#water blossom ivy

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Bath and Body Works Water Blossom Ivy Creamy Body Wash, Nourishing Anti Bacterial Hand Lotion, and Body Splash

Body wash and splash 1990-1994ish

Antibacterial hand lotion late 1990s

Body wash found on Mercari, user fashiontrove

Lotion/splash found on Ebay, user sweet_scents_plus

[pupkashi]

just spent $80 on candles 😣🙏

[trappolia]

── KISS ME ONCE AND KISS ME TWICE AND KISS ME ONCE AGAIN

silver vanrouge. silver dreams of you, always you. it only makes it far more painful to break from the chains of malleus' curse to seek the you that exists beyond his dreamscape.

Silver has always taken his time with you.

He has never been able to tell you why. Lilia says that it is just the way he is, ever since he was a boy; he plays by the rules, he goes by a routine that is, as much as possible, not too affected by his strange sleeping habits.

it is why he goes through the meticulous steps of courting you, offering you flowers and gifting you with thoughtful trinkets and even writing letters for your family while your worlds remain separate. It is why it had to be you to take the first step and kiss him one night during a star-gazing date because gods damn it all, you’re sick of waiting.

( Silver had laughed and laughed that night as you apologised for your callous actions; because you were so cute, because he was so in love, because it had all felt like a dream come true when he allowed himself to ignore tradition to cup your cheeks and pull you into another kiss. )

Silver discovers very early on that even when he takes his time, it's all still overwhelming. Like a dream come true, he used to tell Lilia in bouts of deliriousness when he was still caught between dream and reality and his mind was too muddled with sleep to care about embarrassing himself in front of the fae who had raised him.

Like a dream come true.

But what is his dream, exactly?

A cottage deep in the forest of briar valley, with ivy growing up the walls and over the red-tiled roof. Soft, packed dirt with growing flowers of all kinds, spring blossoms of pink, yellow, blue, red, protected by a low wall. There are no horrors with dripping ink and dragging claws, no glowing emerald eyes or scaled wings. Just grass and flowers and sky and nothing.

No. Not nothing. Because there's you.

"I just cleaned, so remember to take off your boots by the door!" Silver hears you call out from inside the cottage. His chest quakes as he lets out a ragged breath, his bag dropping as he rids himself of the extra weight.

The floor below his dirty boots is clean slate compared to the cluttered kitchen to his left and the living area to his right. Silver sees the same threadbare couch by the stone fireplace, cluttered with throw pillows and blankets and an unfinished knitting project. The couch is old. Used. Loved. There are some closed doors beyond the stairs, but Silver doesn't have to check to know what lies behind them. His old childhood bedroom where Lilia used to tuck him in. A bathroom that has been flooded one or more than a few times when he got too carried away with playtime. The small study where he used to have his lessons on reading and writing.

There's something about the sight of his childhood home that sets Silver off, as if he’s caught in crosswinds, but he fumbles his way inside anyway, toeing his shoes off out of ingrained politeness. His footfalls feel heavy and light all at once against the wooden floors as he walks — almost as if by habit — to the kitchen where he had heard your voice come from.

"There you are," you beam at him, putting a kettle of water on top of the same stove that Silver had watched his father cook his meals so many times. Your brows furrow when you notice the strange expression on his face; the emotions whirling in his aurora irises like a hurricane and the trembling of his bottom lip.

You frown, wiping your hands on a cloth rag. "Silver? what's wrong?"

Silver lets out a ragged breath, his hand shaking as it comes up to cradle your own as you cup his face in your palm. What is wrong? This is all he's ever wanted, isn't it? A life with you in the woods he had grown up in, free of worries and dangers and hurt and anger. He's built a home with no fear, no yelling, no uncertainties. Just like the life lilia always wanted to give him.

It's a dream come true.

"You're a dream," Silver whispers when he realises, his hands coming up to cradle your face in turn. He's shaking, he knows that even with his mind whirling, but he just can't help it— he has to touch you, make sure this isn't— this isn't a nightmare—

No. No, no, no. Malleus wouldn't do that. This is his dream. This is what his heart has always yearned for.

"My dream."

"Well, aren't you sappy today?" you muse, lips quirking up in that soft smile that Silver oh so adores to kiss. "What's the occasion?"

"I—" Silver opens his mouth, but no words come out. What can he say? What can he do, knowing that this is all he's ever wanted, but this is a dream. This is a dream and you're not real but gods, does silver want you to be.

A beat passes, and your smile turns sad.

"You know, don't you?"

Silver feels his heart ache. He wants to tell you no. No, please keep this veil over my eyes. Pretend i don’t know this isn’t real. Please. Please.

You reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with such tenderness that he feels like crying. “You’ve always been so smart, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” he allows himself to say, because this is the least he owes you— this perfect imitation of you that his mind, Malleus’s magic, has managed to conjure, because in the short time you’ve known him, you’ve managed to ingrain yourself into every fibre of his being so that even under this spell, all Silver can dream about is you, you, you.

Silver doesn't want to wake up. He doesn't, he really doesn't. There's something in him that pulls at his heartstrings, tugging at every vein and nerve as if begging him to stay, please stay. There must be a reason why you're always falling asleep, why this had to happen. Just stay. This is a dream come true, why would you want to wake up?

“You’re still there,” Silver says in a voice so small, it feels like he’s a little boy again, crying and clinging onto Lilia like the fever that sticks to his skin and reminds him of his mortality.

“You’re still there, and I’m here.”

His childhood home is small, but within the cottage and with your hands cradling his face, the thick walls feels unnaturally closer, like something is breathing on the back of his neck. He’s reminded of you, somewhere in Night Raven College, trapped within your own dream. Do you dream of him, he wonders? Has he become your new dream, just as you have become his?

Will he ever see you again?

Silver can't bear the thought of you somehow waking up from your dream — a matter of when rather than if, because Silver knows that you've always had a knack for getting out of impossible situations like this — and realising that he had left you alone to stay in this eternal sleep, with this dream– this illusion of what could have been.

“I have to go,” Silver whispers, and his heart breaks because this might be a dream, but it’s still you. How can he tell you he’s going to leave? He can’t do that. He can’t break your heart like that, he can’t—

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry— I'm so, so sorry.”

He expects you to stop him. What do the stories say about dreams where you’re supposed to be kept unaware, blissfully oblivious to the fact that this utopia is not your reality? Silver expects this dream version of you to pull some sort of trick to lure him back into your trap—

But instead you just smile softly, reaching out to stroke his face, "How lucky I am to have someone like you love me."

Silver hears something crack, resonating in his soul. Is it the chains of Malleus’s magic breaking its hold on him, or the last pieces of his heart shattering at last? He doesn’t know.

Maybe it’s both.

But whatever it is, Silver knows he doesn’t have much time. His hands cup your cheeks, pulling you close to him with the desperation of a dying man.

He feels you gasp against his mouth, lips parting and allowing his tongue to slip inside. He maps the cavern of your mouth as if immortalising it in his mind, like he’ll never see you again after this— because that is very well a possibility, no matter how he tries to ignore it.

Silver kisses you like it’s his last day in this godforsaken world, because it might as well be, and great seven, he should have done this every time he kissed you. He should have kissed you first. He should have kissed you every moment he could instead of taking his time because now he can hear the sand running in the hourglass, and he’s blind to how much time he has left, and he just wants to see you in the flesh again, please, please, please—

The two of you part an eternity later, but it still feels much too soon. There’s so much love in him, and too little time, and Silver feels like drowning.

"Wait for me," Silver pleads. He'll make this dream come true, he swears. He’ll give you all the love he has in this wretched body of his, and then some. He’ll never sleep again even, if only to make this dream come true.

"I will," you whisper breathlessly—

—and with a bittersweet smile and a final, fleeting kiss to his lips, you let him go.

© trappolia 2024

[caprisunnydays]

First time but not really

Lawrence wakes up to the MC/you on top of him! What is he supposed to do while you fuck him? He's not sure...

Warnings : NSFW content/smut, mentions of murder, described thoughts of murder, mentions of necrophilia

General : Dom Reader, Sub Lawrence, riding, GN reader, lawrence being awkward and a weirdo manz, no y/n because reader is "the body" because that's how I think that Lawrence would see them

IF U DON'T LIKE THIS STUFF DONT READ, like fr I know its not for everyone but for all the boyfriend to death girlies HEYYYYY

Word count 1.1k

Lawrence’s hands gripped the sheets, hands stiff beside him as the body on top of him kissed his neck. He had been asleep just a few minutes before this, now here he lay on his squeaky, twin sized bed, in the darkness of his flora filled apartment. On top of him hovered a warm body, the body he should have put in the ground by now. 

He knew it from the start, that they’d be a problem, and now he was reaping the consequences of letting them live.

The consequences being his flushed face and hard dick, both embarrassing signs of his loss of control in this situation. Like ivy, the body twisted around him, creeping along his skin and making him shudder and unable to gain the sense to throw them off and cut them up like he should.

Like incessant clover, the body planted kisses on his neck and chest, blossoming hot, fuzzy sensations that spread throughout his quivering form. His eyes were squeezed shut, studying the back of his eyelids as he thought of all the things he could do to the body once he found the strength to push it off. 

His gardening scissors…a knife to carve out that pretty spine…all were possibilities in his fantasy where the body was cold, and unmoving. It would be both a lovely and loathsome contrast to their lively, heated state above him. He wanted to drain that heat from them, feel the blood give his hands a more temporary warmth as he used it as lube to defile their rotting corpse. He would crush them, make them wilt as he did to all his plants once the urge to cut their meaningless, sinful lives out of their existence became too much to ignore.

Plants… that’s what they all were. Flowers, such beautiful things that lied and deceived, taking from the earth to fuel their own vanity and-

Here he was with one on top of him. When he opens his eyes the tiniest bit, he sees the flower on top of him. He thinks this might be the prettiest he’s ever seen.

The prettiest were always his favorite to destroy. Killing such a thing that didn’t deserve the beauty it was gifted, for its inside was rotten and grotesque-

The tingling in his body had made him numb, and the bit of insanity spirling in his mind came to the forefront as he went to reach up, to grab that pretty, stem-like neck.

But the body’s hands gently laid his hands down on either side of his head. His eyes widened, though not in surprise of the action itself, but that he himself would let them do this. His breath hitched as they slowly pulled his sweatpants down just enough to reveal his weeping cock, beads of precum dribbling down the light pink tip. A soft, unconscious groan rose in his throat, the need to have something tight and warm around him growing with each passing second of this torturous dance. Yet no demands slipped from his mouth, words buzzing around his mind as he gripped the pillow behind him as the body shifted their position to where their entrance was directly over him.

“W-wait-” His words died immediately to a humiliatingly high pitched moan as they took him fully. The body’s hole was so hot, so tight- was this what people loved so much? Was this real sex? Love making? No, definitely not that. There was too much hedonism in the way they were squeezing him so tightly around him, bouncing up and down and forcing him to cover his mouth to block the noises he was making. His eyes watered at the intensity of the body’s movements, and the pleasure it was causing. All those nights he finished into his hand seem useless now. Even the tight hole of the corpses he fucked could never have satisfied him as much as the one wrapped around his throbbing cock.

“S-slow down…” He whimpered, though when they did he bucked his hips, trying to regain the electric sensation he previously had access to. They laughed softly and resumed their punishing pace, the room filling with the sound of slapping skin as they rode him viciously.

Perhaps this was their payback for all the nights they’d spent tied up in that chair. The body must be using the energy they stored up in that time to fuck his brains out, leaving him mindless and drooling underneath them.

He couldn’t think, he could barely breath as he felt himself getting close. His balls, heavy from all the pathetic unachieved orgasms he’d attempted to bring himself to, drew up into his body as he prepared to cum. He could feel them getting close too, their walls clenching around him deliciously. Their head was thrown back, hands gripping his thighs for support as they drew their body, before slamming down over and over and over…And they looked angelic as they bounced on his cock, trying to suck him dry of his seed and force him to bury it deep inside them. 

In an attempt to savor the moment, he tore one of his trembling hands from his mouth and reached up to their pretty face. Like a flower in full bloom, their eyes opened, and they turned their desperate gaze to his face, while taking his thumb into their mouth and sucking it slowly.

That enough was an action to push him over the edge, his eyes rolling back, and hand retreating to his mouth to cover the lewd moan that was ripped from his throat as he came. His cock twitched as his cum flooded their insides, mixing with their essence that flowed from within their throbbing core. He blinked tears of pleasure away as he looked up to see his flower rooted atop him, pretty, perfect, and with an expectation.

For a moment he was confused, was the body not satisfied with all that they had taken from him? After taking their captor in such a dominant manner? Though the realization hit him when they wiggled their hips and gazed at him with longing , just as his deluded mind imagines his flowers did when they awaited his water after days of neglect. Of course he was the only one that finished…His flower needed more.

Just like people took from him, his plants, especially his flowers always took the most. Such greedy little things, though their beauty made him wanna give them more and more… How easily distracted could a man get by something so insignificant? If he knew the answer to that question, his flower would have been deadheaded already… Oh well, he’d let this one get away with a bit more before he pruned away their spirit.

Man def aint making nobody cum fr fr, but I love my loser weirdo manz

Also I didn't really proof read so sorry for any mess ups~

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 9: Dionysus, God Of Ecstasy]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.9k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The October surprise is a great American tradition. As the phases of the moon revolve towards Election Day, the candidates and their factions seek to ruin each other. Lies are told, truths are exposed, Tyche smiles and Achlys brews misery, poison, the fog of death that grows over men like ivy. The stars align. The wolves snap their jaws.

In 1844, an abolitionist newspaper falsely accused James K. Polk of branding his slaves like cattle. In 1880, a letter supposedly authored by James Garfield—in actuality, forged by a New York journalist—welcomed Chinese immigrants in an era when they were being lynched by xenophobic mobs in Los Angeles and San Francisco. In 1920, a rumor emerged that Warren Harding had Black ancestry, an allegation his campaign fervently denied to keep the support of the Southern states. In 1940, FDR’s press secretary assaulted a police officer outside of Madison Square Garden. In 1964, one of LBJ’s top aids was arrested for having gay sex at the Washington D.C. YMCA.

Now, in 1968, Senator Aemond Targaryen of New Jersey is realizing that he will not be the beneficiary of the October surprise he’s dreamed of: his wife’s redemptive pregnancy, a blossoming first family. There is a civil rights protest that turns into a riot in Milwaukee; this helps Nixon, the candidate of law and order. For every fire lit and window shattered, he sees a bump in the polls from businessowners and suburbanites who fear anarchy. Breaking news of the My Lai massacre—committed back in March but only now brought to light—airs on NBC, horrifying the American public and bolstering support for Aemond, the man who has vowed to begin ending the war as soon as he’s sworn into office. The two contestants are deadlocked. Election Day could be a photo finish.

Nixon is in Texas. Wallace is in Arkansas. In Florida, Aemond visits the Kennedy Space Center and pledges to fulfill JFK’s promise to put a man on the moon by 1970. He makes a speech at the Mary McLeod Bethune Home commending her work as an educator, philanthropist, and humanitarian. He greets soldiers at the Naval Air Station in Pensacola. He feeds chickens to the alligators at the Saint Augustine Alligator Farm Zoological Park.

But it is not the senator the crowds cheer loudest for. It is his wife, his future first lady, here in her home state where she staunched her husband’s hemorrhaging blood and appeared before his well-wishers still marked with crimson handprints. In Tarpon Springs, she and Aemond attend mass at the Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral and pray at an altar made of white marble from Athens. Then they stand on the docks as flashbulbs strobe all around them, watching sponge divers reappear from the depths, breaking through the bubbling sapphire water like Heracles ascending to Mount Olympus.

~~~~~~~~~~

You kick off your high heels, tear the pins and clips out of your hair, and flop down onto the king-sized bed in your suite at the Breakers Hotel. It’s the same place Aemond was almost assassinated five months ago. He has returned in triumph, in defiance. He cannot be killed. It is God’s will.

You are alone for these precious fleeting moments. Aemond is in Otto’s suite discussing the itinerary for tomorrow: confirmations, cancellations, reshufflings. You pick up the pink phone from the nightstand on Aemond’s side of the bed and dial the number for the main house at Asteria. It’s 9 p.m. here as well as there. Through the window you can see inky darkness and the kaleidoscopic glow of the lights of Palm Beach. The Zenith radio out in the kitchenette is playing Satisfaction by the Rolling Stones. No intercession from Eudoxia is necessary this time; Aegon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he says, slow and lazy like he’s been smoking something other than Lucky Strikes.

“Hey.” And then after a pause, twirling the phone cord around your fingers as you stare up at the ceiling: “It’s me.”

“Oh, I know. Should I take off my pants, or…?” He’s only half-joking.

You smile. “That was stupid. Someone could have bugged the phone.”

“You think Nixon’s guys are wiretapping us? Give me a break. They’re goddamn buffoons. They’re too busy telling cops to beat hippies to death.” You hear him taking a drag off his joint, envision him sprawled across his futon and enshrouded in smoke. “Everything okay down there in the swamp?”

You shrug, even though Aegon can’t see you. “It’s fine.”

“Just fine?”

“My parents were there when we stopped in Tarpon Springs. They kept telling everyone how proud they are of me, and I just felt so…dishonest.”

“Of course they’re proud. If Aemond wins, the war ends and more civil rights bills get passed and this hell we’ve all been living in since 1963 goes away.”

“I miss you,” you confess.

“You’ll be back soon to enjoy me in all my professional loser glory.” He’s right: Aemond’s entourage will spend Halloween at Asteria. You’ll take the children trick-or-treating around Long Beach Island—with journalists in tow, of course—and then host a party with plentiful champagne and Greek hors d’oeuvres, one last reprieve before the momentous slog towards Election Day on November 5th, a reward for the campaign staffers and reporters who have served Aemond so well. “What are you going to dress up as?”

“Someone happy,” you say, and Aegon chuckles, low and sardonic. “Actually, nothing. Aemond and Otto have decided that it would be undignified for the future president and first lady to be photographed in costumes, so I will be wearing something festive yet not at all fun.”

“Aemond has always been somewhat confused by the concept of fun.”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

You can hear the grin in his voice as he exhales smoke. “A cowboy.”

“A cowboy,” you repeat, giggling. “You aren’t serious.”

“Extremely serious. I protect the cows, I comfort the cows, I breed the cows…”

“You are mentally ill. You belong in an asylum.”

“I ride the cows…”

“Cowboys do not ride cows.”

“Maybe this one does.”

“I thought you liked being ridden.”

Aegon groans with what sounds like genuine discomfort. “Don’t tease me. You know I’m celibate at the moment.”

“Miraculous. Astonishing. The Greek Orthodox Church should canonize you. What have you been doing with all of your newfound free time?”

“Taking the kids out sailing, hiding from Doxie, trying not to step on the Alopekis…and playing Battleship with Cosmo. He has a very loose understanding of the rules.”

“He does. I remember.”

“He keeps asking when you’ll be back.”

“Really?” you ask hopefully.

“Yeah, it’s cute. And he calls you Io because he heard me do it.”

“Not an appropriate myth for children, I think.”

“Cosmo’s what, seven years old?”

“Five.”

“Close enough. I think I knew about death and torment and Zeus being a slut by then.”

“And you have no resulting defects whatsoever.” You roll over onto your belly and slide open the drawer of the nightstand. Instead of the card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai—you’ve forgotten that you’re on Aemond’s side of the bed—you find something bizarre, unexpected, just barely able to fit. “Oh my God, there’s a…there’s a Ouija board in the nightstand!”

Aegon laughs incredulously. “There’s a what?!”

“A Ouija board!” You sit upright and shimmy it out, holding the phone to your ear with one shoulder. The small wooden planchette slides off the board and clatters against the bottom of the drawer. “Why the hell would Aemond have this…?”

“He’s trying to summon the ghost of JFK to stab Nixon.”

“Oh wow, it’s heavy.” You skim your fingertips over the black numbers and letters etched into the wooden board. There’s something ominous about the Good Bye written across the bottom. You can’t beckon the dead into the land of the living without reminding them that they aren’t welcome to stay.

“Aemond is such a freak. Is it a Parker Brothers one, like for kids…?”

“No, I think it’s custom made. It feels substantial, expensive. Hold on, there’s something engraved on the back.” You flip over the Ouija board so you can see what your hands have already felt. The inscription reads in onyx cursive letters: No ghosts can harm you. The stars were never better than the day you were born. With love through all the ages, Alys.

“What’s it say?” Aegon asks from his basement at Asteria.

You’re staring down at the Ouija board, mystified. “Who’s Alys?”

Instead of an answer, Aegon gives you a deep sigh. “Oh. Yeah, she would give him something like that. Fucking creepy witch bullshit.”

“Aegon, who’s Alys?” She’s his mistress. She has to be. It fills your skull like flashbulbs, like lightning: Aemond climbing on top of another woman, conquering her, owning her, binding her up in his mythology like a spider building a web. And what you feel when the shock begins to dissolve isn’t envy or pain or betrayal but—strangely, paradoxically—hope. “She’s his girl, right?”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you,” Aegon says. “There wasn’t a good time. When I hated you I didn’t care if he was fucking around, and then after what happened in New York I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t know how you’d take it. It’s not your fault, there’s nothing wrong with you. She was here first. He’d have kept Alys around if he married Aphrodite herself.”

“I’m not mad.” You’re distracted, that’s what you are; you’re plotting. “Where is she?”

“She lives in Washington state. I’m not sure exactly where, I think Aemond moves her a lot. He doesn’t want anyone to see him around and start noticing a pattern. Neighbors, shopkeepers, cops, whoever.”

“Washington.” Just like when Ari died. Just like when Aemond didn’t come back. “Who knows about her?”

“Just the family. Fosco and Mimi found out because when they married in, the fights were still happening. Otto and Viserys demanding he give Alys up, Aemond refusing. It’s the only thing he ever did wrong, the only line he drew. He said he needed her. She could never be his first lady, but she could be something else.”

“His mistress.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says reluctantly. “Are you…are you okay?”

“I’m okay. What’s wrong with Alys?”

“What?”

“Why couldn’t Aemond marry her?”

“I mean, she’s the type of psycho who gives people Ouija boards, first of all,” Aegon says. “And she’s…she’s not educated. Her family’s trash. She’s older than Aemond. Hell, she’s older than me. She would be an unmitigated disaster on the campaign trail. She unnerves people. But Aemond, he…”

“He loves her,” you whisper, reading the engraving on the back of the board again. “And she loves him.”

“I guess. Whatever love means to them.”

A thought occurs to you, the first one to bring you pain like a needle piercing flesh. “Does she have children?”

Again, Aegon sounds reticent to disclose this. “A boy. Aemond’s the father.”

“How old?”

“I don’t know, I think he’s around ten now.”

And that’s Aemond’s true heir. Not Ari, not any others he would have with me. That place in his heart is taken. He couldn’t mourn the loss of our son because he already has one with the woman he loves.

Out in the living room of the suite, you hear the front door open. There are footsteps, Aemond’s polished black leather shoes.

Aegon is asking: “Are you sure you’re okay? Hello? Babe? Hello? Are you still there?”

“I’m fine. I gotta go.”

“Wait, no, not yet—!”

“Bye.” You hang up the phone and wait for Aemond to discover you. You’re still clutching the Ouija board. You’re perched on the edge of the bed like something ready to pounce, to kill.

Aemond opens the bedroom door, navy blue suit, blonde hair short and slicked back, his eyepatch covering his empty left socket. He’s begun wearing his eyepatch in public more often—not for every appearance, but for some of them—and whoever finally convinced him to concede this battle wasn’t you. His right eye goes to you and then to the Ouija board in your hands. He doesn��t speak or move to take the board, only studies you warily.

“I know about her,” you tell him.

Still, Aemond says nothing.

“Alys,” you press. “She’s your mistress. You’re in love with her.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.” His words are flat, steely.

“I’m not hurt, Aemond.”

“You shouldn’t have ever known about this. I apologize for not being more discrete. It was a lapse in judgment.” But what he regrets most, you think, is that his secret is less contained, more imperiled.

“What we have is a political arrangement,” you say. The desperation quivers in your voice. “You don’t love me, you never have, and now we can be open about it. You need me to win the White House, but that’s all. Your true companion is elsewhere. I want the same thing.”

He steps closer, eye narrowing, iris glinting coldly, puzzled like he couldn’t have understood you correctly. “What?”

“I want to be permitted to have my own happiness outside of this imitation of a marriage.”

“No,” Aemond says instantly.

Your stomach sinks, dark iron disappointment. “But…but…why?”

“Because I don’t trust you to not get caught. Because I need to be sure that I am the father of the children you’ll give birth to. And because as my wife you are mine, and mine alone.”

Tears brim in your eyes; embers burn in your throat. “You’re asking for my life. My whole life, all of it, everything I’ll ever experience, everything I’ll ever feel. I get one chance on this planet and you’re stealing it away from me.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees simply.

“So where’s my consolation?” you demand. “You get Alys, so where’s mine?”

“What do you want?”

You don’t reply, but you glare at your husband with eternal rage like Hera’s, with fatal vitriol like Medusa’s.

“You think I don’t know about that little card you keep in your nightstand?” Aemond is furious, betrayed. “You used to hate him.”

“I was wrong.”

“Because he was at Mount Sinai and I wasn’t? Three days undid everything we’ve ever been to each other? Our oaths, our ambitions?!”

“No,” you say, tears slipping down the contours of your cheeks. “Because he’s real. He doesn’t try to manipulate people into loving him, he doesn’t pretend to be someone he’s not, when he’s cruel it’s because he means it and when he’s kind that’s genuine too. And he wants to know me, who I really am. Not the woman I have to act like to get you elected. Not who you’re trying to turn me into—”

Aemond has crossed the room, grabbed the front of your teal Chanel dress, and yanked you to your feet. The Ouija board jolts out of your hands and lands on the carpet unharmed. Your long hair is in disarray, your eyes wide and fearful. You try to push Aemond away, but he ignores you. You can’t sway him. You’ve never been able to. “Aegon has nothing to his name except what this family gives him,” Aemond snarls, hushed, hateful. His venom is not for his brother but for you. You have upended the natural order of things. You have dared to deny Zeus what he has been divinely granted dominion over. “You would jeopardize his wellbeing, his access to his children? You would ruin yourself? You would doom this nation? If you cost me the election, every drop of blood spilled is on your hands, every body bag flown home from Vietnam, every martyr killed by injustice here. What you ask for is worse than being a traitor and a whore. It is sacrilege.”

“Let go of me—”

“And there’s one more thing.” Aemond pulls you closer so he knows you’re paying attention. You’re sobbing now, trembling, choking on his cologne, shrinking away from his furnace-heat wrath. “Aegon isn’t capable of love. Not the kind you’re imagining. He gets infatuated, and he uses people, and then he moves on. You think he never charmed Mimi, never made her feel cherished by him? And look how she ended up. I’m trying to carve your name into legend beside mine. Aegon will take you to your grave.”

Your husband shoves you away, storms out of the bedroom, slams the door so hard the walls quake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parading down streets like the victors of a fallen city, jack-o-lanterns keeping watch with their laceration grins of firelight. Hecate is the goddess of witchcraft, Hades rules the Underworld, Selene is the half-moon peeking through clouds in an overcast sky. The stars elude you.

The children—ghosts, pirates, princesses, witches—dash from doorstep to doorstep like soldiers in Vietnam search tunnels. They smile and pose in their outfits when the journalists prompt them, beaming and waving, showing off their Dots, Tootsie Pops, Sugar Daddies, Smarties, Razzles, and candy cigarettes before depositing them in the plastic orange pumpkins that swing from their wrists. Only Cosmo, dressed as Teddy Roosevelt with lensless glasses and a stuffed lion thrown over one shoulder, stays with the adults. He is the last one to each house, approaching the doorway reticently like it might swallow him up, inspiring fond chuckles and encouragement from the reporters. He clutches your hand and hides behind you when towering monsters lumber by: King Kong, Frankenstein, vampires with fake blood spilling from their mouths.

Aemond wears a black suit with orange accents: tie, pocket square, socks. You glimmer in a black dress dotted with white stars, clicking down the sidewalk in boots that run to your knees, silver eyeshadow, heavy liner. You almost look your own age. There are large star-shaped barrettes in your pinned-up hair, bent glinting metal. As the reporters snap photos of you and Cosmo walking together, they shout: “You’ll be such a great mother one day, Mrs. Targaryen!”

Fosco is Ettore Boiardi—better known as Chef Boyardee—an Italian immigrant who came through Ellis Island in 1914 with a dream of opening a spaghetti business. Helaena, Alicent, and Ludwika are, respectively, Alice, Wendy, and Cinderella; Ludwika clops along resentfully in her puffy sleeves and too-small clear stilettos. Criston is Peter Pan. Aegon wears a white button-up shirt, cow print vest, ripped jeans, brown leather boots, a cowboy hat that’s too big for him, and a green bandana knotted around his throat. He stays close to you and Cosmo because he can, here where the journalists expect to see him being a devoted father and active participant in the family business of mending a tattered America. Teenagers are fleeing their families to join hippie communes and draftees in Vietnam are getting their limbs blown off and junkies are shooting up on the streets of New York and Chicago and Los Angeles, but here we see a happy family, a perfect family, a holy trinity that thanks the devotees who offer them tribute. Otto, who neglected to don a disguise, glares at you murderously. You have failed to give Aemond a living child. You have dared to want things for yourself.

Back at Asteria in the main house, the children empty their plastic pumpkins on the living room floor and sort through their saccharine treasures, making trades and bargains: “I’ll do your math homework if you give me those Swedish Fish,” “I’ll let you ride my bike for a week if I can have your Mallo Cup.” While the other adults ply themselves with champagne and chain smoke away the stress of the campaign trail, Aegon gets his Caribbean blue Gibson guitar and sits on the couch playing I’m A Believer by The Monkees. The kids clap and sing along between intense confectionary negotiations. Cosmo wants to share his candy cigarettes with you; you pretend to smoke together as sugar melts on your tongue.

Now the children have been sent to bed—mollified with the promise of homemade apple pies tomorrow, another occasion to be documented by swarms of clamoring journalists—and the house becomes a haze of smoke and indistinct conversation and music from the record player. Platters of appetizers have appeared on the dining room table: pita, tzatziki, hummus, melitzanosalata, olives, horiatiki, mini spanakopitas, baklava. Women are chattering about the painstaking labor they put into costumes and men are scheming to deliver death blows to Nixon, setbacks in Vietnam, Klan meetings in Mississippi. Aemond is knocking back Old Fashioneds with Otto and Sargent Shriver. Fosco is dancing in the living room with drunk journalists. Eudoxia is muttering in Greek as she aggressively paws crumbs off of couches and tabletops. Thick red candles flicker until wax melts into a pool of blood at the base.

Through the veil of cigarette smoke and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch, Aegon finds you when no one is looking, and you know it’s him without having to turn around. His hand is the only one that doesn’t feel heavy when it skims around your waist. He whispers, soft grinning lips to your ear, rum and dire temptation like Orpheus looking back at Eurydice: “Let’s do some witchcraft.”

You know where Aemond keeps the Ouija board. You take it out of the top drawer of his nightstand in your bedroom with blue walls and portraits of myths in captive frames. Then you descend with Aegon into the basement, down like Persephone when summer ends, down like women crumbling under Zeus’s weight. You remember to lock the door behind you. You’re not high—you can’t smoke grass in a house full of guests who could smell it and take it upon themselves to investigate—but you feel like you are, that lightness that makes everything more bearable, the surreal tilt to the universe, awake but dreaming, truth cloaked in mirages.

Aegon has stolen three red candles from upstairs. He hands one to you, keeps a second for himself, and places the third on his end table beside a myriad of dirty cups. You glimpse at his ashtray and a folded corner of the receipt that’s still tucked beneath it, and you think: I have my card, Aegon has his receipt, Aemond has his Ouija board. I wonder what Alys likes to keep close when she sleeps. Then Aegon clicks off the lamp so the only light is from the flickering candles.

He tosses away his cowboy boots, hat, vest and is down on the green shag carpet with you, his hair messy, his white shirt half-unbuttoned. He’s taking sips of Captain Morgan straight from the glass bottle. He’s lighting a Lucky Strike with the wick of his candle and then giving it to you to puff on as he places the planchette on the board. “Wait, how do we start?”

You exhale smoke, setting your candle down on the carpet and then tugging off your own boots with some difficulty. “We have to say hello.”

“Okay.” Aegon places his fingertips on one side of the heart-shaped planchette and you rest yours lightly on the other. He begins doubtfully: “Hello…?”

“Is there anyone who would like to send us a message from the other side this evening?”

“You’ve done this before,” Aegon accuses.

“I have. In college.”

“With a guy?”

You chuckle, taking a drag as the cigarette smolders between your fingers. “No, with my friends. It’s not really a date activity.”

“I think it’s very romantic. Candles, darkness, danger, who’s gonna protect you when the ghosts start throwing things around…”

“You’d fight a ghost for me?”

“Depends on the ghost. FDR? You got it. I can take a guy in a wheelchair. Teddy? No ma’am. You’re on your own.”

“Which ghost should we summon?”

Aegon ponders this for a moment. “John F. Kennedy, are you in this basement with us right now?”

“That is wrong, that is so wrong.”

“Then why are you smiling?” Aegon says. “JFK, how do you feel about Johnson fucking up your legacy?”

“That is not the kind of question you’re supposed to ask. We’re not on 60 Minutes.”

“JFK, do you haunt the White House?” Aegon drags the planchette to the Yes on the board. “Oh no, I’m scared.”

“You are a cheater, this is a fraudulent Ouija board session.” You put your cigarette out in the ashtray and then take a swig from Aegon’s rum bottle. “JFK, are we gonna make it to the moon before 1970?”

Aegon pulls the planchette to the No. “Damn, Io, bad news. Guess the Russians win the Space Race and then eradicate capitalism across the globe. No more beach houses. No more Mr. Mistys.”

“Give me the planchette, you’re abusing your power.”

“No,” Aegon says, snickering as you try to wrestle it away from him. In his other hand he’s clutching his candle; scarlet beads of wax like blooddrops pepper your skin as you struggle, tiny infernos that burn exquisitely. Red like paint splatter appears on Aegon’s shirt. You grab the green bandana around his throat, but instead of holding him back you’re drawing him closer. The Ouija board and all the world’s ghosts are momentarily forgotten.

“You’re dripping wax on me—”

“Good, I want to get it all over you, then I want to peel it off and rip out your leg hair.”

You’re laughing hysterically as you pretend to try to shove him away. “I’m freshly shaved, you idiot.”

“Everywhere?” Aegon asks, intrigued.

You smirk playfully. “Almost.”

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.” Aegon sets his candle down on the carpet and strips away tacky dots of red wax: one from your forearm down by your wrist, another from your neck just below one of your silver hoop earrings, wax from your ankles and your calves and right above your knees. His fingertips are calloused from his guitar, from the ropes of his sailboat. They scratch roughly over you, chipping away who you’re supposed to be.

Then Aegon stops. You follow his gaze down. There is a smudge of wax on the inside of your thigh, extending beneath the hem of your dress, glittering black and white fabric that hides what is forbidden to him. Aegon’s eyes are on you, that troubled opaque blue, drunk and desperate and wild and afraid. With your fingers still hooked beneath his bandana, you say to him like a dare: “Now you’re going to stop?”

His palm skates up the smoothness of your thigh, and as he unpeels that last stain of red wax his other hand cradles your jaw and his lips touch yours, gently at first and then with the ravenousness of someone who’s been dying of thirst for centuries, starving since birth. You’re opening your legs wider for him, and his fingers do not stop at your thigh but climb higher until they are whisking your black lace panties away, exploring your folds and your wetness as his tongue darts between your lips, tasting something he’s been craving forever but only now stumbled into after four decades of darkness, trapped in you like Narcissus at his pool.

You are unknotting his green bandana and letting it fall to the shag carpet. You are unbuttoning the rest of his shirt so you can feel his chest, soft and warm and yielding, safe, real. The candlelight is flickering, the thumping bass of a song you can’t decipher pulsing through the floor above. Now beneath your dress Aegon’s fingers are pressing a place that makes your breath catch in your throat, makes you dizzy with need for him. He looks at you and you nod, and he reads in your face what you wanted to say months ago in this same basement: Don’t stop. Come closer.

Aegon lifts your dress over your head, nips at your throat as he unclasps your bra, and you are suddenly aware of how the cool firelit air is touching every part of you, how you are bare for him in a way you’ve never been before. You catch Aegon’s face in your hand before he can see the scar that runs down the length of your belly and say, your voice quiet and fragile: “Don’t look at me.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, furrows across his brow. “Stop,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead as you cling to him. Then he begins moving lower and you fall back onto the carpet, no blood on Aegon’s hands this time, only your sweat and lust for him, only crystalline evidence of a betrayal you’ve long ago already committed in your mind.

You’re combing your fingers through his hair and gasping as Aegon’s lips ghost down your scar, not something ruinous or shameful but a part of you, the beginning of your story together, the origin of your mythology. Then his mouth is on you—yearning, aching wetness—and you thought you knew what this felt like but it’s more powerful now, more urgent, and Aegon is glancing up to watch your face, to study you, to change what he’s doing as he follows your clues. And then there is a pang you think is too sharp to be pleasure, too close to helplessness, something that leaves you panting and shaking.

You jolt upright. “Wait…”

Aegon props himself up on his elbows. His full lips glisten with you. “What? What’d I do wrong?”

“No, it’s not you, it’s just…it’s like…” You can’t describe it. “It’s too…um…too intense or something. It’s like I couldn’t breathe.”

Aegon stares at you, his eyebrows low. After a long pause he says: “Babe, you’ve come before, right?”

I’ve what? “Yeah, of course, obviously. I mean…I think so?”

He’s stunned. He’s in disbelief. Then a grin splits across his face. “Lie back down.”

You’re nervous, but you trust him. If this costs you your life, you’ll pay it. He pushes your thighs farther apart and his tongue stays in one spot—where you touched yourself in the bathtub in Seattle, where you wanted him when he slipped his fingers into you for the first time—and suddenly the uneasy feeling is something raging and irresistible like a riptide in the Atlantic, something better than anything you knew existed, and you keep thinking it’s happened but it hasn’t yet, as you cover your face with your hands to smother your moans, as your hips roll and Aegon’s arms curl under your thighs to keep you in place so he can make you finish. It’s a release that is otherworldly, celestial, terrifying, divine. It’s something that rips the curtain between mortals and paradise.

It’s always like this for men? That’s what Aemond has been getting from me, that’s what I’ve been denied?

As you lie gasping on the carpet Aegon returns, smiling, kissing you, running his fingers through locks of hair that have escaped from your pins. “Not bad, right little Io?” he purrs, smelling like rum and minerals, earth and poison. Now he’s taking off his jeans, but before he can position himself between your legs you have pushed him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his wrists to the floor, watching the amazement ripple across his flushed face, the desire, the need. You tease Aegon, leaning in to nibble at his ear and bite gingerly at his throat, never harming him, never claiming him, grinding your hips against his and listening as his breathing turns quick and rough. Then you slip him inside you, this man you once hated, this man who was a stranger and then a curse and now a spell.

Aegon wants to be closer to you. He sits up as you ride him, hands on your face, in your hair, kissing you, inhaling you, shuddering, trying not to cry out as footsteps and laughter and thunderous basslines bleed through the ceiling. You know he’s been high on so many things—things that corrupt, things that kill—and you hope you can compare, this brief clean magic.

He can’t last; he finishes with a moan like he’s in agony, and as the motion of your hips slows, you take his jaw in your grasp and gaze down at him. “Good boy,” you say with a grin. Aegon laughs, exhausted, drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He embraces you so tightly you can feel the pounding of his heart, racing muscle beneath bones and skin.

He’s murmuring through your disheveled hair: “I gotta see you again, when can I see you again?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t have an answer. You unravel yourself from Aegon and dress yourself in the red candlelight: panties, bra, dress, boots, all things that Aemond chose for you, all things he bought with his family’s money, all things he owns. Aegon has nothing to his name and neither do you. You are—like Fosco once said—pieces of the same machine.

“Where are you going?” Aegon asks, like he’s afraid of the answer.

“I have to go back upstairs to the party before someone realizes I’m missing.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” You kneel on the carpet to kiss him one last time, your palm on his cheek, his fingers clutching at your dress as he begs you not to leave. “I have to, I have to,” you whisper, and then you do.

You grab the Ouija board and planchette off the green shag carpet, hug them to your chest, and hurry up the steps. The first floor of the Asteria house is a maze of cigarette smoke and clinking glasses, guests who are dancing and cackling and drunk. From the record player strums Johnny Cash’s Ring Of Fire. You slip unnoticed to the staircase.

In the blue-walled bedroom you share with Aemond, you carefully place the Ouija board and planchette in the top drawer of his nightstand exactly as you found them. Then you go to your vanity to try to fix your hair. As you’re rearranging clips and pinning loose strands back into place, the door opens. Aemond is there, feeling beloved and invincible, looking for you. He crosses the room and closes his long fingers around your wrist. He wants you: under him, making children for him, possessed by him.

“Come to bed,” Aemond says.

“Not right now. I’m busy.”

“You aren’t busy anymore.”

“I told you no.”

He wrenches you from your chair. Instead of surrendering, you strike out, hitting him in the chest. You don’t harm him, you’re not strong enough, but genuine shock leaps into his scarred face.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you hiss. You can’t let Aemond undress you; he will find the evidence of your treason, he will see it, feel it, taste it. But that’s not the only reason you stop him. “Every goddamn night I give you what you want, and exactly how you want it. Tonight I’m saying no. You want to take me? You’ll have to do it properly. I’m not going to give you the illusion of consent. You remember what Zeus did to all those women, right? Go ahead. Act like the god you think you are. But I’m going to fight you. And if those people downstairs hear me screaming, you can explain to them why.”

Aemond stares at you in the silvery light of the half-moon. You glare boldly back. At last he leaves and descends the staircase into an underworld of churning smoke, returning to the party to sip his Old Fashioneds and decide what to do with you.

[annwrites]

⸻ no sound but the wind. part one. ⸻

· pairing: adar x fem!reader · type: part of mini-series · summary: adar finds personal use for you as a slave of a different kind. · tw: non-con · word count: 3,212

“And do you swear allegiance to Adar, father of the Uruks?”

You stare ahead at the man he speaks of—if he is even truly a man at all—observing his long, black, silken hair, his gray, sallow skin, the ruined sides of his face where the skin is pulled taught from scarring due to, you presume, fire—his thin lips tightly pursed while he awaits your answer. And it’s then that you notice his pointed ears.

His is an elf. How—how could he let this happen? How can he partake in it? He is meant to be wise and strong, yet gentle and fair. Not…whatever he has instead become.

It does not much matter how he has come upon the path which he now follows. What’s done is done.

All is now lost that once was to you because of it. That you’d most loved. That which had brought you joy and much more.

Like your village, where trees had flowered and bloomed year-round. Those of almond and chestnut, apple and peaches, sour lemons and limes. Some, which ivy grew upon the trunks of, while blossoms were peppered throughout green leaves that dappled the ground below in sunlight, which rays shone through from a clear blue sky above—white, fluffy clouds slowly floating past.

Or lush, soft, green grass which you would lie upon and nap. Clear, cool running water in streams that were always warm in the summer, and crisp in the autumn when those same sticky apples fell into the soil, feeding it until the year next when farmers would tend their fields of potatoes, carrots, pumpkins, lettuce, and strawberries—the various types of crops nearly endless. Mayhaps a few bushes of berries were to be had, as well.

Animals grazed the fields: cows and sheep and goats alike, and chickens would peck about around the settlement while pigs oinked in their pens, lazy cats slept upon windowsills, and pups ran along after smiling, playful children—their adoring parents watching along after them as young couples in love strolled into the small market in the middle of town to purchase goods.

Like spices and cured meats, colorful fabrics and dresses, woven baskets and pillar candles, pots and pans, and shimmering, beautiful glassware, among so much more.

And there would be gatherings in the square quite regularly: dances and festivals, competitions in archery or axe throwing, or quilt-making and pie baking.  Woodworkers and blacksmiths would presents their creations to all for purchase, for the cost of a pretty, shining coin—celebrations abound. Music and delicious foods were to be had, young maidens with flowers in their hair waiting for a kiss as their dresses of chiffon and tulle swayed round their slippered feet.

In the evenings, fireflies would flit through the air like tiny sparks of light while you and your mother would prepare dinner, your father always tending to something. Whether it was in your household’s small stables outside—where horses would quietly whinny as he fed them or brushed them down—or inside, fixing something in the cottage where the three of you lived contentedly.

And you would listen through open windows to crickets and cicadas while you quietly read your parents a story or two from a novel you’d retrieved from upon the mantle your grandfather had designed when the home had been his and your grandmother’s—the books hers—the three of you sitting before a small fire in the main room’s hearth.

And now… Now the once-fertile and emerald hills are unrecognizable. They have been, instead, replaced by black sludge and darkened, smoking ash—the skies overcast and always looking to be on the verge of an ugly storm as these hideous beasts rape the land for all it is worth.

They take and they take, and for what? Perhaps merely just to destroy for the sake of the act.

You will not willingly partake in ruining your beloved homeland. You would rather die and be with them: your family, your friends—forever to live upon those rolling hills once you shut your eyes for the last time.

You raise your chin, ignoring how it trembles when you meet his black, empty eyes.

He does not react. Does not so much as raise a brow in interest as he gazes back at you.

Something shifts behind you, and you steel yourself—refusing to look. You will not tremble in the face of death which calls you home.

And then he raises a hand from where it rests beside him, upon the arm of his make-shift throne—but barely, at that.

“Wait,” he calls quietly.

You hear something settle into the dirt and gravel behind you once more.

He rises slowly, descending step after step in measured moves, until he’s standing before you.

He places an index finger beneath your chin, tipping your face upwards, forcing you to meet his eyes.

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Comely little thing, aren’t you?” He says softly, his voice monotone.

You keep your mouth shut.

He nods infinitesimally. “Take her to my tent. Ensure she’s watched carefully. I’ve use for this one.”

One of the monsters he commands takes hold of your upper-arm, his other hand coming to tug at the shackles which bind you, pulling you away.

“Kill me!” You finally shout, tears brimming in your eyes.

He turns slightly from where he’s begun ascending his throne once again, looking at you from over his shoulder.

You tug against your restraints, pulling free of the revolting thing that touches you.

“I want to die, so kill me. I’m of no use you to here. I do not know how to…”

You shake your head, grasping for words in your panic. “How to carve wood, or assemble structures, or break apart stone—”

He chuckles lowly, turning round fully, coming back to you.

He slides his rough hand along your soft cheek before cupping the back of your head. He tangles his strong fingers in your hair, yanking your head back by those same strands, causing you to whimper in pain.

“You think I desire you for hard labor?”

You gulp in fear.

“I have far different plans in-mind for you. You will serve me well in other ways. Ones more…”

His eyes trail slowly along your body, before meeting your own once again. “Suited to your feminine form.”

You choke back a sob, realization filling you, along with an unbridled sense of terror.

He releases you again, nodding toward his crony.

You’re taken in-hand once again, and led away—your pleading cries falling upon deaf ears.

Adar’s tent is nothing exceptional—somewhat opposite of what you’ve expected it to be.

His bed is not a cot, surprisingly—certainly large enough to fit two, if not two-and-a-half—and he has a rather cluttered war table, which you’ve been informed, quite firmly, that you are not to touch. So you look at it, instead, from a distance from the wooden chair you’ve been provided.

You see small metal and wooden figurines placed about—construction plans, you assume.

You fail to understand what he could possibly want with the now-destroyed land, but decide you ultimately don’t want to know. You’d rather remember it as it’d once been instead.

You glance to the entrance of his tent, where an Uruk stands guard—the flap pulled back, allowing you a peak outside as the others like him mill about, coming and going and working.

Bile rises in your throat at the sight of them. They’re wretched. Cursed. Vile.

You won’t let him touch you.

You’ll do whatever you must to instead give him cause to drive a blade through your beating heart instead. You will not dishonor yourself—not even for the sake of survival.

You will die as you had lived: as yourself.

You’d waited so long for him to come—rehearsing in your head all the ways you might achieve that which you most desire at his hand; but nevertheless of your own causing—you’d fallen asleep.

You jolt awake when heavy footsteps enter the tent, staring in fear as bastardized elves carry inside a large, wooden tub full of steaming water.

They settle it into the middle of the space, retreating just as promptly as they’d come.

And then he steps inside, the once-open curtain flapping closed behind him.

He settles his arms behind his back as he gazes down at you.

He glances to the tub, then back to you. “Bathe. Once you are finished, I shall next.”

He goes to his war table, seating himself heavily, opening a scroll which lies atop it, and he begins reading over the item in his large hand.

You remain seated, too terrified to move.

“I need…privacy,” you say—your voice breaking, tears filling your eyes.

He keeps his back turned to you. “And you have it. Now, do as I bid you.”

You slowly stand, feeling unsure on your feet—your movements hesitant and wavering—as you come closer.

You study the back of his head, nervously flitting your eyes about the table before him, searching desperately for a weapon.

“I would not attempt it.”

You jerk in surprise.

He sets the parchment aside, retrieving a small, sharply pointed figure in the shape of a diamond. “You’d do well to make things easier for yourself. Obey me, and your days will be easy. Don’t—”

You interrupt. “I’ll never give m-myself to you willingly. I’ll—I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat sounding far more like a question than anything else.

You do not see how his lip twitches in mild amusement.

Finally, he sighs, pushing out his chair, standing.

You shuffle backwards, desperate to get away from him—from this place as a whole—from all of the rot and disease that has now claimed this land you’d once called home.

Once you’ve backed yourself into a solid pole, which upholds the side of the tent, you stare up at him.

“So you should instead kill me,” you finish.

He softly shakes his head, cupping your cheek gently, brushing his thumb along the apple of it.

“You merely think that you wish for death. I have quite…creative ways to make you obey, until death is so far from your grasp that all you can see ahead of you is more of whatever I’ve been forcing you to endure. Until you break. Until you are ready and willing to do as I please just to make the pain stop.”

He cups your other cheek, holding you firmly in-place.

“I have been here for a very, very long time. Longer than your young mind may ever comprehend. I am not a man who is easily swayed. Nor am I merciful to any others than my children. It is not in my nature. But, for your sake, if you do as I command, I may consider a more gentle touch.”

He releases you. “Time shall tell.”

Your face crumples and you begin to cry, all hope fleeing you of obtaining a different fate than whatever he has in-store for you.

He seats himself once more.

“Now, do as I’ve told you. I will not ask again.”

You tremble violently and feel distant from your body, but you still manage to strip yourself of your soiled, stained gown, letting the heavy material pool at your feet, before ridding yourself of your smallclothes next.

You keep your eyes on him—never removing them—as you step closer to the tub, and then ease yourself into the hot water, sucking in a sharp breath as you seat yourself.

 You grab the small bar of soap you’ve been provided, lathering yourself.

You wish to be finished sooner than late, but also want to take your time—to savor this final moment of something…nice. Because you will do it: find a way tonight to make him take your life.

You’ll not stop until he does.

The two of you remain silent as you cleanse yourself—desperate to get the stench of this new environment from your skin. It is no longer that of fresh air and flowers. It is now that of something pungent and oily.

Death.

That is what it is.

Eventually, you rise, drying yourself with a small towel, and then you glance around in a panic for clean clothes.

Just as you think to dress once again in your previous garments, he gestures toward the small wooden dresser beside the table where he sits.

“You’ll find clean tunics in the second drawer.”

Once you’ve put one on, you take a step back. “What of…trousers, or smallclot—”

“You won’t be needing them any longer,” he replies, rising, the two of you staring at one another as he unbuckles the belt from his waist which holds his sword, setting it atop the previously-occupied table.

You promptly look away, your nose growing warm and eyes stinging as you seat yourself at the foot of the bed, watching as shadows pass by the curtain at the front of the tent.

You tightly grip the blankets beneath you, considering, watching intently.

You hear water lapping, and then a quiet groan as he leans back, enjoying what heat still remains in the water that fills the tub.

“I wouldn’t,” he states in that rasping voice which barely reaches above a whisper.

You bristle.

“You’ll not make it more than a handful of steps before my Uruks return you to this tent. To me. You won’t enjoy what happens to you next.”

He sighs. “Save yourself some pain.”

“Why’re you doing this?” You ask tearfully.

He begins to wash himself, keeping his eyes trained on you. “What is it which you refer to?”

“You’re an elf. You’re supposed to… Meant to be kind. Wise and—”

“You think I value that which I come from?  You think the high elves of this land care any more for your life than they do my Uruks? Pride is their virtue. They see themselves above all else, including men. Because they’ve made it so. They would see us all sequestered away to darkened corners of Middle-Earth if it meant all could be theirs once again.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “You destroyed my home. Took everything from me. And you think I mean to give myself to you? Willingly? To play at being your—your—”

“You will be my concubine. And nothing else. That is your role now. In time…you may come to see matters differently. Come to see me differently.”

“That will never happen,” you whisper.

He rises from the tub—his damp strands dripping at the ends as he shrugs on a clean tunic, padding toward you.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up as he towers over you. “In time, I believe it will. For your survival, if naught else. Even if you find such a prospect to be of little value to you now.”

He grabs you roughly by the arm then, forcing you to your feet.

Your chest presses against his own as tears slip from your exhausted eyes—your heart pounding like a hammer against cloth at him being so close.

“I’ll give you one final chance, child. Give your body to me willingly, and be given mercy, or don’t, and I will unleash upon you pain unlike any you’ve ever known.”

You make a split-second decision, praying it be your last.

You swing your free arm upwards, swiftly, and slap him as hard as you possibly can.

He barely reacts as he turns his head back in your direction, shaking it lightly.

“Pain it is, then.”

He throws you back onto the bed, swiftly removing his tunic, settling all his muscled weight atop you, weighing you down—forcing you into place as he forces your own garment up and over your head, ignoring your screaming, pleading, panicked protests as you battle against him.

You squirm and pound your fists against his chest, and kick your legs and wail in terror, but he acts as if he does not even notice.

He grips each of your wrists tightly in his hands, holding them above your head while he knocks your legs apart with his knee.

You suddenly still, fervently shaking your head, choking on your own tears as you struggle to draw in even one steady breath.

“Please—Please don’t. I beg of you! Please, not this! Please, please!” You scream shrilly.

“I gave you another way and you refused it. Now, you will learn.”

He plunges inside of you with one forceful buck of his hips and you choke on your own saliva at the excruciating pain which manifests between your thighs. Burning. You feel as if you are on fire where his body now connects with your own.

And he is anything but gentle, just as he had promised you he would be.

He ruts away inside of you, grunting quietly, his skin slapping against yours as his long, throbbing member plunges in and out of you while he searches for his peak against your will.

You stare upwards, at the billowing canopy, desperate for it to end. Desperate to die. To disappear.

This is nightmare from which you will never wake, and you have naught to comfort you from it.

No home.

No family.

No friends.

No warm bed of your very own where you may rest.

No village which is full of joy and safety.

No nothing.

Nothing is left.

Not even that which you’d hoped to one day give to your husband.

He has taken every single thing, and intends to take even more yet still.

You break then—far sooner than expected, than you'd hoped—resigning yourself to letting him have it.

You will instead go away inside yourself, back to the place you most wish to return to.

And you find peace there. In a quiet field where vibrant butterflies flit about, and chimes which hang upon tree branches tinkle gently in the wind.

You close your eyes, humming in contentment as the sun warms your skin, listening as sheep baa at one another close by.

And then you are ripped from the fantasy and forced back inside that claustrophobic tent as he pours himself deeply inside of you, moaning as he takes his final thrusts—pushing his rotten seed further into your core.

Finally, he collapses beside you, heaving for breath.

You do not move. Not an inch.

Hot tears slip silently from the corners of your eyes while he runs out of you elsewhere. Your body begins to gently jerk against your will in shock, and you sniffle and whimper in pain and fear.

After a moment, he rises, washes himself off, then pours for himself a mug of water, downing it quickly.

He pours himself another, leaning back against the dresser across from where you lie.

“It will get easier when you let it,” he states.

He takes another long drink. “It’s been…many years since I’ve had a woman—a maiden, even more-so.”

You refuse to look at his blood-stained member.

He returns to you, seating himself upon the edge of the bed, his leg bent at the knee as he gently grasps your chin, his fingers ghosting along your hot skin.

“As such, I don’t intend to let you go. So, do what you must.”

He sets his mug atop the bedside table, climbing atop you once more.

“I shall do the same,” he states, sheathing himself inside your slick core once again.

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part Two)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad

Several days later...

It was a Saturday afternoon, at around 4 o'clock, after drama class, that you went to visit Nina at her house in one of Dublin's most charming neighborhoods, where ivy clung eagerly to the brick fronts and flowering trees bowed under the weight of the blossoms.

After ringing the doorbell, you waited patiently and, after a minute or so, Nina's father, Cillian, opened the door, his face momentarily betraying surprise before settling into a warm smile.

"Hey Y/N," he said and you were a little surprised to see him since you knew that he had moved out of the family home around nine months ago.

Him and his wife Danielle, Nina's mother, had been trying to navigate the rocky waters of their marriage and, as Nina had called it, were taking a break but, clearly, this break had not turned into something permanent yet. He was here now after all and you knew that this must have stood for something at least.

"Hey Cillian," you stammered, trying to shake off your surprise. "It's nice to see you," you then said, forcing a casual tone. The familiar blue of his eyes still held that confident gleam, even under frayed edges.

With him not living at home anymore, you had not seen your friend's father for almost six months now as he had been busy filming. After the Oscars, his schedule was packed with events, interviews, and projects, leaving little room for anything else.

Even your father had not seen his best friend a lot during this time and you were somewhat taken by how grey his hair had turned in such a short span, though it only added to his charm.

“I assume you are here for Nina?” Cillian leaned against the door frame, smiling handsomely.

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing into the living room where the soft sounds of music floated in the air. “I just wanted to hang out with her for a bit.”

He nodded and stepped aside. “She’s upstairs, in her room," he told you and you stepped inside, taking in the familiar chaos of Nina's world.

"Thanks," you murmured, closing the door behind you.

The living room was untouched—a stark contrast to the organized chaos of Nina’s usual mess. Cillian and Danielle had three children together and the remnants of family life still loomed large in the clutter.

A half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table beside an open script. 'The Story of Thomas Shelby' it said on the cover of it and, whilst you hadn’t meant to peek, your curiosity tugged at you.

"Have you learned your lines yet?" you asked as you plucked the script from the table, scanning the text with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Cillian chuckled softly, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Some of them," he said and, just before he could ask you about this new role of yours, in the very same movie, you both heard Nina bounding down the stairs, her hair bouncing playfully as she descended.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around you in a quick embrace. “I thought you’d ditch me for your boyfriend again ,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Hardly,” you laughed, nudging her shoulder playfully. “You know I would pick our friendship over any guy, even my boyfriend.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head mockingly. “Smart girl,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Boys are trouble. Isn't that right, Nina?”

"Jesus dad," Nina groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, be a little less emberassing when I have a friend over?” Nina asked, and Cillian feigned innocence, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“I thought embarrassing you was part of my job description,” he quipped, gaining a playful glare from Nina. “Despite, I am just sharing my wisdom, sweetheart. You’re free to ignore it.”

"Okay dad," Nina said, exasperated yet amused, rolling her eyes again before turning towards you. “Let's go upstairs," she then said as she pulled your arm, leading you up the stairs and away from Cillian's amused smirk.

Once inside her room, the door clicked shut, cutting off the sounds of the music from below.

Nina flopped onto her bed, throwing her limbs out as if to claim the space. Her room, a kaleidoscope of posters and bright-colored cushions, felt alive—almost as if the walls themselves were chattering about the countless dreams and secrets shared within.

"Does your dad live here again now?" you wondered out loud as Nina rolled over, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Yepp, he moved back in two weeks ago," Nina sighed, a mix of relief and concern crossing her face. "Mom’s still being... well, Mom, but they’re trying."

You nodded, sensing the strain beneath her words. "Trying? How's that working out for them?" you asked, cautious to dive deeper after all that happened between them just over nine months ago.

"Fine, I guess," Nina shrugged, the weight of her emotions resting heavily on her furrowed brow. “They go to counseling every Thursday. Mom says it’s progress, but honestly? The tension is still everywhere in the house. You can feel it, like a storm waiting to break.”

"That sounds tough," you said softly, picking at a loose thread on your jeans. "I can't imagine what it’s like to navigate that. I mean, my parents' divorce felt like the world was turned upside down."

Nina nodded, her expression shifting into a contemplative frown. “Yeah, it’s like walking on eggshells sometimes,” she admitted, her gaze drifting to the window where branches swayed gently in the spring breeze.

"And I think dad moved back in because of my little sister as she was really struggling with all of it." Nina sighed, the weight of concern creeping into her voice. "You know that she was caught drinking at a party last month? Dad was furious. They had a massive argument, and I think he felt like he needed to come home to take control of the situation."

You leaned forward, encouraging Nina to share more of her thoughts. “But he is going to be away filming again in five weeks,” you pointed out, shifting your weight as you watched her expression twist between frustration and confusion.

“Yeah, exactly,” she huffed, throwing her head back dramatically. “But by then, hopefully, it will all be sorted out and, apparently, he is coming home every weekend, which is better than nothing, I guess,” Nina said, a hint of hope conflicting with her guarded expression. “But who knows, right?”

She fell silent for a moment, and the room hummed with unspoken thoughts. “I never knew why they broke up in the first place," Nina then continued, her gaze focused on a poster that hung crookedly on the wall.

“Mom always kept it vague,” she said, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "It was all about 'space' and 'needing to find themselves,' whatever that means," Nina continued, the frustration in her voice palpable. “But I saw how much it hurt him so part of me is happy that they are back together," her voice trailed off, the conflict in her emotions evident.

You nodded, understanding the tumult of loyalty she must have felt. You had been there too, many years ago, but couldn't offer a solution to her emotional quagmire.

“Do you think it’s really genuine?” you asked, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “Or just temporary while they sort out this... whatever this is?”

Nina sighed again, her brow furrowing further. “I wish I knew, honestly. Sometimes it feels like they’re just pretending because they don’t want to hurt us. Like a game they have to play for our sake,” she said, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “But then again, they are trying so hard and I hope that they really find each other again before it’s too late," Nina said before wanting to change the topic.

"Now, what about James?" Nina’s gaze sharpened, an eager spark igniting her features. "Tell me! What did he do this time?" she wanted to know, having senses the anger in your voice earlier when she mentioned his name, downstairs.

“Oh, don’t get me started on James!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up as you let out an exasperated laugh. “He is pissed about me taking that role and being away for two months which, in the acting game, is absolutely nothing!" you vented, pacing back and forth in the confined space of her room now.

Nina arched an eyebrow. “Hehas always been needy and controlling, Y/N. It's nothing new and you really need to ditch him," Nina leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “You’re on the brink of a breakthrough, and he wants you to put it on hold for his convenience? That’s ridiculous!”

“I know,” you said, exasperation creeping into your tone. “But he keeps saying that we need to focus on 'us' and I just want to scream," you confessed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not sure if he even gets what this means for me. It's a reasonably big role and I am new to the scene, so it is a vital opportunity. I just want to prove to myself that I can do this without relying on anyone else and he is just making it harder to breathe right now."

Nina sat forward, her expression shifting from playful to intense. “You know, if he can’t support you now, then he doesn’t deserve to be a part of your life," she explained. "When my dad was new to acting, mom supported him every step of the way. That’s how it should work. You need someone in your corner, not someone dragging you down."

You paced the small room, the weight of her words sinking in. You knew that she was right but change felt daunting. “It’s just hard to think about letting someone go, especially when we’ve been together so long,” you admitted, pulling at your fingers nervously.

Nina shifted, settling in closer on her bed, her expression softening. “I get that," she said, her voice steady. "But you are so young , and it’s stupid to waste your energy on someone who doesn't see your worth," she said and you stopped pacing to sit beside her on the edge of the bed, feeling the warmth of her friendship wrap around you like a familiar blanket.

“Maybe you’re right,” you replied, staring at your hands in your lap, the weight of possibility lingering in the space between you.

Nina nudged your shoulder, a playful smile creeping onto her face. “You know what this calls for?” she declared, leaning in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What?” you asked, curiosity piquing as you scanned the room for clues. Nina grinned, her excitement bubbling over.

"A sleepover !" she declared, bouncing on the bed. “We can binge-watch all those cheesy romances we used to love and eat way too much popcorn! It’ll be fun!”

“Count me in!” you laughed, the weight of your earlier worries lightening. Nostalgia tugged at your heart, filling you with the comfort of countless late nights spent wrapped in blankets, laughter echoing through the walls, and secrets safely tucked away under pillows.

You had not done this for years and the thought filled you with a warmth that chased away the creeping shadows of your anxieties.

After seeking her father's permission for you to stay over, which, of course, he gave, Nina's mother and siblings arrived back home with take-away pizza.

As the front door swung open, the rich aroma of cheese and spices wafted into the air, mingling with the faint scent of spring. Danielle, juggling several boxes, called out, “Dinner is served!"

You exchanged a quick glance with Nina, the playful spark returning as she raised her eyebrows, a silent signal to you.

“Perfect timing,” Nina smirked, bouncing off the bed. “Let’s go dig in before my brother demolishes it all!”

You followed her downstairs, where the living room brimmed with jovial chaos. The moment you entered the living room, the scene unfolded like a vibrant tableau. Her siblings crowded around the coffee table, their voices a cacophony of laughter and playful bickering, desperately trying to stake their claim on the best slices of pizza. Cillian perched on the edge of the couch, a bemused smile on his face as he maneuvered around the chaos, playfully mocking his children’s antics while remaining somewhat cold and distance towards Danielle.

You stifled a laugh while Nina whispered to you, “Welcome to the circus that is my family,” she grinned, shaking her head in mock exasperation, not noticing the tension between her parents while, to you, it was obvious.

“Honestly, it’s like a live-action cartoon sometimes,” Nina whispered to you, chuckling as one of her younger siblings dramatically fell over in their attempt to snatch the last slice of pepperoni pizza , sending the others into fits of laughter.

Cillian raised an eyebrow as he watched the chaos unfold with a blend of amusement and a hint of nostalgia. It was clear that he missed this—this vibrant, animated space filled with laughter and love, if only there wasn’t that cloud looming nearby.

Later that evening, you huddled back in Nina's room, the remnants of dinner still fresh on your mind. The familiar chaos had settled into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of fairy lights wrapping the room in a warm embrace.

You both sprawled across the bed, indiscernible snippets of laughter echoing in the haze of pizza grease and satisfaction that lingered in the air. Nina flicked through streaming options on her phone, squinting at the screen as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Okay, how about this one?” she said, perking up as she found a romantic comedy with a title that made you both roll your eyes.

“‘Nah, that looks aweful," you chuckled and, before Nina could even react, you grabbed the phone and began scrolling through the options yourself.

“Let’s find something we can get into,” you proposed, biting back a grin and, after you took charge, it didn't take you long to find something.

"If you can set it up from your phone, I will just go and have my shot," you proposed, tilting your head toward her as you stood up, the friendly banter still lingering in the air.

“Alright!” Nina replied eagerly, taking the phone back from you while you took some time to prepare your insuline shot.

"I will be right back," you said, knowing that she was afraid of needless, which is why you usually administered the drugs in the privacy of a bathroom nearby.

You made your way down the hall, heart racing a bit as you tried to shake off the nerves that always lingered around this ritual.

You hated needles too, but had gotten used to it over the years but, just as you were about to enter the bathroom, the door swung open from the other side.

Cillian stepped out, surprise flashing across his face before it smoothly morphed into concern. He paused, blocking the doorway, his body language shifting to a protective stance.

"You okay, Y/N?" he asked, his deep blue eyes scanning your face as you had inadvertently dropped your syringe.

Kneeling down, Cillian carefully picked up the syringe, the tips of his fingers brushing against yours as he handed it back. The warmth of his touch sent a small shiver down your spine, and you felt suddenly conscious of the awkwardness hanging in the air which was amplified by the fact that he was just wearing some boxer shorts.

You cleared your throat, your cheeks warming as you accepted the syringe back from him, focusing on its metallic sheen to avoid meeting his gaze.

“Yes, thanks,” you said, your voice slightly unsteady.

"How is the new monitor?" he asked, his gaze steady and curious, a hint of genuine concern lacing his tone.

“It's good, just... a bit of a learning curve,” you admitted, your fingers fidgeting with the syringe, battling the sudden onset of nerves.

Cillian nodded, his expression serious but reassuring. "That's good," he said, his voice steady. “You’ll figure it out; it just takes some time.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze briefly, and felt how the moment stretched into something deeper, ut what Cillian said next pulled you from your train of thoughts.

"I saw your dad two days ago. He told me about the new monitor," he clarified before adressing the elephant in the room as well. "And, just so you know, I think that he is uncomfortable with you taking that role for Peaky Blinders—and I get it, with the scenes involved."

You held your breath, the jab of tension sinking deep. A lump formed in your throat as you searched for the right words. “Are you uncomfortable too?" you eventually asked, your heart racing as you gauged his reaction. Cillian's brows furrowed slightly, and he seemed to consider his words carefully.

“No, I am not uncomfortable,” he finally replied, his voice steady but laced with an air of caution. “It’s just… I’ve been in this business long enough to know how things can become awkward when roles cross into personal territories and I'm just worried about how it may impact you, considering that I am your best friend's dad. That's all. I just wanted you to give it some thought," Cillian explained and you took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling heavy in the air between you.

"I gave it some thought already," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “And the fact that you are my best friend's father doesn't bother me. Honestly," you continued, swallowing hard as you felt a tiny spark of defiance. “I want to prove that I can do this and it doesn't matter who with."

Cillian studied you for a long moment, the seriousness in his gaze unwavering as he processed your words.

Good," he finally said, his voice steady and almost relieved. “Then I have no doubt you’ll do brilliantly," he smiled at you, the corners of his lips lifting in a genuine expression that softened the weight of the conversation.

Relief washed over you, but a small seed of doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. You plastered a smile onto your face, but the implications of what lay ahead nagged at the corners of your consciousness.

There were three intimate scenes in the script, with one of them scheduled for the first week of filming, gnawing at your confidence.

It was more than just a kissing scene. It was a scene where you would both have to be naked in front of the cameras. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, tangled with excitement and fear.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

[arjudy224]

Teachers Pet

Intern x Batfamily

Part 2 of Outreach Gala

The bartender flashes me an incredulous glance.

"Is that a no then?" I inquire with a half smile.

Before he can respond, a vine slithers up his leg, immobilizing him. I roll my eyes. Typical. Eyeing Dick's drink, I ask

"You gonna drink that?"

He shakes his head before sliding the drink down the bar.

Preparing to down the glass, I wince a little in preparation. A wave of artificial sweeteners flood my senses, but no alcohol. That bastard... It's Diet Coke.

"You should really get out of here." I whisper in his direction, "Get some help.

When no one responds, I stifle my laughter. I should have known better. From the corner of my eye, I spot Dr. Harris sneaking out the back door to grab reinforcements. His dark brown eyes meet mine. An understanding passes between us. He needs time. I nod in agreement. Marching through the party, I carefully avoid the eager vines trying to wrap around my legs.

The room falls into silence as I stumble past the poor partygoers. Comissioner Gordan's eyes grow wide in warning. I flash him my most reassuring smile.

"Dr. Isley," I call out weaving through the dozens of guests, "It's not very polite to show up two hours into the gala. We've been waiting for you."

Poison Ivy's glowing green eyes regard me curiously.

Before I can react, 4 stray vines wrap around my limbs rendering me motionless. Her eyes narrow in recognition.

"Ms. L/N, you've grown into yourself quite nicely."

I consider our history. 4 years is a considerably long time in adolescence.

"Well, that's a relief. I was afraid that I peaked with braces."

A small forms in response.

"Are you still picking fights with those boneheads in your class?"

I laugh. Some things never change.

"In some ways, "I respond with a grin, "Now, I mostly try to convince them of their errors through diplomacy."

One of the loose hanging vines carefully caresses my cheek. Peeling through my memories, I struggle to remember Dr. Isley as a Professor. Most mornings, I rolled into class like a zombie. Her labs were interesting though. Halfway through the semester, a group of police officers raided the lecture during an exam. I woke up quickly once her vines began strangling the police force.

"The plants speak of your kindness."

A string of followers blossom at my feet. My face gets hot.

"That's nice to hear. I haven't been able to grow anything since moving back to Gotham.” I joke awkwardly, “I was about to sample the water treatment plant again.”

More vines reach my waist. I shift uncomfortably,

"Don’t you see? Kindness isn't enough."

A few manage to wrap around my neck. The slow restriction around my airway causes me to start panicking.

"Dr. Isley...." I choke out, "You are hurting me."

The room starts to spin. Gasping, I struggle pathetically against the brick wall of vegetation.

"You have so much potential,” She mutters in my ear, “I could use someone with your talents.”

Red spots my vision. No. No. No. A pink flower grows out of a vine. A cascade of glittering aerosol sprinkles down from it. For a moment, my body goes limp. A wave of serotonin replaces my panic. She chose me. Imagine the change we could create. I smile- a real genuine smile.

Her hair.... Has it always been this silky? And her eyes... I've never seen that shade of green before. Everything about this woman feels wonderfully comforting and exciting all at once. In the natural world, when things are this potent they usually warn of poison.... but how could something so beautiful be bad?

When she kisses me, I don't protest. My knees go weak. A yearning, unlike anything I've ever felt, courses through my veins. A loud crash echoes across the gala. Dr. Isley pulls away too soon. I collapse in a wave of sorrow. Why would she leave me so soon? The rejection floods back painful memories of past lovers. Several vines hug me in support. Crouching, Pamela brushes my hair back before facing her foe.

"We'll finish this later. The adults are talking."

Tag list- @nosyrobin, @jjsmeowthie, @epicyOn, @gaychaosgremlin, @rory-cakes, @luna-zendra-star, @b4tm4nn, @anuttellaa

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in December 2024 🌈

Find these books and more here.

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

❓What was the last queer book you read?

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Sugar-Coated Kisses - Echo Lark 🧡 Christmas at Watson Memorial - Clara Ann Simons 💛 Warm-Blooded - J Greene 💚 It Takes Three To Tango - Jem Wendel 💙 The Black Curse - N.A. Moore 💜 Heavenly Tyrant - Xiran Jay Zhao ❤️ Encrypted Hearts - E.V. Bancroft 🧡 Dangerous Devotion - Robin Jo Margaret 💛 Sew in Love - Rhea Fox 💙 Saint - Chani Lynn Feener 💜 Her Ladyship's Christmas Companion - Theresa Meiningen 🌈 A Sky of Emerald Stars - A.K. Mulford

❤️ Inked in Blood and Memory - Allison Ivy 🧡 The Key - Jo Morgan Sloan 💛 Home Between Homes - Flynn Woods 💚 A Kiss for the Holidays - C.S. Autumn 💙 Loving the Linebacker - Amaya Knight 💜 Close to Home - Allisa Bahney ❤️ Christmas Shelter - Eva Gonzay & Julia C. Brown 🧡 This Isn't Everything You Are - J. Marie Rundquist 💛 Keep It in the Dark - Justin Arnold 💙 Santa & His Elf - Bink Cummings 💜 On the Subject of Kittens and Mittens - Katie Silverwings 🌈 Winter's Whisper - M Bonneau

❤️ Boyfriends - refrainbow 🧡 Innis Harbor - Patricia Evans 💛 A Complementary Connection - Eskay Kabba 💚 Point of Sighs - Melissa Scott 💙 Bind You by Blood - Shepard DiStasio 💜 The Resurrectionist - A. Rae Dunlap ❤️ Fractured Dreamer - A.K. Adler 🧡 The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou 💛 Becoming Disabled - Jan Doolittle Wilson 💙 A Caress of Water - Nico Silver 💜 How to Survive As a Villain 1 - Yi Yi Yi Yi 🌈 The Silent Concubine - Qiang Tang

❤️ Hadrian - Harlowe Savage 🧡 A Series of Rooms - A.J. Barlowe 💛 Inklings of Invisibility - S.L. Dove Cooper 💚 The Cobbler and His Elves - C.B. Wren 💙 A Nightclub for the Holidays - Arden Coutts 💜 Armor of Dusk - Jess Galaxie ❤️ Twisted Shadows - Allie Therin 🧡 A Deception of Courts - Ben Alderson 💛 Trial Run - Carsen Taite 💙 How to Flirt with a Witch - Tiana Warner 💜 Roughed Up - Kate Hawthorne 🌈 House of Crimson Curses - Ruby Roe

❤️ Sister Snake - Amanda Lee Koe 🧡 Roland Rogers Isn't Dead Yet - Samantha Allen 💛 The Rivals - Jane Pek 💚 Private Rites - Julia Armfield 💙 The Christmas Switch - Briar Prescott 💜 Ribbonwood - Ruby Landers ❤️ Shifting Lanes - Joanne Kwan 🧡 Twice-Spent Comet - Ziggy Schutz 💛 A Crush for the Holidays - E.L. Ough 💙 Resist - Lasairiona Lewis 💜 Free from Falling - E.L. Massey 🌈 The Legendary Master's Wife - Yin Ya

❤️ Tide Breaker's Curse - Ivy H. Marikova 🧡 Twist Her - Terri Ronald 💛 How to Fuck Like a Girl - Vera Blossom 💚 Dog Days of Christmas - Krystal Wolfgang & Kimberly Wolfgang 💙 Warmer, Colder - Alexia Onyx 💜 Salt in the Wind - Jenna Pine ❤️ What We Carry With Us - Joseff McKenneth Goodwin 🧡 Reinvention - Karol Yan 💛 Christmas Carols - Maxime Jaz 💙 I'm Not Your Pet - Fae Quin 💜 Something Extraordinary - Alexis Hall 🌈 I Might Be in Trouble - Daniel Aleman

❤️ Deck the Palms - Annabeth Albert 🧡 Don't Get It Twisted - Wren Taylor 💛 Ice & Sweet - Charlie Novak 💚 Speak EZ - Elle E. Ire 💙 The Disabled Tyrant's Beloved Pet Fish - Xue Shan Fei Hu 💜 Horns For Hell - Rafael Nicolás ❤️ Flamboyant Fictions - Ian Fleishman 🧡 Where the Heart Is - Jenni Simonis 💛 Sorry I Kissed Your Dad - Achilles King 💙 Merry Weihnachten - E.J. Noyes 💜 An Alpha for the Holidays - Emily Axon 🌈 The Blessed - Anne Shade

❤️ Our Sinful Love - Amy H. 🧡 Gambler's Conceit - Adara Wolf & R. Phoenix 💛 Fate and Flambe - Leena Metcalfe 💚 Figure You Out - Hannah Danielle & K.F. Starfell 💙 Amaranthine - Aricka Alexander 💜 Twisted Loyalties - Barbara J. Webb ❤️ Echoes of Us - Alex Cross 🧡 The Shadowbearer's Curse - Jasmyn Morning 💛 Too Many Beds - Various 💙 We Are the Beasts - Gigi Griffis 💜 Unspoken - N.N. Britt 🌈 Rainbows After Storms - Luka Kobachi

❤️ The Shutouts - Gabrielle Korn 🧡 Robin's Worlds - Rainie Oet & Mathias Ball 💛 What the Woods Took - Courtney Gould 💚 Rescue Me - N. Slater 💙 Seb & Ailin - Michele Notaro 💜 The International Love Story - Jonas Noelting ❤️ Waterlogged - Nance Sparks 🧡 The Guardians - Sheri Lewis Wohl 💛 The Changeling's Faerie Prince - K.D. Ellis 💙 Until at Dawn We Wake - Charlotte Dalwood 💜 How to Get a Life in Ten Dates - Jenny L. Howe 🌈 Hammajang Luck - Makana Yamamoto

❤️ The Rules of Royalty - Cale Dietrich 🧡 Tired of Waiting for Tomorrow - Allison K. Garcia 💛 One Last Run - Bryce Oakley 💚 Reckless Hearts - Jax Calder 💙 Christmissed - Blythe H. Warren 💜 How Could You - Ren Strapp ❤️ Blackened - Tyler Briggs 🧡 Gratification in Gluttony - Nik Knight 💛 The Mogul Meets Her Match - Julia Underwood 💙 How to Be Heard - Roxane Gay 💜 The Case of the Missing Maid - Rob Osler 🌈 Shades of Us - D.L. Sims

[rottenzombrainz]

Tokyo Debunker ; Ghouls favorite Bath and Bodyworks Scent

Yes, I know this is niche. Yes, I know a good portion of these characters wouldn't even ever step into a B&B - but this is for funsies! like all headcanons!

Also, for the sake of convenience, I'm ignoring the fact that smells and perfumes are gendered and that some characters would care about that 🌝

warning: kinda super ooc?!??

Frostheim

Jin Kamurai - Definitely one of the Christmas scents. Not a pepperminty one though. Probably Eucalyptus Snowfall

Tohma Ishibashi - Cozy Vanilla Almond.

Lucas Errant - Either a coffee or nutty smell. I'll go with Freshly Brewed Coffee

Kaito Fuji - Gingham. Just basic Gingham.

Vagastorm

Alan Mido - Mahagony Teakwood

Shohei Haizono - Kitchen Lemon or any other citrus smell

Leo Kurosagi - A Thousand Wishes.

Jabberwock

Haru Sagara - Jasmine & Currant

Towa Otonashi - Honey Wildflower.

Ren Shiranami - Green Apple... idk why

Sinostra

Taiga Hoshibami - One of the bar smells like Bourbon

Romeo Lucci - We all know B&B is too cheap for Romi, but if he had to choose something, I'd say he'd choose Honey Apple Champagne

Ritsu Shinjo - Sticking with the bar theme, Champagne Toast

Hotarubi

Subaru Kagami - Japanese Cherry Blossom

Haku Kusangi - Rose Water & Ivy - it feels very Haku

Zenji Kotodama - Moonlight Path for sure

Obscuary

Edward Hart - Fresh Linen to hide the smell of his dirty clothes

Rui Mizuki - White Gardenia or any floral scent, really.

Lyca Colt - Noir

Mortkranken

Yuri Isami - Something herbal with mint or eucalyptus. Therefore; Eucalyptus Mint

Jiro Kirisaki - Vampire Blood. Not just cus its my favorite! I really do think it suits him!

I probably could have done a better job if I drove to the mall and actually went into a Bath and Bodyworks, but I didn't feel like it 😋

[billielolly]

Sims 3 Build - Artist's Escape

The perfect house for an artsy sim starting the next generation of their family. With a dedicated studio and walls bursting with vibrant colour and paintings, inspiration is sure to strike.

1 bedroom and 1 bathroom on a 25x20 lot.

Watch the speed build: https://youtu.be/lzxIDHL3s5I

Download here:

Patreon (free): https://www.patreon.com/posts/107237091

Exchange: https://www.thesims3.com/assetDetail.html?assetId=9597302

Expansion packs:

Ambitions

University Life

Late Night

Pets

Seasons

Supernatural

Stuff packs:

None

Store content:

Bohemian Garden Set - String of Inspiration (Wall)

Custom content:

mckat - (Default Replacement) Deposted and Destenciled McKracken Single Bed

Qahne - Garage Door on Five

heaven - Slated Roof (Biscayne Blue White Trim)

SIMcredible! - Coastal Living Bookcase

Kerrigan House Designs - Painter Set (Drawers, Reeves and Sons Chest, Book Clutter)

Martassimsbook - Imadako Watercolour Set (Watercolour Open, Painting with Tiltstand, Pallet, Brush and Cloth, Brush and Water, Colour Sample)

Wandering Sims - Flower Clip Pictures

Wandering Sims - 4t3 Ravasheen Look What I Drew Sketches

Martassimsbook - Lorelea Floral Paintings

Martassimsbook - Lorelea Cactus Poster

Martassimsbook - Kerrigan House Designs Lorrania Set Canvas

ArtVitalex - Ullery Paintings

Wandering Sims - Floristic Watercolour Pattern 10

Wandering Sims - Royal Garden Pattern 3

Wandering Sims - Intense Flowers Pattern 7

ArtVitalex - Kiester Mirror

Gosik - Kobe Bathroom Towels 2

Onyxium - Kearny Soap Dispenser

ArtVitalex - Upland Toilet Brush

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild My Home Set Potted Cordyline Palm

ArtVitalex - Downey Living Room (Seat Single, Seat Triple)

Twinsimming - Hipster Teen Bedroom Set (Reliable Rug, Original Launchpad Bed Frame/Bed Pillows/Mattress)

Lulu265 - Eclectic Living Room Coffee Table

Martassimsbook - novvvas Mid Century Modern Living Room (Books 2, Ficus Elastica)

Martassimsbook - Ars-botanica Cup of Pansies

Martassimsbook - novvvas Planties pt3 Monstera Deliciosa

ArtVitalex - Kanazawa Key Bowl

Martassimsbook - SugarOwl Lovely Succulents Paintings

Julietsimscc - Giveaway Gift Paintings (Without Borders)

Martassimsbook - Syboulette Millennial Kitchen Dish Soap

basimcly - Heritage Doors (External Glass Door x1)

Pralinesims - Contemporary Carpet 78

Crowkeeper - The Cryptic Triptych Paintings (Blossoms Abound, Connected)

Mutske - Medium Palm

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Dahlia and Delpinium Vases

Kerrigan House Designs - Belle Epoque (Stool, Vanity Mirror, Climbing Ivy, Lights, Clutter, Lotion Giftbox, Candle 01, Candle 02)

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P1 Shelves

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P2 (Dress Belt, Summer Dress, Tunic, Long Sleeve Dress, Shorts)

Martassimsbook - Ravasheen Hang Around Closet Set P3 (Floppy Hat, Ivy Cap, Fedora)

Julietsimscc - CWB Unicorn Head

Martassimsbook - Cowbuild Follower Gift Set 1 Chicken Aloe Vera Pot

Kerrigan House Designs - Vintage Set Lamp

Wandering Sims - Wall Art Collection 5

Wandering Sims - Kids Wall Art 10

Martassimsbook - pqSim4 Stationary Haul Set Notebook with Pens

Martassimbook - PsychicPeanutKitty December Clutter Pencil Holder

pyszny16 - Kilburn Bedroom Calendar

Martassimsbook - Pinkboxdesign Kitchen Clutter Set Utensils

ArtVitalex - Mayorka Ceiling Spot Lamp

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Bath and Body Works Water Blossom Ivy Pillar Candle

late 1990s-early 2000s

Found on Ebay, user funfindsoutpost

[xx-riffraff-xx]

~ the care and keeping of plants ~

premise; The N109 Zone has no plants. Except for the ones you brought for Sylus.

warnings; might be OOC, but other than that none this is tooth-rotting fluff.

a/n; been watching a lot of sylus' memories online lately and the part in captivating moment where he talks about the plants in the N109 Zone got to me. have this. promise i will make more not-sylus things eventually, he has me in a fucking chokehold rn and I WANT OUT.

It’s a well-known fact that there are no plants in the N109 Zone. The lack of sunlight makes it impossible for any growth whatsoever. Rain is rare and dirt settles in a thin film over all the fake plants. Most people in the N109 Zone don’t care, the fake plants are enough for them, but not for Sylus.

He has grown used to it, or he pretends he has. The flowers in his sconces wilt in the hallway and a lone dead cactus sits on his desk. Every time he visits you in Linkon, you make sure the two of you walk through the park together. Whether you’re looking at the spring blossoms or resting under a shady maple tree during the summer, pressing fallen leaves into books in the fall or making snow angels in the winter, Sylus always looks happier after he sees you.

It starts small, like most things do. You decide it would be nice if you kept more plants around your apartment for when he comes over. So you buy a couple hanging plants for your porch, then some ivy that creeps up your wall. He spends a few minutes admiring them every time. Once, you “forget” to water them and then you’re watching Sylus, leader of Onychinus and most feared resident of the N109 Zone, tenderly watering the plants in your apartment.

Naturally, you go further. You spend time researching grow lights and plants. Next time you’re at his base, you replace the cactus with a potted pothos plant. You leave a little grow light on a timer next to it. When the pothos doesn’t die, you take it a step further.

While Sylus is sleeping, you enlist the Trouble Twins to help you replace all the dying, wilted flowers in the hallway sconces with cherry caramel phlox. You plant the flowers, the twins position grow lights above the sconces.

Sylus knows, of course, that it’s you doing this for him. He pretends to be none the wiser because it makes you happy. He has scheduled an hour for the care and keeping of his plants. His base has become the most vegetated area in the N109 Zone.

Your magnum opus comes in the form of a commandeered corner of his base for an artificial sunroom. The twins help you set it up. The room is crowded with plants, a small pathway through the jungle snaking into the back corner. It’s brightly lit from all the grow lights hanging from the ceiling. Gentle trickling from the waterfall in the fish tank blankets the space. It’s comfortably warm. A desk sits pushed against the wall under a small potted mango tree, the potted pothos that started it all resting on top. You wanted a sanctuary for him. And you. But mostly him.

(Coincidentally, he gave you a credit card when you first started planning the project. He directed you to use it for “any big purchases.” You think he knows, but you’ve decided not to think about it too hard.)

When you finally show it to him, he’s extremely pleased. He doesn’t say this, but you can tell from the way he moves around the space. The stressed lines of his shoulders seem to soften into smooth curves. His typical threatening aura melts into something more gentle. He takes your hand and pulls you under the mango tree, laying in the dappled artificial sunlight with you on his chest.

“Thank you, sweetheart. It’s perfect.”

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Request??? Plsss

Pony makes a new friend with the reader and they instantly click and Pony knows the readers home life isn't great so he tells her their door is always open if she needs to get away. She takes him up on that offer but uses the window and climbs into pony's room during the night and crawls into his bed (they are very platonic touch happy people) she cuddles him trying to stop her tears but it's not actually Pony but is Soda?

Summary: Late at night, on a whim, you decide to seek out your bestfriend Pony for comfort, however the person comforting you isn't Pony but his brother.

Warnings: mentions of bad home life, mentions of vomiting

Author's Note: none

You and Pony had been such an inseperable pair since the day you first met. He was your best friend, and you were his. Your friendship was genuine and beautiful. He promised that when he grew up and saved up enough money, he'd take you away from Tulsa, from your family, anything that weighed you down and bring you somewhere carefree. Your care for each other blossomed like ivy, infectiously climbing at every wall, even if the results were anything but an infection.

But still, despite the golden sun that shone before you, there was still a grating darkness that followed you like a shadow. Something that peeled away at your layers of calluses, skin, and eventually stripping you until you were just a pile of bones. Your life at home made you feel vulnerable, constantly fighting for something you could never have. Everything around you seemed to be sucked into the vortex of your family, the one relationship that you should treasure like a special gemstone.

Pony was there, every time, like a savior, a drop of water in the desert.

"I'll always be there for you," He once offered, his hand outstretched to yours. The hand of Mitus which was said to turn things into gold, had truly nothing on the feeling that enveloped you as Pony clasped your hand into his, turning your tears into gold as it reflected the sunset which matched the movie-like scenario.

But, you couldn't stay away from your house forever. They called you often when you were out, feigning worry, as if they wouldn't bury you in a cardboard box if you passed. Several times, the police would turn up at your location, insisting that your mother was worried that you needed to get home. The drive to your 'home' in the back of a cop car always leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You truly felt like a fugitive.

Often, you took to sneaking out of your house, desperately clawing at the walls that kept you in, jumping over the garden walls to taste freedom, even when it was pitch black.

Today was no different, except the moon was full, spilling silver across the streets of Tulsa, like jewlery being melted under severe heat. You felt the hair rise on the back of your neck but bravely pressed on. The streetlights flickered, but it did not frighten you, the low hum of the lights making you almost drowsy as you trekked to Pony's house.

"If you ever need to find me, just come to my window," The fleeting converation crossed your mind. It was the day before you collapsed from the mental exhaustion of your family. The day before... today. The sheer thought of being back in that moment brought tears to your eyes. Your mind overflows with grief as you thrust your head into the bend of your elbow, drying your tears with little grace. Your legs felt like lead by the time you arrived. There was one light on, right in the living room. You could hear the nonsense chatter of the television, a luxury you could only indulge in once and a while. You yearned to peep through the window and see what they were watching, but you slipped around the corner under Ponyboy's window.

Usually, at this time, he would be in bed. You replayed possible situations that could happen when you enter through the window, a habit you'd taken to after having such irreversible trauma bestowed onto you. You clung to the idea of just climbing through, finding Pony half-asleep, and letting him hold you while you cry. You grit your teeth as you stepped back, trying to find a way up the window. It wasn't too tall, but the wood foundation that raised the house up by a meter or so made it impossible for you to just jump and pull yourself up due to your weak state.

Slowly, you fixated your thoughts on an overturned plant pot, pulling it towards the window. You jumped from the pot to the sill, like an agile cat, and pushed the curtains over. You slipped into the room. It was dark with the curtain open and darker with it closed. You felt your way around the room until your foot hit the mattress on the floor. You could faintly make out the line of a person, Ponyboy. You nearly sobbed at the familiar sight of your best friend. The steady breathing of his slumber calming your racing heart. You nudged him away.

"Pony?" You asked, listening for the faint sound of his acknowledgment. It came in a hummed sound akin to a 'Hm?' You scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him, daring the tears not to fall.

"I'm sorry to bother you." Your speech was mangled with sobs and hiccups, "You said I could come when I needed to," you croaked. His hand wrapped around the to the small of your back. Something pricked the back of your mind. Something that bloomed into fear, making goosebumps form over your arms. The realization floated to you like a paper boat on water.

This wasn't Pony.

Just like that, the light flicked on, golden beams hurting your eyes until you squinted. You were face to face and arm in arm with Sodapop, Pony's brother.

You could've smacked yourself for being so dumb. His hand was too large to be Pony's. And his mannerisms, Pony held you tightly even when tired, Soda's hand was losely wrapped around you. You felt genuine embarrassment bubble in your stomach and you had to stop yourself from vomiting.

"I'm sorry, do you want me to get Ponyboy for you?" His arm retracted to his chest, like he was pulling into himself as if he was scared of you, or of hurting you.

You had always taken Sodapop for a no-nonsense guy, it probably was because of your lack of interactions but there was little you knew about him. He was laying on his side, face slightly pinched together because of the bright light but you felt perhaps a connection to him. Possibly because you were so close with his brother but maybe for a different reason too.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry. I can leave." You said, drawing your hands that were also loosely draped around him back. His eyes flicked to your red puffy eyes and he shook his head.

"Uhm, you can stay here for a little while," he said, "or whenever you want to leave," he rushed to fix his mistake. You stared at him, starry eyed and happy.

"Thank you," You whispered, he reached for the light switching it off and closed the curtain, before dropping his head back onto his pillow listlessly, dead asleep.

You, however, didn't sleep. You stared at the ceiling even if it was pitch black. You bit your knuckle to stop your wide smile in case Soda could still see you before cozying yourself up into the mattress.

[sachirobabe]

Chapter 6

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

Wc: 4119

Summary: You, a dedicated member of the girls' volleyball team, find an unexpected connection with Kuroo Tetsurou. Igniting a bond over shared passions and stolen moments, love blossoms on the court; all because you met him at a captains meeting.

<— Previous | Masterlist | Next —>

Taglist: @merlucide, @lemurzsquad, @02shuuu, @michakune, @ivy-taylorsversion, @scinclaitnoir, @v-e-r-t21

"Found you." You cross your arms and glare into Himari's eyes.

She had avoided walking with you this morning, claiming she was running late and would have her mom drive her.

You were heading over to Himari's house, but before you left the door, you got a call from her.

"Hey, go ahead and walk without me, I'm running super late." She says.

"It's okay, I can wait with you—"

"My mom said she'd take me, sorry!" The call ended and you frown.

Then she had avoided all eye contact with you throughout class.

You raise an eyebrow as you see Himari in her assigned seat, she had beaten you to class, despite her saying she was running late.

Your mouth was open, but before you could say anything, your teacher had begun class.

And now she tried to sneakily go off to eat lunch somewhere else when she said she'd meet you in Mori's class.

"Y/n!" Kuroo smiled, he began talking about plans for practice today, you drift your attention to Himari.

She makes eye contact with you and quickly gives an excuse of having to use the bathroom. "But I'll meet you in Mori's, 'kay?" She says and leaves.

"You found me." She shrugs, a small smile creeping on her face.

"You've been avoiding me." You sit down next to her on the roof table. "Is this all about yesterday?"

She sets aside her food for a moment, "I was just having a bad day, and I let some things get to me."

"And today too?"

"And today too." She confirms. "I'm sorry, I've never had to go through this before—it's all new to me and I'm scared I won't be by your side for our final year."

"We'll still play together, we're on the same team—just because you might have some competition, doesn't mean you're going to get replaced just like that." You say to comfort her.

"I know, but what if? This sounds so selfish of me, but I want to continue to be the main setter." She frowns.

"Then you're going to have to put the work in." You're honest with her, "Saori is a first-year remember? She makes mistakes that you don't anymore, so get out of your head." You slightly nudge her and she laughs.

"I'll try not to." She smiles, her hair blowing in the wind.

"We're going to nationals again, we need you." You say with confidence and she smirks. She shared her lunch with you and the two of you talked every now and then.

"So what were you and your boyfriend talking about?" Himari smirks, remembering earlier that he had come up to you.

You choke on your strawberry and began coughing, "What?" You croak out.

"The captain." She rolls her eyes.

"He was telling me that we'd probably have to reschedule the practice match because they might play Karasuno today." You take a long sip of water to ease your coughing.

"Karasuno?" She's taken back, "They were really good a few years ago."

"So I've heard. Not their girls' team, though." You say, remembering that you had watched some game film on them.

"Yeah, I'd love to go watch that game." She says.

"You wanna watch your boyfriend play?" You hit her back with the same line.

"Ha ha, very funny." She rolls her eyes. "I just want to...see how they play."

"Yeah okay." You laugh.

The day had finally ended, you were bored during the lessons today, it felt like it'd never end. You planned on watching the Karasuno practice match after your own practice.

"You excited?" You ask Kuroo as you bump into him in the hallway. Himari had gone to talk to her sister before practice.

He nods, "Yeah, it'll be a lot of fun. I'll see you there, right?" He recalls last nights conversation with you.

You hum and nod, "I think Himari will too." You smile.

"She feeling any better?" Kuroo asks curiously.

"A lot better. I talked to her during lunch, she was avoiding me all day." You chuckle, recalling how you had to practically hunt her down.

"That's good to hear, can't have a setter getting in their head, right?" He chuckles and the two of you walk up the stairs to the club rooms, but don't go in yet.

"Oh yeah, that's awful." You recall one practice match where Himari had shut down, "Hasn't happened in a while."

"Same here, only issue is Kenma gets tired quickly." He laughs, "but that's why we make sure our passes are perfect for him."

"That's ideal." You say, "You guys are really annoying to play. You dig up basically everything!"

He laughs loudly and almost doubles over, "You guys are practically the same! And very scrappy."

You laugh along and agree with him, enjoying your conversation. "Yeah, it's worked out for us."

"A little too well," he smirks, "hey-uh after the practice match a few of us wanted to get some food, would you wanna come?"

"Oh totally," You smile, "Thanks for inviting me."

"Yeah no problem, it's a nice day out, too." He smiles widely to himself.

"Hey, Y/n, you changing or what?" Misaki peeps her head out the door, you check your phone and your eyes widen as you see there wasn't much time to get ready.

"Shit. I'll see you later, Kuroo." You quickly wave and walk into the club room, changing quickly. He chuckles to himself and goes into his respected club room as well.

"She was talking to her boyfriend." Himari makes kissy noises and the team laughs and coos.

You feel your face get a little hot, "We're friends!"

"I walked past you and you didn't even notice!" Himari says and the entire room erupts into more laughter.

You feel a little embarrassed at being called out, "Yeah—well I was being polite and engaging in the conversation." You cross your arms.

"Uh huh, sure." Emi joins in.

"You always seem to be really engaged when he's around." Misaki teases.

"I'm being ganged up on!" You huff grabbing your shoes and walking towards the gym. Just your luck, Kuroo was also leaving at the same time as you. He smiles and waits for you to catch up.

"What's all the ruckus in there?" He chuckles.

This was not helping your allegations right now. You just hoped nobody was watching. "They're being idiots, as usual." You joke.

"We could only hear laughter." He says, the sun kissing his skin. You admire him for a little, thinking he looked nice...maybe a little more than nice, but you wouldn't dare to tell anyone that.

You sigh, "I'm sorry if we were loud."

"Oh no, don't worry about it." He smiles, "My team's way worse, trust me."  

You chuckle, 'I'm not so sure about that.' You think to yourself. You both go into your respected gyms. Today was all about attacking, after last night with Keiko and Saori you knew coach Mori would want to work with them more.

"Let's warm up!" You say and do a few laps to get warm and then stretch.

"We're going to be split into groups." Himari takes a place next to you while stretching.

"Really?" You say, "I haven't looked at the practice plan yet."

She hums, "I start off first and then halfway Saori will set. We're working on combos for games."

"That makes sense." You nod. "Gather up!" You say and your team listens and circles around your coach. You drown out her voice, already knowing what she'll say.

The first drill was just regular hitting lines to get everybody warmed up. "Cross-shots only!" Coach Mori yells and stands on the side lines to observe and give pointers.

You jump and hit the ball onto the other side of the court, "Nice set, Himari." You compliment and grab your ball to put it in the cart. After a little your coach instructed to only do line shots now.

"Let's do the spread attack." Your coach says, "Give me 5 more players on the court and make lines behind the hitters and rotate in after you hit."

You frown at the play, it was one of your least favorites defensively if the ball got blocked. You're in the outside position and Rikako passes the ball to Himari. All at once everybody begins their approach and jumps, Himari sent it to Naomi who was in middle back.

She effectively slams the ball onto the other side and cheers, "Nice hit, nice set!" You smile.

Naomi high fives Mei and switched places with her. This went on until everybody got a chance to attack a few times.

"Let's run some gaps, Himari after this you'll switch with Saori." Coach Mori says, she was excited to work with Saori and Keiko.

You hit the ball and smiled at its placement, Himari and you had great chemistry, she was able to adapt to anyone. You high fived your teammates as they hit, the liberos and the ones who wanted to work on digging went on the other side of the net.

Keiko hit well off of Himari, but with Saori and her set yesterday...it was just amazing, and would be deadly against other teams once it was more consistent.

"Setters switch!" Himari high fived Saori and she went on the other side of the court to work on digging up the hits.

Keiko was next in line, "Are we doing the fast one or the regular one?" She asks.

"Do the fast one, right coach?" You suggest and Mori nods.

You watch as the ball was tossed and Keiko immediately leaves, the ones who were passing looked confused. You smirked at their faces, loving the reaction.

Saori sent the ball flying...and it was too high. "Sorry!" She apologized.

"You're okay, now do normal ones for the rest of them." Mori says. You were able to hit off of Saori, and quite well too. She was very skilled, but she did make mistakes.

You got a little bored of hitting so you went to the other side to pass for a little. You were able to work on reading the players and fixing your arms when needed.

But when Keiko got back up, you relaxed a little more. Not thinking they'd be able to get it to work again, they hadn't gotten it once today.

You blinked and the ball had already hit the ground beside you.

"Oh! We did it!" Keiko cheers, you and a few others were amazed he hugs Saori, "Finally!"

"What the fuck was that?" Misaki yells amused, "I wanna pass that."

"We figured out Saori can do super fast quicks—honestly I don't even know what to call it." Himari chuckles.

"It's still in the works." You say, "Damn that was amazing."

Practice was over after that and you and a bunch of other girls wanted to go watch the practice match with the boys.

"Where's everyone going in such a rush?" Coach Mori laughs, amused at how quickly her team was cleaning the gym.

"The boys are having a practice match against Karasuno." Himari explains.

"We might've just missed it, but we've gotta check it out." You say and quickly take your shoes off.

"To go watch your boyfriend?" Mori smiles.

"He's not!" You say and the team bursts into laughter again and explain all the things that happened. You huff and walk to the club room to grab your things and go to the boys gym.

As you enter you see that they're just finishing up their game. You greet the coach and sit down next to him, eyeing Karasuno's players.

You see the orange haired kid run quickly behind his setter and the ball was set impossibly fast with perfect precision, he avoids the block and hits it to the other side.

Yaku was able to get a touch on it, but it goes flying into the net, Kai manages to get under it and pass it out of the net, it was a little sloppy. Just as it was about to touch the floor, Kenma dove and hit it with one hand, sending it over the net.

You watch the ball fly onto Karasuno's side and go deep, their number 10 and libero both run for it, but it lands onto the floor before they could pick it up. You look at the score and see that was the boys' last point.

Nekoma cheers as they win against Karasuno, you smile and clap for them. Waving at Kuroo as he spots you. Taketora slings an arm around Kenma and ruffles his hair, you chuckle at his team.

"One more time!" You hear from the other side and see the ginger kid speak. "Another game..please!" He says.

"Sure! I was planning on it. Wouldn't be a practice game if it wasn't followed by a match or two." Nekomata chuckles next to you.

"You made it." Kuroo smiles and takes a seat beside you, drinking from his water.

"They're interesting." You say, "I only got to watch one play so far, but those two," you point to the setter and the ginger, "they're crazy."

Kuroo laughs next to you, gaining the attention from his own team and the opponents. "Yeah, keep watchin', they get even more interesting."

He stands up and gets ready for another game. You honestly lost count at the amount of games they had played, but each time Nekoma won. It's not that Karasuno was bad—you could just tell that Kuroo's team had been practicing as a team for a while now and Karasuno looks like they're still getting used to each other.

Your own teammates had slowly gone home, needing to do their own things and get ready for school the next day, but you remained.

"They're exhausted." You chuckle as you look at both sides.

"One more match!" The ginger says and his setter glares at him.

"Again?! You haven't stopped moving since you got here! Where'd you get that energy?!" Nekomata says slightly impressed, but mostly baffled.

"Give 'em a rest, ginger!" Karasuno's coach scolded him. You laugh at their antics.

"Not bad." You high five Kuroo and he smiles widely at you.

"Thanks for coming." He says, "Nobunaga, can you mop over there?" He says quickly and earns a 'yes' from his teammate. "Yaku, you mop too." He orders.

"Okay." Yaku reluctantly does what he says.

You watch the ginger and Inuoka talk, they used a bunch of sound effects, you notice a tall blonde near Kuroo.

"Do you...understand that?" He asks Kuroo and gets his attention.

"Nah, they sound like a couple of toddlers." He says, "You know, maybe you should try goofing off every once in a while, instead of acting all stoic." You hear him tell the blonde.

"That's not one of my strong suits." He says and walks away.

"He sounds like an old man." Kuroo chuckles.

You shake your head, "Who is he?"

"He's one of the middle blockers from Karasuno." Kuroo sighs, "He's a tough one." The gym was now clean so you all headed outside to bid Karasuno goodbye and safe travels.

You stood next to Kuroo for most of the time, waiting to get a bite to eat. Kuroo laughs as the captain from Karasuno approaches, he was laughing as well.

They both shake hands, but using both hands, and squeezing each other hard. "You won't win next time." He says.

"Oh really? Cause I think I will." Kuroo irks.

"Cut it out, you're being weird!" A member from Karasuno and Yaku say.

You facepalm at Kuroo, you have heard he was an instigator, but never had seen it. After the two let go of each other, Daichi notices you.

"I don't believe we've met, I'm Daichi." He introduces.

"Y/n." You smile, "You guys played well."

"Ha, thanks." He chuckles and scratches his neck, "We're still in the works of things."

Kuroo frowns at Daichi and how easily he was able to get your attention and pull you into a conversation.

"I've actually—uh the team, we've all seen your team play." Daichi says, "You've got a killer team."

"Oh wow," You say surprised, "Thanks, that means a lot." You politely smile.

"She's great, right?" Kuroo slings an arm around your shoulder, you pay no mind to it, knowing he was doing it to tease. Daichi's eye widen in surprise as he reads Kuroo's face, getting the hint.

"Uh—yeah! I'm sure you'd get along with the Karasuno girls' volleyball." Daichi says.

"That'd be fun." You nod.

Karasuno eventually gets on their bus and leaves, you all wave at them, wishing them safe travels back to their high school.

"Himari went home, so it's just me if you still wanted to get a bite to eat." You say to Kuroo.

"Oh yeah, totally." He smiles, "it'll just be us two, the guys wanna head home and rest." His heart was pounding much quicker now, hoping you wouldn't back out of it was just him.

"You sure you still want to? It's pretty late and you played a lot." You ask.

"I'm starving." He chuckles, "Let's go." He guides you.

"Where's he going, hey kur—" Inuoka began to say but his mouth was covered by Yaku.

"He's getting food with her, don't butt in!" Yaku says.

"I'm hungry, I think I'll ask to join them." Inuoka frowns, watching his captain walk away.

"It took him days to muster up the courage to ask her." Kenma says, "He used the excuse that we'd be going too to make it not obvious, and then said we didn't wanna go anymore."

"Game is game." Yamamoto crossed his arms, proud of Kuroo.

"You should talk coach Nekomata into letting Karasuno join the Tokyo training camp." You get Kuroo's attention, he was looking at his phone for nearby places to eat.

"Yeah, they'd be great practice. I'm sure for them too, since they fell off." Kuroo thinks and types away at his phone.

You hum, enjoying the sunset. You enjoyed being around Kuroo, not like how your teammates or coach Mori think, but you do wish that you had gotten closer to him sooner.

"Does this ramen sound good?" Kuroo asks hopeful.

"Yeah, it sounds great." You smile at him and internally Kuroo thinks he's about to die. His heart should not be going this fast.

He clears his throat, "Great. It's about 5 minutes away." He says, trying to slow his heart down. He also texted Kenma he thought he was going to die and how he was freaking out over what to talk about.

"Have you eaten here before?" You ask as you approach to the restaurant, he beats you to the door and opens it for you, "Thank you." You smile.

He shakes his head, "No, I don't eat ramen often, but I'm really craving it right now." He says.

"I always have to get a take home container. The portions are way too much." You chuckle as you're being seated.

"I think I could finish two bowls. I'm starving." He emphasizes and scans the menu, he quickly was able to make a decision.

You furrow your brows as you try to decide what you wanted. He watches you contemplate your choices, his chin resting in his hand, he thinks you look way too good right now. He practically has heart eyes for you right now.

The people around you look at him in adoration when they see the way he looks at you. The workers have even whispered to each other, making their own stories that they think would fit with just observing you two.

"Okay, I've finally decided. Sorry for making you wait." You raise your head and he quickly looks off to the side, not wanting you to get suspicious.

"Took you long enough, you have the menu memorized yet?" He jokes at how long you stared at the menu for.

"Oh be quiet." You playfully roll your eyes and hand the waiter your menu. "Interhigh is just in a month." You say surprised, your phone lighting up and the date caught your attention.

"Time flies." Kuroo sigh and flicks a crumb off of the table. "You nervous?"

You think for a moment, normally you wouldn't be too nervous, but the thought of it being your last interhigh tournament frightens you a little. "Not much right now...but I know when the day comes I'll be a wreck."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, "You? Nervous? I can't imagine it."

"I try not to show it, especially around my team." You say obviously, "But it being our last interhigh tournament is getting to me, what if something happens and we choke?"

Kuroo shakes his head, "I know you'll do great. Especially with the way you've been playing against us." He mentions his team and you smile, your nerves being settled for now.

"Still, only two teams are able to represent Tokyo for the summer interhigh tournament." You mirror Kuroo's position, resting your head in your palm.

"Yeah, I get you." He nods, his cheeks feeling hot when he sees you copied him. Your food arrived and you couldn't wait to dig in, you look at Kuroo who's practically drooling over his food.

"Hungry?" You tease and grab your chopsticks.

"You have no idea." His stomach growls loudly and he takes a bite, his eyes shutting softly as he's finally getting something in his stomach.

You ate your food, occasionally talking, but Kuroo was too busy on finishing his food. He quickly ate his first bowl and you were about halfway done, already feeling your stomach get to its limit.

"I don't think I can do it." You laugh and wipe your mouth, placing your chopsticks back down. "You want it?" You ask him.

He's reluctant on accepting it, "It's okay, I can just get another bowl."

"Really, I insist." You say, "I'm done eating."

"You sure?" His question makes you laugh l because he's already pawing at your bowl, ready for you to give him any words of advancement.

"Yes," You laugh, "It's all yours. You deserve it."

"Thank you," He smiles widely and finishes your bowl as well, "I think I'm finished." He says and holds onto his stomach. "I feel pregnant."

You laugh at him again, "Wait before we leave, I need to use the bathroom." You excuse yourself. Kuroo's a little glad you're gone because he didn't want to fight you for the bill, he quickly asks the waiter for it and pays for the two of you.

"Did you pay already?" You ask, seeing him hand off the check and he nods while smiling.

"I invited you out, my treat." He says.

You shake your head, "No way. Let me pay you, please." You reach for your wallet, "You also paid last time, too."

He laughs, grabbing your wrist from searching for your wallet, "Trust me, it's okay."

You look up at him, your faces so close you can properly see both of his eyes in the mess that is his hair, "I'm—"

He shakes his head, "I'll leave you here if you try to pay me back." He threatens.

You frown at him as he begins to walk away, "Fine." You catch up to him, "Thank you. But next time is on me."

"You're welcome." He smiles and shakes his head, holding onto that 'next time', and even then he knows that he won't let you pay, not a single cent while you're out with him. "Tell me about your practice? I'm sorry I didn't ask sooner."

"It's okay," You assure, "Practice was good. We've got Saori and Keiko working more as a pair."

"Really? That's exciting." He can't take his eyes off of you while you're speaking, the way your eyes light up at the mention of volleyball is adorable to him.

You hum and continue, "We mostly just worked on our plays and offense."

"I can't wait to see it in action." He watches you talk animatedly about the sport, your ideas and goals are very admirable to him.

If he were to be asked what his favorite thing was, he doesn't think he'd be able to answer. He'd start listing off everything about you. Some things you didn't even know about yourself, he was very perceptive.

He was too scared to get close to you for years, but he's so glad he did now, relishing any moment spent with you, even if you had no clue about his feelings. That's the next hurdle for him, and he'll save it for another day.

[serene-sun]

𝔐𝔲𝔰𝔥𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔶 𝔇𝔞𝔶 24: “𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭”

Pairing: Aether/mountain

Sum: earth ghouls are very emotional after being summoned

MUSHY MAY BY @forlorn-crows !!!

“He’s crying again,” ifrit says

“Yeah,” Aether sighs as he moves the curtain out of his view of the window again, “He wont come inside either, even when it’s raining.”

“Well, he must come in at some point to eat, just have to wait him out.” Dewdrop says as he also looks out the window.

The newly summoned earth ghoul had been crying under the weeping willow tree for more than two days now. Earth ghouls were known to be extremely personal and protective over friends and family. Just like quintessence ghouls, they held deep bonds with things they loved. So it was a point to time they called “the weeping willow phase” of when the earth ghoul mourned the loss of both their habitat and their people.

It could be hard for them to find a new beloved, so this period would last until they bonded with their new pack mates.

“He doesn’t have to eat, remember?” Ifrit nods as he unfolds his arms, “Earth ghouls are so stubborn, they always find a way to outgrow their issues but still get so emotional.” He says as he puts a hand on aethers back, motioning that he was leaving.

After Ifrit left, Dewdrop looked up to Aether, “What are we going to do? It was easy to bond with Ivy because he didn’t like all of the ants getting on him so he stayed inside. But I’m afraid our new friend will run off.”

“I know…” Aether sighed again as his vision relaxed into the golden red sky that caressed the ministry as the sun started to fall into the mountains.

“I’m not the best at….talking….but you-“ Dewdrop thought, “I mean you were kind of made for talking to others.” The water ghoul smiled awkwardly, they weren’t the best at talking one on one as most of them were either shy or anxious if not both.

“I’ll talk to him, just tell Papa that we’re still trying before he gives up on us.” Aether chuckled at the end, he rubbed the base of his horn in frustration on the situation.

Terzo was a great leader, but he was known to grow impatient rather quickly.

“It’s getting a little chilly out here, why don’t you come inside?” Aether said softly as he walked up to the earth ghoul.

With a flinch, the whimpering ghoul peaked a teary eye out of his tucked arms from his knees. He looked at aether, not with fear, with sadness as another cry strung out of his sore throat.

A gently breeze hushed the sounds of the ministry as the long strand of vine and leaf from the willow tree blew like hair in the gentle summer breeze, Aether kneeled down beside him.

“I know it’s difficult, but you must continue.” Aether said with a frown as he placed a hand on the ghouls shoulder.

The earth ghoul was large, tall as a matter of fact and long eyelashes that collected his tears of his puffy eyes. The ghouls hair was dark, a sort of brown that shifted green highlight in the flittering light of the setting sun. Skin, a neutral green with darker pigmented spots as his veins showed through his pale skin like small vines that blended in with the moss that spread across his finger tips and around his joints. His ears pointed, many chips and cuts that covered him like a story book. His eyes were a piercingly soft purple like a cluster of amethyst. The earth ghoul curled up into a ball more as he rubbed his nose, a tear falling down the apple of his cheek.

Aether sat beside him against the hunk of the tree, “if you come inside, I will get you better clothes and you wont have to get all wet from the rain like you did last night.”

The ghoul couldn’t deny that sounded wonderful, but he couldn’t get the images of his life in the pit out of his memory. But something urged him to let a hand slowly fall from his own embrace and trail down into the dirt to pick one of the flower bulbs. He held it in his hand gently, brining it up beside Aethers face as it suddenly bloomed a white blossom that swirled with life as it paralleled the quintessential ghouls white iris.

Aether was amazed a little, his heart fluttered and ached for the sadness dripping from the ghouls aura, soiling the soil and atmosphere.

“It’s beautiful, we have plenty of plants in the greenhouse.” Aether strikes a conversation, “But tell me, why must you stay attached to this fair tree?”

He lays the flower back on the ground, the bloom quickly fading as his touch leaves the plant.

“Salix Babylonica,” the ghoul finally speaks a soft but deep whisper as he rubs a tear from his porcelain face, “Mountain is covered with them this time of year.”

“Your right, they are,” Aether smiles as he looks up the tree and it’s branches draped with green, “Mountains, like you, are very strong and steady.”

The earth ghoul shakes his head, “I was I was like a mountain, sturdy and responsibility, beautiful and peaceful.” He traces a root in the ground with his finger, “But im not, im emotional and unwise.”

“I simply doubt that, if anything i think you are more a mountain than any other earth ghoul I’ve met.” Aether says, placing his hand on the ghouls

Earth looks up at Aether, “I’m not sad to loose my life in the pit, I never knew anyone there who was nice.” He admits solemnly.

The quintessence ghoul looks at him with pity, he knew the pit was rough even fore ghouls, “Then why must you weep?”

“I’m sad because I don’t have anything to loose, and now I must live in a world where there is more life to remind me of how lonely and out of place I am.” He says, letting down his guard now that aether was that close to him.

Earth ghouls were usually very short and small, smaller than water ghouls. He was abandoned from his pack due to them thinking he was a water ghoul for his height and quick growing hair.

“That doesn’t matter now, if I had room to say amongst all of the people here than id say you fit perfectly among these misfits we call ourselves.” Aether laughed softly as he stood up, “Come, I think you would enjoy some fresher clothes.”

Earth stood up with a soft smile, “If you say so, but…I don’t even have a name..how will i belong?”

“I think I found one,” Aether says as he takes his hand and walks with him on the brick path to the ghoul quarters.

“I think Mountain is a great name,”