#the death fog thing made people forget things

[figuerockfaeth]

DOCTOR WHO MUTUALS RED ALERT DO WE THINK THE SILENCE ARE COMING BACK??

[auroravictorium]

anti-hero (k.b.)

i wake up screaming from dreaming. one day i'll watch as you're leaving, and life will lose all its meaning (for the last time).

Summary: reader is awake and heads outside for fresh air. kaz questions whether reader still wants to be with him, and reader begins to heal.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~4.3k (!!!) Warnings: allusions to reader's recent trauma (kidnapping, torture, severe injuries), mentions of injuries (scars, cuts, bruises), mentions of sibling & parent loss/death, mentions of blood, mentions of kaz's haphephobia, mentions of violence (kaz bashing heads and dangling people of rooftops) Genre: fluffier angst? brief angst then fluff? Author's Note: i really gotta stop with these disappearing acts. anyway, i promised you guys the next part, so here is the next part at a whopping 4.3k. pls enjoy <3 masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur as you fought to recover from what you'd been through. Nothing aggravated you more than the stiffness of your muscles and the pain throbbing throughout your body; just a week ago, you'd been able to jump across rooftops and snatch a pouch of kruge from a man's pocket without any issue. Now, damn near everything ached, though the vertigo and throbbing in your head had eased thanks to Nina's work.

On one of the warmer days, where the snow had melted into the ground to form a muddy slush, you woke up feeling much better than when you'd been carried out of the warehouse. While the rest of the house slept, you slowly made your way out of the room you were staying in and down the stairs. You stuck to the edges, using the banister to support yourself as you avoided potential creaky spots. The house was in remarkably good condition, but you didn't want anyone questioning why you were up and about on your own. You needed to move, to feel the fresh air again.

To remind yourself that you were free, despite everything.

You slipped on your battered boots, your body aching as you hunched over to pull them onto your feet, then stepped onto the front porch, looking over the bleak, icy land sprawling before you. Crossing your arms to brace yourself against the cold, you stepped off the porch and stood in the snow. You let the muddy slush soak the material of your boots, chilling your skin even through your thick socks.

The air stung your lungs as you inhaled deeply, burned through your chest, and then you let it out slowly, the air fogging before you. To be standing outside felt like bliss; in the open air, you could forget the griminess of your captivity for a moment, the sensation of blood sliding down your fingers, the ringing of your ears as your friends had arrived in a flurry of action and chaos. 

You gulped down more air to chase away the prickling hairs on the back of your neck as you considered all that had happened. Not now. 

You realized then why it was easier to close off, to not think of the horrible things those mercenaries had done, that Rollins and his Dime Lions had done in Ketterdam over the years. Denial was easier than wading through the grief of what happened. Preferable, even.

Snow crunched behind you, but you didn't turn, your eyes still fixed on the empty, slush-covered fields before you. A gloved hand carefully wrapped a worn blanket around your shoulders and lingered for a moment before falling away. Kaz stepped beside you, his coat wrapped tightly around himself; there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his face was a touch paler from exhaustion. 

You frowned at him. "You haven't slept."

"Neither have you," he said quietly, sliding his free hand into his coat pocket and looking down at you. He was silent, his icy blue eyes roaming up and down your form as he surveyed you. The look made you shiver, and you turned your gaze away, a blush unrelated to the cold rising to your cheeks.

Out of your periphery, you saw Kaz slide his hand from his pocket, and you felt the brush of his fingers against your arm, loosely wrapping around your wrist. You glanced up at him, and you let him gently turn your arm so that your forearm was to the sky; he pushed your sleeve up carefully, tenderly, and his gaze lifted from the bandages around your arm to your face, waiting.

"Go ahead," you said softly. You didn't want to hide your pain and your scars from Kaz, even though instincts told you to shield it from him. You ached to hide your weakness like when you first arrived on Ketterdam's streets, to settle into denial and rage. But this was Kaz. You trusted him to catch you if you fell.

Kaz undid the bandages with practiced ease, and you wrinkled your nose as cold air hit your wounded tattoo. The flesh was nearly healed thanks to Nina's hard work, but most of the ink itself was destroyed, only a few dark remnants remaining at the edges of what had once been the crow perched on the cup. Shiny scar tissue lined your forearm, and Kaz ran a gloved finger over the skin. The gentlest of touches, but enough to make you hold your breath and look away.

"I'm sorry," Kaz said, breaking the silence with his raspy voice before you could speak. Though he deemed his investigation complete, he didn't release your arm. Instead, he carefully wrapped the bandages again and secured them in place, his leather touches nothing more than a whisper against broken skin. 

You shook your head. "It's not your fault," you said, looking up at him. You were startled to find his gaze already on you, and your breath caught as you saw the raw emotions flickering there. Concern, anguish, guilt. A raw mix of vulnerability he would never let anyone else see.

Kaz looked back down at your bandaged arm, still in his hold. Black leather gloves against pale white bandages, a stark contrast that he hated. He'd caused this. He was at fault, whether you would say it to him or not. The moment he'd crawled out of that harbor, determined to make the city pay for taking his brother, taking his name, taking his dreams, he'd set everyone around him on a path to harm.

"Kaz," you said, turning your arm in his grip so that you could grasp his. Your breath fogged in the cold air between the two of you, a warning of the winter storm brewing above that you elected not to heed. "Tell me what you're thinking. Please."

He let out a breath, and he wanted to turn away. Your gaze was intense, reaching deep into his soul and threatening to pull out every word he'd stashed away where nobody could ever find them. Most believed he didn't have a soul, and he liked it that way; it was his treasured hiding place of all the things he wanted to say but never would, because Dirtyhands wasn't tender. He wasn't kind or caring. He was ruthless, selfish, and brutal. He bashed skulls into stone floors and tortured men on rooftops.

Yet you seemed to break down his walls with only a look, stripping away the layers he'd created to become Kaz Brekker. You saw him, the boy who grew up on this farm, who fell asleep every night with the threadbare blanket currently wrapped around your shoulders, who believed in goodness in the world.

He struggled to reach into that hidden, tucked away part of himself, to find the words he longed to say to you. I love you. I'm sorry. I am not the man you should want. I love you. I thought I'd lost you. I am a liar. I love you.

I love you, and I thought I had lost the chance to say it.

"Do you still want this?" he managed to say, the words nothing more than a rasp, the sound of sandpaper against wood. Even as Kaz Brekker longed to take steps back, to fling up those walls and fall back into the comfort and safety of being ruthless and harsh, the ground beneath his feet had him rooted in place. The Rietveld farm, where the ghosts of his father and brother lurked in the house just feet away. They were watching, begging him to do better. To be better.

He could be.

"Yes," you said without hesitation, your grip on his arm steady and your gaze unwavering. "I made my decision a year ago. I stand by it." Your words were firm but not unkind, leaving no room for argument or misinterpretation.

A lot of horrible things had happened in the past week. Kidnapping, torture, interrogation, and scarring you hoped would one day heal. And despite the urge to collapse, to fall and give in, you wouldn't. Your friends wouldn't let you. Kaz wouldn't let you. And you wouldn't let Kaz wade into the guilt he was feeling. You'd haul him out by his coat collar if you had to. You wouldn't blame anyone for what had happened to you aside from those who deserved it; the guilt lay with the mercenaries and with Pekka, left behind in that warehouse.

Kaz was quiet for a few long moments. He let your words play over and over again in his mind, searching for any whisper of deceit, any hint of blame from you that would reinforce the guilt that pressed down hard enough on his lungs that he felt like they might be crushed beneath the weight. When he found none, he pushed a slow breath past his lips, trying to ease that pressure. "Alright," he said.

Because as much as he did blame himself, it was your choice. Your decision to stay with him, despite his belief that you would only get hurt again. And he wouldn't take that choice from you, even as everything he'd taught himself screamed at him to distance himself from you until you changed your mind.

He would be better.

Kaz swallowed, realizing he still held your arm in his grasp. He looked down at it again, his hand gently cradling your injured arm, and he slowly shifted his hold until your hand was held in both of his, his cane resting against his hip so it didn't fall into the slush. He could feel the coldness of your fingers through his gloves, and he trapped your fingers between his palms to try and warm them up. 

You stepped closer to him, realizing how cold you actually were, even with the tattered blanket around your shoulders. The heat radiated off him in waves, and soon you were nearly chest-to-chest with him. You tilted your head up to look at Kaz, your heart slamming in your chest as you dared to step into his personal space. He smelled like city smoke, like faint remnants of cologne. Home. Comfort.

"I thought I lost you," Kaz rasped, the words almost inaudible, even as you stood mere inches from him. He almost choked on the words, but he owed it to you to say that. To say so much more. "I thought Pekka had won."

"He didn't," you said quietly. 

"I killed him."

"I know."

His breathing turned ragged. "I should have done worse. I should have made him suffer more."

You shook your head, turning your hand in his palms so you could lace your fingers with his. "You did what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. That's all that matters." You tilted your face up, taking in the emotions in his eyes.

"Before you left, you said..." Kaz's eyes slipped shut. Just say it, you fool. Say it. "You said you loved me."

The words didn't burn on his tongue like he thought they would and didn't taste like salty, bitter seawater. It didn't make his teeth chatter or his clothes feel stuck to his skin. It felt blissfully warm, burning in his chest like it might ignite him from the inside out.

You didn't answer, not wanting to interrupt him as he fought to speak. You had a feeling you knew what he wanted to say, why he looked like he was somewhere between keeling over and taking off across the property to disappear into the treeline. So, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him, feeling your heart pound as he spoke again.

"I should have said it back," Kaz said. "I should have told you I..." The words stuck in his mouth like the sticky candy he'd shared with his brother on this very property, the sun beating down on their heads. "I should have..." He faltered again, his brows creasing as he grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to spit the damn words out.

Kaz sighed, the breath rushing out of his lungs and clouding in the air before he managed to force out, "I should have told you that I love you." As the words passed his lips, a feeling of peace came over him. The knot in his chest eased, and the heavy weight within his chest became easier to bear. Taking the chance, he continued, his voice quieter. "You could have died, and all I thought about on the ride here was how I didn't say it back. I just turned away like a fool and sent you into the lion's den."

He was grateful for that temporary moment of relief. At least if you stepped away and changed your mind about wanting this, wanting him, the last thing he would remember of the two of you would be this moment of respite with your hand in his and the knowledge that he'd finally told you what he felt. That would be some consolation before the bitter taste of pain rose.

You stepped closer, cutting off his train of thought by pressing his gloved hand against your racing heart, his palm resting just beneath your collarbone. The words he'd just spoken suddenly seemed far away, and his mind went completely blank as he felt the hammering of your heart against his palm. A stark reminder that you were still alive, and he didn't have to think of the 'what ifs' anymore. You had chosen him. You hadn't changed your mind, after everything.

"Don't torment yourself," you said quietly. Your gaze met his, a simultaneous fierceness and gentleness visible there that almost knocked the breath from Kaz's lungs. "Do you remember what I told you? Your pace?"

The words reminded you of an evening that felt long in the past. The two of you, sitting on Kaz's tiny bed in the Slat and working through his fear when you told him you love him and that he didn't have to say it back until he was ready. Your pace, Kaz.

"I remember," he said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of his breathing as he dropped his hand from your heart and twined his gloved fingers with yours once more. Once he was sure he wouldn't hyperventilate or collapse into the icy mud like a fool, he opened his eyes again.

"I love you," you said softly, giving his hand the gentlest of squeezes. The words felt right, just like every time you'd said them, tasting like shots in the Crow Club and snow falling over the city, like a heady bliss you wanted to feel again and again, as though you might never get enough. Though the words felt right, you realized you started trembling after you said them. From the cold? From the vulnerability strung between the two of you? From the anticipation of his response?

Your fingers were cold between Kaz's, and before he realized what he was doing, he caught both of your hands in his this time, clasping them between his gloved palms to warm them up. Only a few inches separated your faces now, and your tangled hands were wedged between your chests. Selfishly, he wanted to close that distance completely, to remind himself of how your lips felt together. It had been six months, and though he thought about that moment in the alley outside the Crow Club every single day, he found that the feeling had begun to drift from his mind.

"We should go inside," he rasped, despite the thoughts warring in his head. You were freezing; that much was obvious. The old blanket he'd brought to you hadn't done much to keep you warm in this bitter weather, especially as a fresh flurry of snow prepared to blanket the ground.

"I'm fine," you responded, though the growing numbness of your nose and ears said otherwise. You were caught in his gaze, trapped by the heated look in his eyes. You'd seen him angry, distant, and vulnerable at times, but the look he wore now was one you hardly recognized. It was one you'd only seen once before, moments before he'd kissed you outside the Crow Club like he'd die if he didn't get the chance.

"That's what most say before dying of exposure," Kaz deadpanned, but even his response couldn't tamp down the burning in his chest. He didn't recognize it, the looseness in his muscles and the burning in his chest. For once, no terror rose in response to your closeness, ready to shove him away with cold, invisible hands.

You rolled your eyes at him. "I can assure you, the cold won't take me out that easily." Still, you shivered just a bit as a slight breeze kicked up to remind you both of the incoming storm, making your words much less reassuring than you wanted them to be. Traitorous nature. But Kaz (and the wind) was right, the two of you should head inside, even if you wanted to bask in the vulnerability and simmering feel of his gaze for a little bit longer.

Taking a step back, you moved as if you might disentangle your hands from his and head back toward the house. Once again acting before he could stop himself, Kaz caught you, his fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. "Wait," he said, his voice almost inaudible. He took a shaky breath as terror sunk its fingers into his flesh again, making his words come out more unsteadily than he intended. "Can I?"

He could win against his fear again, could push himself past the newfound comfort of holding hands with you. He'd done it once, even though it had kicked an unfortunate series of events into motion. But maybe... maybe that wouldn't happen again. It was just the two of you and the cold. No witnesses, no traitors amongst you except the bone-deep terror that threatened to rear its head every time he dared to challenge it.

Confusion briefly flashed across your face, and then your mind went blank with recognition. The memory of the alleyway, a kiss tasting like bitter liquor and snow, flashed through your mind.

Oh. Oh.

You nodded, just as you had before, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the cold.

As he stepped closer, closing the last few inches of distance, you wanted to ask him whether he was sure. He'd opened up to you so much already; you didn't want him to feel obligated to do so further. But he'd initiated it, and you trusted him and his newfound confidence in his ability to heal. 

You were proud of him.

His lips met yours, tentatively at first. They were cold, chapped slightly from the weather, and he waited for the icy terror to yank him to the ground and drown him right there on land. While his legs felt unsteady, pushed and pulled at by his own fear in its twisted form of pale, dead hands in the harbor, he felt like he could keep standing as long as he focused on you.

It no longer felt like the midst of a Kerch winter. As snow fell down and started to kiss your cheeks, you could imagine it was a morning drizzle on a summer day, before the sweltering heat kicked in and was compounded by the smoky air of the city. You felt warm, maybe too warm, and you freed one of your hands to move up and grasp the back of his neck, standing up on your tiptoes to keep the distance between you closed.

Kaz startled at the touch, his hand moving to grab your arm out of instinct as his heartbeat picked up at the feel of your hand on his skin. The touch was foreign, soft, and hesitant, but not unwelcome as he steeled himself against letting his fear take over. He wanted to be able to kiss you, to accept your touch and affection without feeling like he might collapse. 

His determination fueled him to press even closer, his hand releasing your arm in favor of cupping your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, pretending he could feel the softness of your skin beneath his touch. You shivered, and a surge of warmth ran down his spine, making goosebumps rise beneath your hand on his neck.

Distantly, he felt his cane fall from where it had been propped against his hip, thumping against the frozen ground. But his focus was on you. You, your lips, your nose bumping against his as you settled into this still-new feeling, your hand on his neck, your other moving up as if to join the other before chancing it, sliding into the mussed strands of his hair that he hadn't bothered to slick back before joining you out here.

You fought the heat running throughout your body and forced yourself to pull back, gasping a bit and looking up at him. "I'm-" you began, already starting to retract your hands. What if you'd pushed him too far? You'd felt how he tensed beneath your touch for a moment, felt him go somewhere else for just a moment. What were you thinking, Y/N? His pace, remember?

"Don't," Kaz said roughly, knowing precisely what you were thinking. He kissed you again, chasing the euphoria of your lips against his. He surprised himself with how hungrily he kissed you. The feel of your lips was better than any liquor. Better than any drug, or high in the aftermath of a successful heist. He liked the feeling of kruge passing into his hands, but this feeling had quickly surpassed that.

You made a noise of surprise but didn't protest or pull away, sliding your hands back into his hair and through the dark, silky strands. There was a bubble of something in your chest, the urge to chase this and press further, but the burning in your lungs and throbbing of your wounds in response to the worsening cold forced you to pull back far sooner than you wanted to. 

You opened your mouth to speak, ready to ask if he was okay, or what he was thinking. A million emotions were flickering through his eyes, and you were having trouble pinpointing any of them. Just as you recognized one of them as longing, Kaz's face went neutral, the emotions disappearing before you could blink as the front door to the house creaked open. Your head turned, and you saw Nina, who had just woken up judging by the wayward hair framing her face.

"If you two are done frolicking, I figure I should tell you the storm is about to hit," Nina called from the porch, leaning against the doorway with a smugness on her face that made you blush and take several steps back from Kaz. 

Tightening the old blanket around your shoulders, you glanced at Kaz as he grabbed his cane off the ground. His cheekbones were flushed pink, and there was a purse to his lips that gave away his embarrassment at being caught. But as he straightened up, his cane firmly in his hand again, there was a sparkle in his eye as he met your gaze and offered you an elbow to help you back inside.

"Not a word, witch," Kaz said to Nina, eyeing the wicked grin on her face as he tapped his boots against the steps to free the snow and mud from them. He kept his arm extended for you to hold onto as you did the same, noting the winces of pain as the impact sent shocks of pain through the bruises and scrapes on your legs.

Nina gave Kaz an innocent smile. "Of course not." She reached up to pinch his cheek, and he batted her hand away with a sharp glare. "Can't ruin your terrifying reputation, can I?" 

"No bickering before breakfast," Jesper groaned from the couch, pushing the blanket away from his face and yawning. "I can't add any witty commentary on an empty stomach." He sat up and rubbed his eyes before grimacing and hunching his shoulders. "Now, will you please close the damn door? It's freezing out there."

You suppressed another smile, stepping into the house and setting your shoes to the side. As Nina and Jesper bickered, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, sharing a brief glance with Kaz as you settled next to the fireplace to warm up. A flicker of something soft passed through his eyes before disappearing as he carefully leaned down to add another log to stoke the flames. 

Inej padded down the stairs, putting the finishing touches on her braid as she investigated the commotion. If she noticed the faint blush on your cheeks or Kaz looking anywhere but you, she didn't say anything. Instead, she pushed Jesper's legs off the couch to make room to sit, ignoring his groggy protests.

Though you weren't sure anything other than time could heal what happened, being surrounded by your chosen family was a good start. A warmth unrelated to the fire settled over you, a comfort and security that eased the tension that hadn't lifted since your capture. You would heal. Wounds would scar and fade, memories would become less vivid, and the ink along your arm could be replaced one day. 

In the meantime, you'd bask in that warmth, even when your return to Ketterdam inevitably tried to chase it away. 

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[currentlyfckingurmom]

Ecstasy

Summary: Percy Jackson’s lotus flowers meet sex pollen (Natasha Romanoff x female reader)

Warnings: shameless smut (18+)

Her eyes are a starry sky.

Her smile is the death of me.

Her laughter is a lullaby.

But her kiss is unmatched ecstasy.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. In and out. Home before bedtime.

But then the waiters passed out little flower shaped cookies, and you begged your best friend to try one with you. She finally caved, and they were so good that you just had to have another. And maybe a few more after that.

By the time you realized the cookies might have had something in them, your mind was too hazy to care. Because Natasha’s body was but a few inches from yours, swaying to the thundering music with a glint in her eyes that made your stomach tighten.

Since the first cookie, a simmering heat had been building in your abdomen, amplified tenfold by the woman in front of you. Judging by the pink of her cheeks and the tilt of her lips, you thought that just maybe she was feeling it too.

By the time she pulled you closer mid-song and you both moaned at the simple touch, you knew where the night was going. A fog clouded your mind, blocking out every inhibition and logical thought that told you to not sleep with the woman you had fallen for so long ago.

Natasha giggled like a schoolgirl as she ran her hands through your hair, and you soon followed suit, both of you laughing in the middle of the dance floor like nobody else was around.

You were both far too gone to care.

“You’re so beautiful, Natasha,” you whispered.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked.

You nodded and then her lips were on yours, her arms around your neck and your hands on her waist.

Your senses were dulled, but her essence sparked them back to life. There was nothing but the smell of her sweet vanilla perfume, the taste of her red lipstick, the feel of her hands, and the sound of her sighs.

She slipped her tongue into your mouth, and a sharp wave of arousal ignited in your stomach. It was excruciatingly painful, how much you wanted her. You would’ve taken her right there in the middle of the casino, had it not been for her hand dragging you away.

Your heartbeat fluttered against your chest and your clothes felt uncomfortable against your skin, but the way Natasha’s hips swayed in front of you as she walked had you quickly forgetting everything else.

The world around you blurred, tunnel vision focused on her and only her. She led you through the club, running into people and bumping the door on the way out.

Outside, the only thing to be heard was heavy breathing and wild heartbeats. Eventually you found the car. Natasha unlocked it and shoved you in the backseat, quickly scrambling after you and straddling your lap.

“It hurts,” you whined.

“I know,” she said, and you knew then that she was feeling the same hot pain of overwhelming arousal.

“Something’s not right,” you added.

“I know,” she said again. “But I don’t care. I want you. Do you want this?”

You nodded dumbly. “Yes. Please, Nat. I need you.”

Her lips were on yours, hot and heavy. With a fleeting thought, you broke the kiss and leaned forward to finally close the car door and seal yourselves in your own little world.

The windows quickly fogged up as she kissed you roughly, grinding mercilessly down into your lap. You assisted her movements with your hands on her hips.

Your heartbeat felt way too fast as you trailed sloppy kisses down her sweaty neck, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. If you were to die right then and there, well, you thought that would be just fine.

“Fuck, detka, I’m gonna—”

It didn’t take long for Natasha to reach her first orgasm, the climax built by nothing but the movements on your lap.

To your own surprise, your orgasm fluttered and exploded inside you right after hers, the sound of her pretty moans too much to bear.

The relief didn’t last long, however. Another painful wave of arousal crashed into you almost immediately. “Oh fuck,” she whined.

“What was in those cookies?”

“I don’t know but right now I don’t care,” she muttered, her hips resuming their movements.

Your hands gripped the bottom of her dress, looking to her for permission. When she gave it, you hiked up the short black number to reveal a lace thong underneath. “Fingers,” she breathed.

You looked up at her with awe, studying the sweat on her brow and the pants leaving her mouth. Your fingers ran along her ruined underwear, causing her breath to stutter. “Don’t be a fucking tease.”

“Yes ma’am.” You pushed her underwear aside and slipped a finger inside. “God, you’re so wet, Nat.”

“More,” she panted.

You ran your thumb over her clit, slipping a second finger inside. Her hips jerked. She began rocking in time with your movements, forming a rhythm of lewd noises and breathy moans.

You did your best to ignore the fiery ache between your legs, focusing desperately on your fingers curling inside Natasha.

She came once more with a silent scream. She kissed you sloppily before sinking down to her knees as best as she could in the cramped backseat.

She hastily unbuttoned your pants, tugging them and your underwear down your legs at once. The cool air hit your center and you realized just how wet you were.

“Fuck,” she said once before leaning in. She licked a strip up your pussy and you let out a choppy groan.

“Shit, Nat,” you breathed as she flicked her tongue over your clit. “Just like that, please.”

You fell apart within moments, screaming Natasha’s name like a prayer, over and over.

She kissed up your still-clothed torso, finally landing on your lips and letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“We need to get out of here. I need room to fuck you properly,” she said against your lips.

“Nat, we can’t drive like this.”

“Would you rather get arrested for having sex in this car?”

She handed you the keys and let you drive. You did your best to focus on the road, but the way she was shifting in her seat and clenching her thighs was far too distracting.

“Fuck, Nat, you’re killing me.”

You readjusted in your seat, fighting desperately to ignore the painful arousal.

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Fuck, I need you. Now.”

She took your right hand and guided it between her legs. Your left tightened on the steering wheel.

“Holy shit. I’m gonna fucking come from this alone,” you mumbled desperately. The arousal grew rapidly and you shifted once more as your fingers worked tirelessly between Nat’s legs.

You felt her clench around you as she threw her head back in ecstasy. When you pulled your fingers out, she grabbed your wrist and sucked your fingers into her mouth, holding eye contact relentlessly.

You swallowed a moan, fighting to turn your eyes back to the road.

The ten minute drive to your apartment felt like ten hours. You parked like shit and all but ran into the building.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Natasha pushed you into the wall, kissing you with fervor. Her lips trailed over your jaw and down your neck, pulling moans from your throat as she left bruises in her wake.

“All mine,” she murmured against the column of your throat.

“All yours,” you panted.

The metal doors slid open with a ding and you stumbled out towards your apartment. You tried to find the right key, but Natasha was kissing your neck and your hands were shaking violently.

The key finally turned in the lock and the two of you practically fell into the apartment.

“Bedroom.”

You picked her up and brought her to it, laying her down on the bed. You crawled over her, laying your hands on her stomach. “Can I take this off?”

She nodded yes and helped you remove the dress from her body.

You ducked your head and began leaving marks on her chest. She squirmed impatiently underneath you. “What did I say about teasing,” she warned.

“Another time, then,” you obliged. Neither of you were coherent enough to acknowledge your mention of doing this again.

You took a stiff nipple into your mouth, swirling your mouth around it to draw out a soft sigh. You pinched and rolled the other between your fingers. You switched to give them equal attention.

As content as you would have been to stay there all night, she eventually pushed your head lower. You trailed kisses down her stomach and over her thighs before pausing where she wanted you most.

Your breath ghosted over those ruined lace panties as you looked up at her. You held the eye contact as you placed a kiss over her clothed clit. She groaned and tangled a hand in your hair.

“Detka, fuck me. Now. Please.”

You smirked before tearing her thong off and diving into her wetness. She twitched and clenched around your tongue as your hands held her steady against you.

A river of Russian came spewing from her mouth, doing nothing to stop the arousal soaking through your pants.

When she came this time, it was anything but silent. Your name fell from her mouth like it was the last thing she would ever get to say, and the moans that bounced off the walls ensured a noise complaint the next day.

You crawled up her body and when she opened her eyes, you knew you were far from done. With stupid, drug-induced grins on both of your faces, she asked if you had a strap. You nodded in a trance.

And then she was riding you. Gripping your headboard with white knuckles and leaving nasty red scratches on your back. The way the strap hit your clit with every thrust had you panting and moaning alongside her.

“Cum with me, dorogoy.”

And you did. You did your best to keep your rhythm as you both rode out your orgasms.

Your foreheads fell against one another. Heavy breathing filled the hot room.

“Does it still hurt?” She asked.

“Not as much,” you answered.

“‘S still foggy,” she slurred. You nodded in agreement.

Your eyes caught sight of the alarm clock beside your bed. You squinted to try and read it.

05:42

“Holy shit. Nat, how long were we in the casino?”

“Um, an hour maybe?”

“Nat, it’s almost six in the morning. I know we haven’t been fucking that long.”

“Oh my god. What the fuck were those cookies? Oh god. Fury probably thinks we’re dead.”

You moved to stand up, but the moan that tumbled from Natasha’s lips reminded you of the strap still inside her.

When your eyes met hers and you saw those lust blown pupils, every logical thought went out the window once more.

“Fury can wait,” you muttered as you slowly began rocking your hips again.

“Fury can wait,” Natasha repeated before her hand wrapped around your throat and brought your lips to hers.

When Fury and a team of agents broke down the door three hours later and found Natasha kneeling before you in the shower, you realized your mistake.

At least until Natasha looked him square in the eye and said “Lotus flowers produce sex pollen. Get out.”

It took all day for the effects to wear off, and Fury left the two of you alone to sort it out.

Natasha kissed you at the end of the day and said “We should do this again sometime.”

You kissed her back and said “We should do this again all the time. But maybe without the drugs.”

[axelsagewrites]

Absolutely love your writing would you mind doing another Robb Stark one where it’s kind like the Brienne Of Tarth one where y/n is Robert and Cersi daughter very nice and innocent and it an arranged marriage but they fall in love but this is set just when they meet and the royals arrive in winter fell and they’ve had a couple of conversations and maybe it’s their engagement party and y/n very overwhelmed so she goes outside and Robb follows her out worried. She’s nervous for the bedding ceremony cause Cersi has filled her head with these horrors of what it’s like wanting to protect her daughter in her own way so y/n is very clueless when it comes to anything concerning sex and being intimate.Y/n asks if they can kiss now so it’s like their first moment on their own without people watching them and he agrees and it’s starts off innocent but all y/n knows is that she likes kissing Robb and the way it feels so she just lets herself get lost in the moment as does Robb but when he gets a bit ‘exited’ he had to stop her wanting to be honourable to her but she’s like confused and Robb promises he’ll explain and show her when they r married so like kind of smutty as kissing can be a fluffy ending 💕

Robb Stark*Sweet Girl

Pairing: Robb x Baratheon F!Reader

Warnings: talks of sex, suggested assault, Cersei being herself

Word count: 4129

Masterlist Here

Everything was about to change. And if your mother was right then this was then Winterfell could have been a fate worse than death. For years your father told you stories from his life. In near everyone he would bring up the same name. Ned Stark. His brother in spirit, almost in marriage. The way your father spoke about Lynna was so beautiful that it almost made you forget he had a wife. His stories of the Starks were filled with honour and pride and love. When your father had first brought up the betrothal between you and Robb Stark for the rest of dinner you were excited. Then your mother invited you to her chambers for tea.

She poured it in silence before dismissing the maids and servants with a silent wave of her hand. The smile she wore was filled with sadness, anger, and a hint of love. Your mother tried to love you, she tried to love all her children, she just didn’t know how. The thing she always did was try and protect you, however.

The silence clung to the room like fog. Raising the cup to your lips, you took a small sip of the strong-smelling tea with a forced smile. “The teas lovely. Thank you, mother,”

Cersei smiled, not even picking up her own cup, “You have always been a sweet child,” You smiled at the compliment, but it was replaced with confusion as your mother continued, “Its one of my biggest regrets. My sweet girl you are to be married,” Cersei took your hands as your stomach bubbled with a mix of emotions, “And it is time you learned the truth of it all,”

“Your husband will not love you. he may like you; he could try love you, but he won’t,” as she spoke you felt your heart shatter in your chest, “The only ones you can count to love you are your children,” Cerci placed a hand over yours, but it was cold. “My sweet girl marriage is our war, and we fight the battles every day,” You knew there was no love lost between your parents but to hear her so crudely describe your future made the floor spin, “Sadly you’ve already bled but we’ll discuss the…details of what comes after another day,”

“What details?” you pressed.

Cerci sighed and looked off to the ceiling, “Men want one thing darling,”

“What do they want?” you asked, still clueless to what she was implying, “The septas always said I was a quick study, I can learn.”

Her hand dropped from yours with a hollow chuckle, “Oh sweet girl. Sweet, sweet girl. You really don’t know what you’re in for,”

You were to leave for Winterfell in less than a week and the whole week you spent listening into the whispers of lady’s gossip. It was also around this time you began to listen to how the men spoke. It made your skin crawl. Whenever you were in front of your father or siblings you did your best to seem happy for the wedding. You tried your best to be happy yourself. But your mothers’ words flashed over your mind every night. Maybe Robb would be different?

Travelling with your mother didn’t help much since she continued to tell you tales. She told you how to dress, how to act, how to conceal marks, how to flirt, how to act interested, how to lie. When you tried to ask how the deed was done, she did not have the heart to teach you. “Just lay their sweetheart. He’ll do the rest. Just don’t let him hear you cry,”

When you arrived at Winterfell all the joy you felt when your father first told you of the marriage was long gone. Despite this you tried you best to at least look happy. Maybe your mother was wrong after all. Anything was better than being trapped in this stuffy carriage for even another day. Clambering out of that carriage cage was like seeing sunlight for the first time.

The sight of people other than your mother and siblings made a smile appear on your face that for once wasn’t forced. Tommen clung to your side as your mother approached the Starks. Tommen tugged at your sleeve, and you pulled your gaze away from the tall walls of Winterfell to crouch down to him. “Which one are you marrying?” he whispered.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. “Take a guess,” you whispered back, still crouched, as you finally looked at the row of Stark children. You knew which one was Robb in an instant. He had gorgeous curly hair and blue eyes you could see from even this distant. The clean shave showed off his strong jaw and even under the fur you could tell he was strong. Tommen’s eyes scanned the children before he sheepishly pointed to Robb. “What a clever little prince,” you whispered, ruffling his hair as you stood. A proud smile fell on his face causing you to grin.

When you looked up from your brother you noticed the piercing blue eyes were now on you. you felt yourself flush at his gaze and quickly turned your attention elsewhere. It didn’t last long as your father soon excited the courtyard with the lord of Winterfell. “Perhaps its time the children finally long met,” You heard Catelyn Tully say.

She seemed kind despite the Norths reputation for harshness. Your mother had drilled it into you recently that looks could be deceiving, however. You tried to ignore how your stomach flipped as your mother silent nodded before approaching your siblings. She merely gestured her head at you before disappearing to talk to Uncle Jamie.

Taking a deep breath, you took Tommen and Marcellas hands and led them over to the Starks. Joffrey was dragging his feet behind you, and you knew he would be no help in this awkward introduction. “Lady Stark,” you greeted with a bow.

“Your graces,” she said, bowing further down. The children did the same.

When a couple moments passed you cringed before realising you had yet to tell them to stand. You quickly gestured for them to do so, glancing behind to look for your mother who had likely disappeared to find a case of wine. “Lady Stark I-,” you paused, glancing at the expecting looks before whispering, “I have no idea what im supposed to do in all honesty,”

The laugh she let out warmed your cheeks but the chuckle you heard from Robb made your stomach flutter. It was deep and hearty and made your skin tingle, “Its alright sweet girl,” Catelyn said, taking your hand, “Its an honour to have you here,”

“The honours your grace. I’ve never seen a more beautiful castle,” Joffrey scoffed at your words, and you turned to glare at the snotty boy who quickly shrunk under your look. “My siblings,” you tried to return to polite conversation, “Joffrey, Tommen, and Marcella, and I are grateful for your hospitality. Perhaps Tommen and Bran I believe would make good play mates. Marcella and Sansa and Arya as well of course. I did get the names, right?” you asked.

Catelyn smiled a wide motherly smile, “Yes, my dear. Then I also have my youngest Rickon,” she said gesturing to the small boy clung to her furs, “and my eldest, Robb,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Robb looked even more handsome up closely, a fact that made it hard not to flush red.  “Princess,” Robb bowed his head as he reached his hand out. You paused for a moment before quickly realising he was reaching for yours.

“Sorry,” you muttered, now sure you were blushing, before quickly reaching your hand out. Robb chuckled again as he took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. His lips on your skin made a shiver go up your spine. “We meet at last,” you said with an awkward smile. The warm smile that spread on his perfect lips made you internally die at how dumb his looks alone had rendered you.

You quickly moved your attention onto the next Stark, begging silently for your awkwardness to fade. You could feel Robbs eyes on you, but you didn’t yet know how your forgetfulness and sincerity had charmed him. Robb struggled in fact to keep his attention off you since your arrival.

Tommen and Bran had indeed got on well, a fact you were proud to have predicted. It surprised you slightly that Arya played more with Bran and Tommen than Sansa and Marcella, but you were just happy to watch the children get along. Joffrey was likely off tormenting or gloating while Sansa and Marcella had stayed inside to learn embroidery. Tommen and Bran practised pretend swords in the courtyard while you sat a few feet away watching on a bench.

You clapped as Tommen finally began to get a hang of the glorified stick and grinned at his dopey smile. “Who’s winning?” a thick northern accent said from behind you.

Jumping slightly, you turned to see Robb had approached you without you even realising. “I’d like to say Tommen,” you said lowly, “but that’d make me a liar,” you grinned. Robbs laugh still made your heart flutter after your first week in Winterfell. “Would you like to join me?” you asked.

“It would be my honour princess,” Robb said before joining you on the bench with a small smile.

You laughed lightly, “You don’t have to call me that,”

“I kinda do,” he chuckled.

“Well as your princess im ordering you not to,”

“Is that so?” Robb laughed at your fake seriousness, “What happens if I do? Will you poke me with a pin?”

You thought for a moment before grinning “I’ll get Tommen to duel you,”

As you said this Tommen was struggling to even swing the wooden sword he had. “You’re cruel,” his laugh warm as he watched your brother’s spar.

“The cruellest,” you grinned. “Its my reputation. Everyone at Kingslanding fears me,”

Robb couldn’t control his laughs, but you couldn’t help yourself from joining in, “No offence princess but I don’t think you could scare a fly,” you gently stomped your foot on his, “Hey!”

“I told you not to call me that,” you fake glared at him.

Robb held his hands up in fake surrender. “I take it back. Very frightening. My shoe is terrified,” the dopey smile he wore was far better than the serious face that had first greeted you. Robb looked out to where the boys practised. “I could teach him if you’d like,”

“Would you?” You asked, grabbing his arm without thinking, “Joffrey teases him horribly and it makes him not want to try. Before we left, he could hardly hold it let alone spar. He would only practise with me in private and im afraid im not a very good teacher,”

“You can use a sword?” Robb asked, eyebrow raised.

“Not very well,” you grinned, which was partly a lie. You could use one, but you were no Jamie Lannister.

Robb grinned, “Well after I teach Tommen maybe I could teach you,”

“Maybe you could,” you said with a small smile. Robb grinned before getting up and joining the boys. You bit your lip as you watched how careful he was with Tommen as he taught him how to swing the sword. For a moment you couldn’t help but imagine what Robb would be like with his own son. Your son.

You clapped as the boys sparred, laughed as they failed and succeeded, smiled the whole time. the perfect afternoon. Robb bid you farewell when you had to leave to prepare for dinner.

When you arrived at your chambers it wasn’t long until your mother arrived. “Go,” she told the maids as she snatched the hairbrush from them, “I’ll be doing her hair,” she smiled at you in the mirror, and you did your best to smile back as she began to brush it. “I hear you and the Stark boy had fun today,”

“He taught Tommen how to spar properly,” you smiled softly.

Your mother did not smile however, “We have knights for that,”

“Yes, but Tommen gets nervous,” you said, and she just hummed as she began to braid sections of your hair, “Robb was really good with him,”

“He was trying to impress you. it wont last,” she said.

You ignored the tugging and pulling off your hair. However, when your mother began to pin the braids up you spoke, “Robb likes it down,” you said.

Cerci paused for a moment before continuing her pinning, more harshly this time, “You’re a southerner. We wear it up,”

“Of course, mother,” you said unable to stop your eyes prickling.

As Cerci was almost finished your hair she spoke again “I just don’t want to see you get hurt sweet girl,”

“I wont mother. Robb has been nothing but kind,” you tried to assure her, but she just scoffed.

“For now. Trust me my sweet girl. He will hurt you and you will learn to endure it,” she said, starring off to the side, “it gets easier with time. with wine,” she chuckled as she looked at you in the mirror, “You look beautiful,” she smiled with her hands on your shoulders. You didn’t thank her.

“I don’t like wine,” you said.

She dropped her hands from your shoulders, “You will,” she said before leaving to prepare herself for the feast. You looked at yourself in the mirror and it felt like a stranger dressed as your mother stared back.

“I love your hair,” Sansa squealed as you took your seat with the Stark children and your siblings, “Will you teach me how to do mine like that?”

“I could,”

“I can’t wait to be sisters,” she squealed again. You forced the smile onto your face as you agreed with her but for the whole of dinner you could not bring yourself to look at Robb.

You noticed his looks and acknowledged his questions, but you kept moving the conversation back to another person. Robbs face grew duller as the night continued and his attempts lessened. Sansa and Marcella kept asking about the engagement celebration happening tomorrow and you did your best to seem happy however as soon as the dinner was over you excused yourself.

In your chambers you hastily took out all the pins your mother had shoved in and tried to untangle all the knots. It did little to help, however. No matter what you did your mothers words ate away at you.

With the betrothment terms scheduled, part of which included you staying in Winterfell as a ward on the lead up to the wedding, your father had insisted on an engagement celebration. A feast filled with drinking and dancing and eating and singing and noise. So much noise. From the gossip to the slurping to the giggles and music; you were drowning in a sea of noise.

You couldn’t understand how it was a celebration of you and Robb when you had only greeted each other since the festivities had started. Part of that admittedly being because of your avoidance of the Stark boy. “When I said you had to dance, I assumed you understood I meant with him also,” your mother whispered sharply in your ear before plastering on her smile again.

All you could do was nod as you drank more wine from your cup. You thought the sweet wine would sooth your stomach, but it only made your head spin more. When Robbs eyes locked with yours over the crowd you felt your stomach burbling but not with, he excitement it had before. Your gut said one thing your mother another. Who was right?

When you saw Robbs smile you couldn’t help feeling the butterflies but when he began to cross the hall, eyes on you, it was as if the butterflies had suddenly lost their wings. “I’m going for some air,” you whispered to Clegane who had been set to guard you. when he nodded and stood you shook your head, “Alone. I’ll be back before anyone notices I left,” You were glad he wasn’t much of a people’s person and did not question as you slipped out of the hall.

Once you were in the corridor you were able to let out a sigh of relief before quickly navigating the now familiar corridors to find the courtyard. You took in a deep breath of the cold Northern air before pressing forward in your journey to sit on a bench just out of sight of the windows. Despite hearing the noise of the festivities, the space made it less overwhelming at least.

The cold wind on your cheeks helping your flush from the crowded hall. You had assumed everyone had been too wrapped up in their own drinking to notice however when a hand touched your shoulder you jumped as you realised you were wrong. “Are you okay?” Robbs face was filled with worry as he stood over you.

You opened your mouth to speak but words stuck in your throat. Robb moved to sit on the bench beside you, taking your hand into his. “What’s the matter?” his thumb stroking over your knuckles.

“I don’t know what im doing,” you whispered, closing your eyes, and leaning your head back to rest on the stone wall behind the bench, “And im scared,”

“Scared of what?” Robbs eyes were filled with warmth despite the icy colour.

You sighed as you weighed up whether to tell him. “My mother has told me stories. Of marriage,” you said. Robb sighed, his eyes dropping into a sad smile, “Of how some men treat their women. Of what I should expect,”

“And your scared?” Robb asked and you nodded your head. Robb took both your hands into his with a gentle squeeze, “I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be dragged halfway across Westeros for a new life. But I promise you this; I won’t let anything hurt you as long as I live. I couldn’t live with myself if I was to hurt you in anyway. Im sorry that I have frightened you princess,

“Its not you,” you sighed, sitting up properly, “Its just. I’ve heard a lot about the things. Like you know. that man and wife do,” you said, and you couldn’t help the flush on your cheeks, but Robb did not laugh or mock your nerves unlike others would, “People keep talking about the bedding ceremony,”

“We won’t have one of them,” Robb cut you off, “I respect you far too much to have some old creep in the room,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at his brashness. “We won’t do anything like that until you’re ready. I wont force myself on you,”

“My mother says you will,”

“That woman has said two words to me since she has met me. She does not know me,” Robb said. “When we are married it will be our marriage. Not hers, not my parents, ours. And we make the rules of it,”

“I’d like that,” you said, a shy smile finally returning to your face. Robb had a dopey grin on his face as you raised his hand to kiss the back of it. “Thank you, Robb,”

“Anything for you princess,” you slapped his shoulder at the name, “Okay fine,” Robb laughed. “I’m sorry,” he held his hands up in fake defence.

You laughed and took a moment to enjoy the comfortable silence, “Can I ask a favour?” you broke the silence. Robb nodded and you sighed. “Could we kiss?” You said, face flushing as Robb raised his eyebrows confused, “It’s just I know we will have to eventually and- “you began to ramble, “I just don’t wanna do it for the first time in front of everyone like it’d just be nice if like maybe we had like a moment like between us and I know its dumb,”

Your rapid-fire sentence was cut short when Robb lightly grabbed your chin, “Its not dumb,” he said softly, “I think its sweet,” his hand moved to hold your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, “And if im honest I would quite like to kiss you,” he whispered.

“I’d like to kiss you too,” you whispered back.

Slowly Robb leaned forward, his hot breath fanning your face as his warm fingertips brushed your cheek. You shuffled forward slightly, your hand moving to rest on his shoulder. His lips, grazing over yours, waiting for you to close the gap. You did.

Your lips pressed together softly, moulding together for a short but sweet kiss. It broke after a couple of seconds and for a moment you gazed into Robbs eyes which gazed back at you. his lips were chapped but had felt so soft against yours. The seconds they had touched yours had already made you addicted to the sweet taste.

Your lips crashed back onto his, more needy than before. Robb did not stop your movements, instead his hand slid back to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer to him. Your hands gripped into his shoulders as your lips moulded with his. Air no longer felt important to your lungs when you felt his tongue brush against your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, almost moaning when he slipped his tongue in. the sweet taste of his tongue made your head dizzy as his other hand gripped your waist.

After a few moments Robb suddenly pulled back, “We should stop,” his breath was heavy and uneven, but his lips were too far from yours.

Your hand moved behind his neck, “Not yet,” you said, pulling his lips back onto yours. Robb almost groaned into the kiss your tongue joined in, moving perfectly in sync. The kiss was hungry like with first love, and it only stopped this time when you heard Clegane call out your name. you pressed your finger against Robbs slightly swollen lips until you heard Clegane sigh and storm away. You couldn’t help but giggle.

Robb let out a soft laugh at how you were acting, “Did that help ease your nerves?” He asked.

“Very much so,” you grinned, “We should do it again sometime. Lots of times,”

Robb grinned and shook his head, “Don’t worry princess,” he said, and you rolled your eyes with a smile, “we will later,”

“Why not know?” you asked, and Robb let out an awkward laugh as he glanced down at his lap. Your eyes grew wide as you saw the bulge fighting against the fabric of his trousers, “Oh!”

“Sorry,” Robb pulled away from your grip.

You quickly took his hand, “Its okay,” you assured him, “Besides we are going to be man and wife so in a way it wouldn’t be so bad if we were to you know,” you said with a chuckle and a blush.

Robb laughed lightly as he took your hands into his, “As much as I would love to. And trust me I would,” he said squeezing your hands making you blush more, “I wont dishonour you like that,” he said, and you frowned. “We’ll have plenty of time for it once we’re married,”

You paused for a moment, “What exactly is it?” you asked, and Robb laughed, looking at the ground, “It’s just I’ve heard stories, but I don’t know if I believe them,”

“Good stories or bad?” he asked.

“A bit of both,” you confessed, “Mother said it’s like a battle, but I heard another girl talking about a kind of kiss some men give women further south and she got all giddy about it,” you said, and Robb couldn’t help his laugh, “What? Don’t make fun of me!” you protested.

“Im not it’s just,” Robb shook his head, “I just don’t know how to explain it to you without sounding like a creep or offending you,” Robb laughed as you sighed and pouted at his refusal, “Tell you what how about once we’re married, I show you how it all works?” He offered with his own flush on his cheeks.

“Fine deal. Only if it includes that thing she was talking about,” You said and Robb laughed again, “Hey! The way she was going on about it made the whole marriage thing seem far more appealing,”

“Well in that case it’ll be the first thing I show you,” Robb said, placing a kiss to the back of your hand, “and that is a promise,”

“Good,” you said, sitting triumphantly, “Well in that case I hope the weddings soon,”

Robb couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten with this betrothal as he laughed at your sudden eagerness, “Neither can I,”

Sequel kinda thing here set during the war

Game of Thrones Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy 

[byechristopher]

⠀

In Another Life.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO ANGST.

Author's note: omg hi, again. You'll soon find out how much I love angst, trauma and just "dark" fics. It's a way to express myself every once in a while. I hope you all like it, if you have any requests in mind, feel free to let me know. I will make it up to you all with some fluff, I promise, lol. Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: (not proof-read) this is pure angst, mentions of death, coping with death in general, trauma bonding. If any of this is triggering to you, do not read, please. Have a great day, instead.

Playlist:

It is only 6:00AM and I am up and running, ready to start my long day, although my sluggish gait says otherwise. I always loved waking up so early in the morning – it gave me time to start doing things when people were still sleeping. It is always a struggle to keep myself awake, though.

"I'm outside."

The screen lights up and I can see Chris' name from here – he must be outside already. I sigh and I quickly put my jacket and scarf on, not forgetting my boots, of course. With my bag in my hand, I quickly leave the house, trying to be as quiet as possible so that my mom doesn't wake up.

Chris is waiting in the car, I take a better look at my surroundings – the fog makes it hard for me to see, it's dark and it's cold, and the humidity makes it look like it rained.

"Hey, Chris. Thanks for picking me up." I mumble, he nods with an understanding look on his face. He's got that sickening purple colour under his eyes and his skin is even paler than usual. We match, he looks like a mess, too.

How couldn't he, anyway? It was a difficult day today. It's only been three years and how could we ever forget?

Me and Chris have known each other for a long time. Ever since we were babies – our families were very close. That was until my parents got divorced and we never saw my father ever again; made my mom isolate herself. My father came back one day, asking for forgiveness for leaving like this. Not from my mom, from me. I didn't want to trust him but I still talked to him every now and then. Now, Chris never really liked me and I never really liked him, it's not like we ever had an actual conversation. Before something terrible happened, to the both of us. On the same day. On the same plane. The plane crashed – my father happened to be there and Chris' best friend happened to be there.

We were both devastated so we found ourselves hanging out more than usual – is it called trauma bonding? I think so. That's what we did. Bonded over trauma. Because that's what we needed most; a person who knows and feels what we feel, who goes through the same experience. I don't think it was he healthiest thing to do, but who is really healthy inside on this earth?

"Give me, like.. fifteen minutes. I'll be back, okay?" he says and I give him a reassuring hug, pecking his cheek. I nod, watching him go visit his best friend's grave while I visit my father's.

"I can't believe it's already been three years since you've been gone." I chuckle, making sure everything is clean and the flowers are nicely put in the vase, "right when you were about to actually spend time with me, hm?" I can feel the tears in my eyes, and every time I speak, it's like I'm digging an invisible knife deeper into my heart.

I don't know how long it's been because I'm still cleaning and trying not to think about anything, but I see Chris walking over to me. It's so obvious that he's been crying, but he offers a smile anyway. His nose is red, it's kind of cute.

"You feeling okay?" he wraps an arm around my shoulders, giving me a reassuring squeeze. I nod.

"What did I always tell you? Everything happens for a reason." I chuckle, wiping the tears away from my eyes as we walk away, and towards the car.

"I used to hate hearing that. But I believe it now." he nods and clears his throat, "Connor believed it, too." it took him a while to say his best friend's name without crying. I told him that Connor wouldn't be happy to see him crying like this – that was the only way to make him stop.

"I gotta go to work, now. But we'll meet later, yes?" I say, wrapping my arms around his waist, looking up. The combination of the sky, his tears and his pale skin make his eyes go icy blue, I can't help but smile a little bit. He nods and cups my cheeks, bringing me closer to him to give me a soft kiss on the lips.

I'm not sure what me and Chris have going on. We definitely hang out a lot, we kiss, I basically have all of my stuff in his house, we have sex, but we've never said anything about relationship, or anything like that for that matter. We've been going through the most traumatic and difficult experience in our lives, so I feel like we desperately need the affection but we're the only ones who feel the same. So we just.. do stuff together. I try not to think about it too much.

I definitely not want to think about it when I'm in his arms. We're in front of the fireplace, sitting down on the carpet. I'm sitting in between his legs with my back pressed against his chest, and his arms wrap all the way around my shoulders and knees (that are pressed to my chest), keeping me warm.

"I'm so glad to have you here with me, being by my side on this horrible day, every year." he whispers in my ear and I close my eyes.

"So am I. You're making me feel like I'm not as alone as I thought I was." I whisper back and let my head fall on his shoulder, turning my head so that I'm able to look up at him. We sit in silence for a bit.

"I was thinking.. what you always say. Everything happens for a reason. What if.. what if all of this never happened? What if they were both still alive, what if our families kept being this close, what if we kept hating each other.. would we still find a way to be where we are now?" his voice is low and steady, I can see the fire moving in the reflection of his glistening eyes, "or was this tragedy meant to happen for us to find what we wanted in each other?"

I stay silent for a little bit. I've thought about this a million times and every time makes me go crazier than the previous one, "is love supposed to grow in souls and bodies that are filled with so much pain? Because if so, then it's nothing like what they taught us love would feel like."

"Do you think love is what we feel for each other?" he presses a kiss on my warm cheek.

"I don't know." I say truthfully, "I think that we both find shelter in each other's pain. We feel the need to be heard, to be understood, and then we want to hear the other, to understand their pain. To help each other, to be there whenever they might need, to care."

"Isn't that what love is?" he asks innocently, "in its most tragic form?" he looks me in the eyes and smiles softly.

"I suppose so.. yeah.." I say because, indeed, love could also bloom in shattered hearts, it doesn't always have to be flowers and rainbows, "and to answer your question.. I think I would definitely imagine myself loving you, without all of these." my voice is as soft as it can get.

"I would definitely fall in love with you, too." he says, looking into my eyes. And for a moment, I imagine us just like this. In a life where we would be happier. In a life where we would be able to love each other, without anything holding us back, in a life where we could keep the people that we wanted in our lives. In a life where we would have the space and time to express our feelings, understand our feelings.

"So, stay with me forever and even longer than that.." he says and I smile, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck, all the way up to his cheek and lips, "I might be able to become someone who loves you even in the good times."

"That's a promise, then. Because I'm definitely staying, till I'm ready to love you in the good times, too." I smile and slowly turn around to face him this time, wrapping both of my arms and legs around him, like a koala.

He laughs, he's hugging me and kissing me softly, "want me to make you some hot chocolate?"

"Yes, please."

⠀

[epilogue-and-prologue]

For the AU-gust Mashup:

Fili x Reader + Fairytale + “Just look at me. Forget everything else.”

No pressure at all! Thank you in advance for considering the request! <3

Words

Fandom: Lord of The Rings - The Hobbit Ship/Pairing: Fili x Reader Trope: Fairy Tale - Curse Note: Prompt is in the ask. Thanks @sotwk I don't have the occasion to write for Fili near enough. SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE. Warnings: Curse, losing your voice, not being able to communicate, near death experience. Word count: 1 954 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

The summer had barely begun, when you met him. At first, you thought he was an illusion. A trick of your mind. Clear eyes, blonde hair, he’d carried himself just like you thought he would. The Crowned Prince, they called him. He had introduced himself as Fili. Nothing more. He came and went to your stand on the market place. Over the course of a few months, he had become a vital presence in your life. Just as you did in his.

To your agony, none of you would speak of it aloud. In your mind only, could he hold you, could he be with you. The status was one thing. The other was how people called you: the witch. Fili would never refer to you in such a way. He once called you a “soft-spirited soul who could cure any wound”. It had made your heart beat so fast you thought he would surely see the beats on your skin. But, the herbs you used and the unguents? It was common knowledge, yet it was not as widely used as it should have been. It was considered a women’s trade first and then was replaced completely by modern medicine. They did not keep your stall empty though. Even, on occasions, some people would come to you for more than just healing. For a kind ear and a cup of ale. That was why it did not surprise you when the tall and grand man came, in his white robes and equally beautiful staff. He did not say his name but you would remember his face forever. An intricate affair of wrinkles and bones showing under his skin. It was as if he’d been taunt over an overused canvas. You had seen worse ugliness, worse gnarly members, deformed by arthritis or unfair accidents. It was nothing new and you thought nothing of it.

“What may I help you with tonight, traveller?”

His robe was stained on the hems, earth and what you assumed was crusted mud over it. He did not move, only following your movements across the room with intent. His lips seemed to be moving, but no sound came out of them. Uneasy, you sat down and offered a cup of warm tea, just brewed. He stayed motionless.

“You look just like her, you know? — What?”

The jolt almost made you knock over your tea. The last time someone compared you to anyone else was when your grandmother was alive. Could he have known her? Or was he toying with you?

“You like just like your grandmother…” He stepped into your space, closing in on you. A chill ran down your spine. He had known her then. “The same eyes, the same face, those same treacherous lips…” He grabbed onto your chin, a harsh grip forcing you into meeting his eyes. You were so scared you did not dare move a muscle. “And you will pay for her lies and her filthy words.”

He released you, your body meeting with the floor in a violent attempt at getting away from him. His staff pointed at you, he mumbled incoherent words. Then, some all too coherent ones.

“Blood of the blood of my enemy, I hereby punish you. For your grandmother broke my heart with her words and it will break yours too! You will remain speechless, until someone confesses their love for you. Only if they do and you love them in return, the curse shall be lifted. A day and a night you shall have before the words strangle you. Hear my wrath, blood of the blood and know your time to be shortened.”

A maniacal laugh echoed through the room, white and grey fog sneaking through the door. You raised your head and he was gone, heaps of smoke the only sign he was there at all.

The next morning, you were mute.

———— It had taken a heavy toll on you. People could not understand why from one day to the next, your voice had gone out. The weather could not explain it. You couldn’t any more either.

Of course, Fili chose that day to show up. He did not exactly chose, for it was the first time in weeks he had managed to have some free time. Naturally, he arranged to come and see you.

“Hello.”

The smile you offered was…odd. Uneasy. He wondered what he could have done to deserve this thin lipped, excuse of a smile. You were always so quick to smile brightly, even in the early hours of the morning, eyes stinging with the last remnants of sleep.

“Are you not going to say it back?”

He rose an eyebrow, more out of curiosity than animosity. You tried. You really, really tried to tell him. But the clients were growing impatient and the line was growing thick behind him. Upon seeing you interact with them, gestures and half guessed prices, Fili realised you were not choosing not to answer. You could not. In an impulse, he jumped over the stand and joined you behind.

“Hello, good sir, what might we do for you today?”

The dandy man blinked once. Twice. His eyes kept going from you to Fili before choosing to ignore the fact that the future heir to the kingdom was now selling herbs and creams on the market. You could not stop him even if you had wanted to. Before you could try to intervene, he had already taken it upon himself to help you. He pushed you back and sat you down on your chariot. He did not stop, not for one minute. The whole morning he served and listened sometimes turning to you for confirmation. You intervened once or twice, and that was that. How long did he observe you to know almost as much as you did? From where you were you saw him leave his heavy pelted coat, warmed up by the activity. His shoulder blades barely hidden behind a linen shirt, became a good distraction to the feeling of helplessness within. Your fingers twitched once or twice, wanting nothing more than to reach out for him. You knew you couldn’t. But one can always dream. Right? Suddenly in lack of clients, he turned to you, chest rising rapidly. A hint of hair peeked from under his collarbones and you had a hard time focusing on his words.

“Now. How did you lose your voice?”

A real worry started to gain his face even as he smirked. He could not fool you anymore. His eyes started studying you, as if your face could tell him what had happened.

“Did you catch a cold?”

You shook your head and sighed. This was going to be impossible to explain. Suddenly, you sprung to your feet grabbing his hand. If he had been in his right mind, he would have stuttered and crumbled internally at that. Luckily he wasn’t and merely blushed when you did. Your hands were showing him something.

“Something to write?”

Excitedly, you nodded. He pulled a piece of paper and a charcoal out of his pocket and handed them to you. In quick words, you explained the situation to him. As he read on, his heart kept sinking. He knew his attachment to be love. Fili had known for quite some time. Regardless, if you did not feel the same then it was a doomed story. The deadline was growing closer as each moment passed and he was losing his mind. He kept pacing trying to find another way out of it. There was none. Even if he had gone to Gandalf - the sorcerer of the Kingdom - it would be too late before he’d come up with a solution. His only hope was to tell you how he felt. In the unlikely odds, that maybe, you would not reject him. If not, he’d make your last day a feast and a paradise. The taste of grief melted in his mouth. He swallowed it soon. In a whisper and an extended hand, he called you to him. When you took his hand, shaking and hesitant, his heartbeat accelerated.

If only he knew. His face told you everything. You could see his resolution disappear with every passing moment. He had no solution. So, he did not love you in the end and the dreams you had about living together were just dreams. You almost cried when he pulled you in, embracing you in his arms, his warmth. He could not look at you and you could not blame him for it.

“It’s time I told you…”

You held your breath, a deep sigh shaking him. He took your face in his hands, gentle and tender.

“I am afraid that all those months I have deceived you.”

Your heart sank again and as you struggled in his hold, he stopped you.

“Let me finish, please.”

You nodded, tearful sobs already on the edge of your lips.

“I have not been honest. From the very first time we met, I knew. I knew I would come to love you. I did not stop it. I knew our stations would not match. It didn’t bother me. It still doesn’t. I don’t care if you don’t love me back. I need you to hear this…”

Tears ran down your cheeks. He had to be lying. He had to be. How could he say such lies when you were in this deadly situation? How could he toy with you like this. Again, you struggled against his hold and he gripped your shoulders. Through the cloths his heat was both a fast poison and a powerful balm.

“Just look at me. Forget everything else. Forget where we are. Just listen to me.”

You did. You looked at him and his sea-coloured eyes. A deep feeling of content took root inside of you. Maybe if you were to die by tomorrow, enjoying him was not the worst thing you could be doing right now. So you did as he said and focused on his voice, his eyes, his neatly braided beard. Your fingertips combed gently through it and it made him stutter for a moment.

“I love… No. I adore you. You will not die today, I will not allow it. Never will I allow it. You cannot leave me like this. There were shadows in me before, now there’s only your light. Yours and no one else. How you did it, I will never know but I love you. I love you, and I will always love you until the end of time… —I love you too.”

Your voice croaked as if it had been unused for years. It startled both of you. An immense joy washed over you and you jumped into his arms, breathing him in, basking in his warmth. He held on to you so tight, it was sure to leave marks. The market around you was unchanged but you were. He looked at you dead in the eye, a mere centimetres from your face.

“Never, ever, do that again. —No promises.”

You laughed and squealed when he mumbled about “promises” and “worried sick” and you being the death of him one day. Quickly, in between two rants you pulled him to you and kissed him. He continued on for a good moment before he realised what had happened. He blushed furiously, the corner of his lips lifting. Soon, your lips found his, gently. He wanted to enjoy that kiss and all the others coming afterwards.

People around you, were sure to have something to talk about the next day.

On the other hand, you would choose to be nowhere else but right there in his arms.

All their words be damned.

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 6 - Tomorrow you'll know

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series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

sixth chapter synopsis: It was a difficult choice, but Aerin made it for you. Now with nothing holding you back, you already had the answer Thranduil longed for: yes. Now your only concern is the anxiety about the reunion. [7K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug.

glossary: Vendë: Maiden┆Rae, dimwë. Tolo, govano ven: Smile, sad girl. Come, meet us!┆Maenwë: Clever girl

Few things are eternal in this life. Lands can disappear after earthquakes, seas dry up with the seasons, stone fortresses are invaded and conquered. Not even the star that lights up the day, so far away since the prime of its creation, is a certainty. There is no way of knowing whether it will stay there tomorrow.

You are not an exception. Your face has changed, the same for your body and mind. Your hair continues to grow, clothes continues to wear out, skin continues to collect scars. Things keep changing. Now your mouth speaks a new language, just as your mind carries the weight of friendly words and your body knows the excruciating pain of near death.

And your endless gratitude reached its limits.

In the silence of the dawn, you knew exactly where to step on the flooring so it would not wake anyone. You crossed the room, stepping on your toes where the wood was older, and held the doorknob. Slowly, carefully, you locked the door. Part of your anguish permeated the wood.

You closed your eyes and tried to ease your mind. You do not know how long it took, but you were able of creating a thick layer of ice on it. How does someone who freezes a river finds it difficult to do something like that? Although eternity is a completely impossible target to hit, your ice will be capable of lasting a few hours.

It will be enough. 

It was easy to pack. But to see everything you knew, all those things that for so long were part of your life, and just leave them behind… You do not have time to waste. Not with those you cannot carry, or with people you do not want near you.

You folded your clothes carefully, so it will not wrinkle during your journey, and approached your table. You knelt down and touched the underside of it, removing the letter you glued there. The last one. You tucked it between the pages of your most beloved book.

It seemed right to put the two together.

Ready to leave, you opened the window and sat on the frame. You looked at the place that for fourteen months had been your home. “Goodbye”, you whispered. “Thank you.”

Despise your anger, despise your spite and grief over the things you lost, you left something behind. Something that proved that even your certainty was not enough to freeze your heart. That even all that pain you carry is not enough to make you forget about everything. You left two letters behind. One addressed to Gandalf. The other for Aerin.

It was a goodbye. Or something close to it.

To wander in the early hours of the morning was strange. The cold fog made it difficult to see the path, but you already knew it. You had crossed it so many times, but never you felt so lonely doing it. Not even your memories accompanied you. All you had was your handbag and yourself. 

And still, you did not looked back. Not even once.

The sun showed signs it had not decided to disappear when you arrived at the village. Heat made the fog rise. Seeing lamps being lit, bakers waking up, you understood that what you felt was not a clinging loneliness. 

It was fear. 

Was it from the dark and what could be hidden between the trees? Or maybe it was about Aerin noticing what you did. It is easy to run away and leave a letter behind, but to face her? Perhaps you feared arriving safely at Luthien’s house. Because if that happens, it means that all you can do now is to wait.

The sun set so the moon could shone in its place, and all you did was watch the fire turning your letters into ashes. There you where, motionless, staring at the remains of your treasures. She did not need to do such a vile thing. To burn them before your eyes. Aerin was cruel. She chose to be. So you made your own choice without thinking about her.

You chose the unknown future. You chose incertitude. You chose a life of joys, peace, harmonica. You chose a life of sadness, wars, losses. You chose boredom. You chose heroism. You chose evil. Parsimony and excess, eternal nature and imminent death, painful truth and necessary lies. You chose a life where you will be afraid forever and evermore.

You chose tomorrow and whatever it has for you.

That night after the fireplace ceased you came back to Luthien’s house and asked her to send a letter for you. The letter she send was marked with tears and written in a hurry. It was made of lies. It said you were spending the last few days at Luthien’s house because of the bite. It was also made of omissions. It said nothing about what had just happened to you. And it was the truest, more honest letter you ever wrote. 

Because it started with a yes.

Even though fear hurts you soul, you have never felt so determined to live. Any fear is better than a life of imposed limits. You prefer a million butterflies in you stomach than a withered certainty. Infinite looks nice and all, but you want more than just that.

And Thranduil offered you so much more than that.

Does he knows that he did that? That he gave the possibility of learning more about you powers, about the nature around you, and also the chance of a fresh start. Thranduil gave the unmissable chance to discover the world beyond the valley. But Thranduil also changed old certainties.

You were so sure you would never see him again. Now the only thing separating you from him is the path ahead. Is time. There it is. The true reason behind your fear. Knowing that you will see Thranduil again, and it means he will also see you.

He lingered with you. The way Thranduil hides his harshness on his politeness. Or the way he never, not even once, treated you like you were lesser than him even though he is a king. And his accent, so hard and projected, different than anything you have ever heard. His handwriting showed you the care and effort he put onto making his soul clear for you. Thranduil, despise anything he may think about himself, is so kind. 

Does he miss you as much as you miss him? Does Thranduil knows that even if he could not help you with your powers, if his realm had nothing to add in your life, if you had nothing to gain with that: it would still be worth it? Does he imagine that seeing him again is enough for you?

Does he feel the same way about you?

Absorbed in your own memories, you did not even notice that Luthien was waiting for you on the stairs of her house. “Did you get everything you needed?”

“Everything I have”, you showed the handbag you carried.

“Does that have space for more?”

You nodded, and Luthien entered her house without closing the door. You waited outside, glaring at the sunrise. The sky was golden. There were pink clouds, orange lines in the sky, but everything was golden. After such a dark dawn, you could not help but feel hopeful for the daylight.

“I will miss you”, you dealt with the elephant in the room as soon as you heard Luthien returning. “I need you to know this. Because I really will.”

Luthien gave you two different ointments. One was greenish, very liquid, and the other was almost transparent. As you held them, Luthien caressed your hands. “If everything works out for you I will never see you again”, Luthien whispered. “I need you to know that I am counting on it.”

The hug you gave her almost crushed Luthien’s ribs. You could not care less. She helped you wrap the jars and put them with the rest of your things. And until the carriage arrived, you talked as if it would not be the last time.

You did not know what the carriage looks like, you had only saw three or five during your life, but just a look at the one approaching was enough for you to be sure it was the one Thranduil warned you about.

It was a double-decker carriage, drawn by four horses, and the charioteer who drove it wore clothes as beautiful as the two guards sitting beside him. The red paint covered the cabin perfectly, the curtains hiding what was inside it. Above it, the Woodland banner roared. 

“Until never again”, said Luthien.

The charioteer took your handbag. You felt a little bit guilty that he left his post to help you with something so tiny. The man opened the cabin’s door, and gesture for you to enter it. Both the guards greeted you.

You approached, and he extend his hand for you to get on. For the first and only time that morning, you looked back. You had tears begging to roll down your face, but you smiled anyways. “I hope so.”

And the moment the door closed, you could only wonder if your choice was the right one. You already have the answer for the question, and is such a simple one: maybe tomorrow you will know. And everyday for the rest of your life the answer will be the same: maybe tomorrow you will know. 

Now all you have to do is wait.

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If the Elvenking’s Halls staff were forced to vote — and if they were also guaranteed their right to privacy — ninety-eight percent of them would decide that life was easier when Thranduil was away. That equation has a two percent margin of error.

Ancient tapestries telling stories from other eras have been brushed. New chair were ordered from the royal carpenters, tables were sanded in all their details, and every wall was cleaned with warm cloths. For days anywhere someone could walk would have part of the staff working until exhaustion. Until it was perfect.

And the Elvenking was never satisfied.

Thranduil made a point of personally analyzing each room, and his criticisms were cruelly honest. In the moment he finally said that it was perfect, the praise was already accompanied by a new order. Tidy up the stables, brush the horses, check the library’s organization. Royal painters were invited to spend the next few months at the Halls, just as the best singers will be part of the dinners and dances.

No part of the Halls were left untouched. Not even the Elvenking’s chamber.

The curtains were washed, the table organized, candlesticks replaced with new, more polished ones. But what really mattered was not his chamber, but who lives on it. Thranduil took measurements for new robs to be sewn, new jewels were cast into rings, his hair was brushed to perfection. 

What changed the entire staff’s opinion was the Elvenking’s concerned proving to be million times stronger when it came to that empty chamber. When Thranduil could not sleep because he needed to chose whether the bed sheet should be golden or navy blue, it was easy to come to a conclusion.

The Elvenking was reduced to a man in love.

And even that he made it everyone’s problem, it was a good change. It made the Elvenking become obsessed with every minor detail, but it also made him younger. It made him want something new than to just endure. And Greenwood seemed to blossom with its king.

Tuor followed the carpenters carrying furniture to the once empty chamber, dodging workers trying to gather dust and maids removing curtains. That room was busier than war trenches, but the dark-haired knight continued until he was at his king’s side. Tuor watched him instruct where the cabinets should be placed, warn about the room needing to be warm all the time, say that blue is definitely the best choice.

“There are more important matter to discuss, your grace. Things that will last longer than a braided cloth”, Tuor whispered to him. “And it should be golden.”

Thranduil sighed. He knew it was the wrong choice the moment he spoke. “Golden it is.” Thranduil hesitated before turning his head towards Tuor, his eyes still glued to the chamber in front of him. “The sun runes were translated?”

Tuor took a step back, indicating that they needed privacy. The king led the way, following the passages of wide halls carved from living trees. The corridors became emptier as they moved away from the chamber, and after a few minutes of silence Thranduil stared at him. Tuor was tall, but he needed to look up to speak to his king.

“How much they know?”

“Everything that matters”, Tuor sighed. “How our watch shifts works, where the wall is weakest, our combat strategies. They even traced spider’s nests near us. I just do not understand, your grace, why sun runes. They are goblins, orcs, vile creatures. Should not it be moon ones?”

 Thranduil crossed his arm. “Tell me: why is the Halls under the ground and not high on it? Would it not be more difficult to attack something you cannot reach?”

“In some cases, yes”, replied Tuor. “But this does not mean our defense will be at loss. It is impossible to enter without us knowing, and from below we can evacuate the entirety of our realm without arousing suspicion. Even if our enemies were stronger or more numerous than our army, our passages are deeper and safer. Our trees are strong, your grace. And those creatures we fight have not even begun to understand that.”

Thranduil agreed, noticing how quickly Tuor turned his thoughts into words. There is no way for him to be a great ruler if he is not surrounded by great minds. “It means you understand that not everything is as simple as it seems. Think again. Why sun runes?”

Tour hesitated. He opened his mouth, but could not think of anything smart to say. Not when he felt so cornered. Then the realization came. There is a reason for those maps to not be written in a way those monsters could understand. “They are not meant for them.”

“Exactly”, The Elvenking moved towards the council hall. Thranduil already knew the amount of work they would have for the next weeks would be equivalent to the work the Halls’ staff had for the last few days. “Do you understand what that means?”

“What, your grace?”

The doors to the council hall opened. He turned to his old friend and gave him a smirk. “It means that our traitor will be easier to find.”

This friendship is old enough for Tuor to be able to understand the things Thranduil prefer to not speak out loud. Easier to find? It was just Thranduil’s way of saying it will be easier to kill.

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It was easy to fall asleep in the carriage cabin. The benches were comfortable, there were soft blankets inside them, even the constant movements of rocks and holes on the path turn it into the perfect environment to rest. You had two books with you, but with the movement your eyes ache trying to read it. 

You started to spend nights awake and days asleep. It was easy to get lost in your imagination just to realize you were actually dreaming.

Going down the mountain and away from Rivendell, both the climate and the river changed. There was less water for the threes, and also more heat. The light green faded, thick branches thinned, colorful flowers had not yet bloomed. You tend to blur your vision so you can see a smudge of colors. 

If you were not sleeping, you were appreciating the view. Not even your fertile imagination could create all those different places. Every idiosyncracy was marked in your memory, and even the most common scenarios meant something to you. It was a reminder that whatever happens from now on is part of your deal with tomorrow. 

A few times you placed your head over the window, eyes closed and winds ruffling your hair, stretching your hands as far as you could. It was as if you could uproot one of the distant trees and bring it to you. The guards always ordered you to keep your entire body inside the cabin, but you could not help it.

You could, you just did not want to.

Not when you feel so light, almost as if the right wind could make you fly away.

Your mouth stays shut for most part of your days. The charioteer is kind, and both guards are way to invested on guaranteeing you are safe, but they are away from you. Inside of the cabin, all you can do is hear. The world around you — sometimes, at the middle of the night, you swear you can hear its engines turning —, but also at what the three elves chat about when they think you will not hear.

The charioteer is anxious about his daughter pregnancy. One of the guards, Lhoris, fell in love last spring with a singer. Your heart almost melt inside your chest when he called her a siren. The other is more reserved. It took you two days to hear him speaking for more than seven seconds. 

There were a few times when they whispered about the Elvenking. About how he spend so long away that some feared Thranduil went to the Undying Lands. About how he bravely chased monster after monster and no elve under his protection fell down. About how Greenwood seemed to blossom after his arrive.

Maybe because you know nothing about kings, maybe because you heard a few things about Mirkwood, but you thought Thranduil’s subjects would fear him. Your opinion changed, but it still surprises you that what you heard was gratitude. Relief. Recognition.

It happened during sunset. They thought you were sleeping, at any other day they would be right. But green leaves just turned into faded brown and you wanted to see it all. Bari, the quiet guard, wondered what made his king chose him to this task. To protect someone so dear to him.

That made you heart fluster. Dear.

You also got interest on the things they do not say out loud. 

Like how the two guards follow you closely whenever there is a stop. Or how whenever you need something in your handbag the charioteer takes extra care so you will not stretch your arms. Your clothes do not show the scar across your shoulder, but you think he was informed to be careful about it. You think Thranduil warned them about it.

Sleep, observe, listen: they all are just ways of stopping you from spending your time thinking about him. Every day makes you a little bit more anxious, because every day that passes get you closer to him. Thranduil, Thranduil, Thranduil. That is not just a name anymore, it is a intricate melody for your mind.

How should you act when you finally see him? The right thing is to bow, you know that, but that feels so wrong. And to hug him… would a king feel offended by that? Should you have asked him what was the proper way to behave on court? Or would that too be offensive?

You woke up when the carriage suddenly stopped moving. You had just got on your feet when the charioteer knocked on the door. You fixed your hair before opening it. “Another stop?”

“No, unfortunately no”, Tanyl reached for your hand.

 You thanked him as get out of the cabin. All four horses were free from their restraints, and now saddle by the guards. Walking towards them, you saw it. You saw everything.

“Apparently rained in Greenwood last night, and some trees fell and blocked out path. We need to follow the Elf-path on horseback, vendë. We lament for the inconvenience.”

What was in front of you, around you, was way more important than anything else. Than anyone else.

It was autumn. 

You know it has just begin. The citadel reported the change od seasons a couple of weeks ago. Cold wind became more common than the warm one, leaves started to fall, fruits stopped growing. Summer ended, autumn begin, but this… Even someone who only heard what autumn is would recognize it.

This place was autumn itself.

It seemed to be a faded orange, but every other tone revealed itself for those that payed attention. Burgundy leaves, twisted brown branches, greenish swallows. A speck of blue shook the branches, and soon the butterflies separated. Its blue wings became multi-colored with the sunset reflection. Wind made everything feel so alive. Of course plants are living being, you know that, but they seemed to breath.

Some may only see an orange spot, but they did not pay attention to the singularities of the world around them. To all the beauty, and life, and sweet melodies. Those who can not see its colors are simply unable of perceiving beauty even when its right in front of their noses.

That made you blood boil. Your fists clenched, as if you would start a fight with anyone who dared to say something bad about this realm. And maybe you really would. You have never been on a fight, but for this place you would.

Mirkwood. How dare them? This place does not deserve such a horrendous name. How did those bad rumors made a way into everyone’s mind? Mirk. It is a land invaded by spiders, with cursed waters and intoxicating air, but it is much more than just that. It is beautiful. Delicate. And it endured for so long.

That word will never escape your mouth anymore. You swear on this. From now on, it is just Greenwood. As it should. As it deserves.

“Do not lament it”, you gave a beaming smile. Without waiting for instructions, you got near the horses. “Are we close?”

Lhoris guided the group, he knew the path better than any of them, and made sure your horse would stay close to his all the time. “A few hours more, and you will be able to rest inside the Elvenking’s Halls.”

Time never took so long to pass. It was a beautiful view, a stunning one, but at every corner you expected to see his palace. To see him. And at every corner all that waited for you was more of the marvelous forest.

Within time you noticed it. The enchantment on the path. Gandalf showed you something similar, and smaller, before. Aerin tended to be mad at you whenever you spend the night reading, and when you told him that… All Gandalf heard was a chance of mischief.

He made it so easily. When you are on you armchair, you are protected. No one can see you, or notice what you are doing. You feel like a child whenever you use it. Like a rebel.

Your excitement disappeared. You thought about your past as if it was your present.

“Rae, dimwë”, an intricate harmony woke you ip from your thoughts. You looked around, but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. “Tolo, govano ven!”

Bari, after seeing how startled you got, rode to you. “They are welcoming us.”

You remember hearing once about how music is important to elves. It is used to spread knowledge, to make people feel better, to mock others feelings. “What did they sang?”

“Smile, sad lady”, Bari recited. “Come, join us.”

You tried to force a smile, and after a feel seconds it felt real. They were welcoming you. Why get sad thinking about yesterday when you could be thinking about the present? Welcoming. “Does that mean we are near?”

Tanyl nodded. “Almost there.”

You almost went faster than Lhoris. The only thing that stopped you was the fear of taking the wrong path and ending up in trouble. Your hands sweated against the reins, and the birdsong was replaced by the strong beating of your heart.

The trees were old deep in the forest. So long, bigger than houses. Even your horse took a good few seconds to cross the entire length of one. And they were so high the sky had already disappeared. As the minutes piled up, the long bridge came into view. It was perhaps older than those trees. And passing over the waterfall, it led to the gates that separate the forest from the Elvenking’s Halls.

So that is a palace. You have seen engravings in books, but nothing would make you understand how tall it would be. Just the entrance, the placid blue windows and the heavy gate that could only be touched by those allowed to do so, was a luxury you never thought possible to witness.

And inside the Envelking’s Halls, you finally understood what Thranduil meant by a birdhouse.

It was as if the trees were born for this. All the bridges, stairs, walls and ceilings: everything was alive. Everything was a plant growing and expanding. The engineered columns, the perfectly sized doors, the constant moat that showed that the great asset of it was not the height of the palace, but its depth.

This place is definitely not worthy of being called a birdhouse, but you cannot think of a better way to describe it.

Your traveling companions left to look after the horses. You followed new guards, who welcomed you by name and instructed you on the path. Your nails were at the brick of penetrating your skin. They opened a door, and inside the room was the first person that was not a guard to welcome you.

And it was not Thranduil.

It was a woman. A beautiful, elegant woman. When her eyes met yours, they seemed to shine like a million stars. She got near you, took your hands between hers, and squeezed them lightly. “It is so nice to finally meet you. Please, call me Lorie.”

Her hands felt so warm on yours. “It is nice to finally be here, Lorie.”

“You must be so tired.” Lorie stood next to you, and you imitated her as she started to walk. Some part of you feared that you would not be treated well, but she quickly made those thoughts evaporate. Lorie took you to a staircase, and climbed it slowly. “Three days, right?”

“Four”, you answered. “I am pretty sure Bari, Lhoris and Tanyl are way more tired than me. All I did was wait.”

“You will not fool me”, her laugh made your smile grew bigger. She had such a alluring way of being. “I saw you. You rode til here, and that I know is so exhausting. Horses see me as the enemy. That is why I am the one welcoming you.”

“What do you mean, Lorie?”

 Lorie turned into a corner, and you tried to make yourself pay attention to her face but everything was so beautiful. So different than anything you ever saw. “You deserve to rest. And to bath, and eat. It would not be very polite of a king to welcome a guest that would rather sleep on the floor than to be part of a conversation.”

You licked your lips, and hoped your voice would not change with his mention. “When will I… see the king?”

Lorie smirked. She guided you to another stair. “At night, during banquet.” 

Lost in the immensity of your thoughts, it took a few seconds for you to notice the silence. In an attempt to take the attention away from yourself, you turned to Lorie. “Why are you accompanying me?”

“Our king has granted me the honor of being your lady-in-waiting”, Lorie seemed very happy about this. !I hope to meet your standards.”

You thought about saying you did not have any, but that sounded a little bit rude.

At some point she entered a corridor, turned at a crossroads, climbed another staircase. You were too caught up in the conversation to pay attention. The only thing that made you take your focus off Lorie was her stopping walking.

The tall door had elks carved into it. You felt tempted to touch them. “Ready?” Lori asked, holding the doorknob.

Sun reached your eyes. The long balcony allowed you to see the forest from above. The sight moved you. All the colors and sound that accompanied you were even brighter and louder from there. There was a mountain in the distance, the river that led to the waterfall in front of the gates, the immensity of that corner of the world. 

The room was large, bigger than any room you had ever been in until today, and so warm. There were candles scattered throughout the room, candelabra decorating each piece of furniture. You followed the lights, circling the room, and slid your finger through one of the shelfs on the wall. They were all books with the common language and elvish in it.

A long tapestry telling a ancient story covered the floor, and it broke your heart when you had to step on it to reach the wide bed in the center of the room. If Lorie was not there, you would have jumped on it. Instead, you sat on your bed and caressed the golden bed sheets. “So pretty”, you whispered to yourself.

“Everything is perfect?” Lorie closed the door behind her. She got closer, hands supported at her bottom back. “We can change anything. From the curtains tissue to whatever book you may desire. All you need to do is inform us.”

You hid your smile behind your hand, but it had already reached your eyes. “It will not be necessary.” You took a deep breath. It smelled like pomegranate and cinnamon.

A knock on the door made you get up from the bed. Lorie opened it, you could not see who was on the other side. The person handed her a handbag, and Lorie closed the door one more time.

Lorie placed it on your bed. She walked away and opened the gigantic closet doors on the wall in front of your bed. Carefully, you took out your books from your handbag. You placed them on a shelf, making sure they would not get wrinkled, and when you turned to you bed you saw Lorie snooping through your things.

“What is your favorite color?” Lorie asked you. “It do not need to be a eternal answer, tell me just about today. What is your favorite color today?”

You thought the change of subject was strange, but you enjoyed the way Lorie worded her question. It was so much easier to find an answer. “Green. Why?”

Lorie nodded towards the closet, and only then did you realize that it was not empty. You could have come without any bags and it would not have been a problem. “I thought it would be easier for you to chose.”

“Is all this mine?” Lorie agreed. “All of this?”

Lorie approached, and squeezed your shoulders while you admired everything. It was one thing when Thranduil gave you a dress as a gift. It was something occasional. But this… So much jewelry, gold, chains. Silk, velvet, cotton. All the colors of the rainbow were there, just as those that are not part of it. This is a treasure hidden inside a closet.

“I think green will suit you perfectly”, Lorie whispered. “Shall we get you ready for tonight?”

Your heart flustered once more.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Thranduil is usually responsible for making meetings last longer than they were first supposed to. He does not accept leaving one without all the answers he wants. And even when he has them, the Elvenking is not so easily satisfied. You do not reign for so long without being able to gather all the knowledge necessary to make the best decisions.

In a moment as disastrous as this, with the discovery of something moving between the free kingdoms and gathering information for the Enemy, it would be expected that the Elvenking would not stop until he was sure that he had done everything he should.

Watch shifts have already changed, blacksmiths have been informed about the creation of new weapons, fighters will be trained in different, new styles. But that is not all. It is necessary to find a way to stop the spy, to ensure that he is not inside Greenwood, to protect this realm from any harm.

To endure, no matter what.

And still, it was Thranduil who ended the meeting.

As soon as he was informed, Thranduil did not allowed the discussions to continue. He gave his advisors no choice. Thranduil just got up and headed to his chambers, not caring about the frustrated grunts and whispered complaints behind him. It is over, they can mourn it if they so desire.

Thranduil has more to do.

Centuries are mere blinks in an elven’s life. Hundreds of years are nothing more than brief moments for his kin. Still, the few hours that followed from the end of the meeting until banquet never took so long to pass. It had been so long since Thranduil became so aware of the passing of time. Aware of how slow it actually is.

The banquet hall had been built so that moonlight can penetrate the roots of the trees and take a seat at the table. Surrounded by depth, it functioned like an island in the middle of the ocean. All the residents of Elvenking’s Halls who were invited had already arrived, and the musicians played in one of the layers above so the sound can reach the whole hall. Everything was perfectly splendid.

But one person was missing.

“Calm down, your grace”, muttered Tuor. The words were gentle, but the tone mocked Thranduil. “Do you fear she has runned away? It seems a very likely concern to me. A lady with good instincts would make that decision.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I think it is better that you move to the end of the table. Distance makes you more bearable.”

With a dry laugh, Tuor slid his fingers across his glass. “Would you rather be alone with your thoughts?”

Thranduil downed his wine. For Tuor, it served as an answer.

When the doors opened, all the guests stood up. Thranduil should not have done that, a king does not need to get up to welcome someone, but he was still the first to get up.

And the first thing Thranduil saw were your eyes. They had not changed. Weeks passed, the world came between the two of you, and still you have not changed. There were violets in your eyes. They flourished. You flourished.

Thranduil will never forget the first time he saw you. Your dress wrinkled and muddy, lossy hair framed your face with freedom, the lightness of your smile illuminating the inn. 

He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Not in all the millennia of his life.

The silk dress adorned your body like running water. So smooth, so liquid. The fabric hung from thin straps, folded over your body, joined your skin as if they were one and the same. It was the color of emeralds, and the belts had diamonds sewn into it. The tail glided over the stairs as you descended it, shining like hundreds of stars.

Thranduil’s opinion remain the same.

With your hands hidden behind your back, you swallowed hard as you felt all the eyes burning into your skin. You blinked a few times, your hands sweating, and looked up at the spot you feared the most. You looked at Thranduil.

His robe was made of noble silver and black brocade, with silver piping and light gray embroidered vines. The burgundy coat was so different from anything you did ever seen him wear. So much stronger, more imposing. More natural.

Thranduil was at home. 

But you only noticed the difference on his presentation when you were trying to sleep, turning over in bed with your head preventing you from closing your eyes. Only alone in the middle of the night you stopped to think about that. But at the moment you saw him, with ocean blue eyes deep on your soul, all you did was smile.

And so you bowed.

Thranduil called your name, and his voice gave you goosebumps. You lifted your posture and when you looked at him again, a bros smile occupied Thranduil’ serious face.

“Welcome”, he took a deep breath. Thranduil pointed with an open hand to the armchair on his right. “Join me.”

You bit your tongue. You were afraid that if you started to smile, if you let the happiness of your soul take place on your face, your cheeks would tear. Your next steps were slow, your lugs unable to do anything more than that, but sure until you were next to Thranduil. You almost forgot how tall he was.

One of the servants pulled out the seat for you. Without looking away from him, you sat down. “Hi.”

Thranduil sat on the edge of his armchair, not even noticing how his posture had bent. Conversations resumed for the rest of the table, which meant the two of you had privacy in some way. “How was your travel?”

“Stunning”, your eyes shone. “Greenwood is so beautiful. I must have almost left the path a few times because I got distracted admiring it.”

Thranduil sighed. “We were not able to clear the path after yesterday’s storm. I am sorry you had to complete the path on horseback.”

“Do not be”, you bit your bottom lip. It felt strange talking to Thranduil when there were so many people around you. It felt wrong that your conversations were not private. That they were not yours. “I loved it. Truly.”

He let out a giggle. “Will your honesty always continue to amaze me?”

“I imagine so”, you replied. “At least I hope so.”

Silence has never been so profound. Thranduil’s eyes seemed to look deep into your soul, and perhaps they really could. It was strange and new, but it did not bother you. Not in any way.

You removed your hands from behind your back, revealing the book you were hiding. Holding it with both hands, you showed it to the Elvenking. “A gift.”

Thranduil would normally have accepted vehemently, but without caring about it. Anyone else would have received an empty thank you. But upon hearing your words, Thranduil felt his heart skip a beat. “You do not have to.”

“Maybe”, you answered him, shooking the book lightly. “But I wanted to.”

Thranduil took the book, his fingers brushed against yours. He prolonged the contact for a second, an infinite second, and then he leaned back. He ran his thumb across the leather cover, reading the title in gold. His heart barely let his mind function.

“It is about an exiled soldier. I will not tell you too much about the story, but he is on a journey to prove his innocence and avenge himself”, your toes curled under the table. Your happiness was not contained withing your body and was trying to escape wherever he could. “It is my favorite. And I thought maybe, you might like it. I did not know what to give a king, and I do not think there is anything you need, so maybe it is not-”

“It is perfect”, Thranduil reassured you. He was not lying. He would not lie to you. “Thank you, maenwë.”

You giggled. “It is been a long time since someone called me that.”

Thranduil remembered the terrible way people got used to not call you by your name. It made him burn with anger for a moment, but he chose to turn it into something more useful. “Was it difficult to say goodbye to Aerin? It is a shame that you had to make this journey alone.”

Your peace of mind was shaken. Lying to him was necessary. You may not have known Thranduil for a long time, but you do not think he would react well to what Aerin did. Or that he felt good letting you travel for so long without anyone to support you. Still, just because it was necessary does not mean it was right. “She is a very busy woman. If I had to wait for her, I would never come here.”

The banquet was served, and for a long time the number od employees walking around the room made it impossible for you both to talk. Your cup was served with wine, your plate had the greatest variety of food, and there were so many different foods that a thousand dinners could be given and there would still be leftovers. 

But as soon as the staff left and you started eating, you just waited for a hint that it was acceptable to talk during the meal in that part of the world. The food was magnificent, but that was not the reason why you are here.

“Were you able to rest after your arrival, vendë?” The man next to Thranduil asked. He had a dark, velvet skin, and kind eyes. You have a weak point for things that look delicate.

“This is Tuor, and old friend”, Thranduil introduced him. Looking at Tuor, he hoped the elve could understood to not put him on shame.

“Nice to meet you, Tuor”, you smiled. “And yes, I managed to rest. I did not realize I was so tired until I approached the bed.”

“If I am not mistaken”, Tuor began. “Those chambers have golden sheets, no? Was your sleep comfortable?”

“Yes, they are golden. Very comfortable. As well as beautiful.”

Tuor’s smile made Thranduil roll his eyes. “I am glad about that, maenwë.”

The rest of the night passed with the two of you eating and talking. More talking than eating. Sometimes Tuor was part of the conversation, but mostly not. And you both talked about everything. 

You questioned Thranduil about his quest, if he had not been hurt. He told you stories of how he hunted the creatures, but only because he noticed that you would like to hear them. You are the kind of person that does not mind hearing disgusting stories over dinner.

And Thranduil asked you about your recovery, if you wanted something to change in your chambers, if you needed anything for that matter. Thranduil heard you talking about anything that you wanted to. He did it gladly.

Over time, the guests left. One by one, the hall shrank. Music continued to play throughout the night. But you did not noticed any of those things. You only paid attention to Thranduil, the raspberry pie stirred on your plate, and the glass of wine that was never emptied.

Thranduil accompanied you to your chambers. That made you feel relieved. If you needed to find your way alone there you would never be seen again. “Now I understand. Birdhouse”, you heard Thranduil sighing. “It is actually a good comparison.”

“You are too kind”, Thranduil stopped walking. You only knew it was the door for your chambers because of the elks carved into the wood. Now, a little bit affected by the wine, you touched it. If feels nice. “Good evening, maenwë.”

So you got the chance to say something you have spent weeks fantasizing about saying. You took a deep breath, jut to make sure it came out exactly how you imagined. With a smile, and a polite bow, you looked at him. “I see you tomorrow.”

And this time it was not a fantasy. It was just a fact.

[Seventh Chapter]

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM TAGLIST: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @h0ly-fire @whore-of-many-hot-men

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[kittlesandbugs]

BG3: A bad thing? Characters: Baby Dark Urge (Nox, five years oldish? IDK lol) Warnings: Blood and death, of course lol, with the added spice of a twisted little child's perspective. Word Count: 782 Summary: Something comes over a child and the family dies. The child tries to process this.

The red fog clears and you feel warm. 

Warm like the puddling blood under your fingers, your own heart beating red heat in your chest, your belly. There's a fullness inside you, warm and fuzzy from your ears down to your curling your toes. Warmer than you ever felt before, even snuggled with Mum at night. 

In the light of the evening candles, you can see.  A large knife is on the floor next to you. Coated red and sticky, calling to you like the red berry jam you and Vek took from the cupboard last ten-day. Da tanned your hides good for that. The memory makes you lick your lips and fingers like before, and they taste just as sweet. As you lap them clean like a kitten, you feel warmer still. 

Slowly it goes away, and your eyes find their way to the bodies scattered on the floor like dolls. And like dolls, they aren't moving. "Mum?" Your voice shivers, too loud in the peace of falling night. "Da? Vek? Tiggy?" 

No answer. 

Are they dead? You know what dead is. You've seen it, bodies gray and gross in alleys, still, stinking in ways that pulled you closer as Mum pulled you back, blocking your view. You reach out and her skin is cool. Cooling. All that red blood oozes out of all of them, soaking the hard dirt floor. 

You did this. 

You feel very sure of that, even though you don't really remember picking up the knife. You think you should feel sadder about it. Mum was sad when her mum died. She cried a lot, held you tight like you do your dog stuffy. But Mum didn't… do this to her mum. But she's not really your mum, is she? Tiggy always said that a lot. Never let you forget it. She was being really mean this evening. It made your heart hurt, more than this, when she and Vek made you cry until Mum told them to stop. 

Wasn't fair, really. You hadn't done anything. Until you went into the kitchen. Until you did this. 

This was a bad thing you did. Wasn't it? Your head thinks it should be. Mum said you should always be kind. Da always said you shouldn't hurt people, especially your brother and sister. They were older but you were always bigger, stronger. If this was a bad thing you did, you don't think your heart should feel so good. You still feel warm and full, like you ate a feast day meal and sat in the sun. Would you feel so good if it was really a bad thing?

The answer doesn't come. You aren't sure what to do. You sit and watch them, in case they aren't really dead. In case Tiggy and Vek are playing a mean trick again. But they don't move. They can't move. You eat the sweets you can reach in the cupboard. You watch them some more. You drag a blanket from the bed and curl up next to them in the dark with your stuffy. You think you feel someone brushing your hair back as you get really sleepy, like Mum would. But it isn't her soft fingers. They're hard and a little sharp, but kind, and you hear a quiet voice as you fall deeply asleep. 

“Young master, precious fledgling, follow ever your heart.  In time, your true family will find you.”

You dream in red. 

The next day passes much the same. You watch the bodies gray. You watch them tighten. They start to smell. You eat the smoked meat in the cupboard when you get hungry. You nibble the fruit by the basin, but it's starting to sour. You sleep. You dream very red dreams. Another day passes. You aren't sure what else you should do. You've never been by yourself like this before. 

It takes three days for the smell to get so strong that the guards come to see what's causing it. They don't even ask if you did it. They don't think you could. They talk like you aren't really there, and you hear all of this. They cover the bodies. One picks you up, and they feel strong and solid like Da. You nuzzle against their soft neck, not covered by armor. Their metal covered hand rubs your back. It reminds you of the voice that first night. The guard says they're very sorry softly in your ear. You don't know why they're saying sorry to you when you are the one who made everyone dead. But you don't tell them that. 

They take you to the church orphanage. Maybe there, you'll find your true family.

[sundaybossanova]

Witch's Love Chapter 1

Paring: San x OC

AU: Fantasy

Word count: 4,1k

Summery:

It was a normal day for Sera, brewing potions, visiting the market and trying not to blow her cover but a sudden uninvited guest changes everything. Lying on her doorstep is a young man on the brink of death and she has no idea what she's gotten into after saving his life.

With a heavy sight Sera finally stepped back from her cauldron having finished putting the last bits of dried lavender into the now finally finished potion. With the sleeves of her ebony blouse, she carefully dabbed away the sweat drops on her forehead. It has taken her longer than expected to craft the potion seeing as she ran out of marjoram halfway through the making process. “Maybe if I had checked my stock before starting this whole thing would have been done quicker” the white-haired witch said to nobody in particular. Walking slowly to the tiny window in the house she admired the glowing moon that was shining brightly in the dark night sky. Beside the last crackles of the dying fire the house was silent with the feeling of peace hovering in the air. Two soft knocks could be heard breaking the tranquil silence and making Sera give one last glance to the moon before moving on to open the wooden door of her humble abode. “Why do you come home at this hour Bram?” the girl asked opening the door wider to let the large black dog enter her home. Without much of a response the familiar trotted to the kitchen, went past the cauldron containing the finished potion and finally settled down close to the extinguished fireplace laying down trying to preserve the last bits of warmth offered by it. “Oh come on tell me what you have been up to, I missed you while you were gone.” Pouting slightly the girl continued “Did you meet someone interesting? Or have you found new customers in the village?” Still the dog seemed not one bit interested and simply answered “It was a long day and even though I haven’t interacted with a lot of people, actually none, I am still exhausted.” He repositioned his head so he could watch the witch make her way to a cabinet taking out ingredients for their shared dinner which turned into a late-night snack. “Did you finish your potion we have to bring it to the customer tomorrow.” Bram reminded the girl still remembering times where the young witch would forget the deadlines for her potions causing a lot of her clients to become angry and dissatisfied with her work. The young witch just hummed as a form of saying yes, too concentrated on cutting the ingredients for their shared meal. “Everything is finished I just have to fill it into a flask, don`t worry so much.” And with that she continued her task with a small smile on her lips.

As the first rays of sunshine slowly appeared Sera was already finishing getting dressed in dark green woollen dress with a white ruffle-sleeved blouse underneath it. Her delicate hands grabbed onto the necklace laying on the small dressing table in front of the mirror. After looking at the three green stones embedded in the pendant, she quickly put it on and started braiding her hair. “We have to leave soon I feel like there will be a storm coming and I would rather get home with my fur still dry” came Bram’s voice from his place on her bed. His comment made her hurry up grabbing her black cloak, basket and coin pouch ready to leave if it wasn’t for her familiar calling out to her: “Haven’t you forgot something? Maybe a little thing you worked for all night long?”. With that said Sera turned around and swiftly grabbed the flask from her worktable muttering a quiet “Thank you. Now let’s go”. The black dog was following the witch through the still quiet woods where the animals and plants had yet to awake. The fog was slowly lifting as the two neared the village and could hear faint voices from the marketplace in the centre of the town. Making their way into the bustling streets the screams of many sellers became louder and they had to push themselves through the crowds of busy villagers on their way to get groceries and what not. “Remind me why I had agreed to join you today?” Bram’s voice was laced with regret not enjoying being nearly being stepped on and pushed around by people. “It was your decision don’t try to put the blame on me now.” She answered with a light chuckle finally seeing their destination coming closer. The little shack seemed to be quite old and rundown she guessed nobody has used it in some time. “Doesn’t it feel weird that the customer has requested to meet here out of all the places? This place seems abandoned and there aren’t any people around” her familiar spoke up with questions that have also been going through her mind. “Honestly I don’t know who ordered it, in the letter it only said she needed the potion as soon as possible and I feel like when somebody asks for this particular one, they are very desperate, so I wanted to help without asking any questions.” The girl finally admitted realizing her own mistake of being too naïve and taking on requests she couldn’t be sure were worth her time or would endanger her life. “I do think you know to not do such stupid things ever again, if they find out a witch has helped getting rid of a child you will be solely accused of killing an innocent child they won’t care or believe that you only acted out the mothers wishes.” Bram’s voice was stern trying to control his anger that comes from his underlying fear of the girl getting hurt by the strangers living in the village.

Before she could continue apologizing for her wrongdoings, they could hear light footsteps coming near. “Excuse me Miss but are you the- “the hooded figure was slowly coming to a halt in front of the two nervously looking around “are you the witch?” she finally finished her question after stumbling over her own words. Sera raised her head to look the person in the eyes finding a pair of storm grey eyes filled with worry. “Yes, I am the one you’ve been searching for I presume you are the one who wrote me the letter” Shily the girl nodded and tried to crack a small smile, yet the only thing visible on her face was her nerves. “Here take the potion” she pulled out the flask and handed it to the shaking woman. “To make it more enjoyable, mix it into some tea and drink it before going to sleep. This potion will cause you to miscarry, you might feel a sharp pain in your stomach and become a bit dizzy the next morning but as soon as the miscarriage has ended those symptoms will pass eventually.” Sera has spoken those words without breaking eye contact with the person in front of her. “I hope after this you will be happier and if you need anything else you know where to find me my dear.” She ended her little speech with a comforting smile patting the girl’s shoulder before making her way in the direction of the forest. Too stunned to speak the young woman nearly forgot to thank and pay the witch for her service. “Wait up! Here`s your money I am ever so grateful for your help. Honestly, I don’t know what I would do without this potion, so I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.” With those final words the younger one put the gold coins into Sera’s hand and ran off without looking back quickly disappearing behind corners and buildings of the village. “She seems too young and innocent to get pregnant, this whole thing gives me a bad feeling.” Her familiar finally spoke up after the girl was out of sight. “Maybe it was an accident, maybe she was forced we will never know, and we especially shouldn’t intervene with the business of others. We’re doing our job by providing the people with potions and remedies for their problems, nothing more nothing less.” Continuing their way home they stopped at a few booths with Sera picking up items she ran out of and Bram staying close by her side looking out for any potential dangers. Unfortunately, it had begun pouring down some time after they entered the forest again. “I told you we should have left earlier to avoid the rain.” The witch chose to ignore the familiars’ words and just kept on following the small path home. The rain has started to sicker through her cloak and slowly she began to feel the cold creeping up on her. When the small hut came into the girl’s view, she sighed out of relief . “It wasn’t that bad, was it? If you want, I can make us some hot supe and meanwhile you dry yourself in front of the fireplace? Deal?” she suggested looking behind her to face the dog. “This actually sounds like a good plan, I am in.” the wolflike creature answered but before he could add anything Sera let out a short scream while falling on the ground. Confused and utterly shocked the girl looked down at her feet seeing something she hadn’t expected to find. “How, why…. When” She couldn’t find any words while staring at the severely wounded man lying on the ground. The guy tried to get up by pushing his right hand into the mud pulling his upper body a few centimetres off the ground, head only raised long enough for them to make eye contact before he collapsed again letting out muffled groans. Finally, the silent whimpers and expressions of pain pulled Sera out of her thoughts, and she suddenly rushed to the stranger’s side holding his bloody face in her hands. “He’s burning up, we have to get him inside as quickly as possible.” She said in a rushed voice, already preparing to carry the man’s body into her hut with the help of Bram.

Her kitchen table was turned into a makeshift hospital bed after they had laid the young lad onto it. Running around collecting the needed items Sera didn’t realise that the boy had awoken and tried to stand up. “What do you think you are doing?” said Bram in a stern voice. The witch turned on her heels and pushed the upper body of her patient back down. “Lay down, you are severely injured and you’re only making it worse.” She was quite angry, yet her touch was gentle while putting him back into place. With efficient moves she prepared all of the tools she needed and started to work on healing his wounds. The only sound coming from the man were muffled groans and yelps of pain while Sera was putting different ointments and herbs on his many wounds. “This one will hurt a lot.” She said in a quiet whisper lazed with concern as she slowly poured alcohol on the deepest wound on his chest that was oozing blood. “You’re quite lucky the arrow didn’t hit your heart”. Bram was watching everything from a distance not wanting to disturb her while she was in her trance of healing. The sweat on her forehead was glistening in the dim light of the room as she placed the final dressing over her patient’s upper body. Huffing out a sigh of relief she turned her body to the familiar, a small smile escaping her lips. “He is doing fine now; you can go to sleep. I will stay and look after him” Not fond of this idea the wolfish creature stated it would be best for her to rest and he will wake her the moment the stranger shows signs of waking up. Finally feeling the exhaustion taking over her body Sera gave in and made her way up the stairs into her bedchamber and after lying down on her comfortable little bed it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.

“Get away from me you damn beast” was the first thing the young witch heard upon waking up the next day. Without a thought she ran down the stairs to find her dear familiar being threatened with a knife by the person who just yesterday was lying in front of her abode on the brink of death. “What do you think you are doing?” she was enraged, and the man suddenly turned upon hearing her voice. “What do you mean, I am defending myself from this creature.” After that comment Bram couldn’t take it anymore and with a venomous voice he finally spoke up “I did nothing to you! Ungrateful brat. You are the one pointing weapons and wanting to fight.” With that said Sera had enough and in one big stride went to the strangers’ side gripping onto his arm completely taking him by surprise. “I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour in my house! And you should lie back down, or your wounds will reopen, and all my work will have gone to waste.” Flabbergasted, the man let her lead him back to the kitchen table he had previously laid on and sat back down. The witch was mumbling incoherent words while scurrying around the room doing who knows what. Before he could speak up, he was interrupted by the woman. “How about we start over. After all this seems like one big misunderstanding.” Now that he has somewhat calmed down, he took in the appearance of his apparent saviour. A petite girl of similar age to him, with long white hair, fair skin and eyes a shade of green he only knows from the depths of the forest. It took him some time to speak up himself: “I agree also I am sorry for threatening your ehhh… pet wolf?” While in the end his sentence sounded more like a question Sera had to hold in her laugh. “He is not a wolf but a black shepherd and my familiar. His name is Bram.” She said, smiling faintly while putting a kettle over the little fire she had started. “Oh, how rude of me, my name is Sera.” she added, turning around to face him. “San” Was the short answer from the stranger who still looked wary of his surroundings. “It’s nice to meet you San, I am curious how you got into the state you were in yesterday”. Patience was not one of her strong suits therefore she just had to ask him. Her green eyes full of curiosity were now fixated on him waiting for an answer. “Well, you see, I have been running away from the royal guards with my brother and to distract them we split up upon arriving in the forest but they defied my expectations and kept up with my pace even getting close enough to hit me with an arrow” his hand was subconsciously hovering over the bandages around his chest. “After falling to the ground I thought it was over but because of whatever reason they ran back to the castle after hearing the sound of a horn, without that I would probably be dead by now” pausing for a moment he lifted his head locking his brown eyes with hers. “And if you wouldn’t have found me I also would be dead, so thank you again I own you my life”. The sincerity in his voice was so eminent that a smile crept itself on her face. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.” she said confidently, finally breaking their eye contact to hand him one of the mugs full of deliciously smelling tea. The following silence was not an awkward one but rather one of mutual understanding and want for some peace.

“Do you live here alone?'' It was his time to ask a question again and she nodded her head taking off the bandages carefully. “Ever since I was 16 but I have Bram, so I am never really alone” The wolfish creature's ears peaked after his name was mentioned and his curious eyes followed his master's movements meticulously. “I see, still I can’t really imagine how it must feel to live like this coming from living with seven other guys. Your situation seems like the complete opposite” he said, cracking a smile at the end a little lost in his thoughts about his brothers. Would they be searching for him, maybe they thought he was dead in the end? He just hoped they wouldn’t do anything stupid because of his absence. “My turn. Why were you running from the guards?'' The wound was now fully unwrapped, and she began applying a self-made ointment on it. “Should have known you would ask” he mumbled quietly trying to avoid her forest green eyes. “I may or may not have stolen something from the palace” Her hands stopped working, eyes looking up searching for his. “You really stole from the king?” her voice was low still in disbelief waiting for him to start laughing or telling her it was a joke. But to her further surprise he kept his sheepish posture confirming her it was the truth that he spoke. “Wow… this is unbelievable but what was so important to sacrifice your own life? There is nothing more valuable than life itself?” her answer surprised him, instead of flipping out after finding out he committed treason she was wondering about his reasoning. “We simply stole money and riches, we didn’t even take a lot to stay unnoticed but on our way out we were spotted by a guard, it rarely happens so we weren’t really ready.” “Wait so you did this more than once?'' Now the shock was evident in her eyes as she dropped the new bandages she prepared. San finally raised his head showing the serious expression that was previously hidden behind his hair. “I know this sounds horrible and I understand if you do not want me here anymore but please don’t tell anyone and let me leave. I promise to never come back” he sounded so earnest taking her hands in his pleading her to understand. It took her a moment to realise she had been staring blankly at him. He took her lack of response as a sign to leave dropping her hands and trying to get up from the kitchen table. This was finally enough to rip her from her daze. “No stay you’re still hurt” her hands were pulling him back gently while her facial expressions made him feel at ease taking away the fear and panic that began bubbling inside him. “It is true that stealing, especially from the king, is a severe crime but I’d like to believe that you have your reasons to do so. Furthermore, I cannot let you walk around the forest in this state knowing I could have helped you more.” The sincerity in her eyes took him by surprise making him smile showing off his dimples. Letting out a breathy thank you he still couldn’t believe she wasn’t about to kick him out or worse tell on him to the guards. “Are you sure you want to help a traitor of the crown?” he asked willing to give her one last chance to avoid the mess she was about to get into. “Don’t worry about me, if the king were to find me helping you would be the least of my crimes. After all being born a witch will forever be my biggest crime.” The smile on her face seemed forced her eyes not meeting his while she busied her hands to finish bandaging his chest. He was too stunned to speak her bravery admirable to him, yet he caught on to the change of mood and he couldn’t imagine how it must feel to be in constant fear of being caught. “Well in my eyes your powers seem more like a blessing then a curse it just scares the ones who are afraid of change and the possibility of losing their power.” This made her heart speed up, he wasn’t afraid of her instead he seemed rather fascinated and intrigued about her abilities. For the remaining time they stayed silent, the only noise coming from her working on changing his bandages.

“You should stay the night to rest and gain more energy to go back home” was the first thing Sera said while they were having dinner. Mid-bite San raised his head looking at her, “sounds like a plan thank you for your hospitality” the smile on his face shone so brightly making her join him. Waving one of her hands dismissively she tried to explain how she liked to help people and would do it again any day. The rest of their meal was filled with random topics, some stories of their past and a lot of laughter. He told her more about his brothers, how one of them tried to cook but instead nearly burned down their house or how the oldest reminded him of her because he was the one who would take care of their wounds. Through the evening they got a lot closer realising how similar they were yet so different at the same time. “They would love to meet you” he commented with a big grin. “I’m not so sure about that one, they don’t even know I exist, and they would probably think I am awkward.” The last part was more a whisper to herself, she knew that her social skills were lacking and just thinking about meeting all of his 7 brothers made her shrink in her seat. “What do you mean? I can already see Seonghwa thanking you for taking care of me and asking about all the salves and ointments you used.” His eyes seemed so sincere that Sera felt more at ease, yet in the back of her mind the fear of judgement was still present and would probably not leave any time soon. “You should try to get some sleep now, it’s getting late and we want your wounds to heal as quickly as possible right?” the young witch said with a small smile, starting to clean the table. “You`re right, let me help you” and after a quick argument about how he should rest and not clean dishes right now, which she lost, they finished tidying up and she showed him to her room. “You can take my bed, I'll give you some clothes for you to sleep in.” Before he could disagree with her statement the girl was already going through her drawers picking out a pair of loose fitting trousers and a linen shirt. “Take these I will be downstairs, just call me if you need anything. Sleep tight:” and with those words she quickly left to get some sleep herself after all the day had been quite long. With her leaving the room San looked at the clothes in his hand and felt a weird sense of comfort, one he had only experienced when being in the presence of his brothers.

The first rays of sunlight hit the white sheets and reached the golden skin of the person underneath it. Scrunching his nose San tried to avoid the light by covering his face with the fluffy piece of cloth yet his efforts of going back to sleep were in vain as he heard soft footsteps and a knock on the door. “Good morning, I prepared breakfast if you want some '' he heard the soft spoken words come from the other side of the door. Suddenly realising that he isn't in his own bed in the comfort of his own room, San takes a moment to grasp the whole situation. “Ah yes of course I will come down in a minute” he stumbles over his words while trying to get up as quickly as possible. A sudden pain in his abound makes him groan in pain altering the young witch outside. Without a knock she rushes into the room to assist San, chestering him for being so careless. He felt her soft hands supporting his back, subconsciously rubbing soothing circles while he waited for the pain to lessen. “You should be more careful, you were on the brink of death yesterday. You can't just get up like nothing happened or you will make it even worse.” Her hands are now all over his body checking the bandages and the wounds on his face, concern clearly evident in her actions. “I'm sorry, I acted before I could think.” his lips were formed into a small pout which she couldn't help but think of as cute and endearing. “Come on now you need to eat something and then take the medicine i prepared for you” Sera patted his shoulder one last time, giving him a reassuring smile and leaving the room. San sat on the bed for a little longer, trying to root himself and get rid of the light red tint on his ears.

This is my first fanfic ever so I am really nervous, I still hope you enjoy it!

devider by @cafekitsune

[kore-pythia-hayashi]

Luke: You mentioned me being a - what?- legacy of Jupiter. What did you mean, Kore? I knew about Roman gods, of course I did, and I was aware of their offspring - in fact, I met and befriended a few Roman demigods in my life- but I don’t understand what would they possibly have to do with me? Are they stupid Olympians hiding things again?

You'd better sit down, Luke [She goes into the kitchen, her long hair flowing behind her like a shining golden halo, she returns with a bottle of wine and one glass] you'll probably want a drink and I'll clarify I won't. not a fan of alcohol.

[Opens a bottle, pours wine into a glass and puts it in front of him].

What do you know about Roman demigods, Luke? They are different from us, they are more organized, disciplined and strict, the Greeks appreciated grace, gentleness and intelligence, the Romans appreciated discipline, strength, and loyalty.

When Troy fell and Aeneas the son of Venus [Roman hypostasis of Aphrodite] took the remnants of the Trojan people and fled, his legacy took deep roots and so the Roman people appeared. The gods changed to become their patrons, they became different, in other words, our parents had a split personality. Except Venus and Nemesis, because love and revenge are unchangeable, Apollo has changed only slightly.

When the Roman Empire fell, Jupiter saved and protected the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, he ordered them to gather demigods, give birth to children and stay alive, thus preserving the legacy of Rome.

Thanks to their organization and cohesion, the Romans were able to erect a city safe for the demigods - new Rome, where they could serve ten years in the legion, go to live, go to college, grow old, start a family, lead an almost ordinary protected life.

The Romans live much longer than we do, in new Rome there are entire families and clans that are distant descendants of the gods - legacies, children and grandchildren, great-grandchildren of demigods.

As for you, Luke, you are not only the Greek son of Hermes, but also the Roman legacy at the same time - your grandmother was the daughter of Jupiter, the Roman hypostasis of Zeus. Jupiter is the god of justice and law, I think that's why you're so eager for justice.

The gods hide and keep the Greeks and Romans away from each other because the civil war of 1861-1865s... it was a war between demigods, the Romans represented the confederation, the Greeks represented the union... it was a terrible war, bloodshed and death were everywhere and colossal on both sides, and the gods fell into madness because of it, disagreeing with their Roman side.

They used a powerful fog and made us forget each other.

This is the truth about the Romans, Luke, I know this because I am an oracle and too much has been revealed to me.

[liquidstar]

I wanna reread hiraeth wa tabiji no hate now that it's complete so I can organize my thoughts on it better. But something I'm thinking about is the nature of hibino's immortality- it was just because of hani.

Hibino was always searching for a soulmate, that was his only real goal after having lived such a long life and never finding anyone permanent. Hani was his soulmate at the end. His soulmate was a god. When that god died, so did his immortality.

But they lived almost their entire immortal lives apart. Even on the journey itself, they didn't realize they were linked until the end. The idea that hibino lived his whole long long life just to meet a god as they're dying is a very tragic romance. But at the end it's not a bad thing, he's happy to have lived, happy to have met them, and ready to accept the end.

BUT I think it's also very important to note that hibino chose this. This wasn't some sort of predestined fate, he wasn't bound to his soulmate. He chose them. Even though he forgot it, he and hani made a pact back when they were still a powerful god. And they gave him the OPTION to dissolve that pact. But he chose not to, because he grew to love them.

It's not actually about being bound to a soulmate, it's about a promise being made a long long time ago. That he'll find them again in death, and they can go together. That death will reunite them. And though their memories have fogged over so much time, and as hani's powers fade, those feelings remain.

But I also think this creates a really good contrast with mika and mitsuha, especially in the idea of keeping history alive though memories.

The story is not saying you have to die when your "soulmate" does. Mika wanted to die after mitsuha did, her suicide attempt was the event that started the entire story. But this isn't treated as a lofty ambition, obviously.

On its face the story is about going to yomi, but her actual arc is about NOT doing that. About living. The reality of death isn't something mika actually wants, and she even has a panic attack about it while in the cave...

And hibino yells at her about it too, about what death means, and he tells her that by dying she's also throwing mitsuha away. The memories she holds of her. Once she's dead, the mitsuha only she knew will die too.

That alone doesn't inspire her to live though, it's the whole journey, the fact that she's now made memories with people just as precious to her as the ones she had with mitsuha. The fact that she doesn't want to forget any of it, that she wants to keep at all alive. But really, it's the fact that at the end... The birds were singing

I think it's a really beautiful story about love and death and memories and I'm excited to experience it in one go form (rather than waiting for translations) and hopefully it'll give me an even better perspective of all its themes this way

<3

[starqueensthings]

So I’ve been really struggling with the unexpected events of the season two finale, and I know a lot of us have been. We’ve all been grieving in different ways, but I wanted to share one of the coping mechanisms I used to help me get through the first couple days. I wrote these snippets from the perspective of Wrecker, Hunter, and Echo, as a sort of prayer or message to Tech. All three are based on the concept of heaven, or a peaceful afterlife, so if that’s not your thing, please carry on. And while I’m not overly religious, the concept of peace after death is something I find cathartic. Please enjoy, and hopefully this helps you like it has been helping me.

Tech, if you can hear me.

Part One: Wrecker Part Two: Hunter

Part Three: Echo (anger)

“Tech, if you can hear me.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck. I’ve been sitting on the ship staring at your chair for probably hours. I keep trying to funnel my thoughts into a place where I can actually understand them, but I can’t. I’m angry. I’m. So. Angry.

And I shouldn’t be. I should be really good at this by now. I’ve gone through this tornado of feelings more times than I can count… but I don’t know if anyone ever gets “good” at accepting a loss. Especially when it’s a brother.

I don’t have many memories of leaving Skako, but I remember waking up and seeing you right over Rex’s shoulder. I remember hearing him beg you to help me… and you did. You made it possible to get me out of there. Your uncelebrated ingenuity freed me from hell and I will never forget it.

Growing up, my batch mates always poked fun at me for reading schematics… they called me “reg manual”. I can admit, the obsession was a little unusual, but I couldn’t help it. I found comfort and stability in knowing and understanding logistics. It gave me a confidence that I wasn’t inherently born with like the rest of them were. When I joined Clone Force 99, you became a living, breathing manual beside me, and I never said it, but I found so much comfort in you. You were so effortlessly confident, aware… and I firmly believe that most missions were successful because of you.

Fuck. Why am I doing this? This is so dumb. You probably can’t hear me.

A lot of people believe there’s a peaceful place where one goes when they die, but… I just can’t imagine that sort of peace anywhere in this galaxy or in the next. How can such a wonderful place exist, when there is so much evil in the air down here? How can anyone fathom such serenity when there is so much turmoil? I can almost hear you saying ‘the notion that such a place exists is a highly illogical presumption, Echo. There is no sound data in any archive of any habitation such as one that fits those categories’.

But, if somehow it does exist… If you actually can hear me, and you’re in that place… Then I just want you to know… you deserve it, Tech. You deserve a place where your datapad battery never dies; where there’s an infinite conveyer of mechanics that need your ingenious repairs; you deserve a place where you’re allowed to write on the walls in the middle of the night when an ingenious idea hits you; a place where the lenses of your goggles never fog up, and the seams of your blacks aren’t scratchy. I hope it’s there for you.

And if you’re in that place… maybe keep an eye out for my twin? I could never bring myself to talk about him, but he was the greatest man I’ve ever known. You’ve probably already run into him up there; he’s loud, funny, animated, annoying, and he can talk his way into or out of anything. If you see him, can you tell him I miss him? His name is Fives, and you’ll probably find him hanging out around a table, playing sabacc with a sea of friends. He was always popular. I’ve heard Jesse is up there too. And Tup… Hardcase… so many brothers. Tell them I’m trying. Tell them I’ll keep trying for them.

And don’t worry about me. I promise I’ll keep my keep my hinges clean, and my scomp spinning.

Thinking of you always my brother,

Echo”.

[cedarspiced]

hiya! i'm cedar! i'm a 22 y/o grey-ace fagdyke creature living in the PNW.

buy me a kofi?

my free/cheap anthro bases

gazafunds.com

sudanfunds.com

some things about me:

ΘΔ grackle-cat griffin, sable, cat, deinonychus, coydog, painted dog

i use it/they pronouns

i'm ADHD and autistic

i'm a physically disabled cane & wheelchair user with long covid, POTS, and several other fun conditions

i'm polyam and partnered with @bovinebimbobussy <3

i'm a huge paleoenthusiast and while i do have a soft spot for Mesozoic dinosaurs, i'm also a big fan of all the other prehistoric critters and plants. opabinia my beloved

i'm a furry and reblog furry art & fursuit pics sometimes, so if u don't wanna see that, please block those tags!

i also do reblog unreality stuff from time to time and I often forget to tag it, so if that's something that could bother you, please be forewarned.

i also reblog some nsfw text posts, so please be aware of that!

rent lowering gunshots:

kink belongs at pride and always has

masks & vaccines are awesome and slow the spread of disease

black lives matter and always have

free palestine. death to israel & to the USA.

if you say you're trans, you're trans. end of. there's no other requirements.

sex is a spectrum, not a binary. also, intersex people belong in the queer community.

TMA and TME are just terms used to describe a group most affected by a certain type of discrimination (in this case, transmisogyny). no, TME does not automatically mean transmasc. it also includes all cis perisex people and non-transfem intersex folks. (what do TME/TMA mean?)

thought crimes aren't real and having paraphilias doesn't automatically make you an Evil Bad Person

callout posts are only ever harmful. yes even if they really did do that thing they're being accused of.

the tr*nsandroph*bia movement is just Mens' Rights Movement: Transgender Edition. yes, transmascs are oppressed. that is purely because we are transgender. not because we are transgender & masc.

asexual and aromantic people belong in the queer community. yes, even the cishet ones.

vote-scolding people who have already made up their mind about an election is only going to make everyone more upset at each other, and calling people bots or russian psy-ops for having a different political opinion is uh. Not Cool. to put it politely (a.k.a. that behavior is rooted in primarily USamerican racism and xenophobia.) sometimes people just have different takes based on different lived experiences!

tagging explanations, sideblogs, other socials, and fursona refs under the cut :3

my tags:

#cedar speaks - my personal posting tag

#my face - self explanatory

#my art - also self explanatory

#no id - posts with no image description

#partial id - posts with some images described, but not all. alternatively, posts that have an ID that only describes part of the image (e.g. a post with a picture of an orange cat wearing a blue t-shirt that's captioned 'i love his little shirt' but the image is just described as 'a small animal'.)

#described - posts that have all images fully described

my sideblogs:

@sableteeth - therian/alterhuman sideblog @cedarspiced-artchive - all of my art gets reblogged to here

@morrowinds - all things elder scrolls

@slime-squishes - mined craft :]

@zooplanet - planet zoo, though i've been thinking about making it a sims sideblog as well

@the-fog-chamber - echo vn stuff

@fagmoans - horny blog. dni unless you're 18+

other socials (not really active on em, but jic this site goes tits-up):

instagram

cohost

bluesky

furaffinity

my fursonas:

Cedar (my namesake <3)

art by marlomogensen, with minor edits & background by me

[more detailed IDs for these coming soon, please be patient!]

Nyx (my truesona)

art by yours truly!

[acertainmoshke]

Emerald Outpost snippet--saving a friend

lmao this was only supposed to be the setup to a non-canon snippet but it got so long I lost momentum, so I guess I'm posting this now because I think it came out well.

Cw for murder and non-graphic memories of torture

Five calls was a reasonable amount to get worried after. Minerva might be an agency head now, she might have meetings, she probably even went out on dates. But she always, always answered when Esther called. Usually, Esther found everyone’s continued vigilance and worry annoying. She might be a little fuzzy still, forget to eat or get turned around, but she wasn’t about to walk off the edge of the street. She’d had to accept that her wife and all of her friends were just going to jump at the slightest sign of something wrong for the rest of her life. 

Five calls. Minerva hadn’t answered. 

And today, Esther really needed her to.

So she’d done the only logical thing: show up at the office. Most people there wouldn’t know her now, but Minerva would see her. She’d wrapped Nasir’s too-big leather jacket reassuringly around herself and clutched her bag full of pills and notes scribbled in semi-coherent Yiddish. She had to tell Minerva what she’d learned, even if the look she’d get was already making her cringe. She knew where to send the agents. Where to find him. Her mind was clear, for once, focused, even if her heart was racing. She knew, she had to tell Minerva, she’d finally won— 

Her head had spun the entire train ride down three levels to the unobtrusive warehouse district that housed the subtler government offices. But when she stepped off the small platform and around the corner, her thoughts had come to a screeching halt. 

Something was wrong. 

People swarmed everywhere, talking, shouting. Official people. The kind of official who wore uniforms, not the kind who worked down here. She had stood in shock for several minutes, until some of their words began to make sense: Director Minerva Silvers was missing, and no one seemed to know anything about it. Then Esther had turned around and gotten back on the train, her fingernails digging into the faded canvas of the bag. 

After all, she knew where to find him. 

The official people would eventually realize no one else could have or would have taken Minerva, but it would be too late by then and no one would listen to her. No one had listened to her in a very long time. 

Which was how Esther found herself three trains later stepping out onto the lowest levels of the city. She wasn’t dressed for this, in her sweatpants and yellow shirt. She didn’t look rough. But that didn’t matter, not as much as getting there in time. 

Esther almost ran down the street, following a map burned into her mind and very carefully not thinking about needles and wires and skin splitting open. It was easier to think of all the things that could go wrong before she even got there. Planning kept the fog away. She needed to think clearly, more than she had in over ten years. 

She was running down the street, not looking like she belonged here. It would be tempting to stop her, grab her, see what was in her bag. She had a blaster, but she wasn’t quick with it anymore. And the bottles of meds tucked under it would be worth far more than her death down here. She was still fast at running, and would be for several more minutes at least, and there were endless narrow alleys to duck into. She shifted her grip on the bag so she was ready to punch anyone who came near her. 

But, for once in her life, Esther got lucky. Maybe she was old enough now to be invisible. Or looked too poor to bother with. Either way, she made it to the little bar unaccosted. 

Could this really be it? She had no memory of this place, but all her research suggested it was. Of course, she had no proof he was still here, but why wouldn’t he be? They’d never found him. 

The bartender who gave her a half-hearted grunt of greeting looked too young to have been working here a decade ago. Did he know? 

Wait. When had it gotten so hard to think? The fog was back. Fabric tore under her clenched fists. She couldn’t get enough air to breathe, much less speak. 

No. Keep it together. You can breathe, doesn’t matter that it feels like you can’t. 

This was good. This was progress. But it wasn’t enough. Eight years ago the thought of this place would have had her dissociated for days. Five years ago at this point she would have forgotten how to walk. Even last year the breathing thing wouldn’t have convinced her. But talking was not happening. She’d planned on convincing the bartender to drop something useful, somehow. Chatting, or threats, or something. She’d been in a hurry. But already the world seemed far away and her spinning thoughts wouldn’t coalesce into words. 

So she shot him. 

She didn’t do things like that anymore. Really, she’d never done things like that, not as a first resort. But she would never, ever let Minerva go through what she had. And she was running out of options. 

She could almost see a ghost version of herself doing this, back when she was young and competent. Charming the bartender into letting something slip, getting the rest out with a blaster under his chin before finally telling him to go and watching him run away. Nasir would flick the hidden switch and make a joke— No. No jokes when they had to save Minerva. But he would be there, beside her and always watching her back. 

She hadn’t even told him what she knew before going to Minerva. 

She’d stood there, blaster raised, lost in her head for too long. She tucked it back into her bag and rushed forward, pushing the lifeless body onto the floor with an unpleasantly loose thud. Now she had no one to ask, but she couldn’t have asked anyway. The switch would be somewhere easy to reach from behind the bar, but hard to hit accidentally...Esther threw things off shelves, showering her shoes in drink and glass and more. 

[multiversal-madness]

Scattered Feathers Au - The World's Layers

So in Mcsm, there are only two 'layers' of the world that we know of - the current Overworld and the Underneath. In my Au, I've expanded on that idea and added details to not only to the layers we know of, but also to the layers below the Underneath.

So, first up:

The Overworld - The Top/Third Layer

The most recent world to be made and the home of Jesse and her friends.

This layer is missing a lot of the features present in current Minecraft, only having features up to the World of Colour update. This includes the world generation side of things as well, no extravagant caves or mountains or what have you.

This is because Romeo was the one to sculpt this world instead of Fred, the Nether admin wasn't able to capture the same environments Fred could and since Romeo was doing things alone, a lot of things found in the underneath weren't carried over to the surface.

Another interesting thing about this layer is it hasn't been around for all that long, only a few decades at most, though the memories of the older folk who live up there think otherwise. The truth is Romeo took a lot of people from the underneath to populate his new world, then messed with their memories so they'd think this was always their home (and so they'd forget the admins as well).

Aside from Romeo, only one person living on the top layer remembers what's below the bedrock...

The Underneath - The Middle/Second Layer

The world the admins built together, though Fred mostly handled this one while Romeo and Xara took care of the end and the nether respectively.

It's the most current version of Minecraft, meaning it has the caves and cliffs world generation, the cherry and mangrove trees/biomes, mobs like phantoms, bees, goats, allays, etc... With a few exceptions.

It doesn't have access to the deep dark, and a few biomes (particularly cave related ones) aren't there either. This also, of course, includes the sculk and warden, which are only found in the next layer down.

The Deep Dark - The Lowest/First Layer

The only thing that remains of the ancient world (in the overworld at least). The deep dark has a few safe caverns, a few dripstone caves or the rare lush cave, but most of the caverns have been consumed by sculk.

What was once a safe haven from the dangers above the bedrock (long gone by the time the admins were sent out to rebuild the world) has long since become a death trap, only one of the settlements hold life - and even then it's only three people that currently live there - The Ancient City. It too has been consumed by sculk that fed on its inhabitants, but those who remain know how to be quiet and muffle any sounds.

Very few things survived what pushed people to hide underground, to retreat and build a protective layer of bedrock, but that world had held many removed or never added features in Minecraft. From mobs like the glare, the rascal, the moobloom and more to the mechanics like gears instead of redstone and potions brewed from cauldrons. A few mobs that were remade for the above worlds were different in this world as well.

The Void - Beneath The First Layer of Bedrock

Ever-present across any dimension, ever-lasting and impossible to destroy or move, ever hungry for whatever falls below its threshold. The only place where there is truly nothing, where only entities can enter.

Blocks refuse to be placed in it, pistons will not push past it, even liquids spread as if on a solid surface rather than enter it. Only a dragon can (and does) survive its embrace.

When close enough to the void, its presence can be felt and it isn't a good feeling or easy to become accustomed to. It can even affect vision, creating what could be described as a 'void fog'. It is possible to get used to the feeling, but only really for those who grow up near it.

[rawiriwright]

— BASICS.

Name: Rawiri Wright. Age / D.O.B.: Forty-eight years old, October 8th. Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: Cis man, he/him, bisexual. Hometown: Raukokore, New Zealand. Affiliation: Media. Job position: Talk Show Host @ NBC. Education: No higher education. He flirted with the idea of university, mostly to appease his parents, but never went through with it. Relationship status: Single. Children: None. Positive traits: Astute, determined, high-spirited, playful, persuasive. Negative traits: Chaotic, self-justifying, defiant, facetious, unpredictable.

SUMMARY: Rawiri is a comedian and the host of a late-night satirical talk show. Over a decade in broadcasting, he's managed to offend just about everyone - gangs, law enforcement, government officials, by reducing their activities to punchlines. He assumed he was exempt from being targeted, that he wielded some kind of jester's privilege which cancelled out retaliation, but he was mistaken. Catastrophically mistaken. He was attacked five months ago - it speaks volumes to the amount of people he's pissed off that he doesn't even know who's behind said attack - and nearly lost his life. He's been off-air ever since, trying to recover and decide his next move.

— BIOGRAPHY.

Trigger warnings: assault, violence and mentions of death.

Throughout his career, Rawiri has courted controversy and acclaim in equal measure. As the host of a long-running talk show, Night Owls*, with a penchant for parodying - and, by extension, provoking - powerful figures, he’s ruffled more than a few feathers with his tongue-firmly-in-cheek humour. Public opinion has always been divided: to some, he’s a breath of fresh air, a man of the people who cheerfully defies formidable entities and mines levity from the horrors of the city. His naysayers are more cynical of his intentions, viewing him as an attention-seeker who would say/do anything for publicity. They'd argue his on-air antics do not stem from the desire to make people laugh themselves into momentarily forgetting their troubles, but because he knows controversy increases viewership. He's a hero or a con-artist, depending who you ask.

The only time his supporters and his critics seemed to be in agreement was five months ago, when reports broke regarding a potential attempt on Rawiri's life. It says a lot about a person if, upon learning someone tried to murder them, the universal response is not disbelief that it happened, only disbelief it didn't happen sooner.

Nobody was surprised, it seemed, other than Rawiri himself. It sounds preposterous now but, prior to the attack, he'd never once paused to consider the target he'd put on himself. Call it arrogance. Call it naivety. Threats had been delivered in the past, but he'd treated them with the same levity as the rest of his life, under the assumption that everyone in the public eye fell prey to empty ones. It didn't have to mean anything.

Did he take things too far sometimes? Of course. Did he think it justified being beaten within an inch of his life by an unknown assailant?

That's a question he's still grappling with: whether or not he deserved it. Nobody ever wants to believe they're responsible for their own suffering, but what if?

What if?

Either way, he should be dead. Sometimes he thinks he'd rather be. It's impossible to reconcile who he is now with who he was prior to his near-demise. On the outside he's determined to appear as arrogant as ever, but there's telltale signs of a rattled man if you know where to look. Loud noises make him tense up. He identifies the exit of any place he finds himself. He double, then triple, checks door locks. A leg bounces anxiously, brain fog prevails, sleepless nights ensue. There's an expectation, he feels, for him to bounce back and return to his high-spirited ways, but how does a person do that? Navigating life when you had been close to losing it is uniquely difficult.

His brush with death made him think upon his life a lot, going as far back as his childhood. Nobody ever believes him when he says he was a shy child. It reads like one of his jokes - 'Rawiri' and 'shy' are words that shouldn't exist in the same sentence - but it's the truth. He was shy and quiet and an infinitely better person than the man he grew into. Kinder. Stronger moral compass. Adored by parents who hated what he became, who could not see a trace of their sweet boy in the man who chased laughter for a living.

Born and raised in Raukokore, New Zealand, by a Russian-Jewish mother and a father of Te Whānau-ā-Apanui descent, his childhood was gentle and unassuming. His parents both worked as university professors, and imagined their only child would also be academically inclined - but he threw a spanner in the works, deciding he wanted to be a comedian instead. He left school with notions of becoming famous, moving to New York at 19 where he was a regular on the comedy circuit, playing any shows he could book.

He found his way into writing for TV in his mid 20s, when the producer of a talk show attended one of his comedy gigs; it felt like a dream at the time. He assumed his talent would be writing for others, that he could elevate the blandest of hosts, but he realised this wasn't true. After watching too many people fumble lines he knew could get big laughs if they'd been executed differently - the cadence, the expression, if they'd waited to deliver a punchline rather than racing through the autocue - he just knew he could do it better and fought for a chance to prove his skills as a host, pestering producers on every show he worked on. Eventually one relented and he was given his own segment within another show - a tiny slither of time to capture an audience with topical comedy. It proved popular enough to warrant a longer segment, then his own small spin-off show. He ultimately went on to reach the pinnacle of his career at the age of 35, when he became the host of his own major late-night show.

And so the story goes. He fronts the show for over a decade, provoking people who should never be provoked until someone decides they've had enough. He almost winds up dead. His own parents can't even recognise him in the aftermath, beaten so badly it's a miracle he's survived (it doesn't feel like a miracle.) He's left terrified, lonely, miserable, and feeling as though he can't express any of those things because he's built a whole career on being funny. Part of him yearns to get back on-air and pretend he's unfazed. The rest wants to continue hiding forever.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS / PLOTS.

The person/people who put a hit out on him: I've kept this purposely vague in his bio so it can be open for all the drama. Rawiri has no idea who targeted him - if it was one disgruntled individual or a calculated group decision. He also doesn't know if the intention was to kill him or just scare him into submission.

The hitman: The person tasked with hurting him. The actual attack is hazy so maybe he doesn't recognise them and there's just this sense of unease when their paths cross that he can't quite put his finger on? Or maybe he knows exactly who they are.

Media: Since his attack, he's been largely unreachable. No public appearances have been made, interview requests ignored - so maybe someone in the media has been trying to find a way to get him to speak to them. Pestering him, sweetening him up, promising a balanced article - basically employing the same tactics he uses to get guests on his show. He knows what they're doing, recognises himself in what they're doing, and probably both hates and admires the persistence.

Law enforcement: There would've been an investigation into his attack, which could be complicated given Rawiri's track record of publicly making fun of the police. Humiliating for him, but it could be endlessly entertaining to someone in law enforcement to finally have the upper hand. Maybe they were kind to him and changed his opinion of the police, or maybe they've clashed the whole way.

Exes: The problem with Rawiri is that the things that draw people to him inevitably also end up being the reasons they leave. He's witty with a contagiously high-spirited energy, but it doesn't take long to realise that's all he is. He's incapable of being a reliable, mature presence; it's not enough to make a partner laugh if you can't also be there to support them in the bleak times. He's a dream in the early dating stages, a goldmine of jokes and sweet gestures, but the novelty wears off. He's had a lot of short-term relationships and a small amount of longer ones, maybe even engaged a few times, so I'm totally open to plotting those dynamics. Maybe they hate each other. Maybe a well-meaning ex reentered his life in the aftermath of the attack to help with his recovery.

Support group/therapy friends: He attends a support group at the instruction of his therapist as a way of getting back out into the world. He keeps a low profile to avoid recognition - not that anyone seems to massively care or know who he is - but maybe he's befriended another muse there, or maybe they do recognise him and it's awkward.

Agent: Rawiri has gone through many agents over the years, on account of being an absolute nightmare of a human being and impossible to wrangle. His latest long-suffering agent maybe has an easier time because he's more subdued since his attack, but he's still pretty difficult and needy. Maybe they're friends. Potentially there's some chemistry even? Or enemies. Everything is open.

Other: Former talk show guests, bad influences, good influences, enemies to friends, friends to enemies, the first person to find him/help him after his attack, crushes, neighbours, friends with benefits, people he rubbed shoulders with at any fancy events he used to attend, people who work on his show (maybe they like him or maybe he was a pain), fans of his show, hate-watchers, etc.

*Took the title of his show from a film because I'm lazy and it sounded cool sjdjfhfh, so I don't take any credit for the name <3