gratitude.” 

Sophie didn’t know what to think. Again he was showering her with kindness, piling favors and gratitude upon her when she had done little more than use common sense and help him get over a cold. No one had ever painted her portrait before and she was unlikely to get the opportunity again. It was an aspect of life reserved for the upper classes. Her father had never included her in the family portraiture when he was alive and family was the last thing the Cowpers regarded her as. She was everyone’s shame to hide, to be forgotten, to be erased from memory. Benedict’s offer moved her deeply. 

“How long will it take?” she asked, trying not to sound rude. “I really should go before the country visit.”

“Not long, One sitting, maybe two. I’ve done plenty in my time.” He smirked. “I’ll finish it while you look for a new post.”

Sophie felt her heart swelling. There was no reason for her to refuse him and of course she wanted to spend more time with him. If she could leave Aubrey Hall with his painting she would have some small piece of him to keep forever. Whenever she ached for him, she could look at his initials and touch the brushstrokes made by his hand. Maybe it would help ease the pain.

“I don’t have anything to wear for a portrait,” she blushed, looking down at her simple servant’s uniform.

Benedict smiled gently. “It doesn’t matter. I only need to capture your face.” He stepped closer, inches away, looking down into her eyes with that fathomless smolder again. She could feel his breath on her skin. “The rest can be whatever you’d like.”

Sophie had to stare at the ground or she feared she would fall over. She nodded briskly, “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. I would be honored by such a gift.”

She could hear his relief as he exhaled. “Very good,” He backed away, making it safe to look at him again. He looked practically giddy. “Tonight after dinner, meet me in the nursery. My supplies are in there. Come as you are.”

Sophie nodded, unable to hide a smile from her own face. Then, while her legs were still in working order, she turned and strode quickly through the garden and toward the house, leaving Benedict to make his own way, her punishment be damned.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan

[chocolatecoffeeshot]

Boop! Inspired one-shot | AO3 LINK

Fluff with a boop of angst (prank)

Summary: Azirpahle wakes up to an empty bed and a missing Crowley with no proper explanation. Has Crowley been dragged back to hell or is it something else BOOP ME A KISS

Aziraphale woke to his left arm and toes shivering. This shouldn’t have been possible at 6am as Crowley was supposed to be curled up into them. Maybe he was just downstairs, panic rose in Aziraphale’s chest, maybe hell had pulled him back. But oh, there was a note.

“Out to get some fresh air” scrawled on it. This was usual as Crowley woke up at only after 10, like a bank (nothing like a serpent) and the first thing he did was saunter over Nina’s for his espresso shots. Then he would get back a cupcake or a pastry for Aziraphale, occasionally a brownie to split, as a midday snack. Aziraphale’s waddled up to the window pulling the blanket around him and peeked to the blinds and saw the Bentley. “Maybe it is an early morning stroll after all.” Aziraphale cast out his sense and sensed Crowley near St. James. So he fell back to bed.

At nine he went over to Nina’s himself, as Crowley was yet to return. “Hi, Aziraphale, where’s your thin dark duke today?”, Nina greeted cheerily. “Crowley went out for a morning walk today, I rather wondered he might have made his way here after that”, Aziraphale said hopefully. He hadn’t been able to sense Crowley after he’d woken up. More importantly Bentley was missing. “No, not come this way. Wasn’t expecting him to as yet. Say you want to order something and wait here? Camomile perhaps?” she offered. “Oh a chamomile sounds rather lovely”, Aziraphale took his order and settled by a corner seat and went through his list of why now would be good time to panic about Crowley’s absence.  Nina meanwhile got him a vanilla frosted cupcake, which accidentally made unfortunate contact with his nose on Nina’s careless account. Very lightly but yet. “Oh I’m so sorry!!” Nina yelped and offered up a tissue instantly. “It’s alright, I’ll just head back anyways I think. Can’t seem to sit around” he gave a polite smile. “I’ll let you know if I see Crowley”, Nina called. “Thanks Nina” Aziraphale grumbled and made his way to the records shop.

“Crowley did come in today yes, asked for a CD, and left”, Maggie said. “Rather fast, no time to chat he said”. “He got a new CD?”, Aziraphale was surprised. This day kept talking weird turns. Too weird. Something was not right anywhere. “We’ll I don’t think he particularly browned for one, just picked up the first of the rack, really.” “I see”, Aziraphale muttered. There was no rhyme nor reason for this behaviour. “Mr. Fell don’t mind me but I ought to…”, Maggie reached out and brushed her finger over his nose. “There, there was a leaf stuck”, she said with a pursed smile. “Ah” Aziraphale gave it a few more stern brushes to ensure any remaining stickiness was gone.“There was a frosting incident.” Maggie’s giggles were dangerously close to spilling out so Aziraphale considered it as his cue.

Outside the door of his bookshop lay a tiny black cat, mewling it's guts out. Aziraphale crouched down to examine it, perhaps a miracle was needed. The second he touched it, the cat shot out his paws, smacked him on his nose and shot out. “For God’s sake would you leave my nose alone!!!” Aziraphale yelled in despair. His Crowley was nowhere to be found and his nose was close to being battered! This was the worst day, since since .... “Angel? Issss that you?”, a voice hissed out from inside. “Crowley? Crowley you’re back?” Aziraphale rushed in, arms open and engulfed the demon in a hug. “I thought you’d gone” he whimpered, “left me.” “I would never!? A ludicrous accusation that”, Crowley pulled back. His eyebrows arched,"I left a note, yes?”

“Yes but Bentley was gone by the time I woke up. What was I supposed to think you fiend?” Aziraphale smacked him on his arm.

“You saw a missing Bentley and went to Nina’s to look for me there?” Crowley asked sarcastically.

“Well I wasn’t particularly cool minded and I thought she might’ve noticed ….. hold up how do you know I went to Nina’s?” Aziraphale wondered.

Crowley’s smirk grew like a Cheshire cat’s, a little guilt flashing on his eyes.

“Anthony Crowley Fell, WHAT have you been doing?” Aziraphale spoke threateningly.

Crowley swindled and flopped on the armchair and put his legs up.

“So you see spring has started right, a new month has rolled around, I thought I might get a little gift angel,” he said sweet nonchalance laced in his words.

He miracles a paper from below and present it to Aziraphale.

“I say, I say, IT WAS YOU!!!” Aziraphale’s was shocked and surprised. The paper, photograph really, was a collage of a his recent nose accident’s. All snapped at the exact time his nose was squished, his entire face scrunched up.

“Explain yourself!” Crowley stood up in one swoop, pulled Aziraphale back into his arms and kissed him on the nose.

“Boop!”, he whispered quietly. Colour of vibrant red crept into Aziraphale’s cheek.

“ What?” “Boop!”, Crowley kissed.

“Again.” Crowley obliged the blue pleading eyes, slowly softly and Aziraphale gave his kiss back.

“Happy April Fool’s, angel. You made a very cute one.” Crowley’s golden eyes ablaze.

“Hang on a minute, were Maggie and Nina in this too? The cat!?” Aziraphale felt incredulous.

Crowley was laughing now.

“The gift was for me, Angel. Won’t this be perfect over the mantelpiece” he winked.

“I’m going to get you back for this.”

“Well, you have all the time in the world.”

[finallymothman]

Book WIP

Looking for feedback on the first chapter of my first book. It's the start of what will probably be a trilogy, it's fantasy, it's roughly 5000 words, it's queer, and it's an analogous critique of the church.

Enjoy chapter 1 of The Gods of Andium

Chapter One: The Summer Solstice

The sun rose over the horizon of Soroyo Valley. Settled comfortably in the bowl of the valley sat a village where life pulsated through every cobblestone. In the center of the town where all their roads converged, a magnificent bonfire ignited. Large, fresh-cut logs crackled in a bronze brazier. The flames danced with an intensity that matched the chaotic energy of its caretakers, a dozen-or-so teenagers of varied ages dressed in saffron robes. The air teemed with purpose and anticipation, but the youngest of the adolescents giggled their way through preparing for the festival. The handful of older teenangers guided the younger on their duties. Someone’s mother whipped around from a nearby cart and scolded her child for sprinkling the tinder from his basket into his friend’s hair. Before his mother could punish him, his friend shook her hair out wildly, the shavings of wood and paper sticking to his robes, much to the dismay of an older boy, who hung his head in defeat as the adolescents shrieked in chaotic delight. 

Shopkeepers arranged their wares, adding festoons of vibrant decorations to mesmerize and enchant passersby, the hum of conversation awakening the village with the dawn. Yellow and gold and red baubles and tinsel hung from lightposts. The disgruntled elder teen, fed up with the misbehavers, picked up the younger boy and slung him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, gleeful shrieking piercing the early morning. She carried him to a nearby fountain, threatening to dunk him in the water if he didn’t behave. He kicked and squirmed, but the bigger and stronger girl kept him from knocking himself into the fountain, which also meant she kept him from escaping. 

“Say you’re sorry!” she demanded, playful sternness met with uncontrolled giggles. “I mean it, you’re gonna get all wet!” 

Amidst this whirlwind of activity a group of seasoned men laboriously pushed a large wooden pallet on wheels, bearing an immense statue that towered above them, threshed onto the platform. The mostly-painted statue was of a magnificent woman with wide features, a flowing, layered gown and a red veil over long hair with thick strands of braids on either side of her head. Her skin was dark, and her eyes had been painstakingly leafed in gold. In one hand, she held a representation of the sun, a yellow sphere that rested in her upturned palm. Her other hand reached out to the side, fingers positioned in such a way that if a person laid their palm against hers, it would be like she was holding their hand. 

 A young woman sat cross legged between the feet of the statue. The woman, Emer, had suntanned skin, long, dark hair that she wore loose, and dark eyes. At some time, she had had bangs, but they had grown out past her cheeks and framed her heart-shaped face. The dress she wore was the color of wet terracotta. The fabric was light and moved easily in the early-summer breeze. Stacked on the pallet on either side of her were jars of paint and a basket of brushes.

She and her twin brother, Terano, were the youngest grandchildren of the village priest, Alder Trevino. He was their mother’s father. Hidone was an artist, like her youngest daughter. She blew colored glass and crafted stained-glass windows that hung in temples and fashioned jewelry that was worn all over Andium, thanks to the favor of the queen regent of neighboring Ereba. Their father, Breka, was an immigrant from the far north, born in a city called Khork. They had an elder sister, Bronwyn, who was almost a decade older than them. Breka and Hidone were both in their thirties when Emer and Terano came into the world. Despite being an immigrant, Breka made his place in the valley. He was a businessman and organized the transportation of his wife’s wares. 

Bronwyn was a recluse, averse to crowds and noise, but doted on her younger siblings.  She hadn’t even turned ten years old before she realized that she wasn’t going to live up to the lofty standards the community, as well as her parents, had imagined for her by being born into the family that she was. That wasn’t to say she was unremarkable, but she couldn’t help but feel relieved when the twins were born to distract everyone from their expectations of her.

Of the two, Terano was more secular by nature. He learned how to blacksmith when he was a teenager, having taken an interest in his mother’s glassblowing as a child. Some of his favorite memories were of his sisters and his mother and himself, sorting glass beads by color and stringing them into necklaces and bracelets. Usually, they would chat and joke, but sometimes they would all sit quietly. Creaking wire and clicking glass were the only sounds in the room. Hidone always gave the three of them a share of the money she made selling them when they helped. Every once in a while, Alder would watch, his old, thick fingers no longer dextrous enough to thread the beads efficiently, and tell stories of the days when the Gods would walk the Earth. Terano appreciated the stories, of course, but in his lifetime he’d never seen proof of the Gods that they worshiped. It was a private belief, one that he never dared to share with anyone besides his sisters. With such significant family members, all eyes were on them to be just as remarkable, and embarrassing his family with such controversy was unthinkable.

Emer, however, hung onto every word that came from her grandfather’s mouth. The patroness of their land, Amara, was the goddess of the sun and the giver of souls. She watched over artists and craftsmen. Blacksmiths named their most significant projects to honor her gift, granting their creations a kind of soul of their own, as did painters, jewelers, and builders. She was also the goddess of fire. As Emer looked up at the visage of the goddess, she thought back to the first time she’d dedicated herself to her. She couldn’t have been any older than seven, maybe eight years old. 

Upstairs in the bedroom she shared with her brother, little Emer had sat in her room, mesmerized by the tongues of fire that danced from her fingers, her skin completely unharmed. She’d passed her fingers through candle flame before, quickly enough to keep from burning herself. Even in the brief moments it had touched her skin before, she could tell that this felt similar. Warm, pulsating, alive. Rainbow flame bloomed large enough to light up the whole room when she cupped her hands. She'd been able to call upon this magical, unburning flame for days now. Her first thought had been to tell Terano immediately. The sight frightened him, but not out of fear of physical danger to her. 

“You’re not supposed to do that!” He scolded, looking around to make sure no one had seen. Extinguishing the flames like an exhale as Emer pouted. She had been hoping he would have been more excited for her, even though magic, of any kind, regardless of natural-born gift, was illegal to perform. Unless you had studied and graduated from the school in Ereba, and only if you were participating in a guided ritual, was punishable by law in all of Andium. From Novak in the Northwest, to the great desert in the south, the only place to educate people was Very-Much-Not-Hogwarts-Think-Of-Name-Later. The school was nestled at the foot of the tallest mountain in the Makabon range and difficult to get to. Magic was not easily accessible and it certainly wasn’t for children. 

She liked that she had her own little secret, and she knew the rules well enough that she wasn't supposed to be able to do something like this, so for some time, she kept it to herself. Eventually, the excitement was too much to bear alone. One day after playing with her fire in secret, she hopped up to find her grandfather. She knew he had a friend who was very important at the temple of Tesser in Ereba, but that was all she knew about Kalon Selenestone. Clearly, Amara had given her a special gift, and her grandfather was the perfect person to ask for help.

As the cart came to a stop, Emer hopped off, a jar of paint tucked under her arm. Her father straightened up from his place on the cart. He wiped his brow and swung an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. She protested, complaining of stinky armpits and pushed against him, only to eventually duck under his arm and nearly avoid the knuckles he’d intended to rub on her head.

She grabbed a brush from the basket and brandished it like a knife. Breka let out a loud belly laugh as she popped the stopper out of her paint, quickly dipping it into the jar and hopping back into her fighting stance, bristles dripping with orange.

“Don’t test me, Daddy, I’ll do it!” Emer laughed, dribbling paint onto the cobblestone under their feet. “I swear I will!” 

“Alright, alright,” Breka raised his hands in surrender, but another man egged her on, the third whooping.

“Get him, Emmie!”

They unloaded a ladder for her to be able to reach the top of the statue when the time came. Eventually, she did get settled into her work. When there wasn’t much left to do on the bottom, she set up the ladder and worked her way up the statue until she was eye to eye with the goddess. She wiped the paint off of her brush on her arm, leaving streaks of yellow on her skin and dipped the brush into black. Carefully, she painted a thin line over the goddess’s eyelid. By now, it was well past noon and the sun made the statue’s golden eyes shine like molten glass. Her gaze hovered affectionately over her painted face. She took great pride in her work, spending hours blending and layering shades to capture the warmth and life of flesh. Amara’s amber glass colored skin seemed to glow. The closer that she got to finishing, the more Emer was almost sure that she would be able to reach out and touch her face and be met with something soft and supple, instead of the cold stone that the sculpture had been relieved from. 

“Emmie!” A familiar voice boomed behind Emer. Perched on top of the ladder, she had finished Amara’s statue with a few hours of sunlight left. She looked over her shoulder, waving a paint-covered arm at her grandfather. 

“Grandpa!” She called excitedly. She climbed down the ladder carefully, paying more attention to not dropping the jars of paint she had gathered in her skirt than the blond stranger Alder had brought with him. She set the jars and brushes down at the feet of the statue and rushed to greet him. 

She threw her arms around the old man’s shoulders, almost toppling him over. When she was a child, Emer had thought her grandfather to be larger than life. He was still broad and tall, with hair and a beard like clouds and bushy, expressive eyebrows, but Emer couldn’t deny that age had etched its way into his features.

“Easy, child, you’ll break these old bones,” the mountain of a man chuckled, pulling her head in to press a scruffy kiss to her forehead. At his side was a young man she’d never seen before, blond, older than her. He was short and spritely with a mess of curly hair. His mop flopped over a woven blue scarf tied around his head. He was dressed like a traveler, boots dusted with dried mud, rucksack on one shoulder and a light, gray cloak over his shoulders. 

“This is Lochlan Selenestone,” Alder clapped Lochlan’s shoulder hard enough to make the young man wheeze. “His father was a colleague of mine.”

Lochlan gave a friendly wave and readjusted the strap on his shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

Emer smiled and put her hand out for him to shake. He took it and she started to introduce herself. Lochlan smiled knowingly, green eyes glittering with mischief. “Your grandpa told me a lot about you.”

Alder nudged the young man in the side then gestured at his granddaughter. “You know, she’s quite involved with this year’s feast day, in fact-” he pointed at the statue behind them. “That’s all her work.”

“Oh, wow! I saw that on our way here. It’s stunning,” he said, getting a better look at it now that they were closer. “Actually- do you mind?” He looked between them, gesturing toward the statue. 

“The paint’s still wet, but go for it!” Emer said brightly, holding her arms out towards it with a flourish, which got a snicker out of him.

“So… Where’s Terano?” She asked her grandfather, clasping her hands in front of herself. 

“Oh, he just went off to see your sister, why don’t you take Lochlan to find him, show him around the village? He’s visiting for the solstice.” 

Emer vibrated with excitement internally. Surely, the son of the high priest of Tesser was about to whisk her off to Ereba to properly learn magic. She was already imagining the kinds of things she was going to learn, the people she was going to meet, the places she’d see! She’d never even left Soroyo without her family, and certainly not for very long. 

“How long did this take you?!” Lochlan called, whipping around from gawking up at the statue. “This is… it’s stunning!” He repeated the compliment, gobsmacked by the fine craftsmanship and attention to detail. As intended, he slid his hand into her stone one, after checking to see if the paint had been dried yet. A cool, gentle grip fashioned from something that felt softer than stone, but just as sturdy, and the effect was nothing short of uncanny.

“Thank you so much!” Emer called back, quickly giving her grandfather a peck on the cheek before jogging off towards him.  “Um, I started around this time last year. My brother helped me with getting the scaling right. My dad brought back this huge piece of softstone from Tiarna the last time he was up there, but her hands are casted and her face is clay. I had to let everything dry for, like… a month?” She looked off to the side in thought. “Yea, probably like a month, before I could paint it. That took…” she trailed off, blinking hard as she counted the days up in her head. “I think today made it nine days?” 

Lochlan’s eyebrows almost disappeared behind his headband. “Wow… that’s impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever spent that much time on one thing,” he said, feeling a little sheepish. It wasn’t entirely true, though he was known for being flighty with his projects. He had, however, spent most of his life studying magic, though it rarely felt like work to him. 

The pair walked around the square. Emer pointed out shops of family friends, as well as her mother’s storefront. The door was cherry red. Through the windows, Lochlan could see that the shop was decorated for the holiday. Yellow and orange streamers were hung from the ceiling with large bundles of flowers in the top corners. A fluffy cat walked along the windowsill. It was fat and orange, with white socks on all four of its feet and a bell tied around its neck with pink ribbon.

“Awwww, who is that?” Lochlan cooed, bending over to get a better look at the creature. 

“That’s Window Cat,” Emer said, standing on her tiptoes to see if her mother was in her shop, when she couldn’t see her, she assumed she was probably in the back with her kiln. “Well, technically, his name is Mouser, but I don’t think he’s ever killed anything in his life.” They waved goodbye to Window Cat, who was far more interested in the sun beam he just flopped into. 

They walked to the end of the block, where the road turned into a path. Lochlan looked around, taking in his surroundings. Even for the summer, the whole land seemed to be green and lush. Flowers grew wild in more colors than he had ever seen. It looked like someone had gone through and splattered paint in the grass.  As they got closer to the valley cliff, the sun started to come down. Fireflies blinked in the purple dusk as other insects buzzed in the trees . He couldn’t see the frogs, but he could certainly hear them, croaking and chirping, only coming to a stop when they sensed that there were people nearby. 

Bronwyn lived in a small house. It didn’t need to be any bigger than it was for just her and the occasional guest. It was wooden with a low stone wall around her garden. A hen coop was tucked away in the back, but Lochlan could hear the quiet clucking from inside like teenagers whispering to each other at a sleepover when they were supposed to be asleep. Emer opened the squeaky gate and closed it with a clatter once Lochlan was inside. She bounded up the few steps to her door and grabbed the pewter, rose-shaped knocker, and whacked it against the heavy wood. Warm, yellow light   emanated from the windows on either side of the door. She heard someone approach and was greeted by her brother as he opened the door. 

“Hey,” he stood aside, letting both of them pass him.

“Hey,” Lochlan said with a small smile. 

“Terry, this is-” Emer began, but Terano cut her off, blushing at the childhood nickname. 

“We met already. Grandpa introduced us earlier.” 

“Oh, sweet. Where’s Bronwyn?” 

Terano responded with his thumb pointed over his shoulder. In the back of the house, Browyn was fixing dinner. She tended to a pot over the stove, humming softly to herself. She looked up from her project and smiled at her sister. “Hi sweetheart,” she tapped her wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. “Who’s your friend?” She asked, looking Lochlan up and down. 

“This is Lochlan, his dad is a friend of Grandpa’s,” Emer said, stepping to the side and gesturing like she was showing him off. Lochlan offered her his hand, deigning not to tell her that his father and her grandfather hadn’t actually been on speaking terms in about a decade. “Sorry if I’m intruding, Alder told Emer to show me around.” 

“You’re ok,” Bronwyn said flatly, though there was a kind smile on her face. “I usually cook enough to feed an army anyway. I haven’t gotten used to it being just me, yet.” 

“Whatcha making?” Emer asked, setting her chin on her sister’s shoulder. 

“Oh, using up the rest of Maggie,” she said, referring to an elderly chicken she’d recently slaughtered. “Baby, would you chop the rest of that head of garlic for me?” Bronwyn asked. Emer hummed in agreement and nodded. She grabbed a small knife off the counter and set to work peeling and chopping the fragrant bulbs.

“Do you have to call them by name when we’re gonna eat them?” Terano asked. Lochlan stifled a laugh when Bronwyn pointed her spoon at him in a mock threat, telling him to zip it if he wanted any of the soup. Terano pathetically raised his hands in defense. “I’m just saying, it’s sad to think-” 

“It is sad when you think,” Bronwyn shot back, a smirk curling her mouth. She looked like their father, that is to say, she looked nothing like the twins. She had a heart-shaped face and blue eyes, built sturdily with thick legs and a heavy chest. Where their hair was dark and straight, hers was a light ginger. It didn’t curl, but it was unmanageable when long, so she kept it short like a boy’s. 

“It’s not nice to forget they had names,” she said. “I want you to say thank you to Miss Maggie before we eat.”

“I’m not thanking-”

“-You will thank the chicken!” Bronwyn threatened to bonk him with the spoon if he didn’t behave. 

“Alright, alright.” Terano conceded. “Thank you Miss Maggie for letting us turn you into soup.”

“That’s what I thought.” Bronwyn nodded triumphantly as Emer slid the chopped garlic into the pot, which Bronwyn promptly covered after three stirs. She laid the spoon down on the stove, then she turned to Lochlan. “Sweetheart, are you staying with the old man, these two, or am I putting you up? Do you know?” 

“Um,” Lochlan started, and then he realized he had no idea what his sleeping arrangements were supposed to be. Alder had spent most of the time talking at him, and most of it pertained to things back home. “...Actually, no, I don’t. Sorry.” 

Bronwyn made a disgruntled, but unsurprised noise. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of space. I have a guest room, and our parents have an extra bed too. I get it if you don’t want to make the trek for the festival tomorrow.”

“Are you not coming?” Emer asked, brows suddenly upturned, lips parted slightly as she looked for all the world like a sad puppy. 

“I’ll make it there for you,” Bronwyn assured her sister, which made Emer look visibly relieved. “I just can’t stay very long.”

“That’s ok, I was just hoping you’d see the show.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Lochlan asked, wondering what she couldn’t have scheduled around such a big holiday. 

“I don’t like crowds,” she said. “Or lots of noise, it hurts my ears. I wouldn’t go at all if it weren’t for Emmie. Grandpa gives the same speech each year about how proud he is to be our priest and how we should remember how important everyone is to the community. It’s super sweet, but once you’ve heard it, word for word, for like… twenty years?” Her voice went up at the end, indicating she couldn’t quite remember how old she was when she stopped going. “It gets a little… you know.” The corner of her mouth tugged to the side. Lochlan wasn’t sure if he did, in fact, know, but he nodded along anyway. “Really, it’s just the noise that bothers me the most. I’ve even tried going with wax in my ears, but it’s like I can feel the noise in my bones. I wouldn’t mind everything else if it weren’t for that.”

When they sat down for dinner, it was at a small, round table in the corner of the kitchen, just big enough for the four of them. Lochlan was sure that if a fifth person were added, everyone would be bumping elbows with each other. The Maggie soup was delicious, herbal and garlicky, with lemon and black pepper and a medley of summertime vegetables. Young carrots, new potatoes, and fennel had been stewing in bone broth all day and were so tender that they fell apart in the soup. Bronwyn had cut each of them a thick slice of bread, leaving the end for Terano, which was his favorite part. He wasted no time in pulling it apart, adding the chunks of bread to his soup, which absorbed enough liquid that he could have eaten it with a fork if he wanted to. 

“You know,” Bronwyn said to Lochlan, “when he was a kid-”

Terano’s eyes went wide with silent betrayal.

“-he used to hollow out the end of his bread and make a little pocket for his soup.”

“Why.” Terano dropped his spoon into the bowl. “Why would you tell him that?”

“Because it’s a funny tidbit and it’s my job to embarrass you.”

Lochlan furrowed his brow. “No, no, I think he was onto something, that sounds good. Why did you stop?”

“Thank you!”

“I’ve got an older sister, too. I know embarrassing each other is a bloodsport,” he turned to Terano. “I think you should tell me something embarrassing about Bronwyn next.”

Jumping at the opportunity, Terano blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “One time, we were playing charades, and Brownwyn thought that ‘beach’ had two syllables.” 

“OH IT WAS ONE TIME!” Bronwyn flopped back dramatically, hanging her head over the back of her chair. “Can a woman not make a single mistake?” she cried, throwing the back of her hand against her forehead. Emer laughed aloud. 

“Ohhh, I’ve got a good one too. When Terano and I were little-”

“Noooooo…” Terano whined, slumping forward onto crossed arms. 

“When we were little, Terano used to be naked all the time.” As she talked, her sentences were punctuated with Terano’s muffled pleading with her not to continue.

“This one time, actually during the solstice when we were five or something, he stripped down to nothing and started running around yelling ‘NAKED BABY! NAKED BABY!’”

“I’m going to jump off the cliff.” Terano threatened. “I’m going to be a smear at the bottom of the valley and it’s going to be your fault.”

“Oh shut up, no you won’t.” Bronwyn waved him off. “Besides, Emer’s got some good ones too.” 

Emer gasped. Oh how the tables had turned! “Traitor!”

“No, equal opportunity bully,” she said, affectionately patting her sister’s hand.

“Alright, I’ve gotta hear this one,” Lochlan said, his brow quirking up on one side. 

“Emer did magic when she was little,” Bronwyn said, rapping her knuckles against the table between them for emphasis. “She was a tiny little criminal.”

“Little?” Lochlan asked, looking at Emer across from him. He’d been made aware of her extracurricular talents, but Alder had made it sound like this had been a relatively recent development. “How old?”

Emer looked around shyly before answering. Terano lifted his head, gauging what reaction was needed from him by the way she replied. 

“Um, I was five. Maybe six, when it started. I could make sparks with my fingers. By the time I was eight, it was these full, rainbow fireballs,” she admitted. “Um, obviously I quit once I was old enough to realize how dangerous it was,” she added quickly, hoping that Lochlan wouldn’t be able to tell that she was lying. He nodded quietly and tore off a piece of his bread and dunked it in his soup.

“I think it’s a stupid law,” he said plainly. “If you look at older manuscripts, it says that Tesser gave magic to humans so that everyone could participate in divinity. I think making it so clandestine, putting it behind a mountain range and building a wall around it is pretty antithetical to the whole… thing.” He gestured vaguely with his spoon. “Even if it is to maintain a…” he looked up while searching his brain for the exact verbiage his father used whenever Lochlan had asked about it. “Legacial chain of succession.”

“What does that mean?” Emer asked, never having heard the formal rationale for why magic had been generally outlawed. 

Lochlan chose his next words carefully. “They… want to make sure that everyone who knows magic does it the same way, for the same reasons, with their oversight.” He wasn’t sure that he believed that this was the entirety of their reasoning, but he didn’t feel like slandering the religious institute that his father had founded. He didn’t claim to know the will of the Gods, but he couldn’t help the heavy feeling in his gut that they were unintentionally going down a dangerous path. 

“So… if you aren’t taught by them, or practice it like them, you’re arrested for witchcraft?” Terano asked to clarify that it was that cut and dry. Lochlan nodded curtly in response. “Yea. Basically.” 

Terano’s eyes widened for a second as his mouth pulled tight like he had something controversial to say, but decided to keep it to himself. 

“Alright, that’s enough politics,” Bronwyn made ‘shooing’ motions with her hands. “Lets get back to annoying my brother and sister.” 

Later that night, Lochlan and the twins entered the Trevino family home. It was dark, except for a few candles in the windows. Shoes were kicked off unceremoniously. In the dim light, Lochlan could see lots of wooden furnishings and brass grape vines mounted above the trim on the doors. Emer held his hand through the dark and guided him up a steep staircase, Terano following up behind him. The floorboards creaked under his weight; the twins knew where to step to avoid the squeaks. 

When Bronwyn moved out, Emer had moved into her room, but she gave it up for the night until they knew for sure what to do with Lochlan while he stayed. Confident that he wouldn’t object, Emer lit a candle with nothing but her fingertip and showed Lochlan to her room and said her goodnights, waving away any thanks he sent her way. While she was in there, she grabbed extra bedding from the closet and carried it to her brother’s room, releasing it in a fluffy dump on top of his mattress. 

Lochlan first noticed that the room was covered wall-to-wall in art he assumed Emer had done herself. Everything in the room had a smokey perfumed smell like she frequently burned incense, which he was sure she did. The candle, he noticed, occasionally flickered green instead of its natural orange. When she lit the candle in front of him, he couldn’t deny he felt a little fond of her. He appreciated a rebel, and he was convinced that no one’s hands would keep the responsibility of magic safer than hers. 

As he settled down into bed, he thought of his parents and all the things they’d both said to each other before he left home. With any luck, he thought, it wouldn’t be the last conversation they would have. He wondered how much his new friends knew about the world outside their valley. He thought of Terano, smart and witty and refreshingly secular after coming from the world he did. He blew out the candle Emer had left at his bedside, rolled over, and tried to get some rest.

[charlenasaxen]

The Radix Quotes

“The Holy Guard had tracked him to Notre-Dame. Amid flickering torches, the eighty mounted warriors”

“They would not rest until della Rovere revealed his secret. Could he endure their torture? The priest feared he was unsuited for martyrdom.”

“golden cuirass and headdress shimmering in torchlight. The tail, woven in a net studded with pearls and rubies, slapped against its hide. Hooves shod in gold stamped”

“The bloodthirsty Duke of Valentinois was not among his cavalry”

“Cesare Borgia emerged from the bell tower. The tall duke was draped in a velvet cloak with gold brocade”

“Cesare Borgia had once been considered the most handsome man of his age”

“The Radix is the unfathomable mystery of God. The Secret of Secrets.”

“Della Rovere would never surrender the Radix to a man who poisoned enemies and corrupted the Church”

“I believe you, Father. You are a thief, not a liar. But know that I shall find it.”

“lightning glinted over the Abbaye de Saint-Germain”

“I’m speaking about how you killed her.”

“I did not mean for that to happen.”

“His childhood friend, Machiavelli”

“Raphael, you do not understand.”

“I understand Borgia. You are seduced by him.”

“But I fear God’s wrath more than the Devil’s strength.”

“I’ll behead Niccolò as easily as that bull.”

Machiavelli’s eyes sparkled with fear.

“He faced the heavens, then closed his eyes. Thunder roared like cannon fire.”

Machiavelli pleaded, with the blade creasing his throat. “Listen to reason.”

“Farewell, my friend.” He blessed the two men, then made the sign of the cross over himself.

“Notre-Dame’s rose window blurred past as he plummeted, the wind howling in his ears”

“He made a slashing gesture across Machiavelli’s throat, leaving a line of della Rovere’s wet blood”

“Think you have me figured, huh?” He smiled. “Heading to the library. Brynstone out.”

“Cast in reddish gold glass, Arabic chandeliers decorated the gold-leaf ceiling”

“Turns out it’s true, Brynstone thought. People do buy pets that match their own personalities.”

“Brynstone caught his chiseled reflection in the display glass. He squinted, intensity sizzling in his ice blue eyes.”

“Brynstone opened the standing Egyptian sarcophagus, hoping it was empty”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks for your help. Brynstone out.”

“upright mummies guarded the room like battle-hardened sentries”

“everything from sugar, lime, and salt to frankincense, mercury, and alcohol”

“He caught his breath after reading the inscription above the glass door.

ALEXANDER THE GREAT”

“Brynstone had never seen a “honey mummy.” God knows, he’d always loved the name.”

“His face was another matter. The nose was missing, thanks to a famous royal blunder.”

“Caesar Augustus had inspected the mummy, brushing his hand across the face. Bad idea. Caesar had snapped off Alexander’s nose.”

“he had a nose, more than his Macedonian neighbor could say”

“della Rovere had stashed a priceless relic inside Friar Zanchetti’s corpse”

“He rolled back on his feet, breathing and swallowing, ears ringing.

The endoscope was coated in blood.”

“Although Armstrong and Starr had once been political rivals, they had settled their differences before coming to the White House”

“Armstrong had been with the Starr family on the day Andrea was diagnosed”

He placed the silver angel in her open palm. Her eyes fluttered open.

The child’s face glowed. “Thank you, Mr. President,” she giggled.

sliding her hand around his arm. “You’re able to enchant little girls and little old ladies and everyone in between.”

“I took a correspondence course.” He flashed a smile. “Presidential Schmoozing 101.”

“brimming with greenery, limes, and pineapples”

“The president’s little brother was worth twenty billion dollars now”

“As far as he knew, they shared a positive work relationship. This conversation looked different.”

“I’ll take it in the Oval.”

“Trade magazines had christened him the Market Alchemist based on his skill for transforming”

“twisting away from the weapon. The curved blade brushed past his shoulder”

“Zanchetti’s corpse burst like a piñata under their weight”

“Now the big question, he thought. Is the Radix inside?”

“State Department justified it based on death threats and his status as a prince.

Brynstone knew otherwise.”

“Guns aren’t allowed in here. House rules.”

“I don’t sweat the rules.”

“You’re my kind of guy, Anderson.”

“Please say Alexander the Great is intact.”

“Alex is fine,” Brynstone assured. “Although he could stand a nose job.”

“Not even Brownies?”

“I look awful in brown. It was a fashion choice.”

“He was my grandfather. When I saw Amherst on Berta’s list, I decided to come here.”

“He took the assignment because he could provide a humane death”

“Distant church bells serenaded the new hour as he waited”

“Courage is in his heart, loyalty is in his brain, but another organ commands him”

“I suppose there is no harm in telling a dead man. I have been contracted to kill John Brynstone.”

“As I said, I cannot torture you in a more deserving manner. For that, I apologize.”

“I keep it for the occasions when he visits Aspen. After tonight, it goes in the garbage.”

“In a hail of gunfire, Brynstone dove into the chamber”

“Sorry, buddy, Brynstone thought. You’re not hitching a ride.”

“He squeezed off two shots before dropping into a cushion of forest”

“one thought haunted him. What if the Radix isn’t in the cista mystica?”

“Aspen Mountain loomed ahead with its formidable 3,267-foot vertical”

“Like a frozen Mardi Gras, Wintersköl boasted a fireworks extravaganza and a torchlight descent”

“staring in disbelief as the helicopter blasted into the mountainside beneath them”

“blinding powder sprayed the helicopter”

“the wave threatened to crush the torchlight skiers. He hoped they had abandoned their formations and raced to safety.”

“He braced as the helicopter rolled down the steep mountain face. The bird busted apart as it flipped.”

“hurling him upside down as if he were strapped inside some psychotic carnival ride”

“jumped for the gondola, diving into a wall of white”

The blond man pulled him inside the gondola.

“That’s a beaut,” the man cried in an Australian accent. “Good on ya, mate!”

“We invented an extreme sport,” he laughed. “Hope we survive to claim credit for it.”

“With the avalanche rumbling around them, the roof dug into the snow, nearly flipping them”

“snow blasted his face. He hoped the cista mystica in his belt would survive the ride.”

“A bitter stillness settled over the mountain. Buried in snow, Brynstone groaned”

He squinted. “Is that blood on the snow?”

Hollingworth gaped at the bills. “For that kind of money, mate, I can forget anything.”

“The Void refers to the moment you realize you’re losing your mind. Leo also calls it the Revelation of Madness.”

“the words and symbols painted on the north wall formed a composite image of Jesus with disciples surrounding him”

“Jung is at the heart of understanding our puzzle. We must learn his secrets.”

“Synchronicity brought you here, you know? Our families share a bond.”

“We met years ago, when you were little.”

“He did it again, knocking over wall after wall like massive book dominos”

“Remember this: the Tree of Life blossoms in the Land of the Dead.”

“She tugged on her Pooh hat. Nothing made him smile like a baby in a hat.”

“You could stick it on his headstone: JOHN BRYNSTONE LOVED BABIES IN HATS.”

“He swallowed hard. She had grown so much. His daughter. His only child.”

Then she said something like “Daa-da.”

Tears stood in his eyes, blurring the image of his child.

“He hated it when giving his best at work conflicted with giving his best at home”

“He couldn’t tell Kaylyn that his life might be in danger. He didn’t want to scare her.”

“Honey, I gotta go. Love you.” He ended the call.

And maybe his marriage.

“The road was open now, with no one ahead. That’s when he heard gunfire.”

“another one advising, 45 MPH CURVE AHEAD. Good advice.”

“With two SUVs trapping him against the tunnel’s right wall, he didn’t worry about steering”

“Both men shouted. Brynstone seemed to be pissing off everybody tonight.”

“My baby daughter said her first word tonight,” Brynstone said. “You had to go and ruin that moment. Makes me downright unhappy.”

“Next time, stay in Aspen,” he called, “with the damned scorpions.”

“A sleek black cat napped on the center of the mahogany table. Brynstone smiled.”

“Making a low chirp, she stared up at him”

“he changed into Levi’s and headed for a leather club chair with Banshee curled against his bare chest”

“he could see the jambiya dagger plunged deep into his father’s chest”

“the man’s voice sounded choked and desperate.

Get out of here before he comes back. Hurry, Johnny.”

“Brynstone remembered struggling to brake as he looked down the dark stairs, thinking he was about to die”

Jordan emerged from the galley. “Ready for a dirty martini?”

“You must be a mind reader.”

glancing at the muscled contours of his stomach. “Why the sutures?”

“Didn’t you sew up Banshee when she lost her eye?”

“It was the least I could do after she saved my life.”

“Recognizing her name, the cat sauntered over and rubbed against his leg”

“My daughter refused to kiss me unless I shaved.”

She traced her hand along his defined jaw. “Smart kid.”

“The thieves had ignored the other work. They just wanted her sculptures.

In a weird way, it was a compliment.”

“created an outdoor piece for the Olympic Sculpture Park on Seattle’s waterfront”

“He bought her a drink. She told him she missed Eclipse. He promised visitation rights. The rest was history.”

“For all she knew, he could be having an affair.

She prayed that wasn’t the case.”

“In reality, Dr. Ryder’s “miracle discovery” was actually a cocaine extract”

“Brynstone cupped Banshee’s face. She issued a deep purr.”

“The kitten’s cry had distracted the gunman and saved Brynstone’s life”

“His one-eyed companion joined him. Kaylyn called them soul mates, sharing a fearless streak and a craving for adventure”

“He stopped the intruder, but the guy stabbed Delgado. My dad died that night. Delgado came close.”

“the only time her husband lowered his guard was when he was with his family”

Dillon Armstrong gave a sneaky smile. “Mind if I come in?”

“He is a sinner begging for redemption,” the Knight said. “I have been sent to save him.”

“And as always, Ariel Cassidy would whisper the same words before climbing into her casket: the Tree of Life blossoms in the Land of the Dead.”

“Raised in secrecy, the child was nurtured on stories about the relic that had once belonged to his grandfather, Pope Alexander VI”

“The pages were filled with a bizarre enciphered script and cryptic watercolors of unfamiliar plants”

“Who does he think wrote it?”

“Raphael della Rovere.”

“the knights had appointed d’Aubusson as the Keeper of the Radix”

“The delighted Pope commissioned scholars to study the relic, but none could decipher its secret.”

“the root itself”

“I had no idea what the Radix could do until I saw Zanchetti’s mummy.”

“A Voynich B cipher,” he added. “Hopefully, my friend will know what it means.”

“That’s what the records show. My predecessor, Paul Fischer, kept notes all the way back to Eisenhower.”

“He glanced over as the vice president slid into the chair beside him”

Starr gave a roguish grin. “I just said the same thing to your brother.”

“What’s the best part?” Starr asked, standing.

“All of it.”

“White House was one of the loneliest places on the planet”

“you should notify Aspen police. Not the president of the United States.”

“He disabled my camera equipment. He immobilized my security team. He crashed one of my helicopters.”

“Two had to be fished out of the Colorado River. This man is not a common intruder.”

stared at the December night. “I want to get to the bottom of this fast.”

“The Ten Commandments are engraved on the handle. All seventeen of them.”

“Cori couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t believe this was happening.”

“Blood dripped off her toes. She shined the flashlight on Perez’s face. His head was almost severed.”

A gun barrel nuzzled the back of her head.

“Step away from the door,” a cool voice ordered.

“Told me to contact the guy on the card.”

“John Brynstone?”

“Then you better start talking.” The dark-haired man brought out his ID card. “Because I’m John Brynstone.”

“As he petted the cat, her tail twisted into a question-mark shape”

Cori turned to her. “Who are you?”

“Don’t ask,” Jordan advised.

“She saved my life, so I adopted her. Truth is, she adopted me.”

“He’s a cryptanalyst. He tried to break code on something called the Voynich manuscript. It pushed him over the edge.”

“He’d chiseled the base of each to widen the opening. Edgar painted da Vinci’s messages inside each skull.”

“Alchemists called it the Radix ipsius, meaning ‘root of itself.’”

“Of course, there’s a familiar symbol for the Radix. One that’s in every pharmacy in the country.”

“The Rx symbol?”

“Cori,” he said, staring into her blue eyes, “it’s not a myth.”

“No one has laid eyes on the Radix until last night. That’s when I found it.”

“A fire burned part of Dickinson Hall. All that’s left is the one notebook in my house. I’ll show you.”

He had warned against calling the authorities.

“We have to go,” Brynstone said, turning at the sound of a distant siren. “Now.”

“Little wonder it was the most secretive intelligence agency on the planet”

“Brynstone’s a risk-taker. The man never gives up. We couldn’t have designed a more perfect special operator for this mission.”

“Mr. President, the relic is called the Radix.”

Armstrong and Starr exchanged looks.

“Two high-level intelligence agents are missing, and the NSA has no idea what happened?”

“John Brynstone is like a son to me. I’m confident he’ll turn up soon.”

Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

“A book code,” he said. “That’s what it is.”

“See the number sequence? Wurm wrote his message in the ‘traitor’s code.’ Benedict Arnold used it back in 1779”

“The general deceived and betrayed you your father never searched for the Radix”

“Wurm’s message took on a new meaning. He had used the traitor’s code”

“And miss the fireworks?” Starr grinned. “The Service would have to kick me out.”

“When I get back to the penthouse, we’ll arrange to secure the Radix. Then we’ll celebrate.”

“Beveled opaque windows shattered behind her. Glass shards burst into the lobby. Heat seared her back and hands.”

“Dillon was out there. Someone had tried to kill him.”

“Deena climbed to her feet and staggered toward the door, screaming as she rushed to the sidewalk.”

“the woman pulled her to her feet. Deena stumbled, leaning on the firefighter for support.”

“He looked broken, pinned beneath the car. All she wanted was to hold him and hear his voice again.”

“What’s Dillon’s condition?”

“He’s in an ambulance.”

“I’m sure he’ll visit after you go back to sleep,” he said, working the time-honored tradition of holiday manipulation.

“We issued him special security clearance. Right, Kevin?”

At the door, Agent Quick nodded. “Yes, sir. Mr. Claus has been cleared.”

“He wondered about that secretive purchase Dillon and Deena had discussed. Did it have anything to do with what had happened to his brother tonight?”

“Poor kid.

Banshee cuddled against her, working some feline therapy.”

“Who called?”

“President of the United States,” he answered, starting the engine.

“Okay, fine,” Cori sighed. “Don’t tell me.”

“Preparation. Stealth. Intuition. Infiltrating a high-tech facility was artistry.”

Delgado’s eyes brightened with intensity. “You’re the son I never had, John.”

“You represented his greatest hope and his greatest fear. Too bad Jayson didn’t live to see you climb out of that wheelchair.”

“Tell me, John, did you witness its power? Did it make you a believer?”

“Or breaking into the home of the NSA director?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Together we can capitalize on the power of the Radix. Join me, son.”

Brynstone stood over him. “Trust me. You would have preferred the syringe.”

“When fighting Borgias, it was always a good idea to make it short”

“she reached up, then ran her fingers across the desk, finding a sculptor’s knife”

“their words cut off by the discordant crash of piano keys”

“It wasn’t Dad’s mission.”

“You would have stopped had you known that. But we can’t stop. We have to find the Scintilla.”

“It’s not easy to convey Professor Cassidy’s ideas under a paint-can label.”

Brynstone looked at Cori inside the vehicle. “We’ve come too far to give up now.”

“That’s Banshee Brynstone.”

“Not a good day for fingernails,” she sighed

“She headed for a grove of evergreens, taking out her gun. He brought out his Glock, covering her.”

“the gray shingled cottage decked with window boxes. A cutting garden bordered it with tall grass waving in the wind.”

“Jim convinced me that dark things from my past could return to haunt me. He was protecting me, but that meant he had to lie to you.”

“If anything happened to me, I wanted you to know the truth.”

“Rest assured, I will kill Dr. Brynstone,” the man said, “but first I may need to kill his wife and child.”

“Metzger looked around, unbelieving, at the hotel room.

Kaylyn Brynstone was gone. And she’d taken her baby.”

“They broke the clay sculpture my son made for me last night. Some people can’t help but ruin the holiday spirit.”

“He looked like a tourist, with Mickey Mouse shorts and a sweatshirt that read California Cool.”

“Kaylyn tried to pull away her daughter, but he pressed the blade to Shay’s soft neck.”

“It claims the Radix can be dangerous, especially when combined with certain ingredients.”

“You’re talking about the Scintilla.”

“You can use the Radix to create two chrisms. The White Chrism can heal, the black can kill.”

“The Black Death,” Jordan whispered. “Are you serious?”

“That’s what the legend says. Together, the Radix and Scintilla can deliver the greatest good or the greatest evil.”

“I’ve seen its power. Over time, it can regenerate necrotic tissue in a mummy.”

A tear streamed down her cheek and dripped onto the blade. “Hurry, John. He has Shay too.”

called the one person who could help. Alex Armstrong picked up after the first ring.

“Mr. President, I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It’s beautiful. Still alive after so many centuries.”

“I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment.”

“Remember, he was the model for Machiavelli’s The Prince.”

“She visualized herself placing the Radix in her mother’s hand. She flirted with that image, watching Ariel Cassidy’s face brighten.”

Jordan shook her head. “I’m going with you, John. I want to help you find Kaylyn and your daughter.”

wrapping her arms around his neck. “Good luck finding your wife and daughter.”

He kissed her cheek. “Good luck finding the Scintilla.”

“Jordan embraced Cori, who stooped and petted the cat”

Brynstone softened his voice. “Good luck, Edgar. God knows you’ll need it.”

“What would you do for redemption? For immortality?”

“Andy must be lucid during my work. I want him to experience everything I do to him.”

“Banshee played in the aisle, kneading her paws”

“Brynstone had advised her to wait. She thought about his cat and realized she missed Banshee.”

“alchemists had coined the word arcanum to describe secrets revealed to loyal followers”

“Carl Jung cloaked his concepts with psychiatric code words like collective unconsciousness and archetype”

“Jung did refer to the unconscious mind as the Land of the Dead”

“Jung’s dream castle was a stone personification of his unconscious mind.”

“With Dillon in a coma, she was more anxious than ever”

“It is my destiny to become Keeper of the Radix. Find it.”

“Good,” the Knight answered. “I am ready for him.”

“it represented the Tree of Life. Crusaders destroyed this Judean date species during the Middle Ages.”

“took one seed—she nicknamed it Methuselah, after the 969-year-old grandfather of Noah—and fertilized it.”

“I’d say your brother has a fifty-fifty chance of pulling through.”

Deena closed her eyes, absorbing the information.

“Secret Service can try to stop me from going to that hospital, but it won’t do them any good.”

“Guten Morgen, Herr Doktor. You have a beautiful family.”

In a crackling voice, Kaylyn said, “John, please hurry—”

“I don’t need NSA’s Men in Black. I can handle Metzger.”

“absorbing the fabric of the conversation”

“What would have happened if they had eaten from the Tree of Life?”

“Immortality,” he answered. “Adam and Eve would have lived forever.”

“Eavesdropping on the director of the National Security Agency. It’s like interrupting a telemarketer’s dinner with a sales call.”

“When I asked about Metzger’s physical ID, he just laughed.”

“Then, he thought about his wife and baby girl in the hands of that monster.”

“Although far from complete, his painting of a man crucified on an X-shaped cross was already remarkable”

“Andrew could train his gaze not on his executioners nor on the earth, but on the heavens above, where his beloved kingdom awaited.”

“He pushed the plunger, squirting blood into the red ochre”

“Listen, Deena, if the Radix can do what you claimed earlier, we could help Dillon.”

“Because,” she said, “the Radix belonged to Jesus Christ.”

“The staff took root, flowering for centuries at Christmastime. Today a thorn bush stands on Wearyall Hill.”

“Joseph of Arimathea was the first Grail Keeper?”

“More importantly, he was the first Keeper of the Radix.”

“it remained buried but never forgotten, as generations of mystery cults kept alive the Radix romance”

“Sensing its importance, Locke traveled to the Holy Land to have it blessed”

“After that, the Knights of Saint John became the Keepers of the Radix.”

“the Templars had been charged with defending the Holy Land”

“The Vatican had no idea the Knights Hospitaller possessed the greatest relic in Christendom”

“I believe in the Radix. So does your brother. Do you?”

“Maybe,” he said. “If it can save Dillon.”

black shirt emblazoned with the message “Guns don’t kill people. I kill people.”

“Bob the Driver”

“Negative,” he answered. “My family’s inside. There’s no room for error.”

“Hand over my wife and kid and I’ll tell you over a cold beer.”

“Präzisionsscharfschützengewehr”

“Ja,” Metzger winked. “I like games. Know why? Because I always win.”

“The history of Christianity was littered with mythical healing agents, ranging from the Holy Grail to the shadow of Saint Peter”

“It is I whom he must take seriously, not my father.”

“He headed to his wife, fighting the urge to sprint toward her”

Cloud patted his back. “Don’t see Bob or your baby. At least we found your wife.”

Without blinking, he whispered, “She’s not my wife.”

“She wore Bob the Driver’s pinkie ring on her finger”

“He let her keep the ring. He had a feeling Bob wouldn’t miss it.”

He frowned. “How did you get out of the car?”

Following instinct, he darted outside the lobby entrance with the cat chasing.

He looked at her. “It says, ‘Go home.’”

“The realism astounds me. I feel as if the man is screaming through the paint.”

“I’m afraid my studio is in a frightful disarray.”

“His homecoming felt bittersweet when he spotted his daughter’s unopened Christmas presents”

“Know the guy?”

He nodded, staring at the body. “A neighbor.”

“Enough games,” Brynstone announced. “We’re settling this in Las Vegas.”

“their chili red MINI Cooper”

“southward into the dark woods. Thorn bushes cut at their legs.

Jung’s dream castle loomed ahead. Bollingen Tower was haunting. And haunted.”

“Before long, laughter, singing, and music flooded the woods. Jung sensed dark figures parading around the tower.”

“the vinecrossed wall”

“The creepy part about the image? Philemon looked like Edgar Wurm.”

“Symbols and images crammed the curved walls, some painted in vibrant colors, others carved into stone.”

“menagerie of creatures prowled the tower walls. Dragons acted as silent sentries”

“With the Tree of Life,” he answered, pointing. Protruding from the wall, a sculpture of a white oak climbed the tower.”

“Ever hear of a scytale?” he asked, pronouncing it like Italy.

A figure darted past the courtyard door.

“Did you see that?” Wurm asked. “We have company.”

“Sooner or later, Wurm knew, he would need to take the root from Cori.

Even if it meant killing her.”

“She’s not making the trip to Vegas.”

“Aww. You should have let her come to Europe with us.”

“trying to make sense of this place. Then something cold slithered past her shoulder.”

he turned her head.

“That’s no snake. Take a look.”

A white arm floated on the water.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the woman in his arms. “Poor Lucrezia.”

“Notre-Dame of Paris resides on the same site where centuries before a Roman temple had been built.”

“Feel like I missed it.”

“We’re heading to Paris on a luxury jet.”

“The Borgias are a ranting bunch of psychopaths, and I fell into a race to find the Radix before them.”

“The desperate priest concealed the Radix inside the Zanchetti mummy, then fled the village”

“the Celtic tribe who worshipped Esus and gave their name to the city of Paris”

“Take a look at the branch he’s chopping. Scientists can’t identify it because they’ve never seen a plant like it.”

“We’ve seen it,” Cori whispered. “It’s the Radix.”

“he’d grabbed a change of clothes and his favorite photograph of his daughter”

“Brynstone felt as though he could trust no one except Jordan and Wurm and Cori”

“the Hospitallers enjoyed a more heroic reputation. Legends told of their bravery during the Crusades.”

“But if the Pope secretly used the Radix to heal, then he would get credit for the miracles.”

“It would be the supreme triumph of religion over science.”

“Like I said, you have no idea how many powerful people want the Radix.”

[wicca-foxes]

Friendly reminder that you can be a cheap witch <3

Witchcraft and/or wicca are not material dependent, see them as a tool or vehicle to reach spirituality. There's no need to be ashamed for practicing without the main tools of witchcraft, there's no such thing as price gatekeeping in practices. You are a valid practitioner even if you have no tools. You could be "incognito", unwilling to spend money or just financially prudent, and that is 100% ok! Everyone has their reasons, the deities appreciate you because you chose this path, not because you got a fancy new crystal.

For example, let's see some simple and reasonable rituals you can do with little to no gear:

~ welcoming the God ~ - wake up before sunrise, cleanse your face and hands (washing normally) and visualise yourself washing away negative feelings and energies; - brew a cup of tea or coffee, think of a brief summary of what you'd like to happen today; - drink the tea and watch the sun rise, think or say "good morning" to the sun, thus welcoming the God today.

~ welcoming the Goddess ~ - cleanse your face and hands (washing normally) and visualise yourself washing away negative feelings and energies; - brew a cup of tea or prepare a beverage, think of a brief summary of what happened today, take note of good things that happened to you; -drink the tea/beverage and watch the moon rise, think or say "hello Goddess/ good evening", appreciate that the moon rose again.

~ attuning with the deities ~ - prepare 2 candles, if possible different colors, light them up; - get a flower from outside, or leaf, or a rock that got your attention as an offering; - draw with your finger a pentagram in front of the candles; - place your offering in the pentagram drawn before; - close your eyes and talk to the deities, introduce yourself, say why you chose the offering, ask for guidance or help; - talk as much as you feel comfortable doing, meditate if you'd like to stay longer with the deities; - before leaving, thank them for their time and say goodbye.

~ putting intent into cooking ~ - as you prepare the ingredients for any dish, you can think of the intention of your cooking, visualise the good taste and gratitude that the meal will bring you and to the ones that share a meal; - as you cook the dish, thank the deities for what you have; - imagine your good thoughts and energy seeping into the cooking processes. ~ connecting with the environment ~ - while taking a walk, appreciate the sun and the God for the warmth, appreciate the moon and the Goddess for the soil; - brush your hand on some grass or leaves, feel the texture and focus on the colors; - take a deep breath and visualise yourself growing roots into the ground; - brush away your negative thoughts for the moment, be engulfed into the sounds of nature (or focus on the birds singing if in a city/ crowded park); - if it feels right to you, you can sing, use musical instruments, recite poetry or dance, if you're in a public space you can gradually relax your muscles and release tension. In my examples, which I practice almost daily, I just use my mind as my main tool. I feel connected to my believes, I use a limited amount of tools and I'm happy with it! Don't shy away just because you don't have resources, it's intimidating enough to be a baby witch. Focus on being comfortable and being respectful. Hope this post will help you in some way! <3

[littlefreya]

The Devil’s Tongue

Summary: A mask of virtue hides a man riddled with lust and while his stoicism proceeds him, even he can’t withstand a begging girl. 

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Warning: 18+. Manhandling, abuse of power, MaleDom/FemSub, some thigh riding, unprotected sex, deflowering, loss of virginity, mild mentions of blood, sex in front of mirror (auto-voyeurism), profanities, bodily fluids, possessive behaviour. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: Many thanks to my muse @agniavateira for supporting me through this story and for betaing. This was inspired by a certain scene in the film. My pervy mind took it elsewhere. Sincerely, I am not sure how I feel about it, so I’ll let you be the judge while I’m having my panic attack. 

Please reblog and give feedback if you enjoyed. 🖤

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Title: The Devil’s Tongue

The treacherous moon was already high in the midnight sky and winds of melancholia whispered through the ivy leaves that grew timidly around the window’s panes. Despite the solace of night, her blood seeped with venom, and vicious thorns grew beneath her skin.

Striding through the desolate corridors of Holmes’ estate, Vanessa fumed while listening to the sounds of the old house: the creaking of the floorboards, the glass panes rattling in the wind, and the scratching of mice that ran between the walls. A kerosene lamp hung heavy between her sweaty fingers; her knees cracked as she marched forward to face her master.

Same as every night, Sherlock hid in his library to chase adventures behind thin sheets of paper. He was not to be disturbed, though he left her no choice.

Sent her away he did, claiming that her service was no longer needed even though she was promised a home at the estate, despite Enola’s departure. The worst of it was that he didn’t even bother telling her himself, but simply sent another servant to announce that she must pack her belongings tonight.

‘Like hell, I would!’

Vanessa willed her heart to beat slowly as she tiptoed, cursing every wooden plank that grated beneath her feet. It’s been over a year since she started working for the Holmes family, and despite battling her concupiscence tooth and nail, Mr. Holmes has possessed her very existence. Sleepless nights left her yearning to drink the mead of his mouth and feel the slapping of his skin onto hers.

Wistfully, the brooding detective only stared at her with a lustre of ice. But the notion of never seeing him again felt like holding a blade pointed to her chest; the wish to confess nibbled in her gut like a pesky little fish.

‘At least I will have the chance to say farewell…’ she mused as she finally reached the open doorway of the library. It was a cosy cavern, stuffed with endless shelves of books and vases of pink roses to mellow its austerity.

Wood burnt to a crisp within the hearth, its aromatic scent bleeding into the air and a light layer of ashen mist wafted over the chamber. There sat her master, resting comfortably on his maroon leather armchair with a book in one hand and a pipe pressed between his succulent lips like a king on a throne of solitude.

Silently she stared, brow furrowing at his sight. It baffled her how a man can be so oblivious to the dangerous power he had over women. Sherlock was as divine as the coldest day of winter: eyes of crystal snow, curls darker than the night, and sharp facial features that gave a tinge of intimidating flavour. The ancient god Hades would have been jealous of his divinity. Even in these serene moments, Sherlock’s presence exhumed dominant masculinity, consuming oxygen like the fire that burnt in the mantle.

Clad in a white cotton shirt loose over his broad chest, he calmly turned a page on his book and sighed.

It was impossible not to sense her nearby. The young woman was a breeze of autumn wind: spiced yet soothing, bringing the omen of a season’s change. She tried very hard to hide her feral nature, abiding, serving, and acting polite. While she fooled everyone, including herself, he detected the brazen kiss that raged within her.

Nights were riddled by dreams of dismantling her shackles, only to bind her further to himself. And yet, every time he looked at her a loathing rage gnawed inside. To him, she was a dire trap meant to expose the thing that hid behind his mask of virtue—a reckless savage, sick with twisted desire.

It took true power to send her away. Yet, here she was, barging into his shelter to pour another drop of simmering turmoil into his already seething blood.

“Can’t sleep, Nessie?”

Vanessa jolted with a startle. His deep voice threaded tendrils of dark silk around her heart, attempting to draw it further out of her fragile ribcage. Maintaining attention on the book in his hand, Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a cold grin of respect, sensing her glare stabbing at his nape.

“You might be a mouse, but you have the stomp of an elephant.”

Forcing the book shut with a soft thud, Sherlock turned his head aside, daring to catch a glimpse of her. His pretentious smile died, and a surge of passion seized at his groin. Like the virgin Persephone, she stood before him wrapped in a sheer nightgown, the creamy fabric barely hiding her delicacies. A mystic glow of sweet honey and amber gold rimmed her flesh, kissing down her clavicles and leading his enslaved gaze to the soft heaps at her chest.

By courtesy, he should have looked away, but the wish to incinerate the silken threads that retained whatever left of her modesty whispered in his ear like a little devil that sat on his shoulder. It was cruel of her to provoke him like this.

Quirking an eyebrow with disdain, he finally battled the sight away.

“Something ails you, girl.” Sherlock’s rich baritone dropped. Touching the pipe to his maw, he took a long whiff and suckled his lip. “You seem unnecessarily emotional,” he noted dryly, pretending as if her appearance was a mystery.

Noticing the uncaring shift in his tone, she scowled and stepped carefully into the room. Placing the lamp on a nearby stand, she purposely stepped into his line of sight and looked at the frowning detective with the feral wilderness growing inside her chest.

“You’re sending me away tomorrow,” an unmistakable hint of rage seeped between the cracks in her voice. Grasping her knuckles, she began striding back and forth across the Parisian rug as if lost in her own musings, “why? What have I done to you?”

A small huff escaped his nose, and he rubbed a finger beneath his bottom lip. His patience spread thin as the young lady scurried about with hysteria. The mere idea of bending her over and teaching her some discipline caused the fabric of his trousers to stretch over his engorging desire.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, it was simply my decision.” He answered, striving to sound neutral and remorseless. “A lady’s maid without a lady is useless in a place like this. But now, Vanessa, it’s late, and I’d like to get back to my book. No reason for you to stand here in your... undergarments.”  

Lips agape and feet nearly colliding on to one another, Vanessa paused on her steps. His words crept a chill down the length of her spine, making her cheeks blaze. Passionate and irrational, she never even noticed her lack of chastity when she left her room.

“I… didn’t think much, I was upset…”

‘Of course, she didn’t think much. Irrational, savage thing.’

A string twitched in Sherlock’s cheek, and a dark errant lock fell rogue upon his pale temple as he turned his head aside, adamant to brush her away. His self-restraint was but a delicate, dying leaf, hanging by its last yellowing strand.

“I came here to ask you to…”

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.” Sherlock interrupted and swatted his hand flat on the leather binding. His stern glance floated out the window, focusing on a large spider that threaded lines of silver amidst the peeling frames. “You will find a new job in London, a better house,” he apprised and took a deep inhale, turning the book over to open it where he paused. “Now please leave before we’ll both hurt one another.”

‘Before I will pierce cavities in your soft flesh.’

Stunned by his dismissive, arctic demeanour, her stubbornness and frustration only grew to monstrous proportions. With clenched fists and water pooling at her lids, she grunted and took a courageous step closer, standing at the fore of his couch while shaking her head.

“No!”

“No!?” he scowled, eyebrows lowering with dismay. “You forget your place, woman.” He flashed her a quick warning look, his icy glare tinted midnight black as he stood at his wit’s end.

If only it didn’t make her heart shrivel with wanton. Their proximity perilously close, Sherlock’s strong scent pervaded into her lungs: a musky blend of whiskey, leather, and fine tobacco that made her thighs wobble. Before she could even register what’s happening, her knees were brushing the thick carpet, her decorum and dignity gone.

“I want to stay here. With you.”  Slender like stalking vines, her fingers crawled onto the armchair, squeezing at the smooth leather with pitiable desperation.

“Keep me, please!”

“Vanessa,” Sherlock drawled, still refusing to meet her gaze while his thumb circled deep into the coarse binding. Furious tides rose in his eyes, whisked by the rageful storm that inhabited his mind, “Do not make me regret this night.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was pretty when she begged.

“You don’t know what it is that you’re asking, I am not the gentleman you think I am.”

Ignoring his warning, she insisted. Daring, needy talons rose from the armchair to claw at his arm, clutching it with demand. Even through barriers, a surge flushed between their bodies.

“Sherlock,” she half-whispered, crystal droplets of sadness gliding down the smooth slope of her cheeks. Not caring the least as they dribbled onto the soft sleeve of his shirt, leaving tiny stains that dampened his arm.

“Guide me, teach me, make me yours!”

Nostrils flaring and breath rigid, the large man finally snapped his stare at her with the sanguine hunger of a starved vampire. The mask of his virtue fell shattering to the floor, and a harrowing silence took over the room, diffused only by the sound of crackling embers and Vanessa’s shaky breath.

“Remember this tomorrow when you’re raw and hurting; this is what your begging bought you, little Nessie.”

A strangled gasp died at her sternum as his hand suddenly grasped her throat. With a quick yank, she was up on her feet, her toes barely scraping the ground as the hulking man held her up to his face.

“Oh the things I’ll do to you..” he whispered as his thumb dug deep onto her cheek and the rest of his fingers etched at her throat.

Swinging on his boots, he swept her across the silent halls. His stride a dark ceremonial gyrate, the creamy fabric of her pristine nightgown floating mid-air like a sheer tongue of white morning mist.  

“I will make you mine as you begged,” he rasped barbarically, one hand pushing the door open while the other held her attached to his chest, “I will teach you what you asked…” his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot over her cheek, “your first lesson begins... in my bed.”

With a swift shove, she was forced into his realm. Feet stumbling upon the tepid wooden floor, her ears throbbed with shock. Her hands reached to grasp onto the engraved bed column to prevent herself from falling.

His bedroom smelled of dying roses and smoked wicks, echoing the putrid decadence that gnawed at Sherlock’s mind. A dozen melting candles burned in every secluded corner, their little orange tongues licking the reflection of a sizable mirror that stood opposite of his large bed.

A dull metallic click broke the air, followed by Vanessa’s sputtering breath as she saw him lock the door. Her faith sealed - now caged in the lair of the beast. Reduced to his own shimmering shadow, Sherlock advanced toward her, ripping his shirt off.

Fingers biting into the wooden pole, Vanessa stared, unable to determine if it was a man or a lycan god who stood before her. Every breath made his bare torso look menacing. Under the deep dusky twilight, his muscles curved and stretched, coated by a virile, dark fur.

Curious, her gaze followed the striking veins and the trail of unkempt hair that paved its way down his fine abdomen and disappeared beneath his trousers. Guiding to that which she feared and wanted at once.

Eyes of blue flame shone with absent remorse, brows arched with a pretentious demeanour as he reached a hand to seize her to him. “Your innocence dies here tonight,” he hissed in her ear, “from now on, you’ll be my little whore to plough as I please.”

The air died in her lungs as his firm chest collided with hers and his knee forced her legs apart. Bulging and muscular, his thigh rose to brush at her clit, the thin fabrics a shy barrier.

Shuddering, she swallowed hard in a dire battle to find her voice. “I will be whatever you need me to be,” she retorted as the thought of being exploited by her master released fluttering butterflies of fear and excitement in her chest.

Sherlock smirked and captured her jaw between his finger and thumb as he leaned in. Torrid lips hovered over her own, offering a phantom kiss to distract her from the greedy fingers that pushed the sleeves of the gown off her shoulders.

Like warm milk it poured down her body, exposing her delicacies to the night and to the gluttonous hands that kneaded her breasts while he flicked his tongue over her closed mouth, tasting the plumpness of her lips.

A true creature of the underworld, Sherlock’s touch was cruel like his promises; he took as he pleased, leaving his sigil seething on her skin. Her sputtering gasps served as an opportunity to invade her hot cavern. The detective’s kiss was even more ruthless, his tongue smooth as silk seized and conquered her breath.

She could feel him streaming in her blood, tasting him all the way down through her gut. Dark and intoxicating like poisonous absinthe, the promise of death swung amidst their hot, serpent-like dance.

Yet she only yearned to drink to her demise.

As if under a stupor, she swayed to his spells, bucking her hips to ground herself on the meat of his thigh, leaving the coarse fabric wet with sticky arousal. A condescending grin tugged at his lips, and his hand rushed to the back of her head, weaving through her hair and yanking her back.

“Already the wanton harlot,” he spat, swiftly turning her over and holding her against his chest. “Look at yourself,” he growled hoarsely in her ear, forcing her doe eyes to stare at their reflection. Sherlock rested his dimpled chin on the top of her head with his brows lowered like an apex predator examining his prey.

His hand disappeared behind, hastily fumbling with his trousers, “You wanted me to show you, you want to see,” he called as his trousers piled at his feet and he carefully stepped out.

Something hefty and hard nudged at the small of her back, turning her veins into thin tendrils of ice. Abysmal panic coiled at her gut at the realisation that Sherlock meant to reshape her as the vessel of his primal urge.

Hand snaking around her belly, he snatched her to fall back onto the mattress with him pillowing her fall. Her firm buttocks slid across his hairy abdomen, hands fumbling to grasp his thick thighs while her eyes flared at the sight of his hardened cock displayed in front of her in its full generous size.

It was nothing like the medical illustrations she saw in books: bulging tendons swerved across an imposing, meaty rod. Ridges rippled across its girth like soft silk, and the heart-shaped head dripped of glistening, pearly arousal.

Curious, her trembling hand wandered to feel him, stunned by the liquid-like texture that engulfed the absurd rigidness. By order of her touch, he twitched and swelled, causing the radiating heat at the apex of her groin to palpitate.

Pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, Sherlock growled, “Do you like what you see, little one?”

His taut hands reached to grasp her thighs, spreading her wide over each of his legs and holding them apart to expose her untouched sleek at the mirror. The thundering in his throat was nothing but animalistic as he glowered at her perfect sight: his little Nessie, his little untainted flower blooming fresh with dew, yearning to be plucked.

“Look at yourself,” Sherlock demanded with a whisper drenched of fervour. His coarse hand dragged to capture her chin and forced her to face the salacious spectacle reflected before them. Her breath shuddered; she saw their skin mapped onto one another, their bodies entangled and their souls unmasked.

How could something so forbidden be so beautiful?

“I dwell in the darkness, Vanessa.” Sherlock explained, his voice stroking her temple as his lips inched closer, “You must know that, you must have me as I am.”

He laved his tongue over her cheek as if he was tasting the sweetest delicacy and reached for his erection, stroking the pulsating girth between his fingers. Eyes still glued to their likeness on the glossy surface, she glanced as he pressed his pink, meaty tip between her dripping petals.

“Watch as I take something from you that can never be given back, something that will forever belong to me.”

“Sherl….”

His name died on her tongue, the moment forever lost in a loud shriek. Savagely and unceremoniously, he pried her virginal cunt open the way a predator rips at its prey’s throat. His massive shaft tore through her purity with no resistance to fight back against his brutal invasion.  

Pain rattled its way through her entire entity while the dark spectacle of the loss of her innocence played right in front of her eyes, spurring grievous tears. Lost to the bliss of her warm cavern, Sherlock chanted in loud groans, continuing to force himself all the way between her squeezing walls. Remorseless of her cries, he never stopped until every hollow inch inside her was full of his cock and his sac smacked against her stuffed opening.

“My! You feel good!” He panted with astonishment, his virility twitching within the lush sanctuary between her thighs. Noxious pride flowed in his veins at the reflection of the naked young girl, spread open with him inside her.

“Do you like having me inside you, my little harlot?”

“God!” Vanessa screamed, stunned by the sensation of him swelling at her core. His invasion seared, her legs trembled against his in a plea to be kept together. But he only stretched her wider, hooking both hands below her thighs.

“It will feel good in a little while,” he promised and slowly shifted his hips back. Inch by inch, his cock slid out of her now defiled slit, coated by blood and a sheer layer of arousal. It was something of decadent theatrics; his broad chest puffed against her spine, a blissful hum leaving his bobbing throat at the image of the crimson stain that decorated his sword.

“From this moment and beyond, this belongs to me,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and planting wicked, butterfly kisses along the tender slope, “do you understand? Your little cunny is my property, your moans, your pleasure, all belong to me.”

Her cunt clenched around nothing as she watched his full length slipping out, tainted by broken purity, the empty void leaving pure urgency to course through her tendons. Hopeless for something she couldn’t even recognise, she whined and writhed on top of him. Her eyes levitated from their sexes to meet his icy glare.

“Sherlock, please, more! Please put yourself back inside me!!!”

“Fuck!” Sherlock rasped in awe of her wanton, his control nearly lapsed. Fingers digging into her thighs, he undulated his hips and pulled her down the length of his throbbing erection. Low melodies of pleasure rolled on his tongue as her wet cunt pressed around him again.

Gawking at the mirror, she nearly fell apart in his arms, cries of daze escaped her as Sherlock's drove back into her sleek. Every bit of his flesh unfolding hers, disappearing within her body to defy the loneliness aching in her cove until his entire shaft was lost in her depth and the tip of his cock hit something lush and tender. She could have sworn she felt him waver deep in her gut.

“Sherlock!!!” she cried, shutting her eyes at the sharp twinge that shuddered through her core.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes, dove,” he warned, and the authority in his voice left her no choice but to obey. Wickedly, his fingers slithered to the little nub of flesh above her slit and ruthlessly tugged at it to expose more of her battered sex. He continued to pound into her mercilessly, quickening the rhythm with each one of his thrusts.

“Look at you, taking me so obediently. Perhaps I was wrong about you, perhaps you are easily tamed.”

The thick bones of his hips crashed into her rump vigorously, his girth violently splitting her protesting walls. He was fast, wet, and hard inside her, his cock drilling into her over and over, every plunge stripping more layers of her soul and pushing her higher toward the heavens.

Enslaved to the beguiling aphrodisiac, she squirmed on top of him, her body beginning to push down to meet every thrust. The vision of herself being brutally taken by the large, civilised beast made the blood pool at the seams of her womanhood and tingle with frustration.

A shuddering quake began to spread within her, spiralling out in a sequence of spasms sourced at the spot where they connected. Bliss and ecstasy shattered her body and a sudden flush of pleasure exploded through her body as she came all over his cock.

Engulfed in her milking cunt, Sherlock could hardly believe what beheld his eyes. His beautiful nymph, coming undone around him, ethereal and divine. Her blissful chants a song to his ears only, she was like dryad humming a hymn to call upon a lonesome hunter.

“‘My Vanessa, I wanted you for so long.” He called, fucking her wildly through her orgasm. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he choked out on his grunts, her sugary walls closing around his thickness like a predatory flower, demanding to suckle his sweet elixir.

Still riding her climax, she shook her head, hesitant of speaking such profanities. But the stern glower on Sherlock’s face instantly forced her into submission.

“I want you to come … come inside me!” She panted and then screamed as another wave of intense rapture swept her away.

Her squeezing cunt forced the thick stream to vibrated through his shaft, making him drill into her with zeal. His fingers clutched her waist as he slammed her down onto his swollen cock, burying himself the deepest he could. Vanessa yipped as something hot sprouted into her, flooding her womb like a soothing kiss that slowly began trickling between their tight flesh.

Still locked in an embrace, they shivered together. Soft maple hues glimmered over their wet skin, their bodies heaving against one another while a symphony of pants and gasps filled the silence.

Sherlock’s glaciers sought to capture her reflection, a dark, brooding look on his sweat-silken face while his lips ghosted over her shoulder. There was no question in the rough expression of his face.

Nothing spoke louder than the possessiveness that pierced through the sharp reflection.

~*~

A tender stream of sunshower kissed her lids awake. The cerulean sky winked at her through the open window while her senses gingerly regained their functions after what felt like graveyard slumber. Finding herself alone, she wondered for a moment if the night before was only a fantasy; but this bed was too soft and far too large, and the sensation of shame licking between her thighs told her otherwise.

Even in his absence, Sherlock’s presence lingered. His pungent sweat layered on her skin, and from her torn seal trickled the pearly, forbidden essence of his loins. She allowed herself a moment of coy bliss, pressing her lips upon her bare shoulder to kiss the taste of him off her flesh when the thud of inching footsteps and creaking wood made her sit up with fright as if her presence was forbidden.

Huddling the blankets around her chest, she gulped as the door flung open.

Already dressed in a clean shirt, a vest of golden brown, and a long black jacket, the hulking man offered her a small wrinkle on his brow. Fine silks were folded on his forearm, and his eyes fell upon the naked beauty in his bed. A shadow of dark desire danced upon his slanted smirk as he noticed the little inkling of dry blood on the edge of the mattress.

“Slept well, my little Nessie?” He asked, passing a finger over his neatly combed locks before gesturing for her to approach him. Obedient as ever, his little servant quickly climbed out, immediately regretting her haste as a spear split through her core. With jolting legs, she swallowed her discomfort and approached him with her head lowered to the floor.

“No, we will have none of this,” Sherlock chided, his finger stalking beneath her chin to fix her stare on his. Their gazes met for a shy second and then he stepped back, unfolding the fabrics held beneath his arm.

A waterfall of black and crimson flowed down, hanging from his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes rounded with wonder; being a woman of lower status, she never owned anything as beautiful and expensive as the dress he held before her.

“Lift your arms, dove,” Sherlock commanded and she did as he bid.

The soft fabrics felt like warm liquid washing over her skin as Sherlock carefully slipped the dress over her head. His hands smoothly roamed her body, tugging at the delicate fabric to fit over her figure. The tall detective stepped to stand at her back and began working the laces of the corset embedded into the gown.

One by one, he tightened the silk binds as he pulled at the laces. Vanessa slightly hissed when her breasts squished against the generous cleavage.

“Forgive me,” Sherlock mumbled as he heard her distress, “I am not used to such… arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” she asked naively, though it quickly dawned on her that her dear master never had a wife or a mistress, which didn’t come much as a surprise after witnessing his bohemian desires the night before. And yet, no regret touched her heart as Sherlock pressed his hand over her torso and perched his chin atop her head once again.

“Look at us.” His lustrous eyes carried to the mirror, guiding hers to follow as he stroked his hand lower to flatten the folds of her dress and pushed her hair over her shoulders with the other.

“Don’t we make a pair?”

Glancing forward, Vanessa took a deep inhale. Crimson and black were unusually beautiful as they graced her figure. The rim of the cleavage was beaded with fine black jewels that gave her appearance an elegant, yet erotic flavour.

Taken by her new design, she allowed herself to be swallowed into Sherlock’s beautiful darkness.

She wouldn’t have him without it.

___________________________________

Additional notes: I don’t own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes franchise. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming  @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and @sapphirescrolls for moral support. 

[thesunicarusfellfor]

My beloved! I do not know if you watched the recent lore stream ( if you haven't please! Watch it before answering my ask! ) I was wondering if you could do something with eret and foolish where instead of foolish dying it's the reader? And the reader is on her last life after she died from badboyhalo? Just some angst ( please I wanna cry out my feelings after this stream omg- and plus your my favorite writer so yea :p)

Have an amazing day! <3

-Moosh

BELOVED! EEEEEEE I'VE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE ERET FOR SOOOOO LOOOOONG YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I'm just going to make it an Eret x Reader because I don't know Foolish's character too well if that's okay?

(ALso, you will make me cry from all these compliments, please ;^;)

I actually am adding onto this because I want to make a hybrid reader for once, hope you don't mind! ^^

SPOILERS FOR THE RED BANQUET AND MULTIPLE PRONOUNS USED FOR ERET

My Monarch (C!Eret x GN!Butterfly Hyrbid!Reader)

You giggled softly, your beautiful paper-thin wings flitting behind you as you hopped around Eret's room while he got his newly tailored red cloak chained together, "My goodness, monarch, you're going to waste up all your energy before the party even begins!" He laughed at your reddened cheeks while he put his crown on top of his neatly styled hair, putting his sunglasses on shortly after, "How do I look?"

"Like a true queen!" You chirped, adjusting your outfit in the mirror beside your lover before frowning and taking the glasses away from her, "Ah, ah, nope. If I'm having my wings out of my cloak, you aren't wearing your sunglasses, darling, we've been over this."

The royal huffed and gave a small pout but didn't argue much on the matter, as they did, in fact, practically beg you to keep your wings out for display for the banquet. With a small chuckle, they reached over and picked up your crown that was decorated with rainbows of jewels, placing it on your styled (h/l) (h/c) hair, being mindful of your antennae, "There... There's my monarch."

You blushed slightly at the nickname and gave a small giggle as you took his hand, "Come on, let's get going, Bad will get impatient if we're late." Eret gave a nod with a smile, leading you towards the door and out of his castle.

The two of you were happily chatting with each other as you travelled to the stairway that led underground, happily saying hellos to your 'mama' Puffy, who gave you typical motherly affection, ie: smooshing your cheeks as she gave you a light headbutt while calling you every motherly compliment in the book, and anyone else that was also invited to the Banquet. When you arrived, you took a sharp breath as you saw the room filled with red vines crawling and writhing everywhere, it sickened you... But, this was about Bad apologizing, and you supposed that you could put your discomfort off to the side for just a little bit.

Eret, being the gentleman she was, pulled out your chair for you and gestured for you to sit down, smiling softly as you gave her a kiss on the cheek and sat down in the chair. She pushed you in and sat in the chair to your left, Puffy on your right, gently taking your hand once she was tucked into the table.

You were so anxious that you could barely focus on the speech Bad was giving, until your ears and antennae picked up the sound and scent of running lava which successfully shook you out of your thoughts, but before you could mention anything to Eret, you heard a chuckle.

"Now, prepare to die."

There was a chorus of gasps that tore from everyone's mouths as the sound of lava got louder. You lifted your head from staring at the red soup in the bowl in front of you and looked around in horror as you saw lava blocking the exits. You felt Eret tighten their grip on your hand, but by then your heart was already racing in fear and your wings were shifting around nervously.

"Oh my god!"

"We've been walled in!"

"After all that?!"

Bad tossed his empty glass bottle to the side, causing it to shatter on the ground below and get greedily grabbed at by the red vines, "Well uh, that's right."

"Bad, what about turning over this leaf?!" Captain Puffy snapped, slamming her mostly empty bottle of water down on the table as she stood up.

The nine-foot-tall demon seemed to nonchalantly brush off her outburst and shook his head lamely, "No, the leaf is staying the way it is." He sat up properly in his chair and rested his elbows on the warped wooden table to hold his chin in his hands.

"Is... There any way out?" You asked aloud, quickly spinning around, looking for any gap that you could possibly fly through. Eret quickly wrapped his arm around you, his white eyes wide with slight hints of fear that he was used to hiding with his glasses.

"No! There's literally no way out!" Fundy cried out, restlessly shuffling and running around, trying to find anything everyone could use to escape.

HBomb gave a small shriek of pain as he burned his hand on the lava, "It is real lava! It is real lava!" He gasped out as Puffy quickly made him shove his hand into the bowl of beat soup. Bad calmly walked over and gave him a glimmering gold apple with a sickly sweet smile.

"You should try not to die yet, HBomb." He chuckled softly as he returned to his seat once the man eagerly bit into the potion soaked fruit, desperate to get rid of the burning sensation.

Puffy took a few deep breaths and held out her arms, trying to get everyone to stop freaking out completely, "We're fine, we're fine, we're fine! I- I didn't trust you, Bad, I didn't trust you at all. I didn't trust Antfrost. I knew! I knew something was up, it's unfortunate to say I can't trust either one of you... Because... I planned this..."

She eagerly ripped off the red silken table cloth to reveal a chest buried in the table, spilling drinks and soup everywhere for the vines to eagerly writhe towards, "Oh?! What?!" Bad gasped, his mouth parting in shock... Before it fell bad into a devious smile as Puffy gave a cry of confusion, finding the chest completely empty, "Oh? Were you... Looking for this, perchance?"

Bad equipped diamond enchanted armour and held up an enchanted diamond sword that glimmered in the light of the lava, Ant, Ponk... And Hannah... Doing the same, "Sorry Puffy. I had to do it..." Hannah Rose walked over and sat in the empty seat on Bad's left.

"Do... What, Hannah? Why?!" The Ram hybrid whispered in horror.

"I had to tell them." She responded simply, blinking a few times as her eyes went from a forest coloured green to redder than the colour of the egg's vines slithering around your ankles, "The egg..."

Biting back a sob, you looked at Hannah, "You were with them the whole time...?"

Sam stood completely still, looking at the girl sadly, "You... Told them, Hannah?" The warden murmured.

"I had to." She glanced at Bad with a small grin before looking back at her former friends, including you, "It was the only way."

"I'm sorry," Bad started, sounding almost completely genuine, if it wasn't for the crooked smile he was wearing, "I'm sorry Sam, I'm sorry Puffy. But, time to get on to the main event!"

The creeper hybrid held up his hand, pointing one finger to the ceiling to silently tell the Eggpire to hold on for just a moment, "Well... That is, tragic, that you told them about our plans for the armour, but..." You could tell Sam grinned behind his mask as his green eyes gave a few sparks of smugness, "Something, you should know. I had another plan. Because I didn't trust you."

"...What do you mean 'another plan'?" Bad pointed his loaded crossbow at the warden, eyes narrowing into a glare.

"Well," He pulled a remote out of his pocket and scanned it in mock curiosity, "I think, that we all can agree, that this has gone on long enough now. I'm tired of all this fighting. So I say we just blow the egg up. For good, this time, with an amount of TNT that it can't survive... So I hid a trap..."

'Of course... The creeper hybrid is using TNT...' You thought with a small smile, trying to distract yourself from the heartstopping fear overwhelming your body at the moment as Bad stuttered in surprise.

"A trap?! Wait, what do you mean!?" the demon growled as Sam got up and walked slightly closer to the egg, digging his thumb into the button on the remote he held.

"We did something even you couldn't prepare for!" Puffy shouted as TNT began to rain out of a small gap in the ceiling.

Eret, worrying for your safety and how the sounds or smell of gunpowder would affect your hypersensitive senses, pulled you close and she wrapped you in her cloak. You desperately grasped at the fabric of her red dress as she covered your ears in an attempt to make the loud booms easier for your insect senses to handle.

By the time it stopped and Eret let you go, there were shocked gasps and the egg... Had... Turned to crying obsidian? "You guys-" Bad had to take a breath through his maniacal laughter to wipe a tear, "You really thought you could defeat the egg? With TNT? After Quackity tried that, we took proper... Preparations. And we made it so that we wouldn't have to worry about TNT anymore, thank you very much!"

"I think you mean precautions..." You murmured quietly, curling in on yourself and hiding behind Eret slightly when you saw soulless white eyes glare in your directions.

"Shut up, (Y/n)." He huffed, and Eret had to physically stop Puffy from storming over and fighting the man in diamond armour with her bare hands, "Now, would you all please kindly make your way over here... We can begin the summary executions."

Shock flooded through your veins at how eagerly Bad hopped out of his chair them walked over to where the Egg, the crying obsidian fading away, and standing on a platform. There was a chorus of shocked cries and just cries in general as Bad waved his crossbow around, "What about the speeches man?!" Fundy growled, glaring at Bad as he tried to get you all to leave the table.

"Oh, that was all just to lull you into a false sense of security!" He responded with another crooked smile and a 'duh' tone, "You see, the egg needs something, and it's gonna get it from each of you. See, in order for the egg to hatch, it needs energy, and it gets that energy from people dying near it! And that's the role that you guys are gonna fill! We are gonna kill you one by one..."

"You're a monster..." Eret mumbled under their breath, holding your hand tightly, able to feel your racing heart from the pulse in your wrist. This had gone on long enough, sure, destroying everything on the server was one thing, but threatening not only their life, not only their friends' lives, but their lover's life as well! You only had two more before you were gone from this world forever... And by whatever gods were listening, they swore that they were going to protect those final two, even at the risk of their own life.

Bad turned his head, his twisted smile faltering slightly, "What was that, Eret? What did you say?" He leaned closer mockingly, to see if Eret really had the guts to repeat what was just said.

"You're an absolute monster," Eret repeated with a slight growl to his voice this time, taking a step closer to the corrupted man as a threat and also effectively blocking you from Bad's gaze, "How could you? We all trusted you, Bad."

"Trust?!" Ant spoke up for the first time that night, grinning almost like a Cheshire cat, "Okay, Eret... Keep talking. Keep talking about trust."

Sucking a breath through your gritted teeth, you cringed as Ant retorted with a verbal dagger, one he knew would hurt Eret deeply, and hurt her it did, "That was a long time ago!" You snapped immediately, stepping forwards to defend her which definitely caught everyone off guard. You were NOT about to let some egg puppets trash talk your lover, "She's changed!"

"You know what..." Bad hummed, almost comically tapping his finger to his lip before pointing at Eret, "I think, Eret, you would be a perfect person... To sacrifice first!"

Giving a cry of horror, you felt the red vines react to Bad's words and grab you and Eret, successfully yanking you away from each other despite your cries and struggles of protests. The large vines picked Eret up and brought them to the execution platform that Bad was standing on. The entire time, you were trying to run over to grab them, but the vines kept creating a wall and pushing you back, "No! No, no, no!" You screamed desperately, trying to reach out to the crown-wearing lover that was now being held on the platform by the very vines that were holding you back.

"Does anyone have anything?!" Foolish cried, quickly patting his pockets and looking around for anything, anything at all, to use as a weapon.

"I- We have no weapons!"

"No one has anything?! We literally can't do anything about this!"

Bad only chuckled, seeming to find amusement in everyone's distress, "Excellent, excellent, I really appreciate you guys following the directive and not bringing any weapons. That's very courteous of you." He turned towards Eret with his readied crossbow, gleefully ignoring your cries.

"We trusted you!" You yelled, throwing a useless punch at the wall of vines that blocked your way again, everyone roaring at the Eggpire in agreement with your statement.

"Well that was your first mistake," He chided in almost a playful manner, "Did you really think we were just going to stop trying to spread the egg's influence over the server, just because a couple people got mad at the vines? Like, come on. That's been the objective all along. It's been to hatch the egg. The egg wants power, and it's gonna get it."

His finger lightly began tapping at the trigger of his crossbow that had the bolt pointing to your lover's head, which caused a sob to escape past your lips as you finally had enough and finally flew into the air, expertly weaving past the red vines that tried to grab you out of the air. Quickly, you swooped down and reached out for Eret, but you felt something fly past your ear... Then suddenly, the king gave a cry of his own and you felt your flying balance get thrown off, causing you to begin to plummet towards the ground.

The horrified shrieks of your lover, mother figure and your friends rang through your ears as you quickly plummeted towards the earth as a result of gravity, only to be suddenly halted in mid-air which caused your crown to fall to the ground, completely wrapped in vines that clearly didn't care how badly they were bending your wings. You whined in pain at the tight grip, and looked over at your beloved butterfly features, only to give a sob of pain as you saw a large tear had sliced through your right (f/c) wing... "You... You bastard..." You hissed at the demon who came over and reloaded another bolt into his crossbow.

"You know, I think I like your energy more than your lover's." He cupped your chin in an almost loving fashion, causing Eret to immediately lash out and begin barking insults as well as threats. Unfortunately, her violence was ignored as the vines picked her up again, "Your unwavering loyalty, your love, your fierceness despite how fragile you are..."

"Get your hands away from them!" Puffy yelled, she and Foolish going to run to help you, but they were blocked off by the vines in the same way you once were, "For fucks sake Bad! Leave my child alone! They were just defending Eret, you know, their lover?!"

Bad only hummed as the vines lamely tossed Eret to the crowd of people, but thankfully he was caught by Foolish and Sam instead of hitting the ground but his crown hit the ground close to yours, breaking most of the rainbow coloured gems off, "I'm quite aware of their relationship, thank you, Puffy." He stepped back and the vines threw you to the ground on the execution platform, causing you to bounce off the nether bricks harshly before finally rolling into the centre.

Your head was spinning and your sight was blurry, but you still managed to hear the screams of terror from your friends, the begging from Puffy for Bad to leave you alone, and the sobs leaving Eret's throat as they cried out for you, "Monarch... (Y/N)!" They screamed, trying to run to you as well, but unsurprisingly they were held back as well.

It... was funny... You wanted to go to this party so badly... You begged Eret to come to this party, you spent weeks picking out your outfit... You were so excited...

And now here you were... Flightless and beyond concussed...

About to die...

"I love you..." You managed to whisper to Eret before Ant rose his enchanted sword... Then quickly lowering it, piercing through your chest...

"(Y/N)! NO!"

(Y/n) (L/n) was slain by Antfrost. Lives 1/3

[jaskierswolf]

Title: Colours of a Rose

Prompt: Curse causes fluffy/funny results

Pairing: Gerlion

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of whump but all fake

Written for @whataboutthebard

_

Dandelion screamed.

It was the sort of scream that tore through Geralt, making his blood run cold. Instantly his silver sword was in his hand and he was running through the empty sterile walls of Lettenhove castle. He hated the place, but after a particularly nasty run in with a griffin, he’d needed somewhere to stay long-term to recover, and Dandelion had suggested his childhood home.

Because apparently Geralt’s best friend was secretly a Viscount and had never thought to mention it.

None of that mattered though, not when Dandelion was in trouble. Geralt couldn’t reach the poet’s room fast enough, getting lost in the halls and having to rely on his witcher senses to track Dandelion’s lavender scent, soured by misery.

“No! Oh no, no, no!” Dandelion whined as Geralt burst through the door, his sword raised and ready to strike.

The scene in front of him was nothing like what he’d expected. There were no monsters or guards or bandits holding his flower captive. There was no crimson blood streaking across the floor, painting Dandelion’s pale skin red as the life drained from his lungs. There were no torn up doublets or broken lute strings.

Instead, it was a perfectly normal sight. Sun streaked through the windows, bathing the room in a glowing golden light, and Dandelion was sitting at his dresser, the gilded mirror shimmering and beautiful. The ivory brush in his long lutist fingers clattered to the floor and he whined pitifully, staring forlornly into the mirror with sad eyes.

“Dandelion?”

“Oh, Geralt, thank the gods!” Dandelion cried as he spun around to face Geralt, tears streaking down his cheeks. “The most terrible thing has happened!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow as he sheathed his sword, crossing his arms in front of his chest whilst he waited for the poet to explain what was quite so terrible. He cocked his head, eyes roaming over his friend but nothing seemed out of sorts.

Until Dandelion tucked a lock of golden hair behind his ear to reveal a striking red curl, brighter than anything Geralt had ever seen.

“Huh.”

“Oh don’t just ‘huh’ at me, witcher. I’ve been cursed! Do something!” The poet flailed his arms in the air and then sighed, pouting back at his reflection and steadfastly refusing to meet Geralt’s gaze in the mirror.

“Umm…” Geralt fumbled as he tried to work out how the fuck he was going to break the curse, if it even was a curse. The bard seemed fine, except for the strange colours and there was no obvious magic in the room - Geralt’s medallion lay still upon his chest. “What happened?”

The poet huffed, elegantly bending over to pick up the abandoned hairbrush, extravagantly decorated with flowers and gold leaf. He winced as he gently stroked the brush through a golden lock of hair, and Geralt’s eyes widened as he saw the strands turn a vibrant orange wherever the bristles touched.

The brush was turning Dandelion’s hair into a rainbow.

And the poet was devastated. His hair was his pride and joy outside of his music and writing but Geralt... well, he thought it looked pretty. It wasn’t practical for life on the road, the bright colours attracting all sorts of nefarious monsters, but Dandelion’s doublets were bright enough on their own for that, and for now they were trapped at Lettenhove.

“I like it,” he admitted.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I like it. It’s colourful… like you.”

“Oh.”

Geralt reached his hand out for the brush, a faint smile on his lips. “Let me.”

The poet still pouted as Geralt combed out the rest of the curls. With every stroke of the brush, Dandelion’s hair slowly turned into a shining rainbow, vibrant and sparkling just like the poet. Gradually, Dandelion’s pout began to melt into a brilliant smile. Geralt had been right, the rainbow hair suited the poet perfectly, and he seemed to grow in confidence the more he looked at his reflection. It probably wouldn’t be permanent but it was beautiful.

Dandelion was beautiful.

His best friend, his poet… his flower.

-

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @unyielding-as-the-sea @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire

[wrenhyperfixates]

My Heart is Your Canvas

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Loki hadn’t been planning on confessing his love for you, but he’s glad he did. Warnings: a whole lot fluff A/N: For my bestest best friend @lokistan! Hope you all enjoy :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02​ @frostedgiant​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​ @lowkeyorlokificrecs​ @gaitwae​ @whatafuckingdumbass​ @castiels-majestic-wings​ @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord​ @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @marvelouslovely​

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“It is useless, brother,” Loki lamented, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket and dropping the bouquet of roses on Thor’s bed. “I will never be able to tell them how I feel and playing dress-up like this is ridiculous.”

“It is not playing, nor is it ridiculous. You want to woo them, right?”

Loki frowned, feeling like he was about to almost be sucked into yet another of his brother's hair-brained schemes to get him to confess his true feelings to you. And this latest one had barely even ended! Still, he did want to, as Thor put it, woo you, and his brother’s intentions were pure. So, the trickster god sighed and nodded.

“Then trust me; all you must do is don this tux, hand them these flowers, and have confidence in yourself.”

Loki looked in the mirror. He looked ridiculous, he was sure. Then again, Thor did know more about Midgardian culture than Loki did. Unless he was just trying to get revenge on Loki for the countless pranks he’d played on the older Odinson in their youth. But no, the brothers had turned over a new leaf and were truly supportive of each other, even if Loki still had to remind himself of that often. After feeling lonely and ignored for so long, it was easy for him to forget he actually had family to turn to, looking out for him.

“That is easy for you to say,” Loki finally responded. “Everyone practically threw themselves at your feet when you arrived. Everyone has always wanted to be your friend. Me, not so much. No one has ever really liked me, especially not here. Even you took a while to come around.” They both winced at his unintentionally harsh words. “Forgive me, brother, I did not mean it like that. I only mean I cannot afford to lose them. They are my best friend.”

“But they could be your beloved.”

Loki’s face went scarlet. Even if, by some miracle, you liked him back, there was something about that word, about calling someone his beloved, that felt so intimate to him. What would you think of it, he wondered? It didn’t really matter, considering he made up his mind. With a snap of his fingers, Loki was once again dressed in his Asgardian tunic. He saw his brother slouch in defeat.

“They could, in theory... But not today. I am sorry.”

“Brother, there is nothing to apologize for,” Thor reassured, clapping Loki on his back. “I am in your corner. Just promise you will think about it some more?”

After a promise to do just that and a sincere thank you thrown his brother’s way, Loki headed back to his rooms to wallow in his failure by his lonesome. That plan was quickly tossed out the window when he saw you standing outside his door, art supplies in hand.

“Darling?” he said. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh! There you are,” you said, spinning around. “It is, thanks for asking. I was just looking for you, and here you are. Do you, um, think you can you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” he nodded, sensing some sort of anxiety from you. He didn’t care what the favor was. If it helped you calm down, he’d do it. He opened the door for you. “Will you come in?”

“Thanks again,” you said, as he followed you in.

“It is no problem, darling,” he replied, brow furrowing a little at your perpetuating nervousness. “What may I help you with?”

“See, so you know I’ve been painting a lot recently, right? Well, I ran out canvases and Tony says I can’t paint on the walls. This is probably kind of stupid, but can I paint on you? Like just on your back?”

“Is that all?” he chuckled. “Of course you can. It would be my honor to be of service.”

Loki felt a light blush coat his cheeks as he took off everything covering his top half. At least you were busy setting up your paints, so he didn’t think you noticed. Sitting down with his back to you, he kept his face turned down just to be sure you didn’t see. Still, he knew the exact moment you realized your plan involved him being half-naked because you let out a little squeak. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so flustered himself.

Loki held as still as possible as you rested your hand on his shoulder and began to paint, the strokes of your brush on his skin tickling a little. Eventually he calmed down and relaxed a bit, though he was still hyper-aware of every time your skin made contact with his.

“Hey, Loki?” you hummed after a while of companionable silence with some small chitchat sprinkled in.

“Yes, darling?”

“Just... thank you so much for doing this. Even if you don’t, err, like the finished product, I still really appreciate it.”

“Of course, darling. It is no trouble, really,” he promised. “Anyway, I shall love whatever masterpiece you create.”

“M-masterpiece? You really mean all that?” you squeaked out in flattered surprise.

“Naturally. After all, it is made by you. How can it be anything less that wholly amazing? I love everything you do,” he sighed in content. “I love you.”

Loki’s eyes suddenly went wide once he realized what he’d just confessed to. Darn you always being on his mind and making him feel all soft and squishy inside. But more importantly, darn him for not having a grip on his emotions and his mouth. And now he was going to lose you, his best friend. He would have stood up and pulled away, but you were still painting, and he didn’t want to ruin it.

“I-I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expect that,” you giggled. “But I love you, too.”

“No, darling. You do not have to say that to make me feel better,” he reassured you. “Truly, we can just forget the whole thing if you like.”

“Loki, I’m not faking it, I swear. And I can prove it,” you said, stepping back and taking one final look at your handiwork.

Taking Loki by the hand, you led him to the full-length mirror he kept on his wall. He craned his head to look at his now colorful back reflected at him. You’d painted a heart in his colors, with a few sunflowers around the border and his helmet in the center. At the bottom were words that made his heart stutter. Even though they were reflected backward, he could read them. My beloved. You’d written, “my beloved”. That was him. He could hardly fathom it, but a huge smile spread across his perfect pink lips.

“Believe me now?” you shyly looked up at him.

“Yes, my clever darling,” he replied, realizing this had been your plan all along. Seems like you were just as shy as he was. “I do.”

With an impossibly wide grin, a perfect match to his, overtaking your own features, you cupped his face and brought him in for a kiss. As you both stood there, sealing your confessions with locked lips, Loki didn’t even care that he’d have to listen to Thor gloating about how right he was for the rest of his life. No, that didn’t matter now. In fact, the rest of the world and his problems drifted away, as the only thing that mattered was you. Because if he had the honor to be your beloved, he most certainly knew you would want to be his too.

[scuttling]

While I'm writing Dad!Bod Hotch with babies... 🥺

...Here's a very baby excerpt from one of my other works (modified a little so it can be read as reader.) It's pretty cute if I do say so myself! Tags: 18+, NSFW, Blow job + Pregnant sex The next child abduction case they get happens a year later, and it takes them to Seattle; rain beats down on the Sullivan house while she and JJ sit with the family and try to keep them informed of what’s going on in terms of the investigation. The mother stares out the window at the rain, and she brings over the cup of tea she’d offered to make, sets it down on the table beside her, takes her trembling hands.

“I promise you, Mrs. Sullivan, our team is doing absolutely everything they can to locate your son safely. They are the best in the world at what we do; we just need to let them do their jobs.”

Mrs. Sullivan frowns, takes a sobbing breath, and then wraps her arms around her; she’s a little startled by it, but rubs her back, trying to provide comfort.

After a couple minutes, Mrs. Sullivan pulls back, and she offers her a tissue.

“Do you have any children?” she asks, wiping her eyes.

“Yes. He’s seven years old, and his name is Jack.”

They find the boy five hours later. Alive.

She and Aaron have celebration sex on every available surface.

“Hey. So, I got three or four calls from my doctor’s office a couple weeks ago, but I was preoccupied with the Sullivan case and I kept forgetting to call her back,” she says later from Aaron’s lap. He sits up, holding her hips while he shifts his weight.

“Okay. Is everything alright? Why was she calling so often?”

“Apparently, my IUD expired a month ago. I have to get it taken out.” He looks cautiously over her face, like he’s not sure what reaction she wants from him. She’s fairly certain she knows what his first instinct is. “Well, Jack and I were at the grocery store when I spoke to her—and you know I’ve been feeling a little off…” She wets her lips, reaches over the arm of the couch and pulls a little cardboard box off the console table. She can see his breath hitch.

“Have you taken it?” She nods quickly, presses her lips together.

“Just waiting now.” Carefully, he reaches for the box, takes it out of her hand, and sets it back down on the table. He pulls her close for a tight hug.

“Whatever happens, I love you so much,” he murmurs in her ear, and they just hold each other until the timer on her phone goes off. She brushes her hand through his hair, and his eyes are wet; she knows hers are too.

She climbs out of his lap, and he follows her down the hall, clinging to her back like he can’t physically let her go. When they make it to the bathroom, she picks up the test, squeezes her eyes briefly shut, and holds it up so he can read the word on the screen.

The word.

She spins in his arms, wraps hers around him, and jumps up and down, the grin splitting her face nothing compared to the gorgeous smile that lights up his.

“I’m going to see if Dr. Rose can fit me in tomorrow,” she says, leaning up to smooch him several times in a row. “Just to be sure.”

“Let me know, I’ll come.” She nods, kisses him a few more times, takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“I love you so much.” He holds her, repeats it, kisses her forehead, her eyes. Then he starts kissing her for real, reverent and steamy, and they walk gracelessly toward the bedroom, tugging articles of clothing off as they go.

She is kneeling over him on the bed, giving him a very good, messy, ‘Congrats, you’re probably going to be a daddy again!’ blow job when she pulls back suddenly, an overwhelming thought crossing her mind; she looks up at him with wide eyes.

“You know my brother has two sets of twins, right?” “A package came from your brother today,” Aaron says a couple months later as he’s leafing through the mail; he holds it out to her, and she opens it up, excited, then covers her mouth, can’t help but aww. “What is it?” he asks, not looking up from the stack of envelopes, and she puts her hand on his arm to get his attention.

“‘For the Hotchner siblings’—that’s what the card says,” she explains when he looks up, and then she holds up the largest t-shirt: it’s brown, with a cartoon bear cub, white letters spelling out Brother Bear. She holds up a smaller shirt: Sister Bear #1. Then another small shirt: Sister Bear #2. He smiles.

“Okay, that’s cute. We have to FaceTime him and thank him.”

“Definitely. He’s not going to believe how big this belly is,” she says, reaching up on her toes for a kiss; he comes at her from the side, because it’s easier to reach her lips that way. “Uh, Hotch, we need you down in the bullpen. She's crying and we can’t get her to stop,” Spencer says into the phone, looking a little freaked. Aaron must agree to come down, because he hangs up the receiver wordlessly; JJ rubs her shoulders, trying to comfort her.

“It’s okay, I completely understand. It’s normal to feel like that at this stage of the pregnancy,” she explains, and it’s all sounding very rational, but she just covers her eyes and keeps crying.

When Aaron crouches down beside her, he takes her hands carefully off of her face, wipes her tears with his sleeve, peers up at her with soft eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I want…” She gulps, sniffles, and Prentiss hands her a tissue over the desk partition. “Thank you. I want these babies out of me,” she sobs, and she knows she’s making a huge scene, but she doesn’t even care. “I want your babies out of me, Aaron!” He sighs; she knows he’s heard it all before.

“I know, honey, but you have to be patient. It will happen when it’s meant to.” She sobs, then hiccups, and that’s just great.

“But I’m—I’m drinking the stupid tea, I’m eating the dates. I got the, the acupuncture—do you know how weird it is to see those needles sticking out of your body? It’s unsettling!”

Morgan returns from Garcia’s office, takes one look at them, and abruptly pivots on his heel to head back.

“Oh sure,” she calls, and then hiccups, “everyone sees a crying pregnant woman and they just run away!”

“Noo, he just texted me!” Spencer lies, waving his phone that he never even looked at. “He said he forgot something and he’ll be right back.”

“Spencer, tell me what else can induce labor, please,” is all she says, doesn’t call him out because it’s sweet that he even tried. He counts off with his fingers as he recites the list.

“Raspberry leaf tea, dates, castor oil—” she grimaces, because that shit’s the worst “—acupressure, acupuncture, exercise.” He hesitates, looks a little uncomfortable, and she hiccups, gets pissed, takes a deep breath.

“Sweetie, honey,” she says, reaching out a hand for him, and he takes it, pats it awkwardly. Bless his heart. “You’re my partner, and I love you, but please spit it out.”

“Okay, uh. Nipple stimulation, and uh. Well. Sex.” Oh, yeah, the nipple thing they tried, but it felt like a restless cat trying to get comfortable on her chest, wasn’t sexy at all, so they didn’t try the rest. She snaps her fingers at Aaron like a douchebag asking for the waitress, wipes her face, hiccups again.

“Okay, we’re doing it, we’re doing that one. Sex me up.” Prentiss barks a laugh, and Spencer looks deeply disturbed. “Please can we go home now?”

“Uh, yes, we can,” Aaron begins, “but I’m not sure we should—” Nope, she’s not gonna listen to that bullshit. He hasn’t been pregnant for 42 fucking weeks.

“I love you, but shut up. Your dick put these things inside me, and your dick’s gonna get them out.” She moves to stand, and so does he, arms out like he’ll catch her if she starts to wobble. “I know I’m not sexy anymore with this gigantic stomach, but please please please just fuck me.” He closes his eyes, sighs like he regrets so much in life, and then gives her a hard kiss on the mouth. It makes her, like, instantly horny; she’d initiate sex right here if she thought she could get her pants off.

“You are as sexy as you’ve ever been,” he murmurs, hovering over her lips, “and I’m going to fuck you.” Sex this big sucks. Missionary is hilarious, doggy is uncomfortable, side by side seems okay but is actually kind of impractical. She feels betrayed.

Aaron helps her get on top of him—his dick is so hard it makes her feel really, really good about herself—and she’s more than okay with bouncing on him, but her belly bounces too, and it feels weird.

“Can you hold it?” she pants, and she takes the hair tie off her wrist and sweeps her hair into a ponytail because she’s sweating from all the position-shifting. “Just like, hold it.” She takes his hands and rests them on her enormous beach ball belly, sighs because it feels nice. “Good, yeah, thank you, let me try again.”

She braces herself against his thighs, rides him quickly, bucking hard—after about 15 years of wishing she had bigger breasts, she now despises hers, and therefore avoids them at costs, but she does manage to reach her clit, and she rubs it furiously as she moves atop him.

Aaron—who is so great, and sweet, who she loves so much—is all but useless, just holds her belly still and groans like he’s getting the best pussy of his lifetime, which she guesses maybe he is, because she wants these babies out and she’s well and truly desperate. “Oh, fuck, baby,” he grinds out, and his hands move to her thighs, squeezing hard, and she whines.

“No, no, do not come, don’t come.”

He comes.

An hour later, they try again, with her propped up on a pillow, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. The internet said this would work, and if it doesn’t, she’s prepared to let BoyMom282 fucking have it.

“Oh my god, yes, yes,” she moans, clutching at the sheets above her head, and Aaron’s hands feel so good on what remains of her waist as he pounds into her. “Fuck, yes, fuck me until your babies are ready, Aaron. Such a fucking man, knocking me up with two babies at once—you can help me get them out, can’t you, daddy?”

He groans long and loud, and she puts a hand on his, squeezes hard.

“Don’t. Come. I swear to god if you come inside me right now, it will be the last time you ever do it.”

He comes, but luckily for him, she comes first. “So, tell us which is which,” Garcia leads, visibly excited, and she leans back against Aaron’s body, looks at the sweet baby girl in his arms.

“This one is Camila,” she says, touching her teeny tiny little foot, “and Spencer’s holding Mia. Mia Clarita Hotchner Cortes—Clarita after my mother—and Camila Marie Hotchner Cortes.”

“Marie after my mother,” Aaron explains, and he puts an arm around her, which she snuggles happily against. “We’re just waiting for Jack—he should be here any minute.” Spencer hands Mia back to her, and she kisses her forehead.

“This is the best day of your mama’s life,” she coos, touching her soft, dark, fuzzy baby hair. Her heart swells. “I was going to become daddy’s next unsub if you little cuties didn’t vacate my uterus in a timely fashion.”

She can hear the squeak of Jack's shoes coming through the door, and she looks up at Aaron with a grin. When Jack comes around the bed and sees the girls, his eyes get big. “Whoa, are these my sisters?” Haley pops in behind him, and she smiles at them.

“Yeah, buddy, come here,” she says, gesturing for him with her free arm. “This is Mia, and this is Camila.”

“Gentle like we practiced,” Aaron reminds him when he reaches out to touch Camila’s face, and she and Haley both roll their eyes, then laugh.

“He knows, sweetie.” She watches their interaction with so much love, then brushes her fingers over Jack’s hair. “You’re going to be the best brother bear ever, aren’t you?” He looks up at her, grins; he’s missing a tooth just to the left of the front ones, and she’s obsessed with that little gap.

“Yep, I’m going to read them stories and share my toys and play with them at the park.”

“They’re lucky to have you,” Aaron says, leaning down to look into his eyes. “And so are we, buddy.” “And do you, Aaron Hotchner—”

“Da-ah-addy!” someone sobs—Mia, she mouths to Aaron across from her—and she sees JJ step out from behind her, trying to soothe her so they can proceed, but she’s not having any luck. Mia is a daddy’s girl, and the fact that she can see him, but she’s not in his arms, is like a mortal sin to her.

She gets it, she really does. She felt that way every day for two years.

When it’s obvious she’s not calming down, the officiant clears her throat and tries again, but Mia’s wailing just gets louder. Aaron smiles, shrugs.

“Sorry. It’s okay—here, Mia, daddy’s right here,” he assures, reaching out to take her from JJ, and he wipes her eyes, her red nose, and bounces her on his hip for a moment until she settles. She shoots them what she’s sure is a sickeningly sweet glance and then turns around and asks for Camila; Emily hands her off with a big smile.

Aaron grins when she puts her on her hip, and he reaches behind him for his best man, Jack, encourages him to come forward so he’s standing between them. She smiles at him, touches his face, and nods at the officiant, who takes a deep breath and proceeds.

“Do you, Aaron Hotchner, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” They opted not to write their own vows, because their vows are living, breathing things between them, three perfect little heartbeats. Anything more felt unnecessary.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Virginia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” He does, so well she thinks she might get pregnant again, and then they each kiss their three babies, and she silently marvels over the fact that all it took was being clobbered over the head with a fire extinguisher for her life to end up this perfect. “Did you know that your chance of having a second set of fraternal twins jumps to 12% after you’ve had the first?” Spencer asks as they’re gathered in the briefing room one morning. She and Aaron are standing up front, pressed close together, nodding patiently. “And considering they run in your family, and that your brother has two sets of fraternal twins, I’d say that statistically the odds are more likely doubled.”

She looks over at Aaron, whose eyes are filled with love and awe and also some pretty sexy other things, and then pulls the ultrasound image out from the little envelope, holds it out for the team to see.

In unison, they answer, “We know.”

They get a package in the mail later that week: One Jack-sized t-shirt—Brother Bear #1—and two tiny t-shirts—Sister Bear #3 and Brother Bear #2. She and Aaron stop by the hospital to visit a friend after surgery and she can't resist walking past the maternity ward. Something about seeing all of those brand new, healthy, happy babies rejuvenates her after a tough case, and the one they'd finished up earlier in the week had been one of the toughest.

A woman comes to stand beside her as she looks at the babies, wearing sweatpants and a hospital gown—she's maybe 30, so just a few years younger—and she smiles brightly at the woman. "New mom?"

"Yeah, she's the one right there," the woman says with a grin, pointing to a sweetly sleeping little girl. "Isn't she perfect?"

"They're all perfect," she sighs, "but she is very beautiful. Congratulations." The woman's smile turns warmer, softer.

"Thank you. Do you have any children?" She's so wrapped up in the dreamy haze of little babies wiggling their toes that she almost doesn't hear the question.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, five of them: Adrian, Isabella, Mia, Camila, and Jack." The woman's eyes go extremely wide, and she laughs, because she's so very used to that. Aaron steps up on her other side, wraps an arm around her waist.

"Thought I might find you here," he says, and he smiles politely at the woman, who's looking like she may never open her legs again. "Can't resist looking at the babies."

"I just love babies," she says sweetly, and she stretches up for a kiss. "Do you ever think we should have another, just to even it out?"

"Hmm. Yes, but knowing us, they'll be twins again, so it's probably best we stick with five." He bends for another kiss, and she pulls him close; when she remembers where they are, she pulls back, to shoot the new mom a sheepish smile, but she's already gone. She sighs.

"Fair enough. But do you want to go home and practice anyway?"

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

-ˏˋ⋆ ̥ 𝗳𝗼𝘅'𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗲𝘁𝗵 – part one: the beginning (cyj)

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader x kang taehyun

genre(s): fantasy, period!fic, nine-tailed fox!yeonjun, crown prince!taehyun, angst, fluff here and there

word count: 4,1k

the spirit who had been guarding the south side of the mountain, a nine-tailed fox, is requested by the crown prince of Joseon to make an appearance before his betrothed. though reluctant at first, he agrees on condition that their meeting is fleeting and under the guise of a mask.

an: this was inspired by the kdrama ‘tale of the nine-tailed’, hence the similar elements. events may or may not be historically accurate. ++ i’m really anxious about how this fic will be taken, but i’ve put too much effort in to let it sit in my drafts ksks. might post the part 2 if you want! let me know what you think!

(finally posting this as a gift for the immense support i’ve been receiving! thank you! ❤️ and low-key bc sumi has been thinkin about kitsune yeonjun)

Sealed by the promise of two youths many moons ago, your betrothal to the crown prince of Joseon was something which was not unbeknownst to anyone in the country. Many young ladies, noble and common alike, coveted your fortune and would make desperate pleas to the gods to have half the luck you did. And perhaps anyone else would have boasted about how fate had favoured them, but you didn’t.

“(Y/n)? Are you listening?” his highness asked, raising an eyebrow as you continued to flip through the pages of a book you had picked up from his desk. You placed the book back where you found it and turned to look from the pavilion, out across the pond and above the canopy tops to the mountains in the distance.

What had intrigued you about the palace was not the status, nor the riches, nor the people who dwelt within it. After all, you preferred to be neck-deep in books of history and literature, poetry, and volumes which questioned which was myth and which was reality. Your father, though, was as open-minded as anyone else was about the education of women at the time – not at all. So you had resorted to killing two birds with one stone; appeasing your father by agreeing to meet with the prince meant getting your hands on books you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

But today, you had an entirely different motive.

“Do you believe in mythical beings, your Highness?” you asked, turning to face the prince who stared back at you, wide-eyed.

The seemingly sudden question had him taken aback.

From the very first meeting, you had puzzled Taehyun. Like you, although he knew he had to do it some day, the topic of his marriage hadn’t interested him. Or rather, it was more important to him that the person he would one day wed had the same interests as he did – the good of the people and the flourishing of the country.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t expect you to be as crazed about love and titles as the other noblewomen of Joseon were, at first. So he was pleasantly surprised when you had arrived at Gyeongbokgung, not batting an eyelash in his direction. But when he had attempted to open discussions about politics and solving the exorbitant taxes expected from the people, he’d find your nose buried in one of the books from the pile you sifted through by his desk.

Taehyun was already struggling to figure you out, and now you asked him this.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he cocked his head to the side, folding his hands behind his back. “have you come across something thought-provoking?”

“It’s quite straightforward; a yes or no question.” you shrugged, smirking as your eyes caught the not-so-discreet glances his personal guard and the eunuch had given one another.

Ultimately, to have relations with the throne was not all sunshine and roses. For your own protection, and to ensure you were not used as leverage against the king, your father had sent you very far from home – to Southern Jeolla. And it was upon your arrival back in Hanyang, after many years away, that you had come to hear the rumours which had surrounded the royal family.

A gumiho. A nine-tailed fox. The spirit which protected the forest. A being which could not be trusted. The one to whom the country owed it’s prosperity. The one at whose hands the country could fall into havoc.

You knew better than to believe the words of storytellers and self-proclaimed chroniclers. It was the fact that they had all said the same thing which had perturbed you. It left this unsettling feeling, which just wouldn’t fade away. So you read book after book, folklores and retellings, each and every documented account of those who had insisted they had seen the man with ‘eyes which glowed like hot embers even in the light of day’. It nearly drove you insane.

That was, until just this morning, when you had overheard the court ladies chattering away in hushed tones about how so-and-so had come to see the prince again, how much so-and-so frightened them, and how they wondered for how much longer the king would leave the future of the kingdom in the hands of such a wild-card.

You turned to look out beyond the trees again, a sudden gush of wind rattling their branches and sending their leaves sailing through the air. “Let me meet him. This... friend of yours, your Highness.”

“No.”

Taehyun nodded, taking a leaf from the shrub in front of him between his fingers, “I thought you’d say that.”

Yeonjun huffed, taking a bite out of one of the freshly picked apples the prince had brought along with him on his visit (as some sort of incentive, he supposed). The scowl he had adorned etched deeper into his face as Taehyun’s proposition crossed his mind a second time. He should have left the boy to the wandering spirits all those years ago, is what he thought. The fact that Yeonjun had allowed him to follow him around and meet with him must have made him cocky.

In the beginning, he trusted them. Yeonjun had spent thousands of years cultivating the forest and protecting those which lived beneath it’s canopy. He had taken an oath to never allow any harm to come to it, and as a sort of by-product, had taken up an arrangement with the king to hand over to him any miscreants who chanced into his territory. And for hundreds of years, this agreement was honored. King after king had revered the spirit who protected the people, throwing grand festivals in his honor.

Until humans did what they always do. They became consumed by greed and corrupted by power. They feared that the existence of a powerful being, and the esteem in which the people held it, threatened the very authority of the throne.

On a night which felt like yesterday to Yeonjun, the then king had convinced him to appear before the people, reasoning that he deserved to be celebrated and loved; not lurking in the depths of a forest where he wondered alone. His yearning for family provoked, he had left, only to return to enormous crackling fires which devoured everything in their path.

Now he was being asked to entertain the likes of one of them again? An insolent, entitled woman who was probably the daughter of some power-hungry government official nonetheless? He wouldn’t allow himself to be made a fool out of again.

“I’m aware you cannot leave the forest unguarded for long periods of time, especially at night,” Taehyun said, brushing the bits of earth from his hand onto his silk garment. “which is why I want to bring her here.”

The half-eaten apple hit the forest floor with a thud.

“What did you just say?” the same incredulity written on Yeonjun’s face, embedded into his voice.

Taehyun grinned sheepishly, “Hyung, can’t you do me this one favour?”

Quickly taking a seat beside him, the crown prince of the Joseon dynasty grabbed onto the sleeve of Yeonjun’s black robe and tugged at it. Yeonjun sucked a sharp breath of air through his teeth and slapped his hands away. The memory of a scared little boy in disheveled clothes, sobbing as snot ran down onto his lips crossed Yeonjun’s mind. He bit back the grin which fought to pull at his lips.

“I thought you weren’t interested in love? Why all the effort then?”

Taehyun dropped his hands from where they had been grappling at Yeonjun’s robe and stood up, clearing his throat before folding his hands behind his back again. Yeonjun smirked. “It’s not by choice, the woman in question is frightening. Only the gods would know the lengths she would have gone to had I refused her.”

Many minutes of back and forth bickering had passed before Taehyun managed to convince Yeonjun to appear before you. This reluctant agreement came with conditions, however. Leaving the mountain for even a moment during nightfall was out of the question, but that didn’t mean that he was okay with some suspicious woman wandering into his home. So, they had settled on the foot of the mountain closest to the north side. Yeonjun had also made sure to point out that although he had agreed to let you see him, he never agreed to introductions.

“You never struck me as the type to attend parties in the evening, your Highness,” you hollered from your palanquin which lagged behind his. When no reply came, you seethed, biting back the urge to punch a hole through the expensive wooden barrier in front of you. He had suddenly appeared at your father’s estate just as the sun had dipped beyond the horizon, not bothering to give an explanation before your father had the guards stuff you into the tiny varnished vehicle. “You haven’t yet answered me, your Majesty. The question from earlier.”

You cried out in pain when the palanquin was suddenly set down, tossing you up in the air like a shuttlecock. Hand still pressing down on your head from where it had hit the roof of the palanquin, you glared at Taehyun’s outstretched hand when the door folded open. You violently slapped the hand away and pulled back your skirt, nearly kicking his shins as you climbed out. Accidentally, of course.

Your behaviour amused Taehyun, a smirk finding its way to his lips. He whispered something to Soobin, his personal guard, who had given him a distressed look in return. He sighed as Taehyun placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a quick nod before returning to the entourage. You raised an eyebrow when Taehyun offered you a smile, gesturing his hand to the left of where the road forked into two.

The evening air was brisk; the various flora emitting a plethora of unique smells which blended together as they crawled into your nose. Leaves rustled as the forest creatures scurried across the floor; the occasional flapping of wings and hoots of the wide-eyed, mice-eating predators filling the otherwise eerie silence. The pale moon, which shone like a great halo in the sky, casted it’s light through the trees, creating beautiful natural skylights and mysterious shadows. The breeze was ever-so gentle, seemingly caressing your cheeks as you followed Taehyun down the path filled with earthy soil.

“You’re going to kill me aren’t you?” He chuckled at the question you had posed. He took a firm hold of your hand as he helped you cross the stream you had encountered, squeezing it a little tighter as your shoe glided off some algae, smiling when he heard the under-the-breath cuss.

When you had both safely crossed over into the field of long grass on the other side of the bank, he caught his breath for a moment. “My men say there came a troupe from Jeonju in Northern Jeolla a few days back,” Taehyun started, motioning for you to follow behind him as he stalked through the vegetation.

You groaned. Just how much torture was he planning to put you through? Did he find out you had ‘borrowed’ some of the books from his shelf?

After another few dreadful minutes of walking, an enormous tree came into your sights. It’s trunk looked as if it could house a small population, and it’s branches spread far across the open space; a meadow. Taehyun smiled in satisfaction and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, before placing his hands on his hips. Was this what he wanted to show you? You were far too tired, and your feet hurt way too much to enjoy the sentiment.

“Right, as I was saying,” The prince continued. You took a seat on the soft blades of grass and began pulling the shoes off your aching feet. “Despite journeying across the country to perform in gisaeng houses, I’m told the productions of this troupe were rather enthralling – ”

The sound of your snorting earned a glare from the prince. You shook your hand, “I find myself in constant surprise this evening, your Highness,” you laughed. “Hearing the term‘gisaeng’ from your mouth would send chills down anyone’s spine.”

The distant strumming of a zither whispered in your ears and your body froze. Slowly, the field, which had been lit only by the silvery hues offered by the moon, glowed in shades of green and yellow as fireflies hovered in the air. Then the zither stopped. Your neck snapped in the direction of scuffling feet by the tree trunk. Figures dressed in black placed paper lanterns varying in size at the base of the trunk, before scaling up to the branches.

A gasp slipped from your lips when the zither had suddenly started playing again; much louder this time. Ribbons dropped from different branches around the tree, carrying men and women who spun as they unravelled. Sporting white masks in the form of a fox, they danced around the tree, twirling and swinging back, dipping low before soaring through the air with such delicacy it gave you goosebumps.

“This performance is called the Fox’s Hiraeth,” Taehyun whispered, eyes fixated on the scene before of him, “you asked the other day did you not? About gumihos in Hanyang.”

His Highness’ attempt to throw you off was painfully obvious in that moment, and it did not go unnoticed. But just before you could make the remark that you had been carefully curating for exactly this situation, the zither had come to a stop once again. Leaves rustled above you and you lifted your head into a pair of the prettiest eyes you had ever seen.

They were a shade of light brown; little flecks of green and amber peeking from in-between when light passed through them. Bewilderment swam in those sparkling orbs behind the mask, it’s wearer holding his breath, not looking away for even a moment. The feeling in your chest drew a smile onto your lips, so big, it pushed up the corners of your eyes.

“Hello.”

He pulled back suddenly, and a strong gust of wind blew right through you, making you squeeze your eyes shut. The wind seemed to blow harder and harder – Taehyun had to press his hands onto your shoulders to prevent you from being gone with it. When it had died down and you opened your eyes again, you shot up, shoving his hands away.

The lights had gone out and the fireflies were nowhere to be seen. The lanterns and the troupe too had vanished into thin air; leaving not a trace. But that was not what was distressing you.

Hands clenching fists into your satin skirt, your eyes searched desperately, “where did he go?”

“Who?” Taehyun questioned, tightening the black cloth strings of his gat. He blinked, feigning innocence so professionally, it antagonised you. “The performance is over; we should leave.”

Pulling your lips between your teeth, the agonizing feeling of having lost something important tearing at your chest, you made a decision. You were positive that Taehyun knew exactly what was going on, but you weren’t about to waste any more time trying to force an answer out of the tight-lipped prince.

Where the meadow under the peculiar tree ended, the forest started again, and spread all across the mountain. You could have been mistaken, and that man may have just been another one of the performers. But it was the forest. It felt as if it was calling out to you; screaming. Every one of your limbs ached to dash into its depths.

Taehyun cleared his throat and turned away instantaneously when he noticed you hurriedly tearing off your blouse. You tossed the garment carrying the golden emblem to the ground, and slipped your shoes back on, ignoring Taehyun’s voice which bombarded you with questions.

He grabbed onto your hand before you left and you stopped, peering down at where your bodies were joined. “It’s dangerous.” he said; his voice as firm as his grip, yet eyes pleading with you like those of a child.

Despite your fathers’ lasting friendship, you had never met Taehyun until a few days ago. And if you did, you couldn’t recall. The confounded stares he had thrown at you upon your arrival had amused you; they were not contrary to that of the other noblemen and their sons whom your father had introduced you to. You didn’t act like the prince’s woman – they had probably expected someone who they could easily manipulate and bribe to their liking – but you were very much the opposite.

It was his behaviour in the days that followed which had taken you by surprise. He’d have books stacked up all around his desk which varied in genre, and were organised by author and publication date, whenever you visited. He seldom spoke and never forced conversation with you, but he’d call for tea and sweets then leave them at a certain place on the tabletop untouched. You’d catch his eyes glancing up at you every once in a while in your peripheral vision, and a smile would find itself to your lips.

He cared for you and you had grown to care for him as well. But you knew that if you left with him right now, your insatiable curiosity would only grow and you’d just end up returning here anyway.

Placing your hands over his, eyes asking him to forgive you, you slipped out of his grasp.

“I’ll be okay.”

Yeonjun paced up and down the cliff once more. He glanced over his shoulder at the mask resting against a boulder behind him, then slapped his hands onto his face and lamented. He couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. Everything was happening exactly as he had planned – the dokkaebi had put on their show, relishing in the fact that they were pranking humans; the trees, the breeze and the critters had agreed to set the mood for what he had intended to be your heart being won over by the Taehyun.

He peeked through the spaces in his fingers at the wooden guise, and proceeded toward it. He knelt down and picked it up, eyes fixating on the slots where they were housed previously. He was certain he had prepared for everything, but that all changed when his eyes met with yours.

They stared back at him in surprise, but that surprise slowly transitioned into a warmth which enveloped him; the light of the lanterns which reflected from them, inviting him closer. They scared him, too. Under the mask he had given himself the appearance of one of the lumberers who frequented the forest, but your eyes seemed to stare right through him. They reached into his depths, baring him before you.

Yeonjun glared, irritated with how foolish he had been. He should have trusted his instinct and refused Taehyun no matter how much he insisted. It was absurd that after all these centuries he still let himself fall prey to the ludicrous fantasy he would ever be able to live and feel as they do – he knew that was the real reason he had gone along with this preposterous idea.

His grip on the mask tightened before he hurled it into the bushes. Your voice exclaimed an ‘Ow!’, making him topple over in surprise. The golden rays of sun spilled over the summit just as you stepped out from the flora, bathing you in it’s warmth and highlighting your features as it chased away the night. You rubbed your head profusely where the mask had hit you, pausing when you noticed Yeonjun’s figure on the floor.

Hands on your hips, smiling in triumph, you blew the stray strands of hair from your face. “Found you.”

He had never in his life met such a vivacious woman. Your hair looked like a bird’s nest; tiny twigs and leaves buried within the now tousled black locks. There were tears in your hanbok. Stains of dirt, grass and mud soiled the skirt. Alas, you still had a stupid smile plastered across your mucky face. He caught himself before he started grinning like an idiot too, shuffling amongst the earth before rising with his back turned towards you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. Was he looking down on your intellect?

“You’re not very clever for an ancient spirit,” you remarked, tossing the mask at his feet. His frame froze, making you scoff.

The hair cascading down his back was a pale shade pink which shimmered under the light. It contrasted the pitch black robes he adorned, which were embroidered with silver. When he turned around to give you a look of wry amusement, you noticed the bangs which framed his face were more washed out in colour compared to the rest of his head. His slanted eyes were mono-lidded, and they glistened as beautifully as the night before. His lips were plump; it’s colour reminded you of the strawberry tanghulu you had seen in the market.

He stepped closer to you, smirking at the way you were entranced by his beauty, until his face stood only inches away from yours. You cast your eyes away from him, gulping as you took a step back. His eyebrows furrowed when you cringed, staggering before you fell to the ground.

“Are you alright?” he fretted, the role of the charismatic flirt quickly abandoning him as he helped you to your feet. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you into his arms, and carried you to a place where you could sit comfortably. You gripped only his garments tightly, eyes still refusing to meet with his; the scent of flowers lingering on your clothes as he set you down. “His Majesty did not accompany you?”

He knelt down beside you and pulled off your shoes. Blood had soaked into your socks from all the hiking you had done the night before – the back of your shoes had cut deep into your heels; climbing over boulders and through thick vegetation had made the soles of your feet sensitive and prone to cuts and scratches. He pulled his lip between his teeth, eyes shooting daggers into yours.

He poured some of the alcohol he had been storing over your wounds, and massaged in the compound he made of medicinal herbs he had momentarily disappeared to go and find. He tore pieces of his robe to bind them when he was finished, then folded his arms over his chest. “I’m taking you back to the palace.”

You jolted up from where you were seated; Yeonjun pushed your shoulders back down. “None of my questions have been answered, I’m not leaving until they are.”

“Don’t you have a prince to marry?” he contended, tapping a finger on his chin, “they’re not going to be impressed when you return looking like this.”

“What’s your name? Are you really a nine-tailed fox? How old are you? Do you eat human livers? If so, why? Is it true that you are only able to receive titles like the ‘Spirit of the Mountain’ when you don’t feed human on livers? Are you actually a woman? Do you really want the best for this country? Do you wish to bring it to ruin for your own pleasure? Is it true that – ”

He took a step closer to you, and lifted your chin with his finger, closing your mouth. You held your breath as his eyes flickered to your lips, and he smirked noticing the blush spread across your face. He reached behind you and pulled the jade pin from your hair, the tresses falling gently down your back. Bringing the hairpin before you, and his lips to your ear, he whispered, “I dare not rob the future king of his woman, my lady. You should return home for your own safety.”

His hand travelled down the length of your arm, trailing goosebumps and setting fire to your skin. He placed the pin into your hand and lifted it, brushing his lips across your knuckles. His eyes locked with yours and you gasped as they glowed like a setting sun.

A horse whinnied as it strode into the area, making you tear your eyes away from Yeonjun’s. Taehyun slid off it’s back, rushing to your side. He grabbed onto your shoulders brows furrowing as he examined you from top to bottom. “Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You nodded absent-mindedly, searching for where he had gone. Taehyun led you to his horse, and lifted you onto the saddle, sighing as he found you still trying to see past the trees and their leaves. You squeezed onto your chest as you rode away, an inexplicable feeling overtaking you. You had to see him again. Not out of curiosity. No, you – you just had too.

Yeonjun held onto the trunk of the pine tree and swung his body around from the backside. Watching you ride off into the distance, eyes still set on finding him, he sighed, twirling the ring he had slipped off your finger around his.

“(Y/n), huh?” he muttered under his breath, exhilarated by the way it rolled off his tongue.

[saturnville]

cupid’s arrow!

V. The Wedding

a/n: last chapter in this miniseries. i completed this series in a handful of days yet it took a handful of months to post it all lol. thank you for the love and support on it. hope y’all enjoy this last party in adrian and sarai’s story.

pairing: adrian and sarai

warnings: none.

divider by @firefly-graphics

It came quicker than she expected. Their wedding day—March 8th—it came quicker than she’d expected. They’d gotten engaged on a fall day in November, she remembered clearly, she always would.

Now only a handful of months later, she’d been solidifying and checking off another thing on her list. She thanked God for her new salary and Adrian’s work as a surgeon. It gave them a lot more wiggle room than other young couples and for that, she was grateful. They planned a small, but beautiful wedding in Albany, New York.

The guest list was less than fifty, an agreement easily settled between the two of them. Extravagance was never eye-catching for either Adrian or Sarai. That of which prompted their wedding venue to be simple yet mesmerizing simultaneously.

It would be held in a garden, a garden that reminded her of the one spoken in the Bible—Eden. That where it flowed with earthly riches and substances. Flowers would surround them and the green leafs would brush away the nerves surrounding them.

It came quicker than she expected. She drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes. She was getting married.

Marriage. The commitment that legally bound you to another. The commitment where her soul, mind, and body would be intertwined with another. Marriage. She used to be indifferent towards it, seeing it as unimportant or just another social construct. However, it wasn’t until that man, her man walked into her world like he was meant to be there that she knew her mind began to change.

Now, she stood inside the small tent set up for any last minute touch ups were necessary, with her best friends at her side, preparing to usher her down the aisle to the man she deemed as her world.

She looked different, she inquired as she looked in the mirror Katya had brung along. No longer in her usual blazers, crop tops, and Doc Martens, she was almost unrecognizable in her long, white dress with a deep neckline and lace sleeves. Her locs had been retwisted and curled to fit her liking. Her usual minimal makeup was traded for full bridal glam—shimmery eyeshadow, lashes, and glossed lips. Beautiful, nonetheless, yet different. She couldn’t deny her fondness of it all.

The curtains of the tent peeled back and two heads poked in.

“You look so beautiful,” Katya gushed as she skipped towards the bride to be.

“Thank you.” If her skin was any fairer, the warmth that bubbled underneath her flesh would be revealed. “Is it time?”

“It’s time.”

“How is he?” She hadn’t seen him all day, as they followed the traditional wedding protocol—no seeing the bride or groom the day of the wedding. They spoke on the phone after waking up and sent a number of texts throughout the day, but overall, their communication was limited.

“He’s good. I can tell he’s nervous but the good kind. He won’t stop smiling; he’s ready. Are you?”

Sarai nodded. “I’m ready.”

Her mother’s wedding song played throughout the speakers. The sweet instrumental of You by Jesse Powell filled the atmosphere and ushered in the spirit of love throughout the small garden.

The guests rose at the sound of the music and the whispers of the bride soon coming. From around a corner turned Adrian’s niece and nephew, Tristan and Malia. The cutest twins she’d swore she’d ever laid eyes on, came waddling down the aisle with flowers tossed and a soft pillow with two rings pushed inside of them. Coos from the audience came immediately.

Following shortly behind was Sarai in all her glory. The gasps and cries of the other guests. She walked with his father at her side but everyone around her was blurred and unimportant in that very moment.

She wore no veil, rather a simple tiara and for that he was grateful. He was able to see every detail of her beautiful face—the small scar above her eyebrow that makeup failed to conceal and the beauty mark on her lip that his lips brushed against with every kiss.

The smile on his face was as bright as the son as he inched closer. The tears in his eyes blurred his vision and he had to quickly wipe them away. He couldn’t believe it—he was marrying the love of his life, and it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

Adrian’s father, Dean, kissed her twice, once on the cheek, and once on the forehead. “I love you, my daughter.” Sarai smiled tearfully and nodded before turning to Adrian who was beaming with as much joy as she was.

“Hi,” she grinned.

“Hi.” He reciprocated the same energy. “We’re getting married.”

“Yes, baby, we are…”

Their small moment was interrupted by the priest who began the traditional script they’d heard before but never fully took in.

Their vows were beautiful, heartfelt exchanges of love and adoration to one another. Oral love letters shared with tearfully guests, a pouring out of love for all to see.

“Do you, Sarai Lauren Jones take Adrian David Lorenzo to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” she breathed.

“And do you, Adrian David Lorenzo take Sarai Lauren Jones to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

His smiled reached his eyes. “I do.”

The next minute seemed to slow as it became officially official. “You may kiss the bride…”

The hoops and hollers of the guest were muted as Adrian pulled Sarai into his embrace. The world stopped spinning and it was just them, in the midst of greens and flowers and other vegetation.

His lips were warm, they always were. Hers were soft, they always were. Their kiss was sensual and passionate while also sweet and appropriate for the guests present. It took a few moments to pull away and the goofy grins on their faces showed their excitement.

“I love you, Sarai.”

“I love you more, doc.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lorenzo! Congratulations…”

Hand and hand, they walked down the aisle, strutting proudly towards a new life—together.

tags: @neeville @melaninhawtie @brattyfics