#[ dancing in a swirl; of golden memories: tasks ]

[teecupangel]

The ink-stained parchment lay before me, bearing words of importance. It held a message that needed to reach distant shores, far beyond the reach of my current abode. The task was clear—I had to undertake a voyage, braving unknown lands and treacherous seas, to ensure the safe delivery of this precious missive.

With the letter safely tucked away in my bag, I embarked on a grand adventure. The road unfurled before me, winding through verdant landscapes and bustling towns. Each step carried me closer to my destination, yet the distance seemed vast, the expanse of the world unfathomable.

As I traveled, I marveled at the sights and sounds of foreign lands. The air was scented with unfamiliar fragrances, the language spoken by the locals a melodious symphony that danced upon my ears. The customs and traditions of these distant realms intrigued me, offering glimpses into lives so different from my own.

Days turned into nights, and nights into days, as my journey pressed on. I encountered fellow travelers along the way, their stories intertwining with mine for fleeting moments. We shared meals, exchanged laughter, and bid each other farewell, knowing that our paths diverged as swiftly as they had converged.

The physical distance between me and the intended recipient of the letter seemed inconsequential compared to the emotional chasm bridged by those written words. They held the power to convey sentiments that transcended borders and time, reaching into the depths of the reader's heart.

Through rugged terrain and unpredictable weather, my resolve remained unyielding. The letter, a testament to love, friendship, or perhaps a plea for forgiveness, grew heavier with each passing mile. Its contents were etched in my memory, their weight echoing in my thoughts.

Finally, after countless trials and tribulations, I arrived at the edge of the known world—the place where the letter would find its final purpose. The distant land, with its foreign customs and unknown faces, embraced me in its arms. The letter, once entrusted to me, was now ready to continue its journey, to convey its message to the one who shall receive it.

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, I stood before the local post office—a humble abode where dreams and stories converged. I handed over the letter, its journey nearly complete. The postmaster, with a kind smile, assured me of its safe passage, knowing the significance it held for both sender and recipient.

As I departed from that distant land, a sense of fulfillment washed over me. Though the journey had been arduous, it had been imbued with purpose and meaning. The letter, a vessel of emotions and words, had been delivered to its intended destination, bridging the distance between hearts separated by miles and oceans.

The receiver by the name of Teecupangel opened the mail and pulled out the letter, inside it says "HayDes where they are both birds"

(I have no regrets)

After a brief confusing mistaken identity incident compounded by the sudden traveling and moving weak bones unused to such travels nowadays had to endure, the alchemist known by many names has finally gotten used to the new atelier. A large cauldron with liquid swirling in colors of golden sands and azure time ready to be filled with many alchemic materials sits over a fire on the right end of the main room. Next to it is a small chalkboard that has been written on and erased so many times it has forever been whitened by the residue of the previous words clinging to it now written with a new list of the materials that must be added to the cauldron before the end of the week so that the alchemist might be able to peddle next week’s wares to the archives.

On the table near the cauldron lies two synthesized items of a kind of glass bomb, its clear glass surface showing the swirling golden flames made of high-quality gunpowder, inspired by a recipe from a group of professional alchemists only known as IW. One of the bombs seemed to have been placed in an apparatus of some kind, an alchemic tool used to rebuild already created synthesized items so they may be checked and materials may be added or changed if necessary.

A final step needed to ensure the quality of each synthesized item before they are peddled to the archives.

By the back of the main room, next to the large chest filled with materials picked or ordered by the alchemist were seven or eight cauldrons of varying sizes all stacked on top of each other, each bearing a little post-it with different numbers that seemed to be ‘0808’, ‘0812’, ‘0816’, ‘0826’ or ‘0828’. One of these cauldrons seemed to have the phrase ‘?w b 1012’.

On the left wall of the main room of this atelier, there appeared to be smaller cauldrons all lined up with a smaller fire already crackling over a small cauldron. There was the shining sounds that alerted the alchemist that it was done and the liquid inside the cauldron turned into a puff of multicolored smoke. All that was left inside was some kind stuffed teddy bear that seemed to have come from the nightmares of children. The alchemist grabbed the cauldron and hauled it off next to a box filled with small items that had been requested before and will be delivered today. The alchemist took the teddy bear and inspected it to make sure it was of good quality before placing it on the box. The alchemist walked back to the line of smaller cauldrons and took the closest to the fire before grabbing the next one and dragging it closer. The alchemist took the letter that they have placed inside when they had prepared the cauldron and placed the cauldron into the fire. As the cauldron heats, liquid of endless possibility slowly fill the cauldron while the alchemist opens the letter. The alchemist’s lips curved into a smile as they read the journey that this letter had gone thru all in the hopes that the writer’s request would be given even just a small item.

Then…

“HayDes where they are both birds.”

And the alchemist shuffled to the chest of materials to look for bird feathers and taco shells…

(And you shouldn’t regret anything about this ask. The whole introductory part made me smile and really made me wonder what you plan to ask XD)

You’re free to think of what kind of bird they would be although I was thinking of a House Finch when I was writing this, the ones with the red plumage since red is both a part of Haytham’s color and the color of the Assassins that Desmond has in his main outfit.

Haytham used to be owned by one Reginald Birch who had to let him go because he was acquired illegally and, well, Reginald Birch was in trouble with the government for other more serious crimes that he can’t afford a ‘loose end’.

Haytham was just minding his own business, trying to get used to the sudden freedom he had received, flying out of the way of larger birds of prey that he would sometimes see flying above him when he happen to hear singing. He flies to that direction, making sure to stay in the cover of branches and anything that would hide him from any predators above him and managed to perch on a branch that overlooks a small home with a well-maintained lawn with a bird feeder at the center, surrounded by bushes that held delicious looking berries.

The singing was coming from the bird feeder where a lone bird of the same species as him seem to simply be lazing around, hopping from the bottom part of the feeder to the top, sometimes even dipping a wing into the drinking water for a bit.

Almost as if mesmerized by the song, Haytham raised his wings to take flight and go to the bird feeder but then he heard a loud cry of a bird of prey that sounded quite larger than him.

He raised his head…

And three large eagles stare down at him as if warning him to not do anything foolish.

Unorganized Notes

Desmond is unofficially the pet bird of the house with the bird feeder. Every morning, a man with glasses and a noticeable British accent would do maintenance of the lawn and even pick up some berries to place on the bird feeder for Desmond to snack on. Whenever Desmond chirps his gratitude to him, he just goes, “Yes, yes, of course you’re happy, you bloody freeloader.”

The three eagles are the ones keeping the other birds from going to the bird feeder. Haytham has no idea what they’re deal is and they have no plans to explain anything to Haytham but Desmond seemed to know them, even calling them by their names. They’re all different kinds of eagles.

Haytham gets a crow friend named Shay who tells him the tea. Apparently, Desmond was also thrown away like Haytham although Shay don’t know the reason for that one. Anyway, Desmond befriended the eagles during his time looking for a place to live and they just… sorta stayed together? Anyway, the owner of the bird feeder only knows about Desmond and the three eagles usually hunt nearby and stuff.

Haytham thinks the entire thing is stupid and, really, don’t the damn eagles think that maybe Desmond would like some company?

“Of course, just not you.”

This does end with Haytham getting Shay to make noises that wil distract the eagles (Shay decided that getting chased by that asshole dog Gaultier would be a good distraction enough and started screaming for help once he was nearby all the while goading Gaultier just to be a jerk).

Haytham manages to dive into the bird feeder but one of the eagles realized it and let out a loud cry to alert the others so Haytham ignored precision and grace for speed.

And ended up diving straight to the water fountain.

From there, the eagles are powerless as Desmond and Haytham start to grow closer because, now that Desmond has seen and talked to Haytham, they can’t ‘make him go away’ (“You’re going to eat him?!” “Shoo him away.” “But eating was never off the table.”) because that would make Desmond sad.

They usually just talk while sharing the bird feeder as they learned about each other and Haytham totally ignored the glaring he could see behind Desmond.

Once they started getting close, they began to groom each other.

Haytham usually hides in the bushes and flies from one bush to another whenever the owner would come out. Desmond tells him that this ‘Shaun’ would be happy to find another bird using this large bird feeder but Haytham isn’t gonna risk it since the man always sounds so annoyed when he’s doing the daily lawn maintenance.

When they’re finally together, they began to sing at the top of the bird feeder and Haytham stays even after the man has come out. The man stares at Haytham for a few seconds before turning to look at the forest where the eagles have (disgruntedly) approved of Haytham and Desmond’s relationship, “You three finally decided that Desmond can have a partner?” There was three sets of grumbling bird sounds and the man nods as he said, “Yeah, I guess not.” (From inside the house, they hear a female voice shout, “Shaun! Stop pretending you can understand birds!”)

Sidebar: I was thinking of this kind of feeder:

#i thought it would be fun #if in contrast to your journey #is a description of an alchemist’s atelier #like opposite of your dynamic traveling is a static location #idk #haydes bird au #the three eagles are overprotective dudes #we all know who they are #ask and answer #no usual tags because #haydes #again #the alchemist vibe #is just because i’ve been playing atelier ryza #999 quality items grind babbbeeeyyy

[falloutnv-mojavewasteland]

Chapter One

The New California Republic 

Nipton Road; October. 2281

The morning winds kicked up, blowing dirt and trash down the dissolute and broken road. The slurry danced past the man who walked it. His leather duster catching the breeze, ends fluttering like the banners he would soon display, in the worthless degenerate town ahead. 

Vulpes Inculta, as he was so named among the Legion. Pulls the scavenged garment tighter around himself. Noting the choir of crickets that accompanied the sharp stinging gust. The long dead tribal in him, warning of the cold nights to come. The thoughts wormed their way into his over active mind. Nagging and nit picking at the harsh reality of his existence. The wastes were not the place to be when the temperature shifted to either extreme. A lesson he had learned (and taught) more then once. 

I wonder how the Profligates will deal with the coming winter.

The thought swirled and festered in the very back of his mind. Fileing itself away for a later time. His focus returned to the task at hand. Nipton, it was a small unimpressive town. Similar to the ones he had seen and destroyed in his career. Filled with degenerates and whores more often than not. However, the New California Republic's hold in the Mojave wastes had seen an influx of Profligates visiting said town. Their tastes for the old world and its addictions driving them to partake in all of Nipton's delights. 

You will soon burn, like your old and weak gods. Vulpes Inculta thought, as he tipped the brim of his hat at a Ranger propped against the 'Welcome To Nipton' sign. His reflective sunglasses tucked into his shirt collar. Looking like an old world Brahmin rancher. Cowboy, was the word that had been used in the books Vulpes had read. Gunslinger, was what his memory told him. Shrewd eyes focused on the horizon of the wastes. No doubt taking a break from the worthless, used up whores. 

"Eve' nen"  He mutters at the Profligate. 

Ranger Hudson's eyes trailed the approaching man. Suspicious and cautious, like they often did with every able bodied man this side of the Colorado. He knew, mostly from experience, nothing was ever as it seemed in the wastes. 

Taking in the stranger's appearance, Ranger Hudson eased at the Mojave Express satchel the man carried. Jutting his chin, The Ranger clicks his tongue, calling out, "What. say you, Courier?” He pushes off the sign with his foot and continues. “Any good news?”

Hudson liked Couriers, they knew the ins and outs of the wasteland. Always eager to share their stories, or happy to assist when asked. Real honest hard working folks. 

Unable to resist, Vulpes Inculta smiles at the Ranger. "Not much" then laying waster twan on thick, “Few skags don yonder." Then dropping the smile he continues. "Shud’ be maw wordy ‘bout dem ‘Sezars boys scouting round " he hicks his thumb back the way he came. 

“Scouts?!” Hudson straightens,“This far west?!” The Rangers golden complexion washes out. Leaving a sickly pale, closer to Vulpes own ghostly appearance. Clutching onto the lapels of who he assumed to be a Courier. Hudson sputters out, “Where, did you see th.” stopping at the sudden pain in his thigh. 

As quickly as the knife had appeared it went back into its hiding spot. “Shhhh.” Vulpes held onto the Ranger. “It won't take long.” he continued in Latin as he unlatched the pistol and rifle from the man's back and hip.

What? Hudson thinks, legs giving out from under him. He holds onto the other man, catching the wide smile. Oh no. Looking down he finds his thigh, oozing blood. A lot of blood. Hand grasping at the flooding wound. How was there so much?

"Son of a..” Hudson chokes, body giving out, he slid from Vulpes hold. 

I'm not ready. It echoes like those before him, as darkness faded in. Taking him into it's cold embrace. 

Primm

October, 13th 2281

Daniel Waynard knew many things. Most were things he wasn't supposed to know, like how The Sheriff's wife tended to like traveling men who stoped in Primm a little too much. Or how the Deputy of the town had an eavesdropping problem. Now something he felt he should know was, what bothered his best friend. 

He found her sitting at the Bar of the Vicki And Vance casino. Smoking her own personally rolled cigarette. A special blend of coyote tobacco, and something else she refused to share. A bottle of sunset sarsaparilla resting beside her. It's condensation dripping down its glass neck. Not unlike the sweat that trailed down her own tanned skin. Oblivious to it, she focused instead on the letter held between her hands. Brow set in a scrowl as her eyes scanned over the words. 

Sliding into a stool next to his friend, Daniel orders a drink before turning to the woman. 

"What's the matter Joone?" He nudges her bar stool with his foot. 

Breaking her concentration at Daniel's intrusion. Juniper, (as was her proper name) sets the paper face down, she draws from her cigarette. Before scratching the side of her nose with her thumb. 

"Boss is sending me out to Circle Junction." She answered, plume of smoke coming out of her mouth as the words did. They are matter of fact, cold and annoyed. She sips from her drink, swallowing it down with her own frustration. 

Reaching for the paper, Daniel gets a smack of the hand and a cold stare. "The fuck Joone?" He pulls his hand back, shaking it out. 

She smirks, pulls from her cigarette, "My assignment, my business."

Daniel cocks an eyebrow and slides off his stool, leaning against the bar next to Joone. "Since when do you keep your assignments to yourself?" 

She sips from her drink again. "Since He told me to." 

Rolling his eyes he says. "Since when do you ever listen?" He takes his own drink from the bar keep. Swigs from it, enjoying the perturbed look Juniper gives him. "Besides " he continues, setting the glass of liquor down. "That's not a bad assignment, lots of important things out in Circle Junction." He drops his tone. "With the Legion moving in, it's good for you to be out that way." 

"Because I'm a woman?" She grabs her letter and slides off her stool. Dropping caps on the counter, she reaches for her satchel. Mojave Express, patch sewn into the front. "If you knew.." she pauses. 

Tilting his head, Daniel reads his friend's face. "Joone?" He starts, voice dropping. "If I knew what?" 

"Forget it Danny." She starts to walk off, stuffing her letter into her pocket. 

"Joonie" Daniel says as he steps out of The Vikki and Vance casino. "Wait a second." He reaches for her arm, fingers curling around her elbow. "What did you mean" 

Shimming her way out of the man's hold, she walks towards the Mojave Express. "It's nothing." Smiles at him. "I promise, I'm just… " she fidgets with the strap of her bag. "I wish he wouldn't send me out so far"  

"He does it because he trust you," Daniel said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, like he trusted you with Reno" 

Mother fucker she mouths up at the sky. Looking to Daniel "Why do you have to bring that up?" 

"Because it's the truth" he shifts, moving towards her. "I know, you're still mad about how it went down, just know that.." 

"I know he trusts me." She pulls away. "But he didn't have to leave me like that," she mumbles, turning towards the Mojave Express. "Don't bring up Reno again." 

"Joone." Daniel calls out, but she ignores him. Going into the building. 

The bell dings, and it pulls Johnson Nash away from his reading. Finding the woman In front of him, he smiles at her. "Hey youngster, just the gal I was aiming to talk to." He reaches under the counter, pulls out a package and ledger. "Got a cancellation, was wondering if you'd be up for a stop for you head out to the ol Junction, sure your Boss wouldn't mind the little detour." 

Lone I-5

The post atomic sun made its way to the rolling desert horizon, taking with it the day's long heat. Fading orange rays casting streaks of pink and purple into the growing night, stars pin pricking the darkening sky. Dead Lights. Juniper thinks as she watches the lights shine. Stars, she tells herself. 'Deadlights are from that scary book you read.' she mumbles to herself. Focus going back to the road ahead. 

Fucking Circle Junction. She thinks, shaking her head and digging for her case of cigarettes. She walks up the road going about her ritual. Attention briefly pulled in by the NCR Correctional Facility. She waves at the guard on duty, like she always did. He doesn't wave back, like he never did. 

Someone's following you.

Her back tenses while cobwebs drift over her shoulders and down her spine. The Couirer stops at the iching thought. Doing a complete 180, she looks around the barran land with suspesiouse eyes. Sight landing on the small hills that linned the highway leading into Sloan. Staring over the horizon she squints, taking in the fading light and shadows it cast. Relax. Shaking the thoughts off she focused back on her destination Goodsrpings.

Passing the water source, she walks up the dirt path into the residential area of the town. Delivering various cilivilian packages and letters to the residents. No one tips, some give her water or what they could spare, thanking her for a job well done. Following her loop of houses, she drops letters into the old rusted mail boxes. Getting a wave from The Doctor as she passes by his house on the hill. It is a short exchange. Something quick and to the point. 

The rest of the town, work men from Sloan and the few weary travelers shuffle their way to the Prosecutor Saloon. Following suit Joone enters, finding it busier than usual. Its already small and stuffy walls, closing in tighter.

Despite the bigger crowd, she manuvers her way around. Finding those who whisper her name, She slips them their letters, their assignments. Or things to be passed along to others. They trade her coin, or their own letters. With the soft words of Make sure the Boss gets this. It is a subtle and quiet dance. One that goes unnoticed for the most part. 

Watching her from the far corner both. A man in a Checkered Suit lights a cigarette. Clicking his lighter shut, looking at the Kahn's sat around him. One, by the name of Jessup, stares at The Courier. Face going pale. 

"Fuck." He said looking at the man next to him. "That's Joonie, Murph." 

McMurphy looks out onto the saloon floor, watching the woman move around the crowd. His face going somber, "Jobs a job, Jessie." 

Listening to Kahn's talk, The man in the checkered suit pulls from his cigarette. "know the broad?" He said looking at Jessup. "Then this should be easy," he smiles, leaning back, arm stretching across the booth. "Easy peasy" 

"Joonie good people. She has done the Kahn's a few runs in the past. She's like family"  Jessup says, eyes still watching her. "She.." he trails off, griping at the nudge McMurphy gives him. 

Laughing, McMurphy says. "Aww you still sweet on her, ain't cha?" 

Watching the interaction, Checkered Suit leans across the table. Looking directly at Jessup "Go say hi." He snaps his fingers, and hicks his thumb behind him. "Now" 

Huffing, the man stands from the booth and follows the Courier as she leaves the Saloon. 

"Something else going on there?" Checkered suit asks McMurphy.

The man shrugs. "She used to buy off him, they'd get high and Fuck sometimes." He smirks, "but her Boss," he focuses on The Checkered Suit. "Crazy fucker, got involved, now she don't buy no more" 

Flicking the ash from his cigarette, Checkered suit says. "Boss?" Before pulling from the old tobacco again. "What's his name?" 

McMurphy shakes his head, "I don't know, just know he's some psycho. Damn near broke both Jessups legs." He chuckles, "not sure if it was for the Jet, or the fucking." 

Checkered suit nods. "What does he look like?" 

"White boy like you, Sept." He takes a drink from his glass. "Whittier" 

The sharp fall wind hits her. "Fuck." Joone says to herself, pulling her jacket tighter. Hissing in through her teeth, she bounces down the road towards the highway. "Sweet" she chatters to herself. "Fuck". She pats around her Jacket for her lighter and pack of cigarettes. 

Finding them, she goes about her ritual. Hands and body shaking from the cold. 

"Fuck" she says again. Failing with her lighter. A flame starts from a strange lighter next to her. 

She jumps. Looks up, smiles. "Heeey" she coos, lighting her cigarette. "Jessie, how's the family?"

Clicking the lighter shut, he pockets it. "Oh you know, cooking, surviving." 

Pulling from her cigarette, she nods. "How are you?" She looks away and back, "Sorry about.." 

He playful punches her shoulder, "Don't worry about it, it's not your fault your boyfriend is psychotic." 

"He isn't my." She pulls from her vice, blows out a plume of smoke. "Boyfriend," crinkling her nose shakes her head, "He's my Boss, Jessie. Just my Boss." 

Kicking dirt with his boot, Jessup looks down and up. "Sure Joonie," he nods, runs the back of his head. "You uh, still clean?" 

Flicking her ash, "trying to be, but." She trails off looking up at him, in that sweet way she always did.  

"Your Boss ain't in town is he?" 

She shakes her head, "not for a few weeks or so. Just left this morning. Sending me out to the Big Circle." She chews her lip. 

#fallout new vegas #fallout new vegas fanfiction #vulpes inculta #courier 6 #courier six #new vegas

[loveaffairxc]

036 my Henry (prince) x anyone you’d like x

setting a scene

036: a masquerade ball

Amelia, the dedicated maid of Lady Arabella, gazed wistfully out of her small attic window as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the estate in a warm, golden glow. tonight was the night of the grand masquerade ball, an event she had helped prepare for weeks. but this year, a newfound longing tugged at her heart. she wanted to go, she's never been to these sort of events before, only ever occasionally accompanying the lady to ensure she had all she needed.

while the busy servants in the mansion prepared Lady Arabella for the ball, Amelia found a brief moment alone for herself. she retrieved a delicately crafted mask from the recesses of her trunk. a midnight-black mask adorned with intricate silver star shapes patterns that seemed to dance in the dim candlelight. the mask had been a lengthy project she crafted on her own. she spent months sewing it, as she had a notion that one day, she could know what it felt like to be an important woman at a ball. her grandmother had encouraged her to undertake this task, and after her grandmother passed away, Amelia couldn't help but sense that making the mask wasn't just for herself but also a way to honor her grandmother's memory.

Amelia felt her pulse quicken as she wore the mask, its cool touch sending shivers down her spine. this year, she had resolved to attend the ball incognito.with her identity concealed behind the mask, she could dare to be someone different, someone who didn't belong to the shadows. the ballroom was a vision of opulence, with chandeliers so golden and shiny it could make you dizzy and they were draped in rich fabrics. the strains of a waltz filled the air, and guests swirled around in a mesmerizing dance. Amelia ended up on the edge, watching the swirling colors and shapes. she leaned against a pillar, feeling a mix of different emotions inside her. this was happening, she was here! it was both dangerous and exhilirating.

and then, he appeared - the prince himself, looking splendid in his princely attire. his eyes, sharp yet warm, seemed to hold a world of secrets. as he moved with grace, Amelia's heart skipped a beat. she had seen him from a distance countless times but had never been so close. god, he looked so beautiful. drawing a deep breath, Amelia stepped onto the edge of the dance floor. the mask emboldened her, allowing her to shed her maid's identity for just one night. she joined the dance, moving with a grace she had never known she possessed. she was secretly hoping he prince would notice her. but she had to be realistic, he was the prince. she decided to focus on enjoying herself, feeling like this moment was a dream.

#ooc: never done this type of settings before i hope its ok haha #henry x amelia

[kouros-herc]

Summer memories that remain

Struggled to find a way to have Herc really explore either of the tasks this month, but I spent so much time thinking about his summers in Greece that this happened instead as a sort of combination of both. 

Herc stared out at Atlantis Lake. The wind ruffled the surface, and the sunlight bounced and sparkled off each individually. But the sun was weak. He could feel, on his face, a distant memory of the brilliant warmth of the Mediterranean sun, the soft rush of waves dancing up and down the sand. No those, had been summers...

He’d been to Greece before, on visits with his parents to see his grandparents and his cousins, but the summer he turned eight was the first summer he stayed there for the whole of the school holidays. 

He remembered waking up the first morning without his parents, rays of golden light trickling through the shutters on the window, while dust swirled. He remembered the tang of the fresh orange on his tongue for breakfast. He remembered the cool pools of shade under the olive trees and the shriek of kids playing among the gnarled and twisted trunks. Trees hundreds of years older than them shaded the little gang of cousins who darted in and out of them, who climbed their trunks and lay among their roots when they panted, breathless from their little games. 

Everything seemed brighter here, hotter and cooler and funnier, and he would come home dust coated, ready for a chiding and a snack from yiayia before dinner. 

He remembered being eleven, and the feel of the sun baking down on him. Salt crusted on his skin as the little gang hung out down by the water, hot sand burning at the soles of their feet. He could still feel the icy cold contrast of the water being splashed at him by Alexis, before the two of them wrestled their way into the embrace of the sea, still hear the laughter. Then the quiet, the shift in the world as he ducked down, weaving around the rocks and watching tiny silver fish darting around them. 

He remembered laughing until his stomach hurt, the sticky sweet of honey clinging to his fingers after baklava, the aching cold of sorbet wolfed down as soon as they could. 

He wished it never had to end, wished he could stay here in this vibrant life forever instead of going back to the dull grey of London.

He remembered being thirteen and feeling like he didn’t belong for the first time, but he remembered Sofia stepping forward to shout at the local boys who liked to tease him for his pale and pasty skin. He remembered feeling like he did belong, here among the people who refused to make him feel different, even when they teased him for his English accent and his ginger hair, even when he and Sofia bickered about who was technically the oldest cousin. 

He could remember being seventeen, and lonelier than ever until the plane landed. He remembered helping out with jobs for all his uncles, and his aunts deciding that this gangling stretched young man needed to be fed, to put some meat on his bones. He remembered learning to mend fishing nets, to bring in heavy bags of flour to the bakery, to clean the floors of the butchers shop. 

He remembered Angelena, the sweep of long eyelashes on her cheeks, her dark eyes staring into his in the moment before she kissed him, his cheeks burning to rival any Mediterranean sun. 

He remembered walking back to his grandparents’, feeling punchdrunk and slightly sick with nerves and excitement. Sofia had never let him live it down when she heard. 

He remembered being nineteen and Nikolas, the fishmonger’s boy, and trying to hide his blushes beneath sunburn. No longer quite the clumsy youth he had been, he remembered the strange feeling of the other man watching him as he swam, as he strolled along the beach. 

He remembered their hands brushing as they heaped crates onto the dockside, the static shock and the awakening of something he hadn’t been thinking about.

He could feel the cold of the tiles against his back as he was pushed against a wall and kissed hard. 

He remembered lying awake, trembling fingers brushing his own lips and trying to understand what had just happened. Something beautiful. 

He could remember the touch of his grandmother’s hand as she touched his cheek and told him how he’d grown. His grandfather’s strong and and steady embrace. The smell of their home - citrus and incense and nutmeg hanging in the air. 

It had been too long since he’d been able to visit properly. His cousins kept him in the loop, but he missed the taste of the bread, the oil, the fruit, the way the air smelled on a warm summers evening, the nights spent around the crowded table as everybody chattered over and across each other. 

Swynlake was nice. But the sun on his face felt like a pale imitation sometimes. Sometimes he felt like a pale imitation of himself too, compared to the man he was when he was home. 

#and frankly I think we could all do with some hazy Mediterranean summer escapism #also meet Sofia who is Herc's cousin and I love her so much she's my rp crush #inspo

[letitrain-letitsnow-letitgo]

Anya’s SwynWriMo : Task 11

Short and Sweet One-Shot: Write ten short-short stories of no more than a paragraph long (can star one or multiple characters.)

Pepa vs. English Weather: A Study in 10 Days

cw: grief

Prologue - September 2015: She’ll always remember the day before it all changed: a light rain, her favorite kind, the soft sweep of late summer into autumn. 

November 11 2015: One day, she misses home so much that a rainstorm bursts from her on an otherwise calm day. The clouds gather around the Main Street Park and when Pepa sobs on a bench, the sky sobs with her. 

February 23 2016: The grey clouds hang low, not quite settling into a fog. It’s cold. Each inhale is sharp, a stab to the throat, a scrape down her lungs. A bitter reminder. The world holds its breath. 

July 21 2016: Their birthday is hard every year, but the first one in Swynlake, Pepa stays inside her room, a storm swirling. 

December 3 2017: This time, when the first snow falls, Pepa feels — well, she does not feel angry, or sad, or bitter. She feels joy. She looks up at the falling flakes and the clouds look like spools of cotton. She sticks her tongue out to catch a flake and around her, an inexplicable ray of sunlight shimmers. 

May 6 2018: It’s the first truly warm day all year. The first day when the sun nudges the clouds away with a long stretch and reaches golden rays across a blue, blue sky. 

April 15 2019: Cold and grey and cold and grey and cold and grey and cold and grey and gold and grey. 

September 14 2020: Five years later, it rains again. This time, the air is cooler, fall already peeling back the last grip of summer. The leaves will change soon. They always do. 

August 9 2021: It never gets hot in Swynlake, not like Pepa is used to. Still, the sun shines and the heat weighs down on her skin, familiar but not all there. A ghost, maybe. A memory. It’s enough to make her heart stir. It’s enough to make her smile. 

November 11 2023: For a day so crisp, it’s surprisingly sunny. Enough that the rays disperse through the cloud cover. Pepa sits on a bench during lunch, tilting her head up towards the sky, and the golden light catches on her hair and dances across her face.

#swynwrimoanya #swynwrimoanya2023 #ok this was so hard and for what #there are ONLY SO MANY WAYS TO DESCRIBE WEATHER #but we did it lmao #im proud of how this turned out in the end uwu #swynwrimo #swynwrimo2023

[wiirttwood]

TASK 005:::….. Digging Deeper

QUOTE: “You’re a traveler on a sacred journey. You’re the master of your own destiny. The hero of your own story! A Pilgrim!”

BASIC

NAME: Wirt Wood NICKNAMES: Worry-Wirt, Pilgrim AGE: Thirty-Five GENDER: Male PRONOUNS: He/Him

FAMILY

PARENTS: Mother - Jennifer Wood-Dean, Stepfather - Patrick Dean, Biological Father - Curtis Wood SIBLINGS: Has a stepbrother named Gregory “Greg” Dean

PHYSIAL ATTRIBUTES

FACE CLAIM: Andrew Garfield HEIGHT: 5′10″ HAIR COLOR: Brown EYE COLOR: Dark brown DOMINANT HAND: Left PHYSICAL DISABILITIES: None LEARNING DISABILITIES: None ALLERGIES: Allergic to certain kinds of dusts DISORDERS: Anxiety disorder and post-traumatic disorder FASHION: Button down shirts, sweater vests, sweater shirts, slacks, and generally anything that is in the mix of formal-casual like. rarely in full relaxation mode NERVOUS TICS: Mumbles, presses palms tightly together, avoidance of eye contact, self-deprecating himself

LIFESTYLE

HOME/APARTMENT/DORM/OTHER: Apartment PLACE OF BIRTH: Colorado METHOD OF TRAVEL: Driving PHONE: iPhone LAPTOP/COMPUTER: MacBook PETS: None FURTHEST EDUCATION: Master’s Arts Degree in Music Education

CAREER: Band Teacher/Professor at Corona University 

DRUGS/ALCOHOL USE: Occasionally drinks, but haven’t consumed any drugs in years

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Hetero-romantic (?? maybe???) SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual (?? maybe???) AVAILABILITY: Single LANGUAGES: English, Spanish and a little bit of French

PHOBIAS: Drowning, being surrounded by trees, the woods in general, and Gnomes HOBBIES: Teaching, playing the clarinet and other instruments such as the bassoon and piano, writing poetry, making random cassette mix-taps, mumbling, collecting old records and VHS tapes, tending to his fern SOCIAL MEDIA: FaceBook, Instagram (but doesn’t use it much), and even still owns a MySpace that is completely inactive but haven’t been deleted

FAVORITE

LOCATION: Corona University and Spoonful of Sugar Candy Store MUSIC: Classical and Jazz, but is generally open to listening to all types of music that garners his interests MOVIES: Musicals and comedies FOOD: Mashed potatoes and molasses BEVERAGE: Peppermint or Chamomile tea COLOR: Navy blue and brass

CHARACTER

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good WESTERN ZODIAC: Cancer CHINESE ZODIAC: Ox HOGWARTS HOUSE: Ravenclaw SONG: Sing, Sing, Sing by Benny Goodman

#citask #citask5 #[ dancing in a swirl; of golden memories: tasks ] #[ our long bygone burdens; mere echoes of the spring: headcanons ] #[ how the gentle wind; beckons through the leaves; as autumn colors fall: aesthetics ]

[flowerwrites06]

blossoms and blood I — jjk

Plot: Two lovers are ripped apart in the name of duty. 

Pairing(s): Prince/King!Jungkook x Princess/Queen!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 6k

Genre: Royal | Angst | Smut 

Tags & Warnings: violence, angst, explicit smut, blood

Authors Note: I know a couple of you wanted this so I hope you like!

In a world where peach blossoms grow and blood runs through the sandstone walls, monarchs of a young kingdom rode through dewy plains to reach their partner regions’ territory in order for a momentous and happy reunion after a hefty battle. Belle opted to sit on the back of the horse during most of the ride, light pink veil hovering over her and flowing into the soft spring breeze, an extra piece covering most of her face except her eyes. The king and queen as per usual preferred the chariot as a more comfortable transport for napping but the girl could not find herself relaxed enough to sleep.

Months passed since she was able to see him in person again. Nothing but handwritten letters with pressed roses and cedar wood scent from their stationery shared between them. Now that the small parade drew closer to their destination, her heart continued to do leaps like a performer in a banquet.

“How far along, Namjoon?” Belle asked unsure of how much she could take the tension building.

A smirk immediately graced the mans’ lips, tiny little craters appearing on his cheek. “We’re at the gates, your Highness.”

Tingles rushed through her entire form as she saw the majestic red gates getting closer and closer making her feel suffocated. She could hear his voice forming the words on his letters so clearly in her mind that dizziness started to swirl. All the things he wanted to say in person…all the things he wanted to do but could never write on letters which were possibly being read during commute for security.

What if he was the complete opposite in real life? What if he didn’t even write the letters himself and Belle just lived in a fantasy shared with a scribe? What if he did like her but grew disappointed with her in real life?

“I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” Namjoon teased, pulling the princess back to her reality.

Her horse seemed to already catch the hint by moving forward as the gates opened seeing the familiar flags and banners. “I can’t help it.” Belle whispered trying to keep the conversation to themselves as they slowly entered the age old kingdom. “We haven’t seen each other in months, he could’ve taken in a concubine by now.”

The older male chuckled, watching all the people staring in awe at the ethereal veiled princess riding in. “I think you place Jungkook a little too closely with the other princes.” His gaze was more focused on everything around him knowing there had to be extra care when Belle chose to be exposed in the open like this.

“It’s hard not to right now.” Her eyes moved to the majestic gates of the palace thudding open in front of them.

“Mommy, it’s a fairy!” A toddler resting on a womans’ shoulder pointed to her just as they left the towns.

Belle couldn’t help but smile and give the little one a small wave before she disappeared into the main palace courtyard.

Across the sandstone path adorned with small rose bushes stood a great flight of stairs leading up to the a line of three thrones. Except all the royals stood for their allies; the king in the middle with his golden crown, queen on his left and young prince on his right. Each figure exuding an aura of ultimate ancient power even in front of their equals. Though her gaze had fixated mostly on the male standing leftward of the king. Prince Jungkook.

Brunette fringe just a tad lower than his eyebrows, silver earrings twinkling in the sunlight and a faint smirk already visible even from a distance.

Their horses were halted just at the end of the first line of stairs. Namjoon got off his horse as Belle moved her leg so they both hung on one side. If she had her proper horse riding attire, it would have taken seconds to get off but with forty layers of fabric made the simple task tedious. So as per any other public event Namjoon securely held onto her waist and helped her down on the ground.

Jungkooks fingers twitched a little seeing the princess’ guard hold onto her. Of course he knew only the guard was truly ever allowed to touch her in times of need. Princesses could never be touched for pleasure or claim unless a marriage proposal was finalized. His smirk widened a little too much knowing that rule was already a little broken unbeknownst to both their parents.

Days leading up to his time in battle, the young couple grew impatient and weary of the results. Whether Jungkook would come back or if Belle would be married off to some other prince for extra protection. Of course both things were not entirely under their control except for their own secretive desires. Eventually it led to one long night of breaking a few little rules as they explored each other and gently ripped the layer of innocence dividing them.

Belle’s parents were the first to begin walking up the stairs to the space in between where Jungkooks parents also proceeded to walk down in order to meet halfway. A usual custom to symbolize equality amongst the two kingdoms.

“My congrats on the victory, King Jeon.” Belle’s father gave his ally a bright but formal smile which was received in the same enthusiasm.

She tried to focus on the elders and their conversation but her eyes flickered over to a pair of round orbs staring right at her. Quickly the girl lowered her gaze before focusing on their parents not able to stop her cheeks from burning.

“If it weren’t for your troops, my son would not have been standing here with me. I should be thanking you for giving aid.” King Jeon patted the young princes’ back making him smile politely. “Our kingdoms were meant to be joined as one to fight against the Sun Queen.”

More words were muffled as Jungkook brought his gaze back to the heavily covered princess. He could still mentally trace out her beautiful lips always curled up in a smile and her adorable nose that twitched when she was teasing him about something. His hands yearned to pull away her veil and just catch a seconds glimpse of her face but he had to keep a formal demeanor.

Sun peeked through clouds and her face glowed even under the pink veil while the two kings embraced one another with a light laugh under their breath.

“I hope you’re not too tired from your journey we’ve prepared a small banquet for your liking.” King Jeon smiled before glancing over at Belle who Jungkook could notice her eyes squinting into a gorgeous smile.

The young prince almost let out a sigh of awe looking at how her eyes brightened while gracefully nodding her head in acknowledgement.

“Jungkook will escort you to your chambers.” He glanced over at his son.

Immediately he could feel a flutter in his heart, a more genuine smile tugging at his lips as he met the princess’ gaze again. “Of course.”

-

Down the golden hallways the prince opened the door for the king and queen into their temporary chambers, giving them a kind smile as they were fully acquainted. He struggled to keep a sense of formality whenever any of their parents’ were around knowing a relationship between their children was not exactly the goal. Most traditional alliances did rely on marriages but this rare time, they opted to ‘save’ their children for expansion purposes to the other kingdoms so they could build to a big enough land against the Sun Queen.

Wrong tradition at the wrong time, Jungkook thought. One of the rare occasions where two children from ally kingdoms actually love each other but the kingdoms don’t want an arranged marriage. His eyes now moved onto Belle and his heart almost skipped a beat for a second realizing they were finally both alone. “This way, your Highness.” He gestured down to his left and the princess walked, holding all the grace in the world in each movement. “How was your journey?” Jungkook tried to keep a formal tone while they walked as slowly as possible to her chambers.

“It was lovely, the forest leading up to the palace is so beautiful. I insisted on riding outside of the chariot. Except now I’m aching a little.” Belle giggled under her breath, feeling the light cramping on her inner thighs from having sit on the horse for so long. “So did you forget about me?” She moved straight to the point now that they were in a rare lonesome with no one to bother them.

“Not the best at memory.” Jungkook shrugged playfully. “Even at the war grounds, I only had to remember who wasn’t going to kill me and the pros—” He cleared his throat immediately.

Belle rolled her eyes a little even though her heart dropped realizing a lot of prostitutes must have been present in the war camps. She should not be surprised if plenty wanted to please the prince himself during his time of need but it wasn’t surprise that clenched her chest.

“The ladies in waiting will be here in a few minutes.” Jungkook muttered as Belle walked through the doors of her chambers. Before he could take a step back, something held onto his hand pulling him inside.

Silence plunged between the young couple as the prince closed the door behind him not needing any sort of explanation. It was a dance they got used to in the years they stood under the same roof. Something burst inside him in seconds as he turned her around and pulled off her sunhat. Without another thought, his lips pressed against the soft fabric of her mask making her giggle at his impatience.

“You’re a very friendly host, your Highness.” She teasing smiling as he continued to peck her covered lips.

“Don’t play with me it’s been too long.” He growled lightly through his words, hands caressing the curve of her waist to her hips.

“What about your prostitutes? Seems like you had help during that long time.” She pouted a little slithering away from him. “Did you write the letters sent to me?”

Jungkook held onto the fabric of her dress and continued to walk closer so there was no distance between them. “I wrote them after training. If it were a scribe, the handwriting would be a hundred times better.”

“And a lot of the words wouldn’t be smudged.” Belle smiled knowing the little details that easily showed that an experienced scribe would not have written their sacred document. “So all those things you said…”

“Every word I meant.” He murmured, their faces now a breath apart. His fingers hovered over her mask stopping himself from just ripping it off like the poor sunhat lain on the floor. “I’d be a fool to accept them when I have a princess waiting for me.” Jungkook fixated on the way her lips curled up into smile through the slightly transparent cloth. “Let me see you.” He whispered nudging his nose against her covered one.

Belle rubbed his clothed chest softly wanting to tease him a little more just to feel the heat radiating from him grow stronger. But she grew just as impatient as him at this point. “Take it off.” Sparkling eyes searched his expression before watching his cute lips curl up into a toothy smirk.

His hands slid up from her hips, hovered ever so slightly over her breasts before moving behind her hair and untied the knot. Pulling off the cloth his breath caught in his throat for a moment seeing finally being able to see her pink tinted lips again. It shouldn’t be healthy how he was so infatuated by her whole being that it ached in his chest a little.

“Disappointed?” She grinned, tracing a finger down his neck.

“In love.” He whispered brushing away the wispy strands of her hair that flew to her face after he took off her mask. Not another second wasted, Jungkook held onto her cheeks and pressed a warm kiss on her lips, tongue desperately pushing through her teeth to explore every inch of her mouth.

Belle almost could not gather herself feeling a burning behind his eyes at his words before the familiar warmth on her lips. Knees grew weak at the flurry of emotions that she almost lost balance but Jungkook had a firm grip around her waist. Few stumbling steps and the prince carried her to the edge of the bed before letting her fall on her back. A light squeal followed by the tiniest giggle, her fingers gripped Jungkooks’ clothing as he hovered over her, lips locked once again in a heated synced pattern.

He pushed the thick layers of her dress up until his rough fingers were graced with her soft slightly cool skin, body tingling at the familiar feeling.

Most of her dress rested right up on Belle’s chest as she relished in his hands lightly revisiting her body after so many of being untouched. Just as her lips parted to let a small moan flow out, Jungkook caught them between his again taking every miniscule remnant of the memory of her, he could salvage in the time they were together.

“Is it sore here?” He asked watching her suck in her plump bottom lip when his fingers softly massaged her bare inner thighs.

Belle nodded, letting out a shaky breath as she gripped at his clothes. Her core pooled at the lightest brush attempting to make out any words to let him know just how much she craved even a second’s touch.

Four knocks on the door shattered their wall of privacy, a meek voice speaking through the wood. “Princess, we’re here to tend to you.”

Jungkook groaned against her lips, nails digging slightly into her thighs before reluctantly pulling away.

Smiling faintly, she pressed a quick kiss on his cheek before making herself decent while trying to catch her breath. “Come in!” Belle bit down her bottom lip to hide any wide grin that was escaping.

The door opened to a line of women in white rushing inside with large bowls, clothing and trunks to get ready for the banquet tonight. Immediately the group bowed down to the two young royals before Jungkook gave a quick smirk to the beautiful princess, walking out of the room and awaiting the next rare time he would be alone with his favourite person.

-

Red drapes adorned the sandstone walls, golden light reflected against the silk and admired Jungkooks’ glowing skin even while wearing a deep blue and black outfit. Both kings sat with their queens whispering stories of another time. His eyes wandered around to find a familiar figure. As expected when the double doors opened, the whole court had to take a moment of silence to see the grace of purple walk into the hall.

Belle wore a beautiful dress, hair tied up half way with twinkling accessories glimmering in the light like her earring and necklace. Beauty completely radiated onto the eyes of the amazed court. Though Jungkook knew in the deep night who got the blessing of seeing her at her purest, rawest form in a time of day when no one knows what’s happening behind closed doors.

Expression softened watching her smile graced her ethereal features as she padded towards the large tables and gave their parents a bow. One cheeky glance towards Jungkook had his heart skipping five beats before she walked off to entertain a few nobles.

It was like a hand popping out of his chest trying to pull the girl towards him instead of the nobles who could never appreciate her for who she was. All they saw was a pretty princess ready to be married off to the most eligible bachelor. He could see the light bruises she hid on her thighs from horse riding all day and the fading scars on her hand from swinging a sword for hours in the night. That was the part no one could see. Some of them didn’t want to see. A future ruler with a stone fist and warm heart.

Eventually Jungkook was also forced to slither into the crowd of high brows mingling into conversations and possible marriage proposals. As he was trained for so many years, a smile and maybe a little laugh if jokes were thrown around. It had all become a redundant pattern of climbing the golden ladder to ultimate power. Unfortunately the key to all that power had his gaze set on one particular princess who seemed to call out to him with her eyes.

He noticed the girl excuse herself from the crowd before giving him a look he could recognize from kingdoms away.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Jungkook grinned, giving them a slight bow before walking out of the warm huddle and into the cool air of something more exciting.

Down the beautifully lit hallway he watched her walk with a skip in her step and a cheeky smile on her face purposely not waiting for him to catch up. Jungkook felt a surge of nostalgia, when the walls felt much taller and they would chase each other around the palace until finally one of them were pinned against the wall. As they got older, other things would happen once the person was caught.

She wanted to play a game. More teasing to remind him of just exactly what he missed in his time during the battle. All the nights in the tent after refusing the third round of lightly clothed ladies, he would re-read her letters over and over again until he had to take care of himself just to sleep somewhat at ease.

Belle’s giggles echoed through the hallways as she turned a corner not forgetting to give him a grin brighter than all the candles tonight. Once the girl disappeared, the young prince stepped into a jog not wanting to miss a single second of his favourite view in the world.

Her heart pounded against her ribcages in the best way possible knowing Jungkook was following her every step and movement. The rush of it all could have her quaking in her knees but she continued to move. Excitement flurried out of her in light giggles and heavy breathing not knowing how to contain herself now that the game started.

Quickly Belle shifted into a line of pillars to hide for a moment. Jeweled chest rose and fell, a smile tugging at her lips so wide her cheeks ached a little. When her bearing became clearer she tried to focus on the footsteps but heard no sound. Smile fading away ever so slightly, the princess took a few strides to slide out of the pillar peeking through the hallways but finding them empty.

Brows furrowed she walked backwards trying to slide back into her position and her heart jumped, something pulling her back and pinning her against the wall.

“You know I can always catch you.” Jungkook leaned in and whispered, smirk playing on his lips as his hands now secured on her waist to keep her from escaping his clutches. “You’re mine now, princess.”

“What if I let you win?” Belle raised her chin a little. “I was only brisk walking.”

“I could hear your breathing.” Lips hovered over her jawline to her neck feeling the warmth radiating onto his face. “I can recognize your heavy breathing anywhere, princess. That little hitch when you get excited.” Nose nudged against her pounding pulse while her hands slid up his arms. “The way it shakes when you can’t handle all the nerves and your heart pounding.” Jungkook moved back, lips hovering her parted ones now relishing in the tiny shaky sighs coming out of them.

Belle tapped her nose against his, feeling her breathing grow ragged once again as his hands on her waist shot sparks right up to her head making it hard to focus on anything. “Seems you know a lot about me, my prince.” She murmured. “You know what your telling point is? Your eyes…” Her arms wrapped his neck. “It goes all round and doe when you’re happy.” She giggled softly but it quickly faded away into a small smirk. “Then that dark, blown out look glints…tells me you’re hungry for something.” She whispered before sucking in her bottom lip.

Moving her arms away from his neck, she moved his hands down to the skirt of her dress. Immediately his fingers fisted at the fabric and pulled it up to continue from where they were rudely interrupted earlier in the day.

Jungkook sneaked under the skirt and found his stomach doing a leap when he felt nothing but bare skin underneath. “You wanted to lose, didn’t you, princess?” He grinned.

“Maybe a little.” Belle whispered before gasping lightly when his fingers brushed against her already soaked core.

As soon as her lips parted the prince devoured them as his own, tongue dancing with tongue forgetting about the plain exposure they were in for any guards that patrolled by. They couldn’t care less anymore. It had been too long. Too much distance. Jungkook moved his hands away for a moment to cup her cheeks. One of his riskier fingers hooked at the hem of her sleeves pushing them down to expose more of her shoulder so he could bite into it like his favourite snack.

Wet kisses trailed down to her chest, both hands kneading her tender breasts making Belle’s head spin with light surges of excitement.

Dropping down on his knees for the princess Jungkook pushed the soft fabric up her legs and buried himself under it. Tongue immediately caught throbbing nub between his lips, hands gripping at her bare thighs as her body jerked into his mouth.

Belle raised a leg to rest on the window sill in front of her while her head was thrown back against the rough surface. Moving her dress up, she finally watched Jungkook suckling on her clit as she gripped at his neatly done hair.

Letting go of her sensitive nub with a kiss, he jumped back onto his feet and undid his pants sloppily before the princess helped him out letting out a breathy giggle. Once his member sprung free, arms wrapped around the girl before slowly sliding into her snug walls in wet ease. Both their moans flowed together as Belle wrapped her arms around his neck and both her legs now rested on the window sill while Jungkook held her up.

Biting down a much louder moan, she buried her face into his shoulder as he wasted no time in thrusting into her. Slow, rough and deep wanting to make up for all the lost minutes pining for one another in such a distance under uncontrollable circumstances.

Light groans caught in his throat the heat around them spread like a wildfire. “I missed you.” He whispered in her ear before pressing his lips against her neck.

“I missed you too.” She whimpered out, nails scratching down his clothing as a slight ache mixed in with the pleasure from how rough he was after so long. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

Jungkook pulled away from her now reddened neck so they meet each other’s hazy gaze. He watched her eyes grow glossy while every thrust grew deeper as the cliff they were hurdling came closer. “I’ll never leave you again.” He shook his head before pressing another heated kiss, her light moan vibrating into it.

His thrusts grew brutal now, patches of her bare skin rubbing roughly against the wooden surface of the pillar while her leg aching from the position. But none of it compared to the fire building up in her lower belly getting stronger at every slopping pound into her core, fingers gripping at his hair and clothing. “Jungkook—” She whispered, heaving as her body melted away.

Then that long awaited surge exploded through every inch of their bodies, movements getting sloppier desperate to make it last longer and take whatever was given. Arms tightly held onto each other tightly, warmth added to the flames swirling inside channeling out of their shaking forms.

Light, breathy chuckles shared between them followed by a kiss as Jungkook gently let Belle down on her feet while her knees still trembled.

“I love you.” She smiled as he pressed his forehead against hers, hoping he could feel the weight of those words when it was spoken.

“I love you too.” He kissed her nose lightly feeling his heart grow far too big for his ribcages.

Once they were mostly their decent selves, Jungkook fished through his pockets for a moment they sat on the window sill admiring the night view. Eventually with a light smile he pulled out something that glimmered under the moonlight. A silver ring with a delicate peach blossom designed in the middle. “You like it?”

Belle sat up straight now grinning down at the piece of jewelry. “It’s beautiful.” She murmured. “Where’d you get it?”

The prince shrugged. “I saw it in a market while travelling. I know you like the blossoms in our forests so I thought you might want one to hold onto all the time.” He spoke a slight shyness ringing in his tone that Belle couldn’t help but giggle at. “It’s simple—”

“But it’s my favourite.”

Jungkook chuckled feeling his cheeks burn as he slowly took her hand and slid it onto her ring finger. “Think of it as a promise. No matter where I go or where you go…the blossoms always keep us together.”

“That was a…fine attempt at poetry, my prince.” She giggled.

“I was trying to be like the books.” He pouted mockingly but immediately when the princess leaned to give him warm kiss on the lips.

“I’ll keep it forever.” She knew in her swelling heart that promise would never be broken.

-

A smile had been permanently engraved onto his face after that night even as King Jeon had called him for an urgent meeting. Through the hallways Jungkook could only keep his thoughts on that gorgeous smile and how she so proudly wore the jeweled band around her finger in these couple of days.

Eventually the young prince reached the empty throne room where there were no court members present save for the guards who immediately walked out as they closed the door behind him.

“You called me, father.” Hands behind his back, he watched his parents’ features grow grim even in the comfortable warm light and luxurious clothing. Gaze flickered from his father and mother as they shared a stony glance towards one another before facing their son again.

King Jeon took a breath to speak. “Son, there is another reason why we called our allies here.” He spoke with confidence but care knowing this would be a delicate matter for the young prince. “We have been given evidence that the King and Queen were planning to eradicate us from the throne.”

Elated heart took a steep jump into an endless abyss. “Why?” His tone was meeker than he wanted it to be but he kept his head held high.

“Because if we all perished then they would get all our financial assets and every bit of power that comes with ruling both kingdoms.” King Jeon replied simply. Separately the kingdoms were average especially to the likes of the Sun Queen but combining two would make a decent match. Except of course one would expect power struggles between two monarch who have always had ultimate and unmatchable authority.

Whatever veil of hope he had before his eyes now ripped apart at the news of the betrayal. For months, Jungkook saw death beyond imagining and pain never felt before only to be faced with the possibility of assassination by their own friends. “What about the princess?” He hated how weak his voice sounded but his mother merely gave him a sympathetic look.

“We don’t know what her part is in this yet. So be ready tomorrow.” The queen always knew how to be the soft hand in these discussions but right now nothing was going to reassure him.

The prince trained to protect his kingdom at all costs. He risked his life for months in war grounds to prevent anything bad happening to both their lands. Maybe he could keep Belle safe. She wouldn’t been a part of this mess, she loved the people and keeping them happy was the only thing ever on her mind. He knew this. He would lay down his life for this belief.

Duty came first. Duty always comes first. He was the future king.

“You know what you need to do, don’t you, son?” His father spoke the heaviest question, letting it linger in the air and create a weight on his shoulders.

Of course he knew what to do. What he always had to do.

“Whatever it takes, father.” He recited. A common mantra marked into his brain since childhood.

“Good. Prepare yourself.”

Tightening his jaw and pushing the memory of her beautiful laugh, Jungkook merely bowed and did as he was told.

-

In the cold morning, the allied King and Queen stood at the same area in between the flight of stairs except now Jungkooks’ parents stood near their thrones. Separation. The immediate shatter of their tradition in representing equality. The young prince stood in the middle in his normal stance except no smirk played on his lips. He once again became the solider standing on the blood ridden soil protecting any more pain…by causing pain.

The two figures stood relaxed and happy with bright smiles that hauntingly reminded him of Belle.

“What’s this gathering for, my boy?” The King asked giving him a kind smile.

Taking a deep breath, Jungkook looked over his shoulder and saw his father give him a sturdy but reassuring nod. This was the right thing to do. It had to be done for his people. For the kingdom. ‘I love you’ She smiled through her glossy eyes. The corner of his lips twitched and he heard his father speaking.

“We are deeply saddened to say that you have not been keeping our sacred promise of friendship.” He sighed. “Evidence has been found of you committing a breach of our peace contract in the name of greed…and power. Those are not the values our kingdom was built on.”

“How—” Belle’s mother stammered looking at her husband but he was already frozen on the spot.

“Our kingdoms punishes those who break peace for greed. Therefore according to our laws and customs, you will be sentenced to death.” The calm nature of his voice contrasted greatly against the frantic protests of the royals.

All the guards who came with the visiting King and Queen now raised their swords for attack but were overpowered by the archers and half their army.

“My boy…” The queen sobbed. “You don’t want to do—”

In two quick swings of his dagger, he slit the throats of the royals and watched them fall to the ground tainting the area of equality they so happily created. Jungkook knew if he heard another word his movements would not have been that quick. Though the rush of pride for saving his kingdom quickly dwindled.

As soon they fell to the ground Jungkook saw a figure wearing white standing at the first flight of stairs.

Wide eyes reddened as her beautiful face contorted into nothing but pure pain. Belle ran over to her mother, falling to her knees with a thud right onto the puddle of her blood. Shoulders shook and fingers trembled as the realization tightened her chest. All the life she used to see in her mothers’ eyes now empty. “Mama…” She whispered pressing onto her neck as if it was going to save whatever remnant of her soul that was still left.

“Your parents were going to betray us, child. Did you know about this?” The queen asked and the princess felt a warmth inside her except it was different kind of fire.

Watery eyes flickered up to meet the royals before shaking her head, letting out a sharp sigh as she glanced over at her father and her fingers curled around her mothers clothing. All those years of training herself to be stronger than ever now rendered useless as she sat here in the pool of her parent’s blood flowing across a strangers’ kingdom. “I didn’t know about any betrayal.” She replied simply even though her mind conjured up much less composed decisions.

A tear droplet threatening to fall down his cheek as Jungkook looked over his shoulder at his parents in hope. She didn’t know about the betrayal. That meant she was innocent. She could be safe with him. But they did not look convinced at all.

Jungkook’s mother lightly patted her husband’s arm and he merely nodded before taking a breath. “You are hereby exiled from our kingdom.”

The announcement smashed through him like a hammer as he let out a shaky sigh. “Father…”

“This is my decision.” His tone grew firmer now forcing him to turn back and watch his actions bring its own consequences.

Belle struggled to stand up, knees still shaking causing Jungkook to curls his fingers into fists to stop himself from moving any closer. “I want my parents’ buried in our kingdom.” She spoke in a breathy tone to keep her calm, looking past the prince and not sharing a single glance his way.

After a moment of silence and the clanging of armor finally silenced, the King gave a curt nod. “Very well.” He gestured towards a few guards.

Stretchers were brought to take the bodies away while the princess was left to watch her parents blood run down the stairs and stain her white dress. Her form stood still and firm in front of the prince, lashes adorned with her tears. She attempted to wipe off her tears leaving little blood splotches on her face before her eyes moved to the shining silver band around her finger.

Belle’s promise replayed in her mind over and over again. It was almost funny how quickly the seasons could change in a world of duty and power. Naïve. She was naïve to think anything real could come of something that had no destination. They were never going to be together and he probably knew it. That’s why it was easy to rip her parents away from her as soon as the situation called. The girl spent too much time floating through the blossoms thinking the world was beautiful when it wasn’t. She could see the blood on his hands. Blood of her loved ones. It was all a lie.

Jungkook took a small step forward, wanting to break the rules again, to hold her right in front of everyone. Except he was forced to freeze when he watched her pull off the ring from her finger and drop it right into the puddle of her mothers’ blood. Red splattered onto the delicate pink blossom, tainting its beauty with the memory of his actions. His mistake. “Belle…” He whispered.

“Don’t talk to me.” She murmured, bottom lip trembling as she shook her head. “I don’t ever want to see your face again. Ever.”

The tear escaped down his cheek just as Namjoon carefully walked up the stairs and held onto Belle’s arm gently.

She didn’t hesitate despite the heavy ache in her chest, turning on her heel and walking down the stairs. Not a single look over her shoulder. For the first time she had no intention of him catching her.

Duty always gets placed first, Belle thought as she walked through the gates stanching of her parent’s blood. No matter how much love or how much care you had. You must put duty before everything. That was Jungkook did.

That was exactly what she was going to do.

next chap >> 

#jungkook #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook royal au #bts royal au #tw: smut #tw: violence

[missingjackklinehours]

the Archangel who drowned

Yet, Raphael lingers, awaiting the day Michael allows himself to be vulnerable, once again displaying a trace of sentiment; The Warrior of today is not their brother. Michael is hiding. Veneered, guised under calloused skin.

Rating: G (Gen Michael & Raphael)

No warnings apply.

Fic & Playlist available on AO3! (but you can read under the cut, if you'd like.)

   Somedays it feels like he's slipping—freefalling headfirst into the arctic's frozen waves. Limbs sluggish, wings twitching. His face has relinquished, razor shards of bloodstained glass of skin floating heedlessly amongst the surging ice surface.

   Yet sometimes, Michael prefers those occasions. It's a scarce chance to change his expression, a chance to reconnect with who he used to be. A chance to finally mourn what's left of that distant archangel.

   It's not all he has to mourn—That part is harder. 

   He drifts carelessly among the frigid seas. Thinking. Hoping. Regretting. Hating. Loving. The ice is refreshing against his bare flesh. It's a pleasing burn, like brittle fingernails picking at gums. Or perhaps the final stages of hypothermia. Heaven calls out to their first angel, their Viceroy. The harmonized hymns of desperate prayers from below echo within his ears. It seems everyone needs Michael to be everywhere at once. He morosely picks up the discarded pieces of his skin and departs the sea.

   There's much to be done in Heaven in the reticent absence of the Morningstar and the Messenger. Michael is left to reassemble his home, to mend blackened fractures caused by The Fall. He prepares for the Apocalypse; his skin feels too tight on his face—It reminisces of hiemal tides.

   Within his smothering workload, Michael tends to forget he isn't quite finished being a big brother—Or rather, that's a lie: Michael willingly tries to forget he isn't quite done being a big brother. It's hard for him to spare a mere glance at his only remaining archangelic sibling without dwelling on his lost brothers. Without being reminded of his own cruel actions, without realizing how truly cold he's become.

   Yet, Raphael lingers, awaiting the day Michael allows himself to be vulnerable, once again displaying a trace of sentiment; The Warrior of today is not their brother. Michael is hiding. Veneered, guised under calloused skin.

   Michael runs from Raphael. The Viceroy's skin isn't strong enough to face them yet.

   Days turn into years. Years turn into decades. Michael has less need to return to the polar seas and bleed into the water. His skin is getting tougher, his face feels positively stone. His responsibilities are becoming onerous and reality is growing more absolute as time ticks by. His destiny is approaching far too quickly. An emptiness pools within Michael's chest at the mere thought of it; He feels unsure.

    Perhaps it's time he paid a visit to his sibling.

    The wavering thought comes and goes. Michael procrastinates, engrossing himself in his own duties. However, the idea doesn't relent, and it sticks with him like a whispering conscience. Michael affirmatively considers it as a sign from Father; Whether it be a lie to himself derived from longing, he has a hard time deciphering.

   The stones embedded into Heaven's ground guide him, a path that dredges up memories that now leave a bitter taste on his tongue. Raphael seemingly hasn't changed the boulevard to their garden at all. Only the lanky trees that have flourished with age anchor him to the reality that he's not reliving his childhood from within the sea; He's really approaching Raphael's garden. 

    One step at a time. Michael finds the simple task more difficult than he anticipated. A part of him advises sprinting back and never returning—Though that's something he would never do to Raphael, frightened or not. Not with the crippling vacancy of two brothers already; He could never leave Raphael all alone for the rest of eternity.

   When Michael finally reaches the garden, it's just as beautiful as he remembers it to be. Looming banyan trees with intricate bark swirls, the lavender of wildly blossoming aster flowers, stretches of mushroom-lined herb harvests. Raphael hasn't lost their green thumb. Michael simply stares, starstruck.

   He almost expects to see a flash of golden feathers, a toothy beam from a giddy fledgling. Perhaps the sight of vermillion eyes and a playful grin. He has to catch his balance when he's drawn from his sullen reverie; Gabriel and Lucifer are truly absent and a familiar face is approaching him.

   Michael had imagined that Raphael would appear differently. Maybe it was simply the effect of completely blocking out each memory he'd held of the fledglings he'd raised and loved dearly ever since his time drifting among safe seas. Aside from the slight development of their physical form, Raphael's essence hasn't changed one bit. Infinite piercing white eyes, the countless feathers of indigo that swayed in harmony with their garden. Raphael's presence feels the exact same as before their family went into ruins.

   Raphael looks a bit confused, albeit delighted. Michael is astonished that he can still read Raphael like an open book, despite all the years he'd isolated himself from his cherished sibling. It's as if the skies were clearing at that exact moment, the banyan trees leaning in, the aster flowers dancing, the herb harvest sprouting further. Raphael's halo burns like the sun, and it drags Michael back to the memory of the first time he'd seen it light up that bright: A serene fledgling's very first reaction to their big brother's smile.

    It's too much. 

   The hardened skin around Michael's face still isn't strong enough. It's far too late when he realizes it. Fragments of the thickened skin begin to crack like rifts in a broken doll of porcelain and peel away like old wallpaper. The soft surface underneath is falling, slipping away as it had all those years ago into the arctic ocean. There's no icy relief this time, and his eyes strangely burn.

   Michael can no longer hold up the face he'd raised for all of Heaven, the façade of a ruthless Warrior feared by his own family. He's eroding, breaking, weak. A leak of the polar ice is upon his cheeks and seeping from his eyes. His chest feels tight, breath lost to what feels like ocean water internally flooding his physical being. Michael doesn't recognize what's happening to him. 

   And then, he is actually slipping. The entire universe's weight seems to crash upon him, and Michael is falling to his knees. Engorged tears soak into the soil of his sibling's garden. He chases his breath, but his own voice only quivers in response. It's all creeping up on him, making up for lost time. Everything Michael has ever known is gone. Everything Michael has ever loved is gone. Michael himself is gone.

   The sea wouldn't be enough to soothe him. Memories of golden feathers and vermillion eyes plague him like an unrelenting disease. He finds he is no longer able to bury himself and hide behind his front. 

   At first, Michael doesn't perceive Raphael kneeling in front of him. It's only when he feels arms pull him into an embrace when he comprehends that he's finally allowed himself to feel anything at all once again. It's freeing, it's terrifying. Raphael's light is warm, their touch is unbelievably gentle. Michael feels safe to be himself. He feels safe to be vulnerable.

    "I'm still here, Michael." 

    Raphael is still here. Michael permits himself to believe they will stay with him.

#SPNArchangelWeek #GUYS HELP ME FIND THAT POST WHERE IT WAS LIKE: #'i should have gotten to see michael cry at least once' BECAUSE I CANT FIND THE POST AND THATS WHAT THIS WAS INSPIRED BY LMAO #my fics

[bella-caecilia]

Could I possibly request #11 reliability?

Thank you for the prompt <3 I hope I included enough of the colour symbolism. Again, set somewhere in series 1. I hope you enjoy this Cobert fluff!

Brown – Reliability

She pulled his arm closer. Walking like this beside him was much warmer than walking alone or a few feet apart (something they had done very early on for a very short period, and Cora had hated it with all her guts) but it still wasn’t warm enough. It seemed rather impractical to only have the small area of their arms touch and spend each other warmth but this was the best they could do on a walk.

“I can’t believe Sybil will be presented at court next summer,” Cora voiced aloud what had been on her mind all day.

It was a day in October and after the sun had dried the leaves a little after yesterday’s constant drizzle Cora had waited eagerly in the doorway of the library for Robert to finish his correspondence and join her on their walk over the amber-coloured grounds. Robert was rather occupied today so that Cora had a lot of time on hand to ponder about the next season she was planning already. It was nice to have Robert now with her and to talk about what tormented her thoughts.

“But you have started the first preparations weeks ago,” Robert gave back. Their looks were directed at the path in front of them. Cora didn’t turn her head very often because, with the great proximity to her husband she had created, the expansive brim of her hat was precariously close to his neck. Their eyes took in the variety of brown and yellow nature that stretched along the horizon.

“I know,” she sighed. “But don’t you feel like she is still so young, our little girl? Presenting her at court means subsequently marrying her off to a gentleman, a Lord, faraway. This is all happening much too fast,” Cora whispered the last words into the wind, letting them being carried away. But Robert would get them nevertheless.

“Mary’s season was years ago and she still isn’t married. They will stay much longer with us than you think.” They passed by the place to usually take a short break on their walks. The bench under the large tree stayed empty today, though.

Yes, Mary wasn’t married, and Cora knew why it was so hard to find a match for her. They didn’t even speak of Edith. But Sybil, Sybil was a whole other deal.

“Don’t forget that it’s sweet Sybil we are talking about. She will charm every eligible gentleman because opposed to Mary, she is intrinsically kind and so very amiable. She is easy to love.”

“That’s because she is most like you.” Robert’s statement sounded like a corrupting compliment but his tone wasn’t any less serious than throughout their prior talk.

“Sybil has a much stronger will of her own and is much more innovative than me,” Cora commented matter-of-factly.

“Well, it’s not me either from whom she has her innovatively modern streak.” Robert stirred them down a path they didn’t take very often in the warmer months because it avoided all the flower gardens and beds. But that didn’t matter in October.

“Right, and her stubbornness is also nothing she inherited from you,” Cora gave back sarcastically. Robert didn’t respond to this but with a silent snort.

“But she is sweeter in her stubborn demeanour,” Cora added in a low tone. She watched him from the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction to her taunting comment.

“Hmm, yes, I love you too,” he grumbled in response. His elbow nudged her slightly in the side against her corseted ribs. She chuckled lightly and patted his upper arm placatingly.

They walked together silently for a while. Robert at her side like a windbreaker, not really bothered by her teasing, Cora fell back into pondering. Her throat slowly lost the memory of her chuckle as her darker thoughts about the next London season pushed to the forefront of her mind again.

“I don’t want to let her go, Robert,” she whispered.

Now it was Robert who pulled her hands closer to his arm. His bigger palms covered hers in the crook of his arm. “Sybil won’t go if it isn’t right. She always knew her way, and it will be the same now. And I also know you will support her in what is right for her,” he assured, and his voice became so velvety that Cora wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck or against his chest. “And I will be there with you.”

“I know you will. And I will make her season the most beautiful for her.”

“Of course, you will.”

Robert’s choice of route for their walk guided them to the edge of the forest that bordered the grounds in the south. A row of nearly scarlet-coloured bushes greeted them from afar. The spectacle of autumnal colours was a real treat on their otherwise by harsh wind and cold temperatures marked walk. As they plodded down the gravely way, mostly parallel to the woods, one shade of brown was relieved by another one and yet another one. Cora tried to link her arm more tightly with Robert’s to fully enjoy the comforting palette of warm hues of the brown leaves in the radiance of his heating body. She didn’t know what comforted her more the warm brown vision in front of her or his body next to her.

“Can we make a short detour into the woods?” she asked after a moment.

“If you wish so. I don’t want to overexert you. The weather can change again in no time,” he gave back.

“It will only be a few steps inside,” Cora assured.

…

Inside the forest Robert let Cora choose the way. Outside he had guided them down the paths as he always did. They had their usual route that he variegated here and there slightly. But Cora seemed determined now to explore the grounds and so he let her take the lead. Robert couldn’t quite tell what criteria affected her choice of paths. But knowing his wife, he assumed she followed where nature looked most inviting. He tried to see the trees around with her eyes. But he mostly saw oaks, beeches, and pine trees. One or two times he had to help her across broken branches that lay on the paths. He assisted her in gathering her skirts since it proved a quite demanding task with one of her arms linked to his.

Cora halted at a minor crossroads. She stood right in a ray of the October sun and looked into the depth of the forest.

“It all looks nearly golden,” she said. With her right hand, she pointed somewhere into the trees. “Look how the bark absorbs the warm light. The sun makes the trees shine.”

“I see,” he said, still searching for the exact point she referred to. The gap in the trees, that let in the light to illuminate the tree bark and Cora, also allowed entrance to the wind. A gust came their way, and it wasn’t only dead leaves that swirled around Robert but also the scent of Cora’s hair and perfume. It was a rather nice experience he wouldn’t have expected out here in the woods.

“I want to feel the wind, Robert,” she said as she looked down the narrowing path into the woods. She had to hold onto her hat because gusts tried to grip and abstract it into the distance. Robert furrowed his brow.

“Don’t you feel it?” he asked a little confused. As she turned her face to him, he noticed her rosy cheeks and nose.

“That’s not exactly what I mean. I want to feel it for real,” Cora explained. Her gloved hands now began fiddling with her hat. Only when she pulled out a long hat pin, Robert realised her intention.

“Could please help me for a moment?” she asked.

“Uhm, sure.” Robert let her arm go to ease her task and waited for further instructions.

“If you would please assist me taking off the hat. We can try to keep my hair at least a little put together.” Robert took hold of the brim of her hat and tried his best at taking it off carefully. Cora in the meanwhile secured her coif with her fingers that pushed underneath the hat slightly and pressed the curls to her head. Robert lifted the grey accessory ever so slowly and handed it to her afterwards.

“I feel like I can breathe again,” Cora sighed relieved. Robert had to chuckle. He could never imagine the nonsensical ideas his dear wife came up with. She shook her head slightly in the wind and instantly a few strands of chocolate brown hair tumbled down. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to experience nature armoured against all its merits with these extensive attires,” she explained a little annoyed. For a brief moment, he could Cora as the young girl she once was before he got to know her, running around freely in the woods and on the beaches in the American home of her childhood. And then, after a few seconds, there was the calm and properly dressed Countess again.

“You would freeze without it,” Robert reminded her.

Cora turned around again, looking into the light forest with her hat clutched to her front. She didn’t respond to his last comment but breathed in the fresh wind. Robert came up behind her. Her curls played in the wind. Her coiffure fell apart more and more, and she looked more enticing with every second. The chocolate curls danced while she stood there unmoving. Only the rise and fall of her shoulders, padded in her thick coat, told of the deep breathes she took and of the deliberate movement of her chest.

Robert approached her until he was able to wrap his arms around her. Tentatively he first rested his palms on her shoulders but he didn’t want to oppress her interaction with the wind. His hands on her waist felt much better anyway. Her hair flew around his face and tickled his cheeks.

Cora took good care, he thought suddenly. Nothing that affected their family, their dear girls, escaped her notice. Nothing that had to be done slipped through her fingers. She secured Sybil the greatest coming out ball and the most enjoyable season, and she looked so closely that Sybil would do well when their daughter would leave their caring arms. Robert needn’t worry about any of the girls’ future. Cora was there and she took care where he could never reach. He just had to give her all the stability and comfort she needed, all the stability and comfort he could give. He pressed his cheek to the side of her head. Her hair was soft at his slightly stubbly cheek, and he probably destroyed her coif even more but the wind had already done its deed so he didn’t really give it much thought. Cora leaned back against his chest so that their breathing of the wind synchronised. She was like a hot water bottle in his arms as the wind blew around them. His back and arms began freezing but Cora was pressed to his front, and he could bury his nose in her brown tresses. Knowing she was there with him gave him all the comfort and warmth he needed right now.

#cobert fanfiction #cobert drabble #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #s1 #downton abbey fanfiction #downton abbey #cobert fluff

[wolfpupp]

Writing prompt: Autumn

Rating: M

Summary: It's autumn in the Bavarian Forest and Zemo is accompanied by a special guest for a tea ceremony and an intimate encounter.

Their path is obscured by a thick blanket of leaves that feels soft and welcoming underfoot. A gentle breath of autumn stirs them to dance — bright yellow sycamore, brilliant red maple and burnt orange ash swirl together and lift upward, touching the bark of their host trees with what feels like reverence and a bittersweet goodbye. The air is crisp and the afternoon sky is blue as a turquoise sea. As they walk hand in hand, she considers the sad pangs of autumn, which remind her that moments are brief — fleeting, and the passage of time slows for no one in the tumult of the world. She squeezes her baron’s hand just a little bit harder as an anxiousness creeps into her mind and works at the hairs on the back of her neck. Like all things and the seasons, these moments, too, shall end.

Helmut darts her a glance and a half-smile. “Everything alright, golubica?” He asks, returning the squeeze of her hand with one of his own.

“Yeah, of course,” she says, coaxing a full smile and a sparkling laugh that’s conjured by the butterflies in her stomach when he calls her dove in his native tongue. Her eyes glance over to find his, and she can’t help but feel as though their chestnut irises are auras against the landscape. It’s as though he embodies autumn with his warm stare and the golden-brown of his carefully groomed hair. His complexion is pale, but his brow is dark and defined; his lips, a line like a quiet and easy stream that hides unexpected depth and danger.

The Bavarian Forest is a mysterious, old and magical place — one that she never expected to see with him. She wonders how long the fantasy will last before he’s wrenched from her once again and thrust back into the consequences of his decisions. For now, though, they stroll — their boots pushing against the soft surface of the earth, and the ends of their coats tapping together in harmony.

“We’ll stop just up here,” he points to a small clearing encircled by spruce and fir trees.

In response, she shifts the pack on her shoulder and brushes errant hairs that the forest air has encouraged in front of her eyes. It’s clear that he’s been to this place before, and she wonders about with whom.

When they reach the clearing, it becomes obvious that although remote, it’s a known spot for passers-through. There is a variety of large rocks scattered throughout that have been flattened over time by the resting hides of previous visitors, probably over the course of many centuries.

Helmut hastens his pace ahead of her and sweeps over a few spots with his feet until the sole of his boot finds a ring of stones that at one time housed a campfire. He smiles with satisfaction, and gestures to her to approach and sit. He offloads the pack from his own shoulder and motions for the one that she carries. As he starts to build a tidy fire, she pulls her coat around her more tightly against the cooling of the late afternoon.

The sun filters its rays through swaying branches and sharp pine leaves, and it’s as though she watches him through a lens that progressively moves him farther and farther from her. His movements are calculated and meaningful; his fingers drift over the tea kettle, spoons, scoops and mugs like a composer’s. He is quiet as he works while they are serenaded by birds and an orchestra of air movement amid creaking bark, vines and leaves.

“Hela?” She starts, almost immediately remorseful. He hums at her in acknowledgment because he knows what she’s going to ask.

“Never mind, it’s not important,” she returns, and he pours boiling water from the kettle into a humble teapot over strong black tea.

Helmut returns to a standing position and rubs his hands together, looking skyward and scanning their surroundings for the first time since they arrived.

“I love this time of year,” he says. As he paces, lost in thought, the smoke of the fire and the steam of the tea rise and whirl about him as the hem of his open wool coat coaxes the elements into a choreographed ballet. Everything is in motion, and he becomes more than Baron Helmut Zemo. He is everything rich and ancient in the world — an alchemist, a conjurer, a druid, a seer, a Byzantine warrior, a Slavic fire god.

Returning to his task, he rinses the tea, replaces it in the pot with fresh boiling water, and allows it to steep for a few moments before adding mint and sugar. When he is satisfied, he pours the brew into two mugs. He stokes their little campfire before joining her on the flat rock that she selected as a seat. His leg presses against hers and he hands her the steaming elixir, which hits her senses with a recollection of something far away and unfamiliar — like a memory she could only understand in a dream.

He brushes her hair aside and contemplates her profile as she stares down into her tea mug.

“You are sad today,” he says.

She takes a sip of the tea and gazes out on the clearing before turning to meet the moon of his face, which is only inches from hers. Her eyes dart about, locating their favorite points — his lashes, the circles under his eyes that are just a little darker in the waning sun, the spread of his nose and cheeks, his clenched jawline.

“Sometimes, I don’t think I know who you are,” she says quietly, reaching up with a tea-warmed hand and touching at the flesh of his cheek.

He leans closer and rests his lips on hers. His touch is light and velvety, and she applies the tiniest bit of pressure to feel their heat. A desire begins to cut into her gut and work at the space between her thighs because like the fire, forest, smoke and ash, she moves at his command.

She pulls away to take another large draught of tea, allowing the mint and sugar to wash into her mouth and flavor her tongue. She rests the mug beside her and swivels to straddle his lap. He sets his own mug aside and weaves his hands into her coat. Leaning in slowly, she opens her mouth against him and the flavors of their lips meld — sweet herbaceousness and the bitter, primeval taste of the tea. In her mind and on the wind, she can hear music, a brooding lament invoked by the sounds of tagelharpa, drums, flutes and voices that she doesn’t know and can’t understand.

He presses against her center, eager to feel her warmth and lust, and he kisses her neck as his hands snake under her clothes to find the flesh of her breasts. She exhales forcefully as her eyes flutter closed and he watches her face as it turns from tempered delight to shameless yearning.

The campfire warms her back and she considers what it would feel like to be lost, naked and ensnared with him in the forest’s embrace.

“What did you want to ask me,” he whispers at her, his hot breath raising gooseflesh on her arms.

She pauses, her hands falling to his sides and pushing precisely against the muscles and sinew under his sweater.

“You’ve been to this place before,” she says.

“Yes,” he replies, studying her, awaiting her follow-up. As he does so, his fingers tighten on the insides of her thighs, and she shifts distractedly. “With my wife,” he continues.

She trembles slightly against her uncertainty, wanting and the approach of evening, and he takes her face in his hands. She makes to speak, but he quiets her. Sparks from the fire reach into the air and throw stars into the black mirrors of his eyes. Her heart strikes hard and she fights back emotion by closing her eyes and taking a deep breath of the late autumn evening on this, their forest walk.

“But it was never like this,” he whispers against the curve of her ear. Her hands tighten around his biceps because she aches to hear it. “Not like with you.”

#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x female reader #zemo x oc #fanfiction #zemo fanfiction #zemo fanfic #autumn #writing prompt #marvel #this is a personal fantasy why not share it with the world

[atypicalsenerio]

—hit refresh, dancer mastery drabble

Soren’s hips didn’t lie because they never said much of anything.

He’d chosen a deserted clearing a little ways from the monastery to practice dancing, and so far the golden bangles and dark green outfit weren’t solving his peppiness deficient by any means.

He clenched his jaw, frustrated as he tried to catch his breath from another failed dance. Ballroom dancing was one thing- memorized steps to coordinate with a partner. It was similar to a combat drill in that sense. He had little issue with the physical steps needed, but to actually dance by himself?

There were things that couldn’t be learned right out of a book, and this was one of them.

The magic was failing because he clearly wasn’t enjoying himself or doing anything more than a drill. Where there was no energy generated, there was no spirit to give.

Soren took a deep breath and closed his eyes to focus. He tried to imagine he was somewhere with music, like back at the Ethereal Ball or the dance at the Gloucester estate.

Neither his heart nor heels lifted.

Dancing was usually an expression of joy. He focused instead on trying to find something inside that made him truly happy.

A few sad seconds passed.

Time with Ike was steeped in the closest thing he felt to happiness.

The feast after the Golden Deer won the Battle of Eagle and Lion made for a decent memory, but it was less pure joy and more a subtle feeling of acceptance, of getting to relax in the backdrop of a community. Personal accomplishments such as solving a tactical puzzle or finishing inventory back when he was a staff officer didn’t make him want to drop low, pop, lock, or shake any extremity of his body either. Much of his better memories were of simple contentment.

There had to be a way to get himself moving, bubbling like the fizzy drinks at the ball.

He scrunched his face up.

Dancing on the battlefield to rally someone more suited to a task than him would require a sense of urgency. That would do.

Soren took his position and imagined he was back in the most recent battle, fighting for his life, and instead of being able to command someone to move, he had to dance to get them to obey, the more movement the better. Like cheerleading, but with marginally more clothes on.

He danced frantically but with practiced precision, letting adrenaline fueled passion dictate his sharp but energetic movements as he spun and twirled. The bangles on the outfit clinked aggressively to his dancing and the beat fueled him even more to end in a dramatic stance. The moment his dance was done he thrust his palms forward, as though passing his racing heartbeat and energy to someone else, and finally magic swirled through the air like a breeze to the space before him where it disappeared into nothing.

Soren leaned forward, hands on his thighs to catch his breath again.

“This is best saved for only the most darkest and dire of circumstances.”

#drabble #dancer drabble #ic #//I’m sorry to whichever mod reads this when I send in the mastery ask xkxdbjsbd

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH124

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 124: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XIV)

Qi Leren's hesitation fell on Su He's eyes. He looked at him in consternation, and a little injured look appeared in his eyes, making Qi Leren feel ashamed: "Are you doubting me?"

Qi Leren had a cramp in his stomach and did not dare to look Su He in the eye, but still insisted: "Sorry, I need some proof... Please answer me, where was the first time we met?"

If the monster was pretending to be Su He in front of him, he may have watched them since they entered the Holy City, so he had to ask something that it would never know.

Su He looked at him deeply, showing a hint of melancholy under the faint candlelight next to his beautiful face, which was then concealed by the gentle smile in his eyes: "In the hospital that was your Novice Village, I disguised as an ordinary player and completed the task with you."

With his judgement proven wrong, Qi Leren swallowed his saliva and blushed awkwardly: "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I thought you were the monster..."

Dr. Lu, who was nervous on the side, also breathed a sigh of relief: "It scared me to death. I really thought you were the monster just now."

"It is a good thing that you should have such vigilance, it will let you avoid the tragedy caused by credulity in many cases." Su He smiled and blinked at Qi Leren again. "Now you can give me the memento."

The ashamed Qi Leren had no face here. He turned his face and handed the brooch to Su He…

A knock came on the door, and a gentle and familiar voice came from outside. It was Su He who said, "I'm coming in."

“……”

“!!!”

“?!”

Qi Leren jumped from the chair like he’d been given an electric shock, the brooch was put away again, and the dagger was stabbed out - the "Su He" in the before him shoved himself back in the chair, avoiding the dagger’s attack, a stack of books was overturned, the teacup was overturned, and the sound of the chair sliding on the floor completely filled the library.

Hearing the movement inside the door, Su He, who stood outside, flung open the door, stretched his right hand forward, and opened his fingers in the void - Qi Leren and the monster who were fighting felt their bodies sink, especially the standing Qi Leren, who found himself thrown to the ground.

It was so heavy, it felt like he was weighed down by a few hundred pounds and couldn't get up at all!

The weight on his body suddenly disappeared again, and Qi Leren drifted uncontrollably and was placed in the chair to the side in good condition. He looked at the sluggish Dr. Lu, but the monster disguised as Su He had changed his appearance, and turned out to be the little girl with golden hair! She was also pressed to the ground by the terrible gravity. The complicated and beautiful dress skirt was heavily attached to her back as if wet, which made her unable to move. She said in a forced voice: "It is worthy of... a field level..."

Su He's hand that was stretched out in the air slowly lifted and the suppressed blonde girl floated up. The scattered blonde hair blocked her face. She suddenly gave a strange laugh: "Fortunately... I didn't come in person..."

With that said, her body exploded with a loud noise and turned into a mass of gray smoke. In the fog, a blue-black butterfly struggled to flap its wings, fell to the ground under the pressure of horrible gravity, and turned into a mass of burning flame.

Su He frowned and said regretfully, "It's a pity that she wasn’t the host body. She was almost caught."

"My God, I almost fell for it, but this guy is too unlucky. He just happened to hit the right button twice..." With that, Dr. Lu, who was in shock, turned his head and looked at Qi Leren. "It’s like she was your sister, she had the same horrible strain of luck as you."

"...Shut up." Qi Leren said depressedly.

This mysterious little girl should be the same person, or the same thing, as the one he’d seen on the terrace, and she was probably a demon, but how had she known about his first meeting with Su He? How could she possibly know?

Qi Leren searched his memories, and finally he realized a possibility.

On the first night when he’d come to the Holy City, he’d met the little girl on the terrace. She said, "Let's dream together." That night, he’d dreamed of the past... almost fast-forward his experience after entering the Nightmare World, until cutting off at the panic from the Castle. Now that he thought about it, "she" appeared on the terrace not only to scare him, but rather to spy on his memory. But why had his dream come to an abrupt end when he was about to see his laptop? Had he consciously stopped her in his dream, or was it because…

Qi Leren was a little afraid to think about it.

Dr. Lu was giving Su He a run down of what happened just now. Qi Leren added a few words. After Su He finished listening, he smiled calmly and looked at Qi Leren slowly: "If it were me, I would let you continue to hold the memento, and then take good care of you."

Qi Leren's face felt a little burnt. Su He's voice was soft and sexy, just like a man broadcasting on a radio station in the middle of the night. What was more frightening was that he was still very good-looking. Not being fascinated at this time could only prove that his sexual orientation was very firm.

"I... I'd better keep the brooch for you," Qi Leren said, staring at his tea because he was a little afraid to look at Su He.

"No, anyway, we will act together later, and maybe we’ll need to fish her out with this thing..." Su He said.

"All right." Qi Leren was now scared of this invincible monster. "Since we’re all here, let's act together. Speaking of it, where is Ning Zhou?"

Ning Zhou, who was being remembered, was standing alone in the cold night wind. He stood at the top of the castle with his arms crossed, monitoring everything around him. The eagle hovered in the moonless night sky and flew in the wind. Unlike an ordinary eagle, the eagle had excellent night vision and could see its prey move from thousands of meters away.

Nothing unusual, nothing at all.

There was silence around the castle. Looking from the top of the castle, no household had lit a lamp. Even the oil lamp on the main road had gone out, and the whole Holy City was shrouded in horrible darkness.

Although the disaster of the new moon would start at midnight, he was worried that there would be an accident. Ning Zhou had waited here since nightfall…

The eagle hovering overhead let out a loud cry, and a longbow appeared in Ningzhou's hand. He pulled the string and the bow bent, pointing to the direction in which the devil's energy appeared.

On the castle terrace, a group of blue-black butterflies gushed out wildly and flew into the endless night sky in the night wind. Their butterfly wings were inlaid with sapphire-like color blocks, as if pairs of devil's eyes were blinking. The night messengers fluttered gracefully in the wind and fled.

Dark arrows shot out in the moonless night, and the sharp arrows disappeared into the darkness with the crisp sound of surprise when the bowstring was loosed. The dancing butterflies were broken by strange forces, falling heavily and burning brilliantly, and they all swirled like fireworks coming to an end. In the burning butterfly rain, a sweet little girl's light laughter sounded:

"Don't be impatient, I’ll come to you soon..."

The voice dispersed, and those blue-black butterflies seemed to be a beautiful dream in the night, disappearing in an instant.

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Editor’s Note: [Here’s some fanart], once again by coffeefox, of Ning Zhou using his bow 😊

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

[quartzcraft-mc]

A Tale of Foxblossom

[Word Count - 1637]

For our Pride Month Competition, we hosted a few compeitions including an Writing Competition! Thunderbird25 was voted for 1st place with their amazing piece called ‘A Tale of Foxblossom’. Thunder wrote a lovely story including some of the other player’s OC’s within the story as well as their own, depicting a normal day on the server!

VVV Read Below!!! VVV

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She stared at the map in her hands. Then squinted. Pressing her face to the worn paper, she mentally calculated how far it was from here, in Foxblossom, to the railway line west of her current spot.

It was maybe a thousand blocks? But the ground wasn't totally flat- she'd walked the distance and left her both winded and wet, having crossed through a swamp and back- If she went as the crow flies- no, should she? That would mean digging a tunnel, and who knew how long that would take.

This was making her brain hurt, but that might have been the eye strain.

With a deep sigh, she picked up her diamond shovel. Fully enchanted - of course, it was her – but it had several thin cracks running through the wood handle and extended underneath the blade. She should make a new one; this would break soon. Future her problem!

She had a plan. She would mark out a road five blocks wide and dig in a straight line until she met the railway.

This was going to take forever.

Thunder wasn’t entirely sure why she'd decided to dig a road about a thousand blocks long, only that she'd woken up one day and had had nothing to do. She… didn't like to stay still. Better to be productive, to do things with her mind and hands. It kept her occupied, kept her from fretting, from worrying. Of course, it helped to have a schedule.

Not that she didn’t have lots to do- she had her shop at the mall to stock, resources to gather, the Lorebary to manage –

But she was just so tired. Her sleep had been abysmal recently, filled with nightmares and strange images. Sometimes it was of her home, going up in flames. Other times, it was of the End, looking into a memory of the people there- those dreams, she suspected, may actually be real. On the other hand, maybe it was her magic reacting to the magic in her elytra. But, of course, who knew if it was real or not? Regardless, she was feeling a bit crummy and needed to just go. Do something mindnumbing and repetitive. It had helped when she first went to the swamp. Maybe it would help now? Tire herself out enough that she could actually sleep for once?

The logistics were a little tricky- but she figured she could dig a small initial tunnel then widen it later. Getting up at the crack of dawn was a bit of a struggle – it was bloody freezing, her breath misting and turning to ice as she breathed. She could see Annika at her farm, taking her animals out to graze – the small figure whistled and gave a brief wave as she turned back to her cows. Thunder smiled, giving a wave back before she trudged towards the town centre.

Her boots crunched on the dirt and gravel path, loud and intrusive in the early morning. It felt like she was disturbing the stillness that hung in the air, like she was the only one here, awake. There was no breeze – thankfully since the temperature was certainly cold enough! The land was asleep. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd chosen to come to such a cold place – it was a far cry from her homeland and the Nether, places made of fire, of heat, of never-ending summers. Winters were considered a distant dream, a fantasy in the relentless land of sweat and discomfort and danger. She still remembered her first bushfire – on the outskirts of her city, the smoke staining the sky black with ash falling from the sky like snow. It was terrifying, the thousand block fire-front creeping ever closer; would they lose their homes like the other towns? It had lasted a good week, with casualties and refugees streaming in from the surrounding cities; lives had been spared, homes lost.

It was a stray storm, traveling south from the battered northern regions, that turned the tide.

Smoke had hung in the air for weeks afterward; it was in her hair, her clothes. Soon, it was considered odd to not smell smoke; fires were commonplace. But here? The cold felt like it gripped the land in a lover's embrace, a different kind of danger. One that she wasn't used to.

She had reached the edge of the town center, her mind running away from her. Focus, now. Yes, her self-appointed task. She tended to use whatever supplies she had on hand - birch and oak planks, gathered by herself, with extra bought from the mall. She figured she’d work as she went, but this would take a while. The road would start next to the town map and visitor’s log- cutting directly west, through the birch and oak forest, the swamp, and the spruce forest.

Shoveling out the dirt was easy, under the effects of the nearby beacon and her enchanted shovel. She just needed to shore up the sides as she went- cobble worked well enough, and enough was lying around. The stone was tricker- her enchanted pickaxe still made short work of the stone, carving deep gashes in the earth before being scraped away- but it was backbreaking work, and she quickly tired. Falling into a routine was easy- it was similar to carving out her swamp base, both relaxing and mind-numbing at the same time.

She'd dug out the first stretch of the tunnel, taking a few days. It was maybe a third of the way. She'd just finished putting up the torches - she'd dealt with enough mobs with her recent adventures, she just wanted a break!- when footsteps echoed down the rough tunnel. A soft purple gleam in the darkness caught her eye when she turned, and the footsteps got closer-

“Thunder! Wow, this is a long tunnel. How long have you been building it for?" Marina's cheerful voice echoed off the tunnel walls, bouncing and amplifying. She grinned, wearing enchanted netherite and carrying a complete set of enchanted netherite tools - Thunder's own tools were looking a tad shabby at the moment.

Thunder paused, standing up to stretch and rest her arms for the moment. They hurt, aching fiercely, with nicks and scratches from where she'd been hit by flying debris and her own occasional clumsiness. Then, scratching the back of her head, she shrugged with a smile. "What day is it?"

“Sunday.”

"Day three, then." The other woman blinked. “Woooow, that’s a while. Are you going to the railway?”

"Yeah, I figured it might be handy to have a railway connecting Foxblossom to the track. Didn't think it would take this long though," Thunder laughed, sheepish. She shrugged. "I still need to put down a proper path, though. I was planning on using oak wood and birch."

“Oh, okay! Would you like some help, nya?” Marina tilted her head to the side, swirling her pickaxe.

Thunder blinked. She was offering to help dig the rest of the way? It was still over five hundred blocks. “I… wouldn’t say no?”

"Nya, of course, dear! What do you need me to do?"

She was too kind. Showing Marina, the tunnel's dimensions was easy. Then the woman set off, digging with a single-minded focus that was honestly impressive. Thunder had finished placing the wood path down for the first section, and turning back to the next chunk of the track, she found-

A massive tunnel, carved through the nearby hill, sunlight filtering through to the other side of the tunnel. It glinted off the swamp water and Marina's armour, catching her eye. The other woman was already constructing a path across the water out of stone and brick. It looked strong enough to support a rudimentary path and would work well enough. There was idle chatter as they worked to build the bridge across, the sun making its slow march across the sky. Thunder only noticed when she stood up to stretch and wipe her forehead on her sleeve. It was hard work, and her armour was being safely stored within her inventory. A vast array of colours were splashed across the sky, the sun painting the clouds a mix of orange, pink and purple hues.

It was- it was beautiful. The light filtered through the spindly leaves of the spruce trees, casting soft, growing shadows across the ground, dancing in the water near them. Clouds were painted varying shades of pink, ringed by bright, golden light. Water lapped softly against the edge of the bridge, the wind slowly picking up. Thunder placed her pickaxe on the wood next to her, swinging her legs over the side. The water was cold, almost shockingly so against her bare feet, and the night was slowly encroaching on them. She could just hear the call of a phantom starting to prowl the sky and the low, baritone moan of a zombie. The gurgle of a drowned and the skittering of a nearby spider. Danger, reasons to go home.

Marina plonked down next to her, giving her a smile, turning to watch the sunset. Fierce, burning happiness sparked through her, from her freezing toes to her stomach, to her heart and head. Things might be a bit messy and may not be okay, but she was so fucking glad to be here. To be tired after a long day's work, with a friend next to her, enjoying one of the best sunsets she'd seen in a long time. Once the sun had set, the sky a deep, indigo purple, she'd stood up, offering Marina a hand. They'd made their way back to town, parting ways with a soft goodbye. It seemed… wrong, almost, to disturb this strange feeling of peace.

It would take a few days of work to finish the road. But she slept easier that night.

#minecraft #minecraft server #lgbt minecraft #pride month competition 2021 #minecraft smp #QCFanart #writing #QCSurvival #story

[wiirttwood]

TASK 004:::….. WRITTEN IN THE STARS

Name: Wirt Wood Age: Thirty-four Date of Birth: June 22, 1985 Sun: Cancer Ascendant: Aquarius Moon: Leo Positive Traits: Has an Intuitive Understanding of the “Vibes” Around, Quite Generous and Caring, Very Sentimental, Excellent Memory Negative Traits: Tends to Withdraw Into Self, Very Insecure and Selfish, Emotions Tends to Rule Thought Process, Very Stubborn

#citask #citask4 #[ our long bygone burdens; mere echoes of the spring: headcanons ] #[ dancing in a swirl; of golden memories: tasks ] #[ how the gentle wind; beckons through the leaves; as autumn colors fall: aesthetics ]

[alloveroliver]

Vincent x MC "Masterpiece."

Rating: Fluff to Smut 18+

A|N: This goes from “Aww.” to “:O” really fking fast. 

WC: 3,300+

Ikemen Vampire Fanfic

Without cars and crowds, the evening wind picked up nothing but serene sounds. Crickets gently chirped, and leafs quietly brushed one another. The branches rustled together, making an organic symphony that the wind carried up to the balcony you leaned on.

Vincent’s warm hands ran up and down your forearms, warming your chilled skin. From behind, he bent forward and nipped at the shell of your ear. 

“Is that better?” His silky hands moved faster, creating heated friction. 

“Mmm,” You relished in the sensation. “Much better.”

His gentle chuckle against your pulse made you wiggle into him. Vincent pressed his solid chest against your back and sighed. “Maybe if you were wearing more than just my shirt, you wouldn’t be so chilly.” 

“I just want to be out here for a moment. The fresh air is nice.” You pressed your lips together into a thin line and angled your face to him. “Don’t you agree?”

Crystal clear eyes, unintentionally smoldering, met yours. “If only I found fresh air as pleasurable as you do.” 

“You can’t be satiated, can you?” You cocked a brow. You grew closer and swept your lips over his warm temple. 

“Neither can you, my darling.” 

It was the truth; in fact, everyone in the mansion knew this fact at this point. Neither of you left the confines of Vincent's large room in over a day, barely leaving 48 hours prior to attending a special dinner hosted by Comte himself. It was ‘mandatory,’ according to Sebastian, who you understood to be trying to get you two to socialize once again with the house members. 

At dinner, Vincent couldn’t behave himself, and you too felt the shroud of lust still looming over your heads. The result of a new relationship with someone who you had extreme chemistry with. His fingers teased your inner thighs, and his lips met your neck and mouth many times before Isaac asked not-so-kindly to ‘get a room.’ Sebastian tisked, and Arthur winked as Vincent obliged, pulling you by the hand until you made it back to his room. 

“I don’t deny that.” Your thoughts were brought back to the present moment, to your handsome boyfriend clinging to you. Biting your lips, you cupped his cheek in your hand to angle his mouth to yours. He met you with fervent youthful energy. 

His fingers slid through your hair as he kissed you again and again. “I have a new idea. It’s something to help your muscles relax.”

“Is that so? What does this idea entail?” You hooked your arms around his neck and let the sparkling sky be the backdrop of your view. 

“I want to paint your body.” His nose brushed yours, making his golden hair tickle your warm skin. 

“That does sound amazing. Even if you are the reason for my sore muscles.” 

His chuckle was light and airy. Warm breath danced over your skin as he pulled you in for a sensual kiss.

Back in the bedroom, you pulled your hair up into a top-knot bun and slowly unbuttoned the oversized shirt you’d borrowed from your boyfriend. Vincent was always gracious enough to let you borrow his clothes during the time spent in his room. It was only lightly stained with streaks of blues and oranges, a painting shirt that engulfed you in his soothing scent. 

“Slower.” He tilted his head down from where he sat on the floor. His eyes darkened, and his bangs cast a shadow over his features. “Undress slower for me.” 

You halted at the button below your breasts, twining the button flirtatiously before removing it from the slit. It was a powerful feeling, knowing how deeply you were affecting him. However, moving at such a sluggish pace made him wildly impatient. His chest heaved, watching your body become bared for him.

The extra sheet on the bed wrinkled when you lay across it. The white cotton licked at your glowing skin, helping to soothe your bashful state. Entirely bare, you were prepped to become his new canvas — a blank slate for him to work into a unique piece. Vincent watched you from the corner of his eye, unrolling his leather paintbrush holster. 

He found a medium-sized brush, larger than the ones he was used to using on a flat canvas. He chose a one and a half-inch wide soft bristle paintbrush, with a long solid handle. He examined the piece, smoothing the bristles down with his fingers before deciding on it. 

“Do you want me on my stomach, or…?” You spoke quietly, watching the night air pour into the bedroom window and rustling the light curtains. 

Vincent shone a bright smile, “Your back would be a great place to start. Laying on your stomach would be ideal, for now.” His lulling voice helped your hands unclench the fabric. 

Letting out a long breath, you relaxed against the bed and turned your head to watch him. Vincent sat shirtless on the floor, surrounded by small containers, usually filled with colors. His pants where baggy, riding dangerously low on his hips. He leaned forward, dipping the massive paintbrush into a jar and swirling it around. 

“The mixtures are ready.” He chimed, standing to his feet in one fail swoop. 

Vincent moved the jars closer to the bed and sat them on the floor. You kept an eye on him as long as you could, until he made his way onto the bed behind you. The springs creaked with his weight as he moved to the side of your waist. 

“It smells nicer than your other paint’s scents.” You took in a deep breath and moved your eyes to focus on the flickering candle atop the nightstand. “Is that a new candle?” 

“It is a new candle, but that’s not what you’re smelling.” Vincent flicked the dry brush bristles over your back. Around your spine, the gentle touch of the bristles made you wiggle and jerk. With your hair in a loose messy bun, some strands wiggled free. But, your hair bun wasn’t to be presentable, it was to keep your locks from being covered in colors. 

He was hidden from view, making your eyes begin to wander around the bedroom instead. You tried to focus on the drying canvas that lay flat against the far wall, but it was too far away to make out. The room was filled with hints of you. Smaller shoes sat by the door next to his larger ones, and his bookshelf was littered with small gifts you’d given each other over time. 

Your eyes kept scanning the neutral hues until you landed on some pictures of the two of you together, highlighting the previously bare walls. It was home, a place for your heart to feel full and safe. His arms were also home, his scent was paradise, and his voice was your haven. 

“You’ve been very tense lately.” He began in a low tone. The mood of the room was spa-like as candles flickered, and ambient romantic music played on the radio.

“Hmm,” You adjusted your arms up above you on the sheets. “I’ve been told I carry my stress in my shoulders.”

His fingers tranced your shoulder blades, and he hummed. “Whoever told you that seems to have been right.” 

Vincent leaned over your body and dipped his broad brush into the pot. You prepared yourself for a quiet evening once he began. Your boyfriend had unparalleled focus; only a few people on this planet could ever master. Once he began in on a task, that was the only thing on his mind for miles. 

The first touch of the paintbrush to your spine made your eyes roll back. The liquid was warm to the touch and seemed to penetrate all the way down to your bones. Unlike his other attempts, the extra paint seemed to drip down the dips of your back. 

“Wow, what is that?” You inquired, wondering why he would let the paint drip in such a fashion. “What technique are you using?”

“Well,” He started off, voice soft and low. He dipped the brush again and began to run it along your waistline. “It’s not paint.” 

A moment passed while you wracked your brain to figure out just what he was doing. His lack of super-focus made you question whether he was actually creating something.  

“If it’s not paint, then what is it?” 

Vincent bent down and kissed your shoulder. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Take in your surroundings and tell me what you sense.”  

A long brush stroke ran from the bottom of your neck down to the roundness of your backside. Vincent continued the stroke until the brush ran down your calf to your ankle. Closing your eyes like he asked, you took in what information you could. 

The warm sensation radiating from the liquid was definitely strange. It felt amazing, like a small massage everywhere it covered. Taking in a deep breath, a wave of a scent you hadn't noticed washed over you. 

“Lavender?” You whispered. 

“Mhm,” He coaxed. “Yes, and what else?” 

The image of a garden flickered in your mind. “I smell roses.” You giggled when he flicked a checkmark on your back. 

“Correct! Lavender and rose oil mixed in with body oil.” He let the access oil drip along the back of your thighs before rubbing it in with the brush. “These fragrances promote restfulness and relaxation.”

Vincent dipped the brush into the third container and ran it along your neck. The warmth engulfed you, letting your heavy lids close at once. 

“Mmm…” You hummed, relaxing your shoulders as he ran the bristles over them. 

“What do you smell now?” He asked quietly. 

Memories of summer and a crisp relief from the heat floated in your mind. This scent laced with another fruity one that tickled your nose. 

“I feel like I can almost taste the fruit.” You melted further into the bed. 

“Yes.” He praised. “Apple fragrance helps curb anxiety, and the ylang-ylang gives you a sense of peace, relieves tension, and promotes a good night's sleep.” 

Your mind wandered the longer he painted the warm oils on your skin. A thought popped into your head, and you spoke it without much contemplation. 

“Isn’t ylang ylang known for being an aphrodisiac?” Your voice was quieter than the gentle music playing on the radio. 

He was silent for a long moment, swiping the brush in circular motions over your hips. 

“I don’t know,” He leaned in toward the back of your head. “Is it working?” Vincent’s whisper was as soft as silk. Your breath caught, and he chuckled. “I’m teasing, of course.” He snickered and went back to his task. 

Your body grew tenser the longer he brushed along your skin, contrary to what he was trying to accomplish. The thought of a more intimate touch set your heart on a race. The sensuality of the moment came crashing down, and you realized just how hot your body had become. Your skin became silted in a pink hue, either due to the heat of the oil or the internal inferno in your core.

“Vincent?” Your small voice muffled in the sheets. 

“Yes? Would you like more attention to a certain area?” He stated, concerned that he could be doing a much better job. “I’m sorry, this is my first time doing something like this.”

“No, no.” You shook your head and pressed your face into the bedding. “I was just… I wanted to tell you that I want more.” 

Your heart pounded in your ears. After a long pause, you turned your head to peek a look at him. If you hadn’t spoken up, you might have let the evening go by without letting him know just how much he affected you. 

His cheeks dusted in a peach color while he dipped the brush into a pot. The oil dripped over your thighs, and he ran the brush along the inner portion. 

“Like this?” The bristles teased the inner seam of your leg that met your torso. 

“Y-yes.” Your thighs relaxed open, and he took the liberty to explore more of you. 

After a long pause, he cleared his throat. “Your body is so gorgeous.” He whispered. “How you come alive for me is incredible.” 

The bristles ran along your outer lips, and you pressed your face hard into the bed. You could feel your core grow slick from the increasingly intimate touch alone. 

He took his time, making sure to run the brush along every inch of your center. The more he moved the tool, the more defined you could feel the bristles. He ran it between your slit in three-second intervals, moving up and up away from your bundle of nerves. 

“The longer I stroke you, the puffier your pussy gets. Do you like being teased?” His weighted words hung in the air as you held your breath.

“Uh, huh…” You agreed, grasping bedding and pulling it to your chest.

The brush moved down until he swiped it around, yet out of the way, of the spot you wanted it to touch the most. Scented oils mixed with your own lubricant while he purposefully missed the apex of your sex. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He taunted. 

Vincent’s touch made you jump. The sensation of his cold fingers was alien when you were so used to his paintbrush all this time. His fingertips slid along the curve of your ass down between your thighs. 

Your cheeks burned when you realized just what kind of view your boyfriend must be having right now. He sat back between your ankles while your legs were parted. He evidently had a fantastic display of your most intimate places. 

His fingers moved along your folds until they surrounded your summit. He didn't touch the nub but instead used his fingers to spread the hood back and expose the entirety of your clit. 

Whimpering, your legs jerked, wishing to close with embarrassment — what an excellent view he truly had that he could know precisely where to touch. 

“Why are you acting ashamed?” He wondered, moving the brush closer and closer to the exposed nub. “It’s just the two of us. You can relax with me.” Vincent urged. 

It was hard to relax while your heart galloped in your chest. You forced your legs to relax and open a fraction of an inch wider in good faith. 

The bristles, soaked in warm oils, finally met your swollen clit. The gasp you made caused Vincent to pause for a long moment. His ears perked up while his eyes watched your body language. He wondered if he’d hurt you at first but slowly realized the sensitivity you must be dealing with. 

He had teased you long enough that you felt your muscles tense with minimal effort. He swiped the brush over the exposed clit again. The moan you heard rip from your throat sounded foreign even to your own ears. You didn’t know you could sound so lewd in such a simple mewl. 

Pulling his fingers wider, he circled your clit with the brush until your hips bucked into the bed. You wanted to cry. It felt so good. Waves after wave radiated from that spot and washed over your entire being. 

The moans wouldn’t stop. They managed to grow louder and louder as he sped up. Vincent’s breathing was ragged the longer he played with your clit. 

“I-I want you. Can I have you?” He asked, moving the brush so quickly stars began to cloud your vision.

“You don’t have to ask.” You puffed out. The back of your neck began to break out into a sweat while your legs tensed and toes curled. “But let me... ah, just- I’m so close.” 

The bristles brought about a magical feeling against your sensitive skin. With every rotation, your muscles grew more and more taut. It was as if heated water bubbled to the top of the pot before it suddenly spewed over the edge. 

Your body pulsed over and over again, releasing and tensing your core muscles. The sensation of heat washed over you while your body climaxed with force. The last few pulses allowed you to catch your breath from the intense release. 

Vincent tossed the brush to the ground. His hand slipped under your stomach, and he pulled up your hips. His low hanging pants were pushed down over his hips, and his body aligned with yours. 

“I want you so bad, I- I need you.” He kissed along your spine toward your shoulder blade. 

Vincent's teeth scraped the nape of your neck before his lips tantalized your earlobe. Tingles arose on your arm with his immodest touch. 

He held your back to his chest while he slowly pushed his length past your folds. He moved slowly, allowing your hole to stretch in kind with his girth. Pieces of your hair began to fall out of your messy bun and frame your heated face. 

“Ah, Vincent.” Your hand came up, and you buried your fingers in his hair. 

The sense of touch and closeness you felt brought springs of love to life in your chest. You loved him, thoroughly and without any doubts. You knew he was the one, the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. With how much care he took of you and your body, you knew he felt the same. 

Vincent set a slow and shallow pace, making sure to lavish your neck with hundreds of tiny passionate kisses. 

“I love you,” He whispered, warm breath wafting over clammy skin. 

“I love you too. I love you so much.” Your hair fully came undone, unraveling with a spiral like a ribbon. Strands stuck to your forehead and neck, but you didn’t have a moment to mind. 

“I want to bite you, May I?” Rhythmic thrusting was evident in his tone. Vincent kissed his favorite spot below your ear.

“You don’t have to ask…” You used your fingers that were twined in his hair to push his lips harder onto your neck. 

He obliged, sucking lightly to inflame the area before ultimately sinking his teeth into the skin. It was like grabbing the hot end of a curling iron for a split second before the heat felt like that of the orgasm you'd just had. Pleasure raced to every inch of your body until you were entirely under his spell. 

With the combined rocking motion of his hips against your backside and his teeth piercing your neck, you quickly climaxed once more. Vincent moaned and drew your blood in harder with each pulse your tight walls made around his cock. 

You rocked your hips back into him with every thrust he made, egging him on. “You’re going to make me cum.” He moaned, finding a new spot to bite.

Vincent moved faster, filling the room with a mix of wet sounds and heavy panting. He raced to find his own release while indulging in your life force.

The outside world beyond the balcony lived on like normal. Branches rustled against the winds force while leaves broke off and chased the air. Cool weather wafted into the room, bustling up the curtains and smoothing over your heated skin. 

Gentle music on the radio lulled into a new song while Vincent gently held you close in his strong arms. The scent of lavender and sweat permeated the bedroom, leaving both parties coated in a slick sheen. 

.

.

.

When he said, “Let me paint you.” I took it a bit too literally.

Vincent saying “I’m teasing of course.” Took me 900 years not to write “...unless?” asldkfjlsd

Thank you for reading!

Masterlist is at the top of my blog~

#Ikemen Vampire #ikevamp vincent #vincent x mc #ikemen vampire smut #ikevamp vincent smut #vincent x mc smut #smutty concept #Thanks for being patient with my writing lately <3 #ily!

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Indulgence of Divinity: Chapter 1

Michael Langdon x OFC

Four months after the events at Outpost 3, Michael begins to grow restless in the Sanctuary. His powers continue to grow seemingly without a purpose, and the Cooperative is clamoring to know his next move. Help arrives from an unlikely source that changes everything Michael thought he knew about being the Antichrist.

Rebuilding the world requires a delicate balance-destruction and creation, death and life, dark and light. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to do it alone.

Chapter Warnings: Mild Language (we’re just warming up)

Word Count: 3846

So excited to finally have the first chapter posted! Hope you enjoy! (Also posted on AO3 under the same title.)

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Chapter One: Court of the Divinity

Water droplets traced the lean outlines along his torso and thighs while others collected in the hollow at the small of his back. The aqueous kisses briefly reminded him of caresses that yearned to memorize each dip and swell of a lover’s form. His eyes drifted closed as he tipped his head back, lips drawing apart to pass contented sighs, in an attempt to savor the sensation. How long it had been since it was more than an illusion… His head lulled with a deliberate slowness to feel the tension ebb and flow from the corded muscles across his shoulders, up the base of his skull, and down the center of his spine. A delicate floral note occasionally touched his senses that he couldn’t quite place as past or present, simply familiar; nonetheless, it momentarily quelled the chaotic swarm of thoughts plaguing his mind. Even kings deserved a reverie now and again.

Michael’s gaze flitted about the room as he stood from the bathing pool and retrieved his towel hanging from the decorative iron gate.

Flickering candles lined the stone alcoves and shelves carved centuries ago out of the grotto rock and filled the room with a serene luminance. Their reflections danced and swayed on the surface of the water only to writhe in the wake of his languid movements. The sheer array of burning wicks had produced a surprising warmth in the chamber–a warmth that drew memories from the rugged stone and imparted the scent of incense from pilgrimages long-forgotten into the air. A shrine to the Lord and his archangel Michael that once stood proudly at the front of the holy cavern had been reduced to nothing more than an opulent light fixture. It brought him a sense of satisfaction in no small measure, and a smug curl of his lips accompanied the thoughts of sacrilege.

‘How fitting that the Sanctuary of Saint Michael Archangel, his oldest shrine in Western Europe and a holy destination for centuries, would become the seat of power for the Antichrist of the same name. The Sanctuary of the Apocalypse,’ Michael mused while patting himself dry. The infernal heat thrumming through his veins made short work of any dampness left to his skin. The grotto he stood in had once been the location of a church. Since coming into the possession of the Cooperative, the pews had been removed to make room for a stepped recess to be carved into the floor and filled with water in the style of an ancient bath–an extension of his personal chambers. ‘Someone clearly thrives on irony.’ Of course, it was not to be lost on him and his smirk of satisfaction only grew as he pulled on the sleek black fabric of his pants.

The journey back to his rooms saw the return of Michael’s incessant thoughts of uncertainty. The existence of the Sanctuary had been somewhat of a surprise even to him. Then again, the best lies were always built from a foundation of truth. What had begun as a ruse to incite panic and chaos amongst survivors was apparently very much an actuality. An actuality that he had been living in for the last four months.

Outpost 3 had been the last for…liquidation. Once the task was completed, the Cooperative had sent him a communication informing him of an automated jet waiting to take him to a “safe place”. They didn’t want to risk the use of Transmutation, despite his ever-growing powers. The flight was long and turbulent from the dramatic air currents and storms swirling in the wake of the cataclysm. A coastal mountain topped with a medieval structure loomed outside the window as the plane started to descend. The Sanctuary.

Noticeable architecture and the few remaining geographical features alluded to a location somewhere most likely Mediterranean. Michael’s lips stretched into an open-mouthed grin, and his eyes burned from how widely they were opened as he looked at the landscape of his making. Previously turquoise oceans undulated in new scarlet waves onto a gray shore. Bare branches strained against the raging wind–their leaves decimated long ago. Armageddon had truly come, and it was by his hand. Sure, he had seen first hand the result of his handiwork in America, but the satisfaction of seeing the effects clear across the world… Michael remembered the way his chest swelled and his shoulders straightened with pride.

That had been four months ago . Fucking hell… What great accomplishments had he achieved since those glorious days of revelation? Once again, he had been left to do his father’s will with no direction, no help of any kind. The remaining Cooperative members were breathing down his neck like hellhounds, either trying to curry favor with absurd and depraved behavior (which he may or may not have accepted on occasion) or hovering for a command. How could he lead his people when he had no means of navigating the future himself? Even the stars were silent behind the eternal midnight cinders cloaking the sky.

He dropped onto the lush mattress and draped his forearm over his eyes. In times of stress, Michael’s mind conjured up images of a world that no longer existed and perhaps never had. The sense of familiarity surrounded him once again as he stood amongst the tall pines and colorful oaks. He remembered these woods. Birds trilled happily above as if pleased by his return. His blood no longer marred the earth in a ruby pentagram; sprigs of white bell-shaped flowers sprung up from the circle and perfumed the air with their sweetness. They were larger than last time. Michael crouched to slowly reach out a hand, palm up, to cradle one of the drooping blossoms.

“Do you like them? I’ve been practicing.” A soft voice reached his ears just as the scalloped tepals dusted the tip of his middle finger. The uncertainty in the voice made his brow crease. He turned his head with a frown to face the shimmering specter, their radiance shrouding any distinguishable features aside from their feminine figure. She was always there, stood in the same space his frantic young mind had hallucinated an angel while begging for his father’s aid.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” It was much more a statement than a question. Had his own imagination turned against him, too? Was this a subconscious manifestation of his own doubt?

“White and delicate isn’t exactly your style,” the figure said. Her tone had relaxed a bit at the sound of his disappointment.

“Perhaps that’s all the more reason for me to like it. A palate cleanser to the world before my eyes every other minute of the day.” The flowers captured his attention again when they began to bob in the breeze. “Beautiful,” he breathed. He couldn’t see a smile, but he got the distinct feeling of happiness from his companion. Curiously, his own heart beat a bit easier as the aura permeated his space. Michael straightened again to take in the full effect of the flowers and surround woods.

“Something’s bothering you, Michael. You’re never here otherwise,” she mused. The light shifted as she moved to sit on a mossy rock. He titled his head to look at her without turning his body. Long strands of golden hair fell over his shoulder and framed his face in the sunlight. A shrug tugged at his shoulder as he spoke.

“What comes next? Have I done all I was meant to do?”

“Is fire, blood, and chaos all you were born for?” A tight nod answered her question. “Doubtful.” She rose and stepped into the ring of flowers with him. The hair hanging in his face was pushed behind his ear by misty tendrils he perceived to be fingers. A slight chill tickled his cheek from the contact and caused the hair at the base of his neck to rise. “With each breath, you grow in strength and purpose.” One of the flower stems was placed in his hand. “Why do you think these have flourished? As you grow stronger, so do I. It would be pointless to give you more power with no purpose behind it, especially since you already hold more power than any being left in the world.” A dark chuckle bubble in his throat at that. Her words satisfied him when similar grovels from those in the Sanctuary would find his ire.

“Then why -” The presence of a frosted hand directing his gaze back towards the glowing woods stopped him short.

“Patience, Michael. Having power does not mean you have to be omniscient. It simply means you will be more than capable of whatever is required in time. You’ve given them what they wanted–there’s no reason to believe you would fail at that in the future.” Phantom fingers slid up his cheek and into his hair in a gesture of comfort and Michael closed his eyes with a sigh. “Patience, my king.”

The stone ceiling of his bedroom greeted him when he next opened his eyes. Goosebumps still prickled his skin as a reminder of his dream. For a few moments he did nothing but stare blankly, wondering if he could close his eyes again and return to the simplistic visions of his mind.

“Patience…” he grumbled, dragging a hand down his high cheeks and chiseled jaw. Could the Antichrist possess such a heavenly virtue? Michael couldn’t remember any recent time he was met with less than near-instant gratification. Several soft yet pronounced raps on the door put an end to his wishful thoughts of mental escape. That would be Ms. Mead, and he certainly didn’t want to keep her waiting. It wouldn’t do to treat the one person here that was truly on his side so poorly, and certainly not after she’d undergone such extensive repairs from the events at Outpost 3.

A rare, genuine smile graced his full lips when he pulled the door open to reveal the woman. The deep furrow of her brow and the shift of her eyes promptly removed the carefree expression from his face.

“You’re needed in the great hall.” The muscles around Michael’s eyes twitched in scrutiny. Only incredibly important or special occasions called for the use of the great hall, and he certainly hadn’t issued any grandiose decrees. She wasn’t pleased to be ignorant about whatever situation had arisen, either.

“I will be with you shortly once I’ve made myself presentable.” Michael acknowledged her request with an elegant incline of his head. Ms. Mead nodded quickly and turned on her heel to await him outside his chambers.

Michael quite enjoyed catering his looks to maximize the effect of his presence. Without knowing the purpose of this engagement, he would have to work with what previously resulted in the most success. Within three minutes, he was walking through the halls with Ms. Mead and rather pleased with his appearance. He had donned his usual black dress pants and tucked button-up, the buttons of the cuffs trailing well up his forearms. A luxurious black side button dress coat accentuated his broad shoulders and lean stature; Michael enjoyed the feeling of the fabric conforming so perfectly to his body.

Many survivors admired the thought that went into the Sanctuary’s design each time they walked the halls. Displays had been embedded into the mountain walls where the builders encountered the fossilized remains of prehistoric flora and fauna–lingering reminders that all origins were followed by the same undisputable end in time. Rivers of fire ran down trenches parallel to the walkways for sufficient lighting. Without access to the outside world, they set the fire to cycle intensity and mimic the path of the sun. At night, minerals were added to the oil to make the fire burn blue in homage to moonlight. Large fireplaces dotted the hallways for added warmth and light in the deeper parts of the mountain.

Today, residents of the Sanctuary that had found themselves a partner were happily clinging to each other in alcoves or corners. Some exchanged gifts they’d either made or traded for tied with red ribbon. Someone had poorly scribbled hearts decorating their package, and Michael’s eyebrows jumped momentarily in realization. Of course. It was February. Many of the survivors had chosen to observe the old holidays in a vain attempt at normalcy. If it gave them reason to remain happy and kept morale high, then he would allow them to cling to their absurd traditions. They smiled and waved, some bowing their heads in respect, as he passed them. An occasional brave soul wandered his way with the intention of handing him chocolates or paper flowers. Michael held up his hand to stop them with a small, appreciative quirk of his lips but shook his head.

“There’s no need for that. Your loyalty and support are enough.” They held eye contact for a moment until the person scampered away to a cluster of others standing by a fire pit. Almost immediately, Michael’s jaw squared and returned his expression to simmering annoyance.

“Ms. Mead,” he drawled, “why am I on my way to the great hall for an obligation that I can’t seem to recall arranging?” Her head shaking slightly was barely visible off to his side.

“This wasn’t arranged at all. These…people–Court of the Divinity they called themselves–just showed up and wanted to see you. Wouldn’t say what for, but I recognized the man in charge as a member of the Cooperative. Some high ranking clergyman or some bullshit.” Ms. Mead continued to shake her head and gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know where they get off thinking they can make such demands of their king. It’s impertinent if you ask me.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratory level. “We shouldn’t trust them.” Michael’s head tipped back with a pleased laugh.

“Oh, not to worry, Ms. Mead. We must attend to the needs of our people.” Michael stopped outside of the oversized mahogany doors and turned to the older woman. His hands came to rest on her shoulders as he fixed her with a pointed gaze. “And if they waste my time, it will be the last time that they do so.” Ms. Mead returned his look with a smile and watery eyes, one of her hands reaching out to delicately stroke the long curls resting over his collarbone before she replied. The pride rolled off of her in waves nearly as strong as the electronic pulses of her fabrication.

“That’s my beautiful boy.” Michael would always hold her affection in highest regard. With a deep breath, Ms. Mead returned to the moment and smoothed down his hair. “You go in ahead. I’ll retrieve your guests from the auxiliary hall. My king.” She left with a bow and beaming smile so Michael could take his rightful place in the extravagant throne chair at the front of the hall. He certainly cut an imposing figure. One leg rested crossed over the knee of the other, his elbows firmly on the arm rests to allow his steepled fingers to remain steady in front of his chest, and his jaw clenched with a minute grinding the longer he waited.

Several minutes passed before the heavy doors were opened and Ms. Mead, now wielding a stern expression, led in a bizarre group of men. Michael couldn’t help leaning forward a fraction in interest. Each man was dressed in different holy garb. A Buddhist lama, a Hindu sadhu, a Jewish rabbi. Those were only the ones in clear view. Still more troubling, not one of them did he recognize beyond the cardinal standing at their front. He had worked as the Cooperative’s source inside the Vatican for decades under the guise of a faithful God-worshipper. Michael lifted his chin out of habit at the man’s approach, heightened even more as the small congregation bowed before his dais.

“Cardinal Vicente Santori.” The name dripped off Michael’s tongue like saccharine wine. “To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your audience? For your sake, I would hope it’s something of the absolute utmost importance.” The cardinal bowed again. The tone in their king’s voice left no conflict regarding his displeasure.

“My king, as you know, we are more than 20 months through your prophesied reign,” Santori began. Michael’s intrigued gaze turned to that of ice, and he brought his chin to rest on his bejewelled fist.

“I am aware. So…what is this?” He opened his palm up towards them inviting silent answers. “As you said yourself, we are beyond the halfway point of the Apocalypse. It’s a bit late for any religious intervention.” Michael’s patronizing chuckle reverberated in the vaulted room, “Especially from you, Cardinal.” The man quickly shook his hands to brush away those notions.

“No. No, we are here for quite the opposite.” The slight tilt of the king’s head drew the cardinal’s attention before he continued. “You have done well in cleansing the stain of humanity from the world. You’ve also grown stronger since coming to the Sanctuary, haven’t you, my king?” When he did not receive a denial, Santori delved into further explanation. “We are the Court of the Divinity, tasked with a special purpose. We have the answers to that phenomenon: there is still more work to be done. Work that you cannot be expected to complete on your own. What we have experienced is only the beginning of your father’s great plan. Preparation of a canvas about to become your greatest masterpiece.”

“What would you know of this ‘work to be done’?” His father had refused to answer his own questions, yet these heretics claimed to have knowledge of his purpose? All Michael had ever wanted was answers. Would it be washed-up clerics that gave them to him? Michael ran his tongue over his teeth. The most irritating aspect of it all was that not a single one of them held a lie within their heart or mind.

“Satan was cast into the fire and chained amidst the burning lake against his will. Would you wish to remain in a prison for all eternity? Is that what you would base your greatest wish from? It is one thing to condemn others to share your fate, but it’s something else to rise above it. There has always been a deeper longing for Paradise, and what better way to secure his claim on Earth than by his son creating something that surpasses that of God. However, you will not succumb to such hubris as God, my king, for you won’t be alone.” There was a pause in the cardinal’s ramblings to let the information settle. Silence hung heavy in the air for so long that some of the men began to shift uncomfortably. Even Ms. Mead seemed to be holding her breath off to Michael’s side.

Their king stood, each vertebra aligning themselves one by one, until he reached his full height. His descent from the dais was marked by the crisp, measured knocking of his heeled shoes on the stone floor. Arms clasped elegantly behind his back, Michael approached the cardinal and looked him up and down. The older man was in his choir dress for what he must have deemed a special occasion; vibrant scarlet cassock with matching scarlet trim, red elbow-length cape over the lace-trimmed white rochet, and a red cleric’s skullcap. One item was notably missing; Cardinal Santori no longer burdened himself with the symbol of the cross. Michael stopped directly in front of the man to give him a sardonic smile.

“Will it be you, Cardinal, and your men that seek to help me with this task of surpassing God? The one you once promised to worship and honor with every breath and whom you have now forsaken?” They were so easily swayed by a little show of power. Michael had won their faith by hardly lifting a finger. The cardinal stepped aside and issued a beckoning wave back to the others. The group parted, three men on either side, to form a passage for the remaining associate at the back of their cluster.

“Unfortunately, the act of creation has always been a divine gift. We have never been blessed in such a way, though we have been given the honor of upbringing for the one who has. Our glorious purpose.” Soft heels clicked across the thin carpet runner approaching the dais. “God failed because there was no balance, which he now knows. There cannot be creation without destruction, no life without death, no light without the dark. To force one into extinction is to condemn the other. Someone once called you ‘the Alpha and the Omega,’ correct? Well, they were halfway right.” A slim hand settled into the one the cardinal left outstretched.

“My king.” Michael’s eyes quickly darted to the speaker when they stepped into his view, dipping into a low curtsey.

She was his opposite in every way. Delicate feminine features and form contrasted his strong, masculine bone structure and build. Her lustrous amber eyes met his aquamarine, and both pairs widened at the sudden jolt they received. Fire and ice. Twisting. Turning. Climbing from earth to sky. Something about her called to him. Something quietly familiar. Michael stepped forward with a creased brow while she allowed him to continue his observation. He swept a wave of her silken obsidian hair over her shoulder. Her breath shuddered momentarily, but her smile widened when their gaze met again. She waited patiently, allowing him as much time as he needed. After all, she had been patient long enough in waiting to meet him, and this gave her an equal opportunity to drink him in as well. His skin held the warmth of the fire he was born from in both color and temperature. She, on the other hand, seemed to be risen from the first winter snow. Could it be true that he wouldn’t be left to rebuild the world alone? Their proximity caused a breeze to weave through the room that centered around them. Years of waiting and begging and training…would this be the beginning of their purpose?

Clothed in flowing white, the crystalline vine embellishments captured the firelight to give her a glowing illusion. Chiffon draped from her shoulder straps and down her back in a delicate cape veil that did nothing to obscure the expense of her open back. More of the gentle fabric was braided across her chest to protect her dignity. A large portion of the bodice remained sheer except for more sparkling embellishments designed in the same intricate vine pattern. In place of a slit, the sheer fabric continued from the bodice, over her left hip, and down the entire left side of the otherwise modest, floor length skirt. It was a look meant to make an impression while still conveying the purity within her body and blood. Sensual yet sinless. She wanted him to be pleased, to be intrigued. And he certainly was in both respects. Cardinal Santori’s voice broke through Michael’s considerations.

“This… is the Divinity.”

#Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon Fanfiction #Michael Langdon x OC #Indulgence of Divinity #my fics #Michael Langdon deserves love #Writing Requests Open