#Discernment lessons came first for me

[lovebotmo]

like the movies

chapter two - moly blossoms

series masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 2589

author's note: i want to thank each and every one of your for the likes and reblogs on my first chapter!!! big smooches to you lil cuties.

song inspiration: japanese denim by daniel caesar

Trailing behind Hermione, you eventually made it to the dungeons where your first Potions lesson of the year awaited. Walking across the threshold of the entrance, you made sure to keep the door open for two of your classmates walking a little ways behind you. The first of the two, Lorenzo Berkshire, flashed a bright smile at you in thanks. The two of you had been friendly over the years at Hogwarts, sharing a number of advanced classes. You had spent a few late nights at the library together cramming for finals, only to celebrate at The Three Broomsticks with a congratulatory butterbeer when you both received prefect scores. Enzo, the nickname he preferred to go by, was an absolute sweetheart and kind friend.  

The second of the pair walked behind his more cheerful friend in stony silence. He muttered a barely discernible, “Grazie,” to you as he passed into the Potions classroom. You caught a whiff of his cologne, something that reminded you of crackling fires, balsam firs, and fresh snow.

His name was Theodore Nott.

In comparison to his friend, you didn’t have much to say to or about him. In fact, Nott didn’t have much to say, well, ever. Among the gaggle of Slytherins he and Enzo hung around, he was the quietest and the most brilliant—often giving Hermione a run for her money for the top spot, especially when it came to Potions. You knew he played on the Slytherin quidditch team, but you hadn’t the foggiest as to which position he occupied. But that was it. You didn’t really know him, only of him.

Realizing you had been standing and propping the door open long after the two boys had walked through, you moved to shut the hefty door. You turned only to see the small number of your classmates huddling around a piece of paper, a list of some kind. As you entered your seventh year, your Potions classes had steadily thinned out as the requirements became increasingly more stringent. Even through Professor Slughorn was more than happy to accept students who received Es on their N.E.W.T.s, Snape’s years of teaching had put many students off the subject. Frankly, you couldn’t blame them.

In your third year, while brewing doxycide, you had made an error in adding wolfsbane essence instead of the required cowbane essence. The contents of your cauldron proceeded to explode on you. The potion was particularly foul-smelling and disturbingly thick; it had also ended up in your eyes. Rather than sending you immediately to the infirmary, Snape had made you clean it up—bloody blind, you might add—before you were on your way to Madam Pomfrey. You had lost ten house points. Safe to say, you loathed the man. You had only agreed to Hermione’s pestering to join her in the advanced courses of Potions because Slughorn had taken the post…and the promise that she would help you should you need it.

Shirking the memory, you moved to Hermione’s side in hopes of seeing what she and the rest of the class were peering at. The parchment in front of you listed out eight pairs of two students—assigned Potions partners for the year.

You quickly pulled Hermione back from the fray by her arm. “You promised you would help me if I took this class with you! Now you can’t even be my Potions partner!”

Hermione batted your arm away. “Oh, please Y/n! No need to be so dramatic all the time. I can still help even if I’m not your partner. Besides you won’t even need it.”

You squinted your eyes at her, “And why is that? Because I’m so bloody brilliant? I’m out of practice and you know that!”

Your reply was met with rolling eyes. “For the love of Godric, Y/n, you’ll be fine. You and I both know you can handle this class.” She paused. “But that’s not what I meant. Didn’t you see who your partner is?”

“Um…no.” In the fuss of realizing you wouldn’t be with Hermione you had failed to check just who your partner would be. “I was a little distracted by the fact that I’ve practically been abandoned—betrayed even—”

Hermione flicked you on the forehead. “Enough with the melodrama. Nott’s your partner. It’ll be grand. He’s… brilliant in Potions.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at her hesitation. If there was one thing Hermione Granger did not enjoy, it was academic competition, something that Nott’s proficiency in Potions promised. “Killed you to say that didn’t it? How does it feel to be one of us mere mortals of average intelligence, ‘Mione—"

Hermione let out a huff before pinching you lightly on the arm. “Oh, shove off. Go to your station, your partner is impatiently waiting. He’s been staring at you for the past two minutes.”

That got you to quickly spin around to meet Nott’s blue-green eyes looking fixedly into your own.

Oops.

You quickly moved away from Hermione and shuffled over to where Theodore stood. Turning to your partner, you tried to make some small talk while waiting for Slughorn to begin class, “I’m guessing you wish you had been paired with Enzo, right?”

Theodore stared at you. He blinked once. Then again. Before replying, “…Right.”

Well, he certainly isn’t one for pleasant conversation. Godric bless the soul that gets stuck talking to him at a cocktail party, you thought to yourself.

“’Spose it won’t be too bad though, yeah? Everyone knows you’ve gotten the best scores in Potions each year—we’ll be alright.” Your attempt at conversation was once more met Theodore’s stoic façade, your efforts to converse metaphorically falling into the awkward silence between you.

Theodore just repeated his monosyllabic reply. “Right.”

Smiling self-consciously, you placed your books on top of your station as you sat down, just as Slughorn finally made an appearance.

Thank Godric for the silly old man.

“Welcome to the second sequence of Advanced Potions! In order to determine if you’ve all properly reviewed your Advanced Potion Making texts over your summer holidays, I’ve crafted a little exercise with the help of Professor Sprout.” Pausing his speech, Slughorn waved his wand, drifting eight blooms of moly flowers to each station. You let out a quiet gasp.

Ever since your third year, moly flowers had been your favorite. First encountering them in Potions while brewing wiggenweld potion, you had become enamored with the gentle and elegant white blooms and its distinctive black stems and leaves that denoted moly flowers. It didn’t escape your notice either that they were able to counteract a number of enchantments, but that fact didn’t measure up to the quiet beauty of the blossoms you had grown to admire. When you wound up in the infirmary after your adolescent explosion of doxycide, Hermione had brought a single stem of a moly flower to your bedside—a feat not easily done. It had involved begging Professor Sprout for some of the moly she grew in the greenhouse.  Despite Professor Spout’s reluctance to part with the blooms, due to the flower’s value, both monetarily and magically, Hermione had successfully commandeered one. Hermione was, for a lack of a better term, ‘that witch.’ And you loved her for it. Hermione’s efforts and that sweet memory had solidified the ardent admiration you had for molies from that moment onward.

One of the blooms floated towards you and gently, you grasped the onyx stem. Lightly touching one of the four pearlescent petals, you smiled at the memory you forever associated them with before someone brought you out of your haze.

“Y/n.” You turned your gaze to your left where Theodore was watching you expectantly.

Shaking your head, you brought yourself back to the present. “Sorry, what was that?”

Your obvious confusion at what was going on seemed to bring the smallest of smirks to Theodore’s lips.

So, he can smile…Interesting.

“We’re meant to identify the thirteen potions moly blooms are used in along with its medicinal capabilities. Think you can handle the task, L/n?” Besides the fact that you were in awe that Theodore could string that many words together all at once, you were stunned at the challenge he seemed to set forth. His tone seemed to question whether you could do anything besides dumbly stare at a flower bloom, completely unaware as to what Slughorn tasked you to do.

The man probably thinks I’m going to slack off since he’s so proficient in Potions. Even if I am not as naturally talented as him at the subject, I am still a good student—with principles, nonetheless! The gall of the man!

You scoffed, placing the flower on the table before turning fully towards the Slytherin. “Please, Nott. Have a little faith. Contrary to your belief, I do know what I’m doing…at least most of the time.”

Theodore picked up the moly bloom from where you had placed down on the table. He gently twirled it in his large hands, which easily dwarfed the small blossom. “Guess we’ll just have to see then, won’t we?” Those stormy eyes returned to your own. It was the first time you had seen them without a veil of indifference.

“Just you wait, Nott. I’m going to be the best Potions partner you’ve ever had.” Theodore raised his eyebrows at your bold conjecture. “Now, hand me a quill and a piece of parchment.”

Later that day, you trudged up to your room with Hermione following behind you. As you were both Muggleborns, you and Hermione had bonded over Muggle fiction over the years; it had brought you closer among the sea of Purebloods and Halfbloods who were more than content to disdain at your blood staus. Over the last summer, you had both agreed to select a book for the other to read. Hermione had already given you her copy of Little Women, so you were eager to give her your battered edition of Wuthering Heights. Chatting about your respective choices of literature, you unlocked the door, eager to flop onto your bed. However, as you neared your bedframe, rest seemed to be the last thing on your mind.

Hermione’s nose was still buried in her gifted copy of Little Women. “I’ve put a couple markers in places I want you to pay attention to. There’s this once instance with Amy, where Laurie just—oof!” Having not noticed your silence and lack of movement, Hermione bumped right into your back. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—wait…what’s that there?”

Hermione’s attention now turned towards the thing resting upon one of your pillows. Her thick brows furrowed as you cocked your head in confusion. The thing was a small bouquet of moly flowers in full bloom. They were carefully bound together by a thin white silk ribbon, perfectly matching the delicate petals. In the afternoon light coming through the windows, the flowers seemed to glisten. The flowers were gorgeous…but why were they here?

You turned to Hermione. “You mean, you didn’t put them there?”

Your friend quickly shook her head ‘no.’ “How could I? I’ve been with you all day, remember?”

You nodded mutely. Hermione was right, there would have been no opportunity for her to put them on your bed, let alone procure them from Professor Sprout. Considering her account of trying to obtain the precious blossoms in your third year, you doubted Hermione would have gone through the trouble without good reason.

You mentally scratched your head. “I suppose you didn’t do it, ‘Mione, but who else?” You gingerly picked up the bouquet, thoughtfully considering the angelic blooms. You gently rubbed the silk ribbon between your forefinger and thumb. “I reckon you’re the only one who knows how much I like them. Did anyone ask you about what flowers I like recently?”

Hermione shook her head. You trusted that Hermione wouldn’t lie, not about something like this. For two of the brightest students at Hogwarts, the pair of you were stumped.  

“Maybe it’s someone from our Potions class—did you mention that you liked them to anyone? To Nott maybe?” At her last question, you couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips. You shook your head.

“Please, Nott spoke all of three sentences to me today and it was the longest conversation I’ve ever had with the guy. Besides, I didn’t mention anything to him.” You handed the flowers to Hermione as you sat down on your bed, hands behind you as you leaned back. Just as you were about to shut your eyes, trying to wrack your mind for who could have possibly sent it, you felt something just under your fingertips. Grasping it and bringing it forward, you found that it was a folded piece of parchment, which you opened slowly, half expecting something odd to pop out given the strangeness of the bouquet’s appearance. Instead, all you found was a note written in handwriting that could only be described as a boyish scrawl. It read:

Y/n,

Moly flowers, for you. Beautiful, for a beauty.

Yours,

Teddy

You reread the note, perhaps ten times, before asking the question on both of your minds, “Who the fuck is Teddy?”

Thirty minutes passed. By now, you had scrounged up a vase to place the flowers in by your bedside. You and Hermione lay sprawled across your bed, trying to solve the mystery of who this elusive ‘Teddy’ was.

“I don’t get it,” Hermione said, “There’s no one at Hogwarts named ‘Teddy.’ It must stand for something. Maybe an acronym. Oh! Maybe a pseudonym or a pen name.” Hermione continued to prattle off possibilities as you stared blankly at the fabric hanging off your bedframe.

Breaking your reverie you conjectured, “Maybe it wasn’t meant for me?” At that, Hermione flicked your forehead for the second time that day. “Ow! Stop that! I think you enjoy doing that a bit too much for my liking. I’m going to bruise.” She gave you a blank look.

“Y/n.”

“…Hermione.”

“Your name is in the bloody note. It’s most definitely intended for you.”

Solid logic, ‘Mione.

“Well, regardless, I haven’t the faintest idea who fancies me, who this Teddy is, or how he got his hands on an entire bouquet of molies,” you said. “Godric knows you had a difficult enough time getting Professor Sprout to part with one blossom, let alone a whole bunch.”

Hermione hummed at that and replied, “He either stole the blossoms from Sprout’s greenhouse, somehow managed to ger her to depart with twelve blooms willingly, or he’s wealthy enough to have purchased them. Either way, he’s gone through a good deal of trouble—possibly literal criminal trouble—to do something sweet for you. Whoever he is, he clearly cares about you.”

Turning to face her, you cheekily replied, “Are you sure this isn’t some grand plot to express your sweet, passionate love for me?” You batted your eyelashes at her, causing her to laugh and hit you with one of the nearby pillows. “Hey! Not near my molies!” You pleaded.

With a mirthful smile, Hermione said, “As much as I love you, I don’t like you enough to go through all that trouble. Sorry!” This time, your hit her with the pillow. The two of you roared with laughter as you swatted and swung at the other with the various pillows on your bed. Eventually the both of you settled down, resting on your bed once more. In the silence, your mind turned once more to the puzzling question at hand.

Who was this ‘Teddy’?

#spent this morning looking at tiktok edits of theo #brain is full of worms and theo #i’m just a girl #mine #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott fanfic #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys x you #slytherin #harry potter au #harry potter #lovebotmo writing #lovebotmo

[natalievoncatte]

Content/Trigger Warning: Violence and blood

They must have used chloroform or some other trick to knock her out. Lena almost got away. Flickers of sorcerous power -raw, unrefined, deadly in their chaotic wrath- sparked between her fingers and screamed in her bones. If she’d been more alert, if she hadn’t been be checking her phone because Kara hasn’t answered about seventeen calls and half again many texts, Lena might have blown her attacker through a wall, electrocuted the flesh from their bones, or boiled their brain in its box.

Instead they snapped a black bag over her head and she woke up here. She instantly knew that she was below ground; the magical currents in the earth were frustratingly close but cut off somehow. Reaching for them was like grabbing at a wriggling fish coated in oil.

As awareness flooded back in, she knew why: the heavy iron collar around her neck, a Luthor family relic for which one of her ancestors had paid a deathly price. A witch-collar, inscribed with hellish runes.

The bag came away from her head and she looked around. She was in a chair in a basement room, in a disused part of the family wine cellar. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision.

Everything was red. It took her a moment to realize the room was bathed in red light from banks of lamps all around her, all around them.

Kara lay a few yards away, curled up on the floor, bundled up in a ball. She was in her cheer uniform, her golden hair turned bronze in the strange light and her skin bruised and filthy from the rough stone floor.

That shouldn’t be… how…

Lena jumped when a nearby speaker on a table chirped with Lex’s voice.

“Hello, Lena.”

“Lex?” she snapped. “What is this? What the hell are you doing?”

“Teaching you a hard lesson,” he said. “You’ve been rolling in the dirt long enough. Father won’t have it, and he left it to me to put a stop to it.”

“Put a stop to what?”

“You’ve been rutting… if you can call it that… with that thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lena lied, her desperation betraying her. “Take this collar off and I’ll heal her and we’ll hope she keeps quiet about…”

“She killed one of the men I sent to take her,” said Lex. “Ripped his throat right out.”

Lena froze. “It’s not… she’s not…”

“Like that?” said Lex. “Like all the other ones? No, she’s not. At first I couldn’t fathom how she walks in daylight… but it was a simple matter to discern what wavelengths she’s sensitive to. Once I did, all I had to do was lock her up with a little of her home ambiance.”

Oh God. The lamps.

Lena rushed to where Kara lay, almost scraping her knees in the process. She rolled the other girl over and found Kara emaciated and corpselike, her skin waxy and sallow and her eyes sunken, her beauty somehow undiminished.

“I hate you,” Lena choked out “I hate you, Lex. You fucking bastard.”

“I know. You’ll get over it. Look there.”

A few feet away, a sharpened wooden stake lay on the stone tiles.

Oh no. Oh God no, not this.

“Kill her. Destroy this creature and affirm your loyalty and the collar comes off. You may think you’re powerful, but you’re not, Lena. Father has the true power here.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m going to turn off the lamps. She’s wounded and blood-starved. It’s kill her or be killed.”

“I’d rather die.”

“So be it.”

The lamps went out with a thump, others coming on in the same instant, in the normal, cold light of the old lamps that glowed down here beneath the mansion.

Kara stirred. She rolled onto her side, then her hands and knees, and rose up to kneel. A long, rasping sound escaped her lips, half sigh and half death rattle. She looked at Lena.

“He’s right. I don’t think I can control it.”

The words came out malformed around the retractable fangs jutting from her gums. The soft red glow of her eyes swallowed the blue of her irises and she seemed lost, staring.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’d never.”

Kara swallowed, rasping against a dry throat.

“Take it.”

“No.”

Kara looked at her plaintively, then darted across the cellar on all fours, grabbing the stake herself.

“Kara, don’t!”

“This is the only way.”

Lena bolted, crashing into Kara, heedless of impaling herself on the jagged wood. Kara forced her back, holding the stake in one hand.

“Not much time left,” Kara rasped. “Mind fading. Hunger always wins. Love you, Lee. Love you always.”

“DON’T,” Lena screamed. Kara pressed a kiss to her lips, soft, cold, her lips as dry as paper and seemingly as brittle.

The stake bit through her chest with a sickening dry crack as she shoved with both hands, groaning. She toppled beside Lena, both of them lying on the floor, and went still.

Lena felt as if it had pierced her own chest, as though her own heart were torn out. The wild magic in her surged and churned, longing to make a connection with the ancient power in the stones beneath her body, but the collar refused her. She wailed, shaking Kara’s limp, emaciated form as if to wake her up.

The next thing she heard was the heels of Lex’s shoes on the stones as he walked into the room.

“How tragic. I suppose she had actual feelings for you, after all.”

Lena threw herself at him, fingers hooked for his eyes, but he shoved her aside and she fell to the ground with a grunt.

“If you’d been more cooperative about all this, I might have let you keep her as a pet. No matter. After you’ve finished your training, love will have about as much meaning to you as it does to me.”

“I’ll never be like you.”

Lex stood over her, grinning. “Oh, you will.”

He reached down and took hold of the collar, and Lena cried out in agony as he pulled, using the cold iron to drag her to her feet. Then she went still.

With an abrupt jerk, Kara sat up, her movements strangely sharp and inhuman. She rose to her feet, the stake still embedded in her chest, impaled through the Midvale High Ranger on the chest of her leotard. She looked at Lex and smiled.

“What the fuck,” he snarled, immediately turning for the door. “Otis! Otis get in here! Kill it!”

Kara dragged him back, throwing him to the floor. She grasped the stake and pulled, dragging it from her chest and casting it to the floor.

“I am Kryptonian,” she hissed. “I am as far beyond your weakling Terran vampires as they are beyond you. Did you really think I could be killed with a stick?”

“Otis!” Lex screamed, “Otis, get in here!”

“Otis won’t be joining us,” Alex said. Kara’s sister strode into the room, Otis’s blood still on her chin and hands. “I’m afraid he had a prior engagement. My family and I had him for dinner.”

“Oh fuck,” Lex muttered.

Feral and lean and predatory, Kara stalked towards him.

“You hurt my Lena,” she said, her voice barely a breathless whisper.

Then she stopped and looked at Lena.

Lena stood there for a broken moment, staring at her brother, expecting to feel pity or confusion or at least some kind of conflict, but she felt as empty as he always said she would.

“Do it,” said Lena. “Then get this fucking thing off me. I’m going to kill his father tonight.”

Fangs bared, Kara lunged. Lena turned away. Alex didn’t.

When it was over, Kara smeared the last dregs of Lex on the back of her arm, and when she tore apart the collar, Lena seized from her a feral kiss, savoring the prick of fangs on her burning lips.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #kryptonians are vampires #kryptonians are aliens #lena is a witch #witch lena #magic #Alex Danvers is a werewolf #fantasy au #modern fantasy au #yes they get freaky with blood

[thesweetnessofspring]

Post-epilogue Everlark family. Inspired by a conversation I had with a little one. Rated T for theme.

On the walk home from school, the boy is quiet, letting his sister monopolize Peeta's ear. He doesn't even stop to examine a bug or an interesting rock, or to say hello to the shopkeepers they pass. Peeta listens to their daughter, who chatters about the jump rope tournament coming up, and how she and her classmates compare to each other.

Thankfully, the boy's teacher had phoned Katniss and Peeta to let them know their son would be getting the first lesson about the Games. And that would always include the old star-crossed lovers, the baker and the huntress. The children had to be assured that such atrocities were over, and their story central to that ending.

Katniss waits anxiously in the bakery, helping a customer pick out a box of pastries. Peeta takes the kids through their normal routine of heading to the back and getting a snack, while Katniss finishes with the customer and flips the sign over to "closed" just a little earlier than usual.

Katniss first looks at their son, sitting on a stool at the counter and somberly pushing around an apple slice, and then to Peeta. He gives a quick raise of his eyebrows and a shake of his head, indicating a lack of response from their son. The boy has always been the quieter of their two children. The girl had come back home with a million questions when she learned about the Games, but the boy is taking the opposite approach.

"Hey bud," Peeta says, taking a seat at the counter next to him. "Your teacher told us you learned something hard in school today."

He looks up at his father with discerning gray eyes, older than his six years and gives a short nod.

"I'm learning long division," the girl says. "That's harder than anything he learns."

"You learned about The Hunger Games today," Katniss says. She stands next to Peeta, an arm wrapped around his shoulder and he puts his arm around her waist. "Your teacher told us."

Their daughter closes her mouth, pressed in a line. When she first came with her questions, Katniss and Peeta had been sure to have her promise not to tell her little brother, not until he was old enough to know.

"No one else's parents were in The Hunger Games," the boys says. "Only me."

"You're right," Peeta says. "Here in Twelve and in your class, only you and your sister have parents who had to go in the Hunger Games. There are a few other people whose parents were in the Hunger Games, but most of them are grown up now and live far away."

The boy scrunches down, eyes on his plate. Katniss knows this boy and how he works. She works in a similar way, thoughts becoming dangerous without being spoken out loud to have someone help straighten out.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Katniss asks. "Anything you want to know?"

"Did you kill anyone?" the boy asks, glancing up through pale lashes.

"Yes," Peeta says. "Neither of us wanted to. Never, ever."

"Were they bad guys?" the boy asks, desperation in his voice.

"No, bud," Peeta says. "No, they weren't."

Not most of them, Katniss thinks, her final arrow in Coin's chest flashing in her mind, but they were keeping things simple for their children until they were older.

"They had no choice," the girl says, sitting up straight in her stool. "Momma and Daddy wouldn't kill anyone if they didn't have to."

The boy's lip wobbles, though he ducks his head to try and hide it underneath his mop of blond curls. Katniss slides her arm off of Peeta and holds their son to her, pressing his cheek to her breast. She wishes she could take this fear and ache away from him, knowing how heavy it rests on such a little body. She would take his pain onto her own, if she could.

"I don't wanna kill anybody," the boy wails in his mother's arms.

"Oh, baby, you won't have to kill anybody," Katniss says. "There are no Hunger Games anymore. Daddy and I made sure of it."

"My teacher said there was a war," the boy says, his grip tight on the back of his mother's shirt, his words muffled between fabric and one squished cheek. "Didn't people have to kill then, too? What if there's another war?"

"We don't think there will be another war," Peeta says.

"But what if there is and I have to kill somebody?" the boy asks. "You and Momma had to. That means I might, too."

There was no reason to believe Panem would succumb to the horrors it had when the baker and huntress were young, but there was always that what if, that chance history's cycle picking up again. It haunted both Katniss and Peeta still.

"It's scary to think something like that could happen again," Katniss says, brushing their son's curls out of his eyes. "But remember the game we play together?"

"The good things game!" their daughter bounces in her seat excitedly and her brother lifts his head to turn and look at her, light coming back to his eyes.

"Yes, the good things game," Katniss says. "That's what we can play when we get worried about bad things in the future."

"Let's play the game now," Peeta says. "Only the good things we think about will be about you, bud."

The boy squishes his shoulders inward, his chin ducking to his chest in bashfulness, but the slight lift of the corners of his mouth let them know he's pleased with the idea.

"What about me?" the girl demands.

"We'll do you another day, baby," Katniss says. "For now, let's focus on your brother."

Their daughter is less intrigued by this, hand now propping up her chin against the counter.

"Let's see," Peeta says. "There's no one better at catching tadpoles than you, that's for sure."

"Or such a help when we have to clean up the kitchen," Katniss says.

"And you're so bright and curious," Peeta says. "You ask questions I've never had before."

"And so friendly to all of our customers that come in."

Their daughter jumps in, "You help get us free candy from the store."

"Free candy?" Peeta asks. "Well that's just about the best thing to the two of you, isn't it?"

Peeta gives their son a tweak on the nose and he laughs, glowing at the game revolving around him. They share a few other good things about their son and brother, until if he's still worried about having to kill anyone like his parents, it's far from his mind. The boy tucks into his snack and then he and his sister are off playing.

Peeta can sense the worry coming off Katniss with the way her brow hangs heavy over her eyes, and he draws her to him from behind, kissing where her neck and shoulder meet.

"You all right?" he asks.

"Yeah," Katniss sighs. "I just hope we weren't lying to him."

"I wasn't," Peeta says. "He really is the best at catching tadpoles."

"I mean about what he's worried about."

"We weren't lying. We don't think he'll need to, but..."

"Right. The 'but.'"

"Maybe we need to play the game ourselves," Peeta says, turning Katniss around so they face each other.

Katniss sighs, putting her arms around Peeta's neck. The game gets tedious and long for her, but she's always willing to start off with her first good thing.

"You," she says. "Saving me with that bread."

And Peeta returns his first good thing. "You. Coming to find me in the arena."

They usually banter back and forth all of the good things they'd done for each other, purposefully leaving out the messy complications of their early relationship and only remembering what made them fall in love in the first place. But today, Katniss skips ahead.

"You," she says. "Helping me talk to our little boy about this."

Peeta gives her a kiss, then says, "You. Having the courage to carry and birth and raise our children."

And all they can do is hope they can do enough to protect their children from their fears coming true.

#everlark fanfiction #thg fanfiction #everlark family #everlark #toast babies #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark family fanfiction #post epilogue

[katiifaetarot]

The reading today is: What is this Painful Lesson in Your Life Trying to Teach You? ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

☆ im not going into specifics; but focus on the first situation(s) OR lesson(s) that came TO YOUR MIND when you read that question!

☆This reading is very short and straight-to-the-point today! 🥹😭

about me + why i am a tarot reader

** I AM NOT A MEDICAL OR HEALTH PROFESSIONAL; PLEASE USE YOUR OWN JUDGEMENT AND DISCERNMENT TO DETERMINE IF YOU NEED OR WANT TO SEEK PROPER HELP OR TREATMENTS FOR YOURSELF OUTSIDE OF TUMBLR OR SOCIAL MEDIA!!

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There are 4 piles and you will be picking through the Prism Oracle Cards in the picture right below this text!!! Feel free to look at the specific photos for each pile too!!

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✨️🧚🏽‍♀️please choose your pile and may your intuition and inner knowing guide you to the pile with the energy most suited for you and most suited to help you along your path at this current point in time, no matter what that looks like🧚🏽‍♀️✨️

PILE 1- Protection

PILE 2- Strength

PILE 3- Peace

PILE 4- Caution

** sometimes ( most of the time ) i will pick up on multiple energies that need attention or want to be expressed during the reading so i ASK YOU TO UNDERSTAND THIS DURING THOSE TYPES OF READINGS:

depending on how the reader(YOU) chooses to look at the situation or however the situation resonates for the reader(YOU) and because this is a general reading;

⚠️you HAVE to be able to use your better discernment + better judgement skills to fully absorb the message and be able to do the necessary work to keep you on track for the future you WANT for yourself⚠️

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OKAY PILE 1:

This current lesson is trying to teach you to protect your happiness//peace of mind so you STOP getting distracted by outside negativity that stops you from achieving your passions/goals/dreams/manifestations/plans/etc--

•what can YOU do to get rid of excess negativity and start protecting your happiness and going after your passion(s) again?

•what are your passion(s) ?

•what can you do more of that brings you joy? (BE SELFISH WHEN ANSWERING THIS ONE!)

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OKAY PILE 2:

this current lesson is trying to teach you to how to rely on yourself and trying to teach you mental fortitude so YOU stop having anxiety about the material world in general!!! ( not just monetarily )

•What can YOU do to help yourself right now? How can you feel more stable + secure within yourself and your immediate environment?

•What are you truly afraid of happening, and is it something you can work on or fix in your current reality?

-If yes, then why are you worried?

-If no, then why are you worried?

Focus on building trust within yourself before jumping to other ships and helping them stay afloat. This is about YOU, not anyone else. Dont escape!!!!!!

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OKAY PILE 3:

This current lesson is trying to teach you to CREATE a safe space for yourself and for your passions and ideas SO they can thrive and come to fruition.

You need this alone time and isolation period to nurture you and your passions!

•what fears/doubts are currently holding me back from chasing/achieving my passions?

•what can i do to create a more safe and spacious environment for myself AND working on my passions?

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OKAY PILE 4:

this current lesson is trying to teach you to move slow but with trust in yourself or your faith!

Sometimes, slow and steady wins the race, and even quicker movement(s) can happen when slowness is appreciated and trusted! 🐌🐢

•how can you trust yourself more (or again)?

•what would help you keep showing up for yourself in healthy ways?

•contemplate the tortoise and the hare fable.

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I sincerely hope you received what you needed and released what you don't !! See you again soon!! Take it easyyy and just breathe and fllooowwww!!! you got this! byyeee~🧚🏽‍♀️✨️

**please let me know how I'm doing in any way you can! that is the easiest way to support me and also a good way to signal to me that I should keep going + any helpful advice from the community would be welcomed and appreciated because i've been off tumblr for about 5years+ now and its all different n' shizz 🥺 🥹 🙏🏼

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⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

**ONCE AGAIN, I AM NOT A MEDICAL OR HEALTH PROFESSIONAL; PLEASE USE YOUR OWN JUDGEMENT AND DISCERNMENT TO DETERMINE IF YOU NEED OR WANT TO SEEK PROPER HELP OR TREATMENTS FOR YOURSELF OUTSIDE OF TUMBLR OR SOCIAL MEDIA!!

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

#tarot blog #tarotcommunity #tarotonline #tarot journal #tarot reading #witch aesthetic #pick a card #pick a pile #spirituality #pac #daily messages #oracle cards #oraclecardreadings #oracle messages

[dieaverage]

ROSE-COLORED BOY — eddie munson x female reader

chapter four — wildfire

word count: 3.1k+

PREVIOUS | NEXT

author's note: well, hello, and happy new year!!! we are soooo back, my dear little phone friends. i am, slowly but surely, finding my feet on this wonderful corner of the internet, spreading my nonsensical agendas as i go along. i seriously think if i had discovered it sooner i would either be cured of all my mental preoccupations, or be infinitely more insufferable, there's actually no in between. alas, we are here now, and if you are reading this, thank you and sorry. rose-colored boy is my little passion project for the time being, it's my first proper writing attempt in a long while and admittedly the first time i've ever actually written with an audience in mind, which is as exciting as it is terrifying! this will not be perfect, i fear if i continued striving for that, i never would've gotten here. i am just very appreciative of the fact that anyone has taken an interest in any of what i have to say. anyways christ let me stop yapping before i scare you off entirely, here's chapter four, i sincerely hope you don't hate it, and my inbox is wide open for any thoughts you might have :)

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

The realities of the night before thrashed around in your skull, restoring that acutely fixed pressure point on the bridge of your nose to its former glory as you lay under the homely duvet Joyce had undoubtedly purchased especially in anticipation of your indefinite residence. Part of you hoped, willed, that if you remained there long enough the weighty fabric might consume you whole.

Three gentle taps on the bedroom door immediately ravage any such wishes.

"Good night?" Your lifting of the covers from over your preoccupied head wasn't even necessary to discern the amused smirk across Jonathan's face as he posed the question to the outline of your evidently worse-for-wear frame. Blame it on the alcohol. If only it were that easy.

An unimpressive "Go... away..." is all you can bear to muster up in response. Jonathan wasn't exactly a persistent individual, though your ability to dismiss left even more to be desired. You were not worming your way out of this one, had you been sure you even wanted to.

"So, Hawkins' amenities not up to scratch anymore, city girl?" his attempts to press further poorly masqueraded by the feeble quip.

"He was there." The breathy and shockingly extracted revelation has you sinking impossibly further into the mattress.

"Oh." Some lessons in the art of acting would not go astray here, Jonathan. For a boy who concealed what was, by all accounts, a debilitating crush on Nancy Wheeler for the better part of your middle school careers, the least he could do was make his apparent surprise relatively conceivable.

"Which you already knew, I'm guessing."

Every Wednesday, he'd said. They played there. Every. Single. Wednesday. You dreaded to think how many of those Jonathan and the others had attended. Even more so, how many you'd missed. A sudden throb to your head extricated you from making such calculations.

"So.. did you, uh- you guys talk?"

There it was. You wondered now how much your run-in had been by chance and how much by orchestration. And I would've gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids!, it being your decidedly unresolved dealings with the Munson boy. Or something of that variety. An indiscernible exhale of breath through your nose before answering leaves Jonathan feeling suddenly vulnerable to the very real potential of one of your brutal outbursts. He wondered if he should have armoured up before entering the lion's den. Or at least came bearing gifts (coffee).

"We did."

"Oh, r-really?"

"Yeah! Well, he did, mainly. Wielding profanity-driven throwing knives at me, scolding me for my lengthy absence as if I was some wayward kid and he was my designated custodian. And I mean, I stood there and took it, because, yeah, if we're being honest, maybe I probably deserved some of it. But yeah. A talk was had." A beat. "He's still a fucking prick, though."

Jonathan erupts in uncertain laughter. "Come on, Daph, you know it's all a front. Cut him some slack. You broke his heart."

Those final four words stung as they sliced into your skin, carving out an inescapable pit in your stomach.

"Don't." Your wavering voice an instant traitor of your otherwise assaultive tone.

"Don't what?"

"Say shit like that!" If looks could kill, Jonathan would be well on his way to the nearest ICU. "You never had any idea about our- f-friendship, none of you did. Or what happened to it, for that matter. So, please, Jonathan, because I didn- just- please don't tell me that." The newly impuissant expression on your face troubled Jonathan, as well as what vaguely resembled watering eyes creeping up on you as you now sat so that your wearied body directly opposed his from the other side of the bed. He rarely saw you so... unguarded. It was unsettling.

The thing is, you knew you were wrong. You knew they knew far more than they were willing to admit, or you, willing to accept, about the intricacies of your relationship with Eddie. You knew that he would have confided in them after you left, of course he would have. They had become his best friends as much as yours by the time you, and certainly him, had graduated.

"M'sorry, Daphne."

You extend your arm to Jonathan, placing a reassuring hand on top of his.

"No. My mess." You assure, attempting an equally assertive wink that admittedly lands far less convincingly than you had intended it to.

"It doesn't have to be."

"Jonathan..."

"Look, I'm about to meet Nance for a story we're covering, and we could really use your expertise, Miss Quindlen. She's going to be so stoked to see you."

One exasperated sigh later. "Meeting where, exactly?"

Waves of guilt came crashing over you as soon as Jonathan's car began barrelling down the gravelly entrance of Forest Hills, knocking the breath out of you in their wake. The autumn sun casted an unnerving shadow over the rows of trailers, though your eyes only cared to fixate on one, conveniently fronting what had once been the Hargrove residence, a detail you had never wished to dwell on after that night.

Nevertheless, it appeared you would not be provided the luxury as Jonathan clunkily advanced toward the cul-de-sac, ushering Nancy's infamous Mercury into view, which was stationed adjacent to the antichrist's former dwelling. The deadly silence interrupted by an uncomfortably audible gulp from your place in the passenger seat encouraged Jonathan to state the reassuringly obvious, "Oh, look, she's already here." Not that it assured you of anything other than your escalating sense of dread.

It wasn't just Nancy, but the entire ragtag, it seemed. Well, bar one overbearing, shaggy head of hair, the realisation of which depleting what little wind remained in your sails. His truancy did little to quell your nerves now, as you still faced plenty of bodies deserving of apologies and explanations and more apologies. Great to be back, right?

Maybe.

"Holy shit, Daphne!?!" A combination of suitably juxtaposed mousy curls and fiery red locks came tunnelling towards you, engulfing you in their respective embraces, and unless this was a dismal stab at inducing asphyxiation, they were... happy to see you?

You broke away slightly to plant two affectionate kisses on the foreheads of the Henderson boy and Mayfield girl, causing an uncontrollably winsome blush to paint across the face of the former. The use of descriptors such as 'boy' and 'girl' no longer felt applicable as you took a moment to study their matured faces which beamed undeservedly at your own. They were growing up, just as Will was, once more propelling the heart-rending reality he had so relentlessly driven home for you last night. Time had not stopped moving while you were gone. If anything, it had passed with excruciating acceleration.

The animated pair parted to allow for the emergence of the bashful boy young man who stood watching you unsurely.

"Hi, Lucas." You greeted him with a warm smile which was swiftly returned, silently alerting you that it was safe to approach, and you did, wrapping him in a tight hug before his waggish counterparts rejoined the gladly received envelopment.

"Okay, okay, enough. Before one of you pop a rib." You meant it jokingly for the most part (because if it wasn't yet clear, if there is one thing you revel in it is deflecting candour with humour), but the last year had chipped away at you, eroding what little strength you had managed to hold onto over the years. You couldn't help but wonder how much more it would take for the self-appointed castle to come crumbling down.

"Oh, come on, you've got a few good years left in you." Your innately self-destructive train of thought was broken by a breath of the archetypal Wheeler ribbing you had missed so deeply, fracturing what remained of the already steadily thawing ice as she, finally granted her turn, brought you in for a hermetic hug.

"Nance..." Your shallow breath escaped into the nape of her neck, those nettlesome tears threatening to cascade once more from the tactility of your best friend.

"Hey, stranger."

Return to Hawkins had proved... tumultuous. You felt as though the last twenty four hours had provided an abundance of furore to the otherwise motionless existence you'd led the last six months. Hell, the last four years, if you decided it a fitting time to get candid about your not-so-recent escapades (alas, shocker, you didn't). You knew you could, and would, rhapsodise the time you spent away from the oppressive clutches of Hicksville, USA to anyone who expressed a polite interest, whether for their sake or your own, that much you still weren't certain. But, perched on the hood of the Wheeler's family car, having successfully progressed past the exchanging of niceties and safely onto that effortless display of camaraderie between five faces which beamed at you with such unshakeable adoration that you only reciprocated tenfold, it felt right. More so than any superficially meaningful feat you would anecdotally preen yourself over should you run into an old classmate, educator, failed prosecutor, shaggy-haired Forest Hills inhabitant... I digress.

You were thankful for the many details the timely reunion had inadvertently clarified for you, sparing you the cumbersome burden of having to prod various members of your long-established friend group for the answers outright; you felt this would shine an unnecessarily dazzling light on your prolonged physical (and consequently, emotional) departure, like that one precarious addition who always finds themselves interjecting group discussions with a pitiful, "Wait, who are we talking about? When was this?".

You listened intently as Max recounted, while under the doting enclosure of the Sinclair boy, the belligerent marital breakdown that had occurred between her mom and the enigma that was Neil Hargrove, and how the latter had retreated to California, his contemptible offspring following not long after. He realised there was nothing or no one left in town worth entertaining, or terrorising, Billy always had a seemingly difficult time differentiating between the two. The Hargrove men, having left in a considerable hurry, left what countless ends they had loose, one of which being the grotty trailer Max now resided in with her mother in an attempt to combat their increasingly precarious financial situation. Divorce settlement, Max quipped, yet your heart all but broke at her revelations. From the moment you had formally met her, not two weeks into your entanglement with her now ex-step-brother, you fell head-over-military-inspired-boots in love with her, a love almost as vehement as the detest you had come to cultivate in your core for him. You were the older sister she never wanted, but now that she had, realised she no longer wanted to live without. Although you had never allowed her to realise the full extent of how he had treated you, she knew you were the only other person who clinically understood the layers of atrocity that encompassed Billy Hargrove, aching to be pulled apart, and the only one who cared enough to shield her from them. God, how she had missed you.

Nancy, not at all to your own incredulity, had become in all but name the incisively industrious editor-in-chief of Hawkins Post, and I mean, seriously earned it. You recollected the, what were for you, vexatious years she spent interning for the newspaper in high school, watching as she waited hand and foot on the corroding cadavers that were ostensibly Hawkins' answer to Walter Cronkite. Jonathan was her "right-hand man", as such, though you noted he had been self-appointedly so long before he ever found employment as the Post's resident photojournalist, and a decent one at that, swiftly silencing the plethora of nepotism allegations.

In fact, the only notable absences now were that of who you had christened Dumb and Dumber, formerly known as Steve and Robin (or Robin and Steve, potayto, potahto), who you were sure were still more inseparable than Siamese twins, an impossibility you had taken immense pleasure in declaring time and time again when they had clumsily arrived in late to another of your diligently scheduled shit-talking investigative journalism sessions. "Seriously, one of these days I will have to take a gander at those medical records to ensure the two of you possess entirely independent urinary tract organs."

Your gaze lingered on Dustin, who was looking particularly orphaned, as you recalled the long-standing custody war Harrington and the agonisingly captivating trailer-park-occupant-who-must-not-be-named had undergone for him, an unwanted twitch of your lips threatening to upturn into a, shudder, smile as you did so. The boy must have caught sight of your relatively decipherable stare, offering in return what he intended to be an innocently posed question to the larger part of the group.

"Hey, uh, has anyone seen Eddie?"

The commotion of an infernally on cue entrance ruptured the previously tranquil autumn's day in rural Indiana as it came barrelling out of the opposing trailer in a beeline for the curly headed boy, tackling him to the ground in one brisk motion. His congenital theatricalism put the entirety of that diffident dorp to utter shame. For you, it only had the effect of sending your already taxed circulatory system into overdrive. Like, you felt your heart may as well have been protruding from the caverns of your oesophagus like a particularly vigorous cuckoo clock, and he hadn't even noticed your newly limp frame draped across the Mercury, because, well, just a woeful case of tunnel vision, our Eddie.

"Jesus, Henderson, what are you doing down there, you'll catch your death." He teased as he aided the teenager off the ground, regaining his own composure as he did so, placing two firm, distractingly calloused, silver ring-clad hands on either of his shoulders, comically unaware of the fact your paralysed figure silently loomed over him as the rest of the group watched on impotently. The entire sequence felt painfully pulled out of the best worst horror comedy you've ever seen, like, some hardcore House shit. "Come on, do I got some shit to unpack. You'll never fucking guess who's back in t-"

Thwack!

Thank you, Nancy!

"OW!-n..." As he turned to scold the unidentified Wheeler finger which made sweet, unimpeded contact with his occiput, effortlessly penetrating the dense mane guarding it, the penny dropped. This realisation felt weightier, though, so maybe it was like, I don't know, a quarter or something.

Nut brown M&Ms for eyes attempted to sear an aperture into your own. You'd never thought two orbs you had once so fondly likened to the sugar-coated dragée chocolate confectionery could strike yours so... contemptuously.

And yet, try as they might, their arsonist tendencies were no match for your imperishable glare, an intimidatory tactic you had mastered down to a fine art. He may as well have been trying to set alight Fort Knox with a couple of particularly dull flint stones, a bundle of damp twigs and a dream, and even that would have proved more lucrative than dismantling the penitentiary that was home to your irremediable obstinacy, one nauseatingly formidable glower at a time.

Without as much as a nictate of concession, your address signalled elsewhere. "Your story, Nance. You were saying?"

If he had seriously expected you to be the one to waver in this glorified staring contest, perhaps your departure had been even more cataclysmic than previously thought. A remedial all-things-Daphne-Byers workshop was gravely due, and you were all the more gratified to deliver it.

"Uh, t-, the story, right! Follow me."

Slinging a soothing arm around your farthermost shoulder as she delicately turned your backs on the ungainly group, Nancy breathed a sigh of relief at the timely ejection from the increasingly uneasy atmosphere clouding the Mayfields' front lawn like a hazardous fog. Suddenly she contemplated whether she might have had a vocation as an EOD specialist, having comfortably defused the ticking time bomb that was your seething indignation.

Out of earshot, and into a Wheeler-led cross-examination.

"Do you want to talk, or shall I?"

"About the story, I mean, it is your story, right?"

"Daphne."

Sigh.

"Fine, Nancy, please... put me out of my misery then."

Not that she ever required the invitation, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless.

"Well, let me preface by saying - that was a cold war level standoff, like, holy shit, that was Siberian; and look, by all means, stop me if I'm overstepping," A laughable suggestion, in all honesty, because were you hell about to interject the visibly metastasising fire behind her impassioned cobalt orbs as she geared up for a good ol' fashioned Nancy Wheeler lacerating, which was more like a mild reprimanding, but still not worthy of engulfing the little patience you had left in order to test her own, "but I care about you, and I just feel like too much shit has happened to let the two of you prolong this glorified lovers' quarrel, don't you? It's had four years to run its course, Daphne, surely that's long enough."

"Look, Nance, you are barking up the wrong tree, in fact, you're in the completely wrong fucking forest. Christ, despite the widely verbalised certitude that I haven't stepped foot in this town since I was seventeen, everyone sure as shit wants to berate me like that was only yesterday. I'm an adult, Nancy, as are you now, as is he if the laws of evolution are anything to go by, and if and when he decides to trade in that whole angry-at-the-world outsider shtick he's had going on since high school for an operational backbone, he knows where to find me."

A beat.

"You know I love you, Nance, so much. Which is precisely why I don't wish to concern you, or be concerned, for that matter, with such... juvenile shit anymore, okay? I'm past it, and so are you."

"Maybe. But they're not." The grin she sported as she cast a heedful eye on whatever scene you so fiercely wished to keep your back on was so sickeningly saccharine it coerced any residual irritation out of your enervated bones and onto the sparse communal lawn your eyes were suddenly so fixated with. The collective Forest Hills landscaping ability left a great deal to be desired.

Alas, dissociation only topped the lengthy catalogue of conditions the clinical pragmatist that was Nancy Wheeler had no time for, quickly adjourning your pensive state to guide you back to where a concerned triad remained.

A couple strategically placed sinkholes would not go amiss.

The coterie was noticeably short of one stocky techie and his tachophobically challenged psuedo-dad-who-stepped-up, presumably taking cover nearby while the latter sought a suitably girthy tree trunk to unleash his stifled wrath on. Or to light one up under, whichever impulse prevailed.

The commotion of branches and various other forestry debris contorting under unfamiliar feet from the opposite end of the trailer park perimeter broke your readily resurfacing agitation.

"Nancyyy, hey, we got something!"

Gracelessly floundering out of the shadowy woodland that inundated the Hawkins landscape, none other than your knights in regrettably shining armour, Dumb and Dumber incarnate, Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley.

If your memory served you correctly, and it always did, they were essentially sinkholes of the charismatic variety, anyway.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

taglist <3: @yelyahpfa @avalon-wolf

#rose-colored boy #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #we're so back

[towine]

[alhaitham/cyno] be sweet

~900 words / rated T

i was digging in my WIPs folder and found a ficlet i’d forgotten about. i remember the idea striking me on a long car ride a couple months ago, just one of those random things that i Had to start writing while the idea was in my head.

the idea was, simply, ‘what if cyno could tie a cherry stem with his tongue?’

- -

“Come now, you can’t tell me the General Mahamatra has not a single party trick up his sleeve.”

Alhaitham’s voice had taken a syrupy quality. It could be attributed to the wine he was nursing, though Cyno knew he hadn’t had more than half a glass. Alhaitham so rarely spoke without a point, and time had given Cyno more experience discerning what that point may be, in any given conversation.

In this case, he was trying to get a rise out of him. To what end—well. The what was always easier to figure out than the why.

“I don’t wear sleeves,” Cyno replied.

Alhaitham rolled his eyes. “Oh spare me, Cyno.”

Cyno hid a smile by taking a cherry from a bowl on the table and popping it in his mouth.

Around the cherry pit, he said, “I thought you wanted me to entertain you.”

“I don’t believe I’m the first to tell you your jokes are far from entertaining.”

“Allow me to explain—“

“No, no,” Alhaitham said with a wave of his hand. “Please forget I said anything.”

They went quiet after that, in their secluded corner of Alhaitham’s dining room. The rest of the attendants of that night’s group dinner were gathered in the living room, seated on the couches or on the rug and hotly debating different home rules for a game of mancala. Alhaitham and Cyno had elected to refrain from participating. Kaveh was making a heartfelt, if meandering, case for himself. Dehya was savagely denying him.

Cyno said, “If you’re so bored, you can join them, you know.”

“Not really where my interests lie.” Alhaitham set down his now empty glass. “You are a far more fascinating subject.”

Maybe he was drunk after all, Cyno thought. Alhaitham would not otherwise be so candid.

“You don’t prefer to read one of your books?” Cyno asked.

“No—no more books on dinner nights. I learned my lesson last time when Kaveh spilled wine on my lap. He was lucky it wasn’t one of my more prized books.”

“That was pretty funny, though.” Cyno nearly smiled recalling it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so angry. Your face turned puce.”

“Puce,” Alhaitham said, wrinkling his nose. “Ugh.”

“Not much can crack the Scribe’s exterior,” Cyno continued. He plucked another cherry from the bowl. “At least, that’s what the rumors say.”

“And you believe them?” Alhaitham asked, tilting his head.

Cyno shrugged a shoulder. “There’s some truth to it. But I don’t think you’re as unflappable as people say.”

“Really? And what data do you have to support this hypothesis?”

Cyno regarded him for a moment, mouth closed but teeth still chewing on the cherry he’d eaten, its tartness flooding his tongue.

He spat the pit out, then twirled the stem between his thumb and forefinger.

“You wanted a party trick, right?” he said.

Alhaitham blinked. Before he could respond, Cyno stuck the stem into his mouth.

He made a point of locking eyes with Alhaitham. Alhaitham looked confused. Already he was proving Cyno’s point. Cyno would have grinned if his mouth weren’t preoccupied.

He hadn’t done this in a while, but the motions came back to him quickly enough. His jaw flexed slightly as he worked his tongue behind his closed mouth. Alhaitham’s gaze melted from confusion to something hazier, his eyes occasionally flitting down to Cyno’s mouth.

Finally, Cyno parted his lips and reached for the tip of the cherry stem, bitten between his teeth. He pulled it out.

The stem was now tied in a small knot.

“Ta-da,” Cyno said flatly. He allowed himself one smirk. “Impressive enough for you?”

Alhaitham grabbed him by the jaw.

It caught Cyno by surprise, prompting a small gasp. It was a sudden movement but not an ungentle one. Alhaitham’s palm was broad and warm, cupping Cyno’s chin easily. His thumb settled against the hinge of Cyno’s jaw and pushed, not hard, just applying enough pressure to encourage Cyno to part his lips. Cyno’s heartbeat pounded in his ears.

“How did you do that?” Alhaitham murmured, eyes fixed to Cyno’s lower lip. Perhaps the cherry had stained it.

“Practice,” Cyno breathed. He snuck a glance at the others in the living room. They were still focused on the game.

“That’s all?”

“I could show you.” Cyno’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Just not here.”

Alhaitham hummed. “What if I’d like to see it here?”

Cyno scoffed. Beneath the table, he moved his foot to brush along the inside of Alhaitham’s calf, then upwards, towards the bend of his knee. Alhaitham inhaled sharply through his nose.

“Trust me,” Cyno said, “I can show you more somewhere else.”

Alhaitham seemed to consider it. “Fine,” he said. “Your place?”

“My place. I’ll leave first. Follow in five minutes.”

Cyno rose from his seat, pulling himself out of Alhaitham’s grip. He swallowed against the sudden loss of warmth. He glanced at the others who continued to pay them no mind, then he looked at Alhaitham, staring up at him expectantly. Cyno supposed he deserved something to tide him over.

He bent down and pressed his mouth to Alhaitham’s in a quick, heated kiss. The taste of cherries mingled between them, sweet and heady, before Cyno pulled away. Alhaitham leaned in to chase his mouth.

“Don’t keep me waiting long,” Cyno murmured.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alhaitham said. There: a hint of a smile. Too easy.

Cyno popped another cherry into his mouth before walking away, feeling the weight of Alhaitham’s gaze on him the entire time.

#cytham #haino #genshin impact #alhaitham #cyno #caiwrites #just trying to do some housekeeping and clean out da wips..... they are filling my home

[verymuch777]

Payback

pairing: Jake Sully x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw (18+), SMUTTTT, dominant Jake Sully, lots of edging by Jake

author’s note: This is my first original post on this blog so I hope you enjoy it! It’s been in my head for a few weeks and I hope you like it as much as I do ;)

Jake finally had you alone, after you had been relentlessly teasing him all day. You could tell he was frustrated by the way he glared at you when you got back to your tent, breathing heavily as he practically shoved you inside. He was frustrated, yes, but you also saw something else in his eyes, the way they darkened and set on you, it was something that made you nervous but turned you on at the same time.

There you were, laying on the cool floor of your shared tent, while Jake Sully began walking towards you, eyeing you like he was a hunter and you were his prey. You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him and you let out a nervous giggle. He stopped dead in his tracks

“You think this is funny?” He practically growled.

You shook your head no and looked down at the floor, feeling like if you looked up at him his eyes would burn holes through your head. You had been a bit mean today, brushing your hand against his loincloth while he was speaking with other members of the tribe and playing it off as an accident. Sitting on his lap at meal time and pressing your hips down into his groin, drawing a small grunt from him. He was enchanted by you, and this meant even your smallest movements had an effect on him. By the end of the day he was actively trying to avoid you so you couldn’t mess with him anymore, but he failed.

The final straw was when you came up behind him while he was helping another member of the tribe with his bow work. You wrapped your hands around him from behind and nipped him on the ear before running your hand down his chest and kissing his neck softly.

At that point he had had enough, he ended the session early and dragged you back to your tent. He was full of pent up sexual need but also needed to teach you a lesson.

While thinking about all the ways you had teased him today, you were snapped back to reality by a firm hand grabbing your neck and pushing you flat on your back.

“I bet you really enjoyed that, huh? Just thinking you can get away with anything and I won’t do something about it”. Before you could respond, he leaned down to your ear and gruffly whispered, “I’m gonna teach you a lesson, girl.”

In an instant he had you flipped over onto your stomach, with one of his strong hands holding you down by the nape of your neck while the other took your wrists and held them behind your back. You could already feel yourself beginning to leak with arousal. You loved when he was like this, but you could never have anticipated his next move.

He released the back of your neck, reaching onto the floor of the tent for something that you couldn’t discern, until you felt it - a thick leather cord being wrapped tightly around your wrists. He was hunched over you animalistically, grunting as he pulled the cord taught and tied it firmly.

“You’ve had your fun today, now it’s my turn.” Jake sternly said into your ear. His eyes were dark, glowering from beneath his brow, and you could see his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to contain his frustration. He swiftly put you onto your back which elicited a gasp from you, and you barely had time to process what was happening before his head was between your legs. Your face flushed as he drew closer, knowing he would see how soaked you already were for him.

“Aww poor baby, so needy. Is this all for me?” He asked teasingly. You nodded and looked down at him while he admired your helpless state. Your breathing was heavy and you squirmed impatiently, before feeling a large hand come down on your thigh.

“Stay fuckin still” he growled

“Jake, please - I”

“You what? Hmm?” He asked while placing rough kisses against your inner thighs. He was so close to where you wanted him, only a few inches away from your sopping pussy.

You only whined in response, making him chuckle into your thigh.

“What do you want, baby? You gotta use your words for me”

“I want you to touch me, Jake, please I-I need it”

He groaned softly before finally reaching to remove your loincloth, “Jesus Christ” he mumbled to himself when he saw the state you were in. Your pussy was soaked and your juices glistened against your soft skin.

He began placing soft kisses around and above your clit, but never touching it. You were trying to push your hips into his face but were unsuccessful due to the Na’vi’s giant hands holding your hips firm against the floor.

“Please, please I need something. Please touch me, Jake” you whimpered, your body practically on fire with need. When he finally placed a soft kiss directly on your clit you yelped, back arching off the floor only to be pushed back down by his strong hands. You breathed a sigh of relief as he began licking and sucking on your sensitive clit, hands gently massaging your hips as he did so. It was amazing but it wasn’t enough. Your hole was leaking with desire and he hadn’t gone anywhere near it.

He continued gently suckling on your clit, coaxing delicious moans and whimpers from your throat as you threw your head back. You were getting close and he knew it. He knew your body like the back of his hand, and you were giving all the telltale signs of your orgasm approaching - and fast. Your legs began shaking and you could feel yourself on the precipice of release, just a few more seconds and you’d reach your peak. Just when you were about to cum, you felt him remove his mouth from your pussy.

“No, no no no” you thought to yourself.

Jake had removed his mouth completely from your aching pussy and resumed kissing your thighs. His tongue was so soft and warm, and wet and it drove you insane knowing that you weren’t feeling it where you wanted to. “No, Jake please, please I’m so close please keep going” you whimpered. He moaned softly as he kissed your thigh and said “Yeah baby, I know”. And that’s when it hit you -

He wasn’t going to let you cum. With this realization you began thrashing around in his grip, obscene moans and begging falling from your lips as he continued to kiss just around your pussy. He stopped his assault on your thighs to position his body over yours, glaring down from above you. You felt so small beneath him and it made you even wetter. Wrapping his hand around your throat he stared into your eyes as you continued begging

“You think I’m gonna let you cum after what you did today? You’re in for a long night, princess” He growled, pressing his hips against yours and making you whimper at the feeling of his growing bulge against your aching pussy.

“Jake please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I won’t do it again just please let me cum please” You begged him, tears welling in your eyes. He simply placed a small kiss on your lips before returning between your legs.

His mouth found your aching clit and you felt a wave of pleasure crashing over you. His hands held your thighs apart as his tongue softly licked at your clit, occasionally taking it into his mouth and sucking.

“Jake please! It’s so good please I need to cum”

He felt you nearing your peak and, once again, stopped completely. At this point tears were rolling down your face as you knew he could do this to you all night if he wanted to. And he did. After what felt like days of him relentlessly edging your pussy, you were practically hysterical.

“Please please, please I can’t take it anymore” You shouted between sobs. “This isn’t fair I need to cum”. As he released your clit and kissed it once more, he began speaking.

“Okay baby. You want to cum?” He asked sweetly. You nodded eagerly, your entire body shaking from the torment he’s been putting you through.

“Go ahead then, make yourself cum.” On any other day, you wouldn’t want to finish yourself, it’s so much better when Jake does it. But after hours of his cruel torment, and him ignoring your pleas for mercy, you just wanted a release. You went to reach your hand down to your soaking pussy and cried out when you felt yourself being stopped. You had completely forgotten about the leather cord holding your hands behind your back. Jake chuckled as he watched you cry and thrash around, trying to free yourself from the restraints.

“Oh your poor thing, can’t do it?”

You cried out his name and watched as he leaned down and spread your pussy open with his thick fingers, exposing your throbbing clit and your leaking hole. He leaned down and you closed your eyes, begging for him to put his mouth on you, but all he did was lightly blow on your aching pussy. You screamed and tried to close your legs to get some kind of friction but to no avail. He leaned back and sat on his heels, thumb lazily circling over your clit as he pulled his loincloth off. Your eyes widened at the sight.

He was so hard it looked like it hurt, and precum was leaking from the tip of his cock. He was absolutely massive, at least 15 inches long and thick. “Please fuck me, touch me, do anything please!” He moved his body closer to your pussy, stroking his cock slowly in front of you as you soaked in the view.

“You want me inside you, hmm pretty?”

“God yes Jake! Yes please I need it, I need it please.”

“Okay, whatever you say.” He said, a smirk growing on his lips. Your body ached for him, needed him inside you, needed him to make you cum and fill you with his seed. You watched as he lined himself up with your entrance, and your head fell back at the feeling, knowing you would finally get what you wanted.

But that’s all you got. He put the tip of his cock against your needy hole and stayed there, still jerking himself off in front of you. At this point you were in hysterics. He had been edging you for hours and it didn’t look like he was stopping anytime soon. That’s when you felt him lean over you and come so close to your face that your noses were touching.

“What do you want, girl?”

Your face flushed. “I want you inside me Jake, I need you, I need your cock please!”

That’s when you felt him begin to push into you, agonizingly slowly. Your pussy fluttered around him as you basked in the feeling of finally having him in you. He bottomed out and immediately felt your pussy clench - you were already on the edge and you were about to cum just from having him inside you. He whispered harshly in your ear “Don’t you dare fuckin cum until I tell you”, and the tears continued streaming down your face. Your body was spent and you felt like you were on fire. How were you going to hold off?

He smirked as he watched your face contort, completely focused on trying to hold off your orgasm so as not to anger him even more. He began to slowly rock in and out of you, drawing cracked sobs and moans from your lips as you begged him to let you cum.

“Have you learned your lesson, you fuckin brat?” he growled into your ear.

A stream of “yes”s and “please Jake” left your mouth and that was good enough for him.

He reached his hand down between your shaking thighs, soaked with the arousal that had dripped from your pussy, and began rubbing your clit with his thumb as he fucked into you slowly. He felt you tighten even more around him and knew you were close. He leaned down to your ear, breathing heavily against your neck

“Cum for me, girl”

His words sent you over the edge, and you exploded around him, stars speckling the backs of your eyelids as your orgasm racked your body. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, still playing with your swollen clit, as you cried out his name and spasmed around his cock. You heard soft groans spilling from his mouth,

“Fuck babygirl, you’re so fucking tight. That’s right, cum for me baby. You’re doing so good.”

His hand left your clit and he moved both hands to grip your hips firmly, leaning you up and untying the restraints around your wrists while still fucking into your limp body. Your chest heaved up and down and he stared in awe at the state he had left you in. Face soaked with tears and sweat, and legs soaked in your juices as he held you in his arms and fucked you so good you saw stars.

As you came down from your high, your legs shaking around him, you waited for him to finish inside you. But he kept going. And going. In fact, his pace increased. He was fucking into you harder, deeper, like an animal in heat. It was then you realized he didn’t plan on stopping, and he confirmed your suspicion in a harsh whisper,

“I’m not done with you yet baby, you’re not going anywhere”

—-----------------------------------

Part 2?

#jake sully #jake sully fanfiction #jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #avatar smut

[sniperjade]

Bad Professor - Chapter 2 - The First Day

On the first day of term, Regulus had stumbled out of bed, imbibed a hangover potion, a pepper-up potion and three cups of coffee. He had barely managed to drag himself to his classroom and was still in a state of questionable consciousness when the first of the teenagers showed up. Thankfully, his first class was a group of seventh years, who in their terror of failing NEWTS had all read the set texts and thoroughly approved of his plan to introduce them all to the statue of Achernar Rigel Black.

They appreciated the unique perspective Achernar had on the subject and thought it was very useful for their understanding of the text. Most of his classes had passed in a similar matter and he was starting to think that this might not actually be so bad, going to far as to say as much when he met up with the other teachers at lunchtime. Severus looked over at his class schedule.

“Who have you got next?”

“The third years,” Regulus replied.

Severus's tight-lipped smile stretched into a truly vicious grin. “Well then. Good luck with that.”

Regulus frowned as he trotted back up to his class. When he walked up, he heard snippets of the conversation coming from a crowd of third-year students. A boy with startlingly blond hair and the familiar form of Blaise Zabini, leaned their heads together as they whispered.

“ – he’s a pushover?”

“Used to give me anything I asked for.”

Regulus walked up behind them as Blaise confidently regaled the other students with his knowledge of the new Professor.

“That’s only because I was fucking your mum,” Regulus stated bluntly, “I think you’ll find me a little less obliging now.”

Blaise turned to watch him with wide horrified eyes as he swept past him into the classroom. He turned and gestured for the first student, a small girl with incredibly bushy hair, to come in. As they all filed through the door, he checked the fabric covering Achernar’s portrait and sat down heavily in his chair. With a fluid movement, he swung his legs up, so they rested on the desk.

The bushy-haired girl instantly scowled at him, and he was about to speak, when blondie boy came to stand by his desk and held out his hand. He had a very pointy chin and a certain aristocratic air that was awfully familiar. Regulus looked him up and down, noting the finely tailored robes and startlingly grey eyes and sighed.

“Hello. My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy. I believe you’re my cousin.”

Regulus gave him a withering look and chewed his cheek, making no move to take the boy’s hand.

“And?”

Malfoy hesitated as Regulus stared at him.

“Go and sit down, you’re holding up the class.”

Malfoy dropped his hand and slid into his seat next to an equally shocked Blaise Zabini.

Regulus smirked.

“Does anyone else have any more pressing matters before we get started?”

The class sat in silence.

“Right.” He swung his legs back off the desk and stood. “I am Professor Regulus Arcturus Black of the proud and most ancient house of Black. You may call me Professor Black. Has everyone read the set text?”

The girl with the bushy hair shot her hand straight into the air jumping slightly in her seat. A smattering of the other third years also put their hands up. Regulus noticed that neither Zabini nor Malfoy did, and both avoided his eyes. They probably thought their status would make this class an easy ride.

Regulus snorted.

“If you haven’t done the readings you are going to find this class quite challenging. For our first lesson, I’m going to take you right back to the beginning of runic magic so that you can discern the reason it was first created as well as its many uses, but first of all, are there any muggle-born students here?”

The girl in the front row with the bushy hair and a boy who had very short tight curls and a gormless expression both raised their hands.

“Right, today you’re half-bloods.”

The girl gasped and made a shocked sound. “Sir, you can’t be serious.”

Regulus winced as the image of Sirius popped into his head, his eyes twinkling with laughter as he quipped. No, I’m Sirius.

Continued on Ao3

#moonseeker #moonwater #regulus black #remus lupin #snily #drarry #hpfanfiction #hpfanart #regulus black is a little shit

[canvasbaby]

trafalgar law x reader

ThIS IS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT- that means bad and gross and very disturbing things

⚠️⚠️⚠️

This story contains: sexual assault, harassment, stalking, cutting, blood and descriptions of organs, mentions of murder, attempted murder, breaking and entering, self-doubt, low self confidence, mentions of suicide

^ let me know (please) if I missed something

This story is not a lesson on how to act in reality. Please if you have trouble discerning good/bad or reality/fiction do not read this.

Reader has low self confidence. If you find yourself in a situation where you even THINK someone may be harassing or following you, TELL SOMEONE. ANYONE. you are worth the time.

⚠️⚠️⚠️

Summary: reader is a waitress at a restaurant. When local women start getting murdered, shes suspicious of the new man in town.

Living in a place where pirates commonly came and went, no one batted an eye when the first woman died. Yes, it was odd for a pirate ‘attack’, being murdered in her home, but not having any details of the murder at the time, the community brushed it off.

Then the second woman was killed. Then the third. And the fourth.

The community was on high alert now, especially you. You looked almost exactly like all the other victims. But you weren’t exactly scared of death, you were scared of a worded fate.

The marines in your area shared some details about the murders around the time the fourth happened. They were all dissected. They said it had to be done by someone with medical knowledge… but it seemed like the culprit was playing with the body. Toying with her insides and rearranging body parts.

No, you weren’t scared about dying. You had eaten a devil fruit by mistake, giving you the power of immortality. But of course, you weren’t immune to things. You hurt. You stung and bled. It would heal fast, sure, but the pain was 10x worse. A horrible life to live.

So, you settled down in a quiet town on a big island in the middle of the grand line. You were born on the other side of the island, but here you had more opportunities for jobs and such. Now, however, you’re considering moving back. You had your trusted male coworkers walk you to your house and back, got extra locks, and hired your male neighbor to walk your dog. Yes, the community was in high alert, but you were terrified. Because you think you know who’s killing these women. And you’re pretty sure he’s the one stalking you.

Right before the first murder happened, a small group of friends came into the restaurant you served at. They seemed odd, that’s why you remembered them so well. A big polar bear in a boiler suit, two men in funny hats, and the one you can’t stop thinking of. The tall, tan man. He was well-dressed, he had stubble and looked tired. He hat on a spotted hat and could never make eye contact with you.

He was weird and awkward. He ordered without looking at you, he mumbled, he would look at your boobs without shame, but then blush when you’d catch his eye. But the worst part was when you came back to refill their drinks.

You reached over the tall man to refill the bears water, and as you leaned, you felt a hand graze the back of your leg. He was touching you. Well, he was touching your pantyhose, but he was touching you!! You almost dropped the pitcher in surprise. You kindly excused yourself and cried in the walk-in.

Of course you couldn’t tell anyone, they looked like pirates, and he had a sword with him! You knew the restaurant manager couldn’t handle him, and you didn’t want to get the marines involved, so you begrudgingly went on with your day. That’s the first time you asked your coworker to walk you home.

Everyone swears you’re seeing things. But you know he’s following you. You see him at every store you’re in. Every time you’re clinging to your coworker fearing for your safety. Every time you go to close your blinds. He’s there. Staring.

You just wish he’d get it over with. Instead of toying with you, watching you writhe in fear. But, of course, he loved that. Loved seeing your terrified look every time you caught his eye. But he’s getting antsy. It’s been over a month since he saw you for the first time, and his crew is leaving soon. He decided to take you tonight.

You get home after the closing shift, tired and ready for the opening shift tomorrow. You walked inside, noticing your dog wasn’t there. Assuming your neighbor wasn’t back from the walk yet, you kept going. Looking back, you wish you had noticed. Really looked and realized your door was unlocked, the leash was still there, and the floor had slight muddy footprints…

You showered without incident. Brushed your teeth, washed your face. He was giving you to settle in. To calm down.

You go into your room with just a towel on, opening your closet. You were distracted thinking about tomorrow’s outfit. Until he decided to speak up.

“You have a nice apartment.”

You screamed in terror and whipped your head around. There he was. The very same tan man with a spotted hat.

“Who are you?” You nearly squealed.

He only smiled a bit. Not really a smirk, but like a shy smile. Like he was happy you were finally talking to him. He didn’t answer you. At least not then. He stalked towards you, your back now pressed against the closet door in nothing but a towel.

“I want you…”

“Don’t touch me!” You spat in his face. He seemed excited, happy that you were fighting back.

You felt a sting on your head. Your vision was blurry… blurrier… then dark.

—————————

You wake up with a start. The lights above you are blinding. It smells like harsh chemicals and latex. You try to cover your eyes from the headache inducing lights, but you’re stopped by the chains around your wrists. A little more wriggling and you find your arms, legs, and neck are chained down.

“You’re so cute when you struggle like that. You should keep trying…” the man who did this to you comes into view. He’s wearing a white lab coat and a surgical mask. You assumed the marines were right, he does have medical experience.

You looked him in the eye. You were too scared to say anything. Before, your adrenaline was so high you had the ability to defy him. But for some reason, you feel weak. You can barely move your mouth even if you wanted to. Of course he would drug you, he needs total control.

He starts touching you. You realize now you’re completely naked other than your panties. Goosebumps rise all over you. He’s touching you much too gently for a man who’s about to try and murder you. Speaking of which, you see as he picks up scalpel with a long blade. He wastes no time.

Slicing you from just under your breasts to your uterus. It was painful. Of course it was, the searing pain made you scream. Even with the drugs in your system, you felt your unrelenting heart pick up the pace. Your blood is probably all over the table and floor by now. He keeps cutting so he can open you up and see your insides. It was awful. You were so tightly strapped you couldn’t push him off. Your tears soaking your hair. Sweat beading off your head, and wetting your hands.

He didn’t seem surprised you were still alive. Even as he was digging around your insides, cutting and moving and slicing, he was soaking in your distress. Trying to focus on anything else, your eyes finally adjusted to the room around you, noticing an odd blue hue surrounding you and this surgeon of death.

You had no idea how long this went in for. You would pass out, but he’d quickly wake you back up. The marines investigating once said on the news the murderer took their time with their victims. It felt like hours. Maybe days.

He finally stopped rummaging around in you. At this point, your whole torso, from just under your neck to your vagina was practically cut in half. If you could see yourself, you’d puke. He backed up. You can see he was clearing getting off to this. He was almost embarrassed of his boner, trying to hide it behind his blood stained coat.

“I’m gonna miss you..”

“Huh?” The ‘word’ barely came out of you. Your neck torn from screaming. The drugs no longer in effect, but you’re so tired from crying and struggling. He lifts his hand and the blue hue releases. You faint.

But, of course, as the few times you’d tried to kill yourself before, you’d woken back up. You open your eyes to him kissing your ‘dead’ body. He seems to be really into it. You noticed youre not strapped down anymore.

“Please… get off me..” you sniffle.

He looks at you in astonishment.

“You’re… alive?” Lucky for your sore throat, he’s a quick thinker. Almost immediately he puts the pieces together.

“You can’t die?” He was giddy. He picked you up and placed a patients robe over you.

You didn’t want to answer him. To give him the satisfaction of confirmation. You simply looked down in disbelief. He walked you out of the room. You seemed to be in some kind of metal prison. He led you to a room almost as clean as the room you were just in. He sits you on the bed.

“I’m so happy. I can kill you over and over…. And you’ll always be mine. I love you, Y/N”

“How’d you know my name?”

He paused for a moment as if he’d been caught. Instead of answering, he lies you down and covers your partially naked body with a thick blanket. He takes his time changing, he’s giving you a show. You see he’s objectively attractive, but all you felt was disgust. Just the feel of him getting under the covers with you would make you puke if you had anything in your stomach.

He curls up to you, laying his head on your breasts. You both lay awake, unable to sleep due to the excitement of the past few hours.

You’re curious about him. You need to know more. You can’t sleep if you’re left with these thoughts swirling in your mind.

“What’s.. your name?” You whisper to him. Trying to sound cute. You don’t know if he will get upset easily.

“Law. Trafalgar Law.”

Lemme know if you wanna part 2

#dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #one piece #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece smut #trafalgar d law x reader #stalker #tw murder

[covenofthearticulate]

A rare moment of Lestat giving Louis lessons on SexEd?

This was actually a bit of a challenge at first for me since I’ve always headcanoned that Louis is pretty knowledgeable about sex given that he lived in San Francisco in the 70s. When it comes to anatomy, however…that’s a different story 🤦‍♀️

"Lestat..." Louis bores into the back of his lover's head with a curious gaze and a pinched brow. He’s in a strange bout of bravery, or perhaps foolishness, as is most often the case when his many layers of gentlemanly decorum are shed amidst the rest of his clothes by the foot of the bed and the blushing post-coitus warmth makes his head feel just a little fuzzy.

Still strange, these moments of peace the sanctity of their own room. Still novel. He doesn’t want to break the spell, and yet he knows if he doesn’t speak now, he’ll lose all courage once the swoon wears off.

“Hmm?” Lestat doesn’t bother moving, which is for the best, because Louis might lose his nerve if he had to actually face him. 

“When you were...alive and mortal, you...”

“I what? I was foolish? I had freckles on my shoulder? I stole my mother’s rouge when I wanted to feel pretty? Guilty, on all three counts.”

“You were bisexual.”

He turns around just as Louis had feared, and he’s got that insipid little smirk on his lips just as Louis knew he would, and it’s infuriating and endearing all the same.

“Yes. Yeah, I was. I am!” He laughs, if only because he’s caught off-guard by the blunt observation. 

Just a few years ago Louis had refused to entertain the very notion of labeling one’s sexuality (”why is it anyone’s business who I am attracted to? why must my identity be dissolved into a rainbow flag?”), and now the tone in his voice makes it sounds as if it’s as plain as day. The sky is blue, water is wet, and the vampire Lestat is bisexual. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting for me to come out to you, as they say. It’s a little late for that.” They haven’t strictly spoken about it for some time, though of course Louis had always known for as long as he had known Lestat that he wasn’t particularly discerning when it came to wanting to get laid.

“No. Stop that.” Louis is half-tempted to smack his pillow into his face.

“Alright! So what? I’m bi. You’re gay. And we both lived happily ever after.”

“I wanted to know...” He shifts under Lestat’s suddenly attentive gaze, throwing off the comforter as his face is suddenly flooded with an unbearable warmth. “Never mind.”

“Louis! Oh, come now, Louis, you’ve gotten this far, you may as well ask.”

“I said never mind.” He all but pouts.

“You want to know how I knew I was queer? Or you want to know what it feels like to make love to a woman? It has to be one of those two, I’m not a fool, I know what people think about— well, about people like me, I suppose.”

“What do people think about people like you?” The frown has reappeared across his delicate lips, still raw and blood speckled from their evening together. 

Now its Lestat’s turn to pout as he inspects his nail bed and picks at his cuticles. A petty human decoy that he can’t seem to let go of.

“That I’m confused. That I’m a slut.”

“You are a slut.”

The response earns him an elbow in the ribs, but Louis only uses the opportunity to pull Lestat close for an embrace. 

“That I’m selfish.” Lestat continues, mumbling into the soft canopy of black hair. “That I’m too straight for queers and too queer for straights.”

“Hmm.” Louis hums, appreciative of the candor. “Well, you’re just right for me.”

“Thank you, little miss Goldilocks.” Lestat snorts. 

Louis presses a kiss to his forehead, soft and sweet and sickeningly domestic.

“I wanted to know the latter. What it feels like.” Louis finally says once they have settled into themselves once more, and the air feels a little lighter and the world seems to slow with the rise and fall of Lestat’s chest against his own.

“But you slept with women, Louis. I watched you, those final months and weeks of your life.”

“That was so long ago, I can barely remember. Besides, you know it was different. Of course you know. You must’ve known, even then. I wasn’t...I never felt...the way you seem to.” There is a hint of sadness behind his words, and it’s so soft Lestat can barely stand it. 

“It’s...different. Softer. And wetter. Fundamentally, though, I think it’s roughly the same if you’re doing the fucking. Right down to the angles.”

“The angles?”

“Yeah, y’know. The angles.” He leans in close, brings his hand between their two faces and slowly, sensually curls his two fingers inwards until—

“Lestat! Ugh, you’re disgusting.” Louis knocks his hand out of his face with a scowl.

“You asked, mon coeur!”

He rolls his eyes, holds tight to Lestat’s hand until their fingers link together. “What do you mean, though? What about angles?”

“It’s the same, in women. They have a spot, and if you curl your fingers up and press against it, well...” Lestat gives his hand a little squeeze, turns his head so he can press a smattering of kisses against Louis’ neck.

“Hmm. I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t, Louis. God, those poor women. Do you even know where the clitoris is?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, DO YOU monsieur-know-it-all?!”

“I…it’s…below the…near the…”

Oh, Lestat can hear the blood flushing beneath his skin, like one warm strike of lightning, as he digs his heels into the mattress to keep from fidgeting. GOTCHA! It’s not often he can render the ever-articulate Louis de Pointe du Lac speechless, and he can’t help but smile as he curls himself against the solid form of his lover. 

“Would you like a demonstration? Surely we could entice Bianca, or perhaps Jess—“

“No! God, no.”

“Not even for educational purposes?”

“Lestat, I don’t need to be educated in making love to women. That’s knowledge I’m never going to use.”

“What about knowledge for the sake of knowledge?! My beautiful philosopher, aren’t you curious?” He’s got one strand of black hair twirled around his finger now as he nips at the tender flesh beneath his jaw.

“Lestat...”

“I promise, I’d put on a good show, Louis. I’m a very good teacher, as you well know. Wouldn’t you like to watch?”

Lestat can’t see his face from his position on his chest, but he knows it’s twisted with adorable, stubborn defeat.

“...maybe.”

#this was written on mobile so apologies for any typos! #i love a good ol’ vampires talking about sexuality prompt #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #answered #loustat #my writing #drabble

[blackjackkent]

Chatted with a random Flaming Fist in the refugee camp area which turned out to be a, uh, VERY DIFFERENT CONVERSATION THAN I EXPECTED.

"Hail, friend! Fine day, isn't it?"

"Forgive me - you're in no mood to talk about the weather. Your journey here was a hard one, no doubt. Is this your first time in Baldur's Gate?"

He seems jovial, but something about his tone feels just the slightest bit forced. So Hector is cautious.

"My past is none of your concern."

"No offense intended. Just being friendly. You won't find many others making the effort." His smile tightens sardonically. "Used to be you'd arrive knowing you'd a full belly and a warm bed waiting for you. Not anymore. These days there's barely enough to go round. Add the refugees on top... and, well, folk aren't feeling too generous."

Hector cocks his head to one side. He hears his companions shift uneasily. All of them heard the way the man's voice twisted on the word "refugees", the air of malice that came into his whole attitude.

Hector keeps his voice deliberately even. "Is there anything I can do to ease these people's burden?" he asks.

"Been asking myself the same question," the guard mutters harshly, seeming to be speaking to himself as much as to Hector. "I wouldn't be the first to interfere. Some well-to-do's in the city donated enough to see the newcomers right for the time being. Only they didn't bother helping everyone else. Locals going without while strangers feast-- it's stoked the fire all right. Some Baldurians are kicking up a fuss round the front of the barn as we speak." His voice lowers and he meets Hector's eyes with a significant glance. "If I wasn't wearing this uniform, I'd walk round there and teach them a lesson they'd never forget."

Hector's eyes narrow. It's hard to discern whether the guard is saying he'd want to beat up the Baldurian complainers or the refugee interlopers, but either way, this is not the talk he wants to hear from the city's guardians. "You're supposed to keep the peace, not stoke the fire," he says coolly.

The soldier barks a laugh. "What peace? If no one steps in, there'll be bodies piled high in the streets before long." His jaw sets, as if he has come to some sudden conclusion. "Those refugees have been leeching on our city for too long. If we don't show them we mean business, they'll bleed us dry." He leans forward, stabs a finger at Hector's chest. "We need to march round the front and kill every last one of them. Let's see them eat our food with their guts on the floor. What do you say?"

Hector stares at him, disgusted, appalled. Not only at the suggestion, but at the fact that he somehow believes Hector would be a kindred spirit, to go along with this brutal plan.

"They're innocent people!" he sputters, so bewildered that it's a struggle to form a coherent response. "You can't just kill them!"

The guard's smile grows, suddenly, maniacally. "Why does it matter? Innocence makes the blood run clearer!"

Suddenly he straightens. His neck cracks to one side, his body spasms, his eyes light with a pale red glow that spreads to cover his whole body.

Hector goes still as a statue, his breath seizing in his throat. Orin, the Bhaalspawn from Moonrise, one of the Chosen, the most mysterious and dangerous of the three... stands directly in front of him.

"So..." Orin murmurs with lunatic glee. "You're the lickspittle who crushed the Bone Lord's thrall." She looks him up and down appraisingly, that wide, manic smirk cutting her face from ear to ear. "Have you come beg-begging, sniffing for our stones? Gortash won't like that - a throat his black hand can't choke the spit from."

She draws closer to him; he can smell the stench of blood in the air she walks through. At his side, his companions are all also still as stone, tense as a drawn bowstring but wary of striking. None of them know anything about this person, this creature - who she is, what she is capable of, or even fully what she wants.

She laughs brightly, brushes the tips of her fingers over his chest in a single taunting motion before drawing back. "You'll need to bleed and carve this city if you want to turn him to grave meat," she sneers. "He shivers at the thought."

Her voice lowers almost to a whisper, her eyes glinting conspiratorially. "When you find the lordling - tell him Orin is watching."

She vanishes in a burst of red light, leaving the group standing bewildered behind her.

Fear of an entirely new kind flickers through Hector abruptly. "So Orin is a shapeshifter," he whispers hoarsely. "How long has she been watching?"

A creature who could be anything, anyone... this is a threat unlike anything they've already encountered. If Orin could take the place of someone he trusts, someone he would believe implicitly... she could make him do anything, and he wouldn't even realize it.

How can they fight such a thing?

Then again, he thinks, with a flash of dark humor, I thought that about Ketheric, too.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #well that escalated unexpectedly

[achronicleofblasphemy]

Here's an excerpt of chapter 2 from my book.

📚✨Evie finds herself disillusioned at a public school dominated by fanciful tales of magical sensitivity and elvish heritage. As her peers fall for the deception, Evie reflects on the societal desire for superiority and the absurdity of the magical narratives she once embraced.🌟🧙‍♂️

“I probably couldn’t even use a Talisman. My mom has a lot of elvish on her side so I’m like super sensitive to that stuff.” A girl prattled on to her friend. Evie ate alone as she had the past three days since starting at Ward 3 – Kearns Secondary. The girl and boy next to her were in her class and never once had they uttered a word in there. Out here they wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Oh my god I know. Could you imagine having to carry like a big wooden staff or something? I could never.” The boy mindlessly contributed.

“Mine would be a crown.” The girl stated miming out the placement of her contradiction upon the top of her head.

“Ya, totally.” The boy agreed unsarcastically.

It had been a glorious victory for Evie to be enrolled in public school. She had worked tirelessly to be expelled from every private school her father threw at her:

Andover School of Math and Science: Mild arson in the Gym. Fucking fascists.

Rosemary Mann Academy of Arts and Letters: Slashed all the teacher’s tires in the parking lot. Damn hippies.

Fishburne Service Academy: Blackmailed the teacher to flunk her out of school. Those fuckers didn’t give up easy.

She was deeply proud of her accomplishments, but now being here she was gravely disappointed. She had hoped she might find some comradery in her fascination with Places of Power, Constructs, and the building blocks of engineering. She only found the same ignorant conversations about “magical sensitivity” and elvish heritage. These two kids didn’t even know the extent of it. The students at Andover, even Rosemary Mann, would eat them alive. The lie they so willingly believed was just another part of her family’s, and other families like hers, generational predation. It wasn’t even a good one. It was easily contested, proven to be inaccurate, and just required a modicum of dignity to overcome. It appeared to her, now most of all, that people just wanted any excuse to feel superior.

“I’m actually related to Baroness Du Kompf.” Said the girl.

“No way! That’s crazy.” The boy responded.

Evie actually knew the Du Kompfs. Or rather, had met several members of the extensive family at the stuck-up galas her parents forced her to go to.

“Excuse me, sorry, but did you say you’re related to the Du Kompfs?” Evie asked, feigning excitement to grab their attention. The girl suddenly looked uncomfortable when she realized someone besides the two of them were listening to the conversation.

“I mean, ya, but like distantly you know? She’s like my great, great, great, great aunt. Or something.” She replied with a sharp antagonized tone. The boy next to her nodded in agreement. Evie didn’t believe her, but the girl obviously wanted to be a part of the world she came from, and she was more than happy to oblige her in this life lesson.

“I went to Andover with Ari Du Kompf!” Evie exclaimed excitedly. This was true, and she liked Ari. They were friends in kindergarten and first grade. Until her father embezzled a large sum of money and they had to relocate back home to the Caspian Republic.

“You went to Andover? Why are you here?” the boy asked skeptically. Evie didn’t appreciate the newfound discernment. He’d been so willing to accept the nonsense spouted by his harebrained friend, why was her own life so unbelievable?

“I didn’t enjoy the education they offered. I wanted somewhere that focused on things like Engineering, Constructs, Points of Power and all that.” Evie replied truthfully.

The two of them looked at her as if she’d just told them she ate from the trash.

“Isn’t Andover a math and science school?” the boy asked her incredulously.

“Right, but it's more in line with corporate markets, political sciences, asset management, and stuff like that. The only time they ever really get close to something like engineering is when discussing demographic economics, and its glanced over as something other people do.” She explained. It was lost on them.

“Wait, so are your parents like rich?” The girl asked her. She recognized the hungry look of envious admiration. She despised it.

“Oh yaaaa. But wait, so, do you know Ari?” Evie replied, trying her best to match their asinine cadence. The girl nodded her head enthusiastically. Her eyes offered no spark of recognition but swallowed her whole with a covetous yearning.

“I was so sorry to hear about the accident.” Evie lied.

“Uh, oh with Ari?! I know, it’s awful.” The girl replied instantly, leaning in past her friend to get closer to Evie.

“And that poor horse, and Romero!”

“Oh my god, I know.”

“That fire went on way too long, didn’t it?”

“Riiight?”

“Dongwagler’s up in smoke, and just like, poof! No more pistachio ice cream.”

“So fucked.”

“Westminster will never be the same. I don’t even think it's worth going this season.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh my god how could you even?” the boy agreed. Evie couldn’t believe it. Nothing would stop them from trying to envelop themselves in the same bullshit that her world had convinced everyone else was true.

She wasn’t hungry, and everyone else was boring. She was going for a walk.

“Dongwagler’s? Really?” She sneered. The two of them took a moment. Upon realizing they’d been duped they sneered back at her and called her weird. They blocked her off but made sure to speak loud enough so they could hear them laughing at her.

#author #writer #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #creative writing #amwriting #writeblr #writing #online writing #fantasy books #fantasy writing #fantasy story #urban fantasy #original writing #lol #a chronicle of blasphemy #fantasy #ignorant bitches #ignorant #fuck em #female lead #original character #online publishing #self publishing #self publication #writers community #writers and readers #writers life #writers and poets #creative work

[chaomother]

AHAH IT WAS I, THE OTHER TWIN

Fooled ya

Anywho mY BAD - night + jet???

- Moon

*GASPS* YOU GOT ME!!! HEHEHE i hope this drabble can make you forgive me ;3 it got away from me a little so it was longer than i expected it to be hehe

「jet the hawk x gn!reader」

Starlight gleamed upon the water’s surface, your hands distorting the quintessential reflections from your ripples as you delicately traced your fingertips across the cool liquid. “I wish I could be anywhere but here,” you huffed out tiredly, “Don’t you agree, Mr. Caterpillar?”

The vibrant green caterpillar making its way to the other side of the marble fountain paid you no mind, impelling you to sigh with an equally strained smile. “You’re heading home, aren’t you? Well, here, I’ll give you a lift,” you chortled as the little critter allowed you to scoop it up onto your finger.

“This spot looks perfect,” you gently placed the caterpillar onto a purple flower, observing how it rubbed itself against the luscious petals. The subdued, pale light emanating from the mansion magnified the lovely scene; and you couldn’t help but think about how beautiful the garden truly was.

Knowing that life beyond vegetation flourished here made the irritation you felt deep inside quell slightly—you never had anything against the abundant, bountiful place to begin with, but with how obsessively your parents cared for it… just made it feel spiritless. And ugly.

For the sake of ostensible cosmetics, every flower or vine had to be perfect; your parents pursuing this ideology so cruelly and vehemently that they’ve fired caretakers in the past for causing one accidental blemish.

“What’s someone as pretty as you doing out here at night all by themselves?”

At the sound of a familiar and disembodied voice, you gyrated on your heel and discerned your favorite vainglorious thief. “Jet? Why am I not surprised to see you here?” you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing he’d come this way, attracted to the lavish and rich gathering inside.

You sauntered back over to the fountain, taking your previous spot back but with new vigor at the appearance of a friend. Jet purloined the seat adjacent to you, prepared to listen to your ramble as he seen your lips parting again, “You know how these boring fancy parties go. I’m just sick of putting on a face for the sake of appearances, like, the food is terrible. It’s so hard not to cringe and say I like it…”

“Parents who push their own unattainable expectations on their kids are so annoying,” Jet sympathized with a light tone, thinking back on his own father. Not that his father pushed anything unwanted on him, but rather that Jet felt the need to live up to that legacy—and the subsequent worries that came along with it. “Want me to snatch your old man’s cane? It’s real gold, right? We can watch him stumble around in front of everyone and teach him a lesson!”

Jet sounded so utterly confident in his suggestion that you couldn’t stop your heart from fluttering into your throat. But it was still an undeniably absurd idea that the rigidness in your shoulder ricocheted off each other as you threw your head back in a fit of laughter.

“Haha, no, no, that’s okay!”

And as Jet watched you sincerely be in stitches, unrestrained and full of animation, he knew he’d allow you to get away with laughing at him this one time. “That’s better, isn’t it? Now quit your laughing!” Jet expressed his disapproval, his hand jerking your shoulder.

Rubbing a tear from your eye, you grinned, “Much better!” Did he say something so stupid to make you feel better on purpose? He really did have such an effect on you—ever since he first messed up the layout of your house and mistook your bedroom for the vault room…

You could still faithfully recollect how your heart pounded as the Babylon Rogues burst into your room and how Jet’s breathtaking poise captured your attention; right before he squawked panickedly when met face-to-face with you!

The way skeins of moonlight cascaded into your room and beguiled his handsome figure… and how you couldn’t resist explaining to the trio where the actual destination was. It’s not like you cared for the things in there anyway, instead you were riveted on the mystique and excitement in your chest.

A complacent smirk etched itself onto Jet’s expression, and he kicked himself off the fountain and stood before you. “If you’re feeling so fantastic, than, will you give me a dance on this lonesome night?” he questioned, hand sticking out to you in what you surmised was meant to be a debonair manner.

“Trying to be smooth? It doesn’t suit you,” you giggled as you slipped your hand into his, allowing him to pull you up onto your feet. He settled his other hand on your waist as you grasped his shoulder, and he nudged you closer; needing this propinquity as minimal as possible.

Jet rolled his eyes, exclaiming, “You just haven’t seen this side of me until now.”

“Hehe, alright… Show me,” you whispered, flitting your eyes shut as the world went quiet upon the two of you beginning to spin in place slowly. Jet was a terrible dancer, so there were no elaborate moves… but you liked this makeshift dance best. More than anything in the world.

#jet the hawk #jet the hawk x reader #x reader #sonic x reader #drabbles #fluff #gn reader

[jamespotterthefirst]

In A Name (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart, book 1 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1K Warning: Language Premise: Almost everyone who doesn’t speak her native language pronounces her surname wrong. Everyone except for the famous Ethan Ramsey. 

A/N: Based on an ask by the lovely @btwitschelle​! This one is for you! Also, I had no idea people were unsure about how to pronounce Allende until you guys messaged me a few weeks ago. So here we are! 

First Day of Residency

Luscious dark hair and blue eyes that could pin her like a butterfly were a deadly combination for Lilac. Already, she found his immaculately carved face so attractive and so ruinous that she struggled to hold his gaze for long. The thoracotomy he had just coolly guided her through as Lilac almost dissolved with anxiety proved he was also skilled and insurmountably intelligent.

Lilac's heartbeat spiked higher, having little to do with the adrenaline of the medical emergency they just rectified.

"Doctor… that was… absolutely amazing!” her voice was breathless, ecstatic, and full of admiration. Belatedly, Lilac cringed, wishing she would have toned that last bit down. Perhaps her sister Laurel was right: Lilac's hopeless heart and weakness for a pair of stunning eyes was going to be the death of her.

The attractive doctor remained impassive, but his striking blue eyes flashed with something Lilac couldn't quite discern.

“You're right. It's pretty amazing you didn't get her killed.”

The euphoria left her body in a flash.

“Wait, what?”

“Your examination was slow and superficial. Your scalpel technique, amateur at best.”

“Amateur?” Lilac repeated, shell-shocked.

The man only stared back, completely unfazed by her reaction or by his callousness. Her delayed outrage blazed up her neck in the form of a searing flush. Her hands balled up at her sides, her eyes narrowing as she stared up at his ridiculously handsome face.

Amateur?

She'd show him an amateur. Without realizing it, she stepped closer, almost directly in his face, her irritation blazing from every nerve.

“Maybe you can give me private lessons.”

The words were meant to be sarcastic and biting but instead, they came out like a little growl that could have easily been flirtatious. Whether he thought she was outraged or ready to fuck his brains out, it didn't make a difference. The man laughed—a cold, humorous laugh.

“Ha! I just might, Doctor…” He reached down between them to snatch her ID badge, his fingers skimming the collar of her scrubs. “...Allende. But I sincerely doubt you could afford my salary.”

That surprised the fight right out of Lilac.

Allende.

He had pronounced her surname perfectly. There was no “Ah-lend-ee” or any other variation Lilac had to either correct or choose to let go. It wasn't common for non-Spanish speakers to get it right yet this surly doctor had taken one glance at her badge and gotten it right without a moment of hesitation.

Lilac was still reluctantly impressed and downright stunned by the time he walked away without another word.

When Lilac returned to her senses seconds later, she was indignant all over again. “What an asshole.”

Knowing how to correctly pronounce her surname did not change that.

Weeks Later

“Doctor Allende?”

Ay-lend.

Her name was so wildly mispronounced, she almost didn't realize the attending was referring to her. Given that there was no one else in the break room, Lilac knew he was talking to her. The older man made his presence more assertively known, standing before her with barely contained impatience. He looked at her as though wondering how someone so dense could have placed at Edenbrook.

“Actually, it's A—” Lilac began, intent on correcting him.

But the man was not listening. Instead, he brandished a stack of files in front of her.

“These are reassignments. Take two minutes to study their charts for rounds.”

One by one, he dropped the files onto her hands, each time saying her name, somehow managing to mangle it more each time. By the time he was done, Lilac was red in the face, avidly looking for a gap to correct him.

“It's Allende,” a new voice intervened, richer, deeper, and making her stomach flutter.

The older attending blinked at the doorway. “I beg your pardon, Doctor Ramsey?”

Lilac followed his line of sight until her eyes fell on Ethan's powerful form at the doorway. He stood deathly silent, arms crossed, and eyes thunderous—eyes that bore into the other attending. The man almost quivered where he stood.

“Her name is pronounced 'ah-yen-deh',” Ethan continued. His baritone voice enunciated each word slowly, as though he were speaking to a child. “Not whatever the hell it is you just said.”

The man blinked.

“Oh,” he said, unsure of what else to add. He furtively glanced at Lilac, embarrassed—not about his mistake but about being called out. “Allende. Got it. Like the writer.”

Ethan did not move a single muscle.

“No, not like the writer. Allende like the dedicated and intelligent young doctor standing before you.  I know words are difficult for you when you take several days off to play golf, but it's really not that difficult, Doctor Povoroznyk.”

“It was—I—well,” Doctor Povoroznyk stammered, red as a beet. “It was an honest mistake, Doctor Ramsey.”

The feeble excuse was not good enough for Doctor Ramsey because he did not appear the least bit appeased. “You expect everyone to pronounce your name correctly. I expect you to extend the same respect to everyone who works tirelessly to save lives.”

Doctor Povoroznyk looked as though he had plenty to say, but he did not dare, not when Doctor Ramsey glared at him. In the end, he simply mumbled an apology to Lilac, reminded her to review her new cases, and hurried to leave. Lilac remained still as she watched him go, heart in a stir.

Somehow, what she had witnessed had been so… flattering and… hot?

Lilac could seriously kiss him.

As if on cue, Ethan's eyes moved to her. They had become so familiar to her in just a few short days, their distinct shade of blue a new favorite of hers. He studied her with such quiet intensity, she was beginning to fear he could read her mind.

“You should've corrected him.”

His tone was softer and it made her heart skip a beat.

“I was just getting there.”

Much to her delight, he allowed a smile.

“I don't doubt it.”

Lilac smiled back.

“Thank you, anyway.”

Ethan hesitated briefly, as though caught off guard. After a beat, he simply nodded once. “Now time for rounds, Allende.”

Her name sounded almost musical when he said it and she didn't think she could ever tire of hearing it.

Note: If you are still here reading and interacting, thank you so much! You deserve the world. 

#open heart #ethan ramsey #Ethan x MC #Playchoices

[ascendingaeons]

The Crux of My Journey

“Mind the lessons of the past, but burden yourself not with the cares of ghosts. They cannot trouble you if you do not embrace them.”

Adept Susan Wylie - “Corridors of Light and Shadow,” Ruby Tablet of Set

“Life is an unfoldment, and the further we travel the more truth we can comprehend. To understand the things that are at our door is the best preparation for understanding those that lie beyond.”

Hypatia of Alexandria

I was seventeen when I began to practice shamanic trance. My shamanic journey began with a dream. In this dream, I was exploring a subterranean necropolis until I came across a door that was not a door. All at once, I found myself in a library that was mine but not mine. It was a sacred space that I was to return to many years later in meditation during my Reiki I° class. But, for the time being, it was an awakening. Before long I discovered the power of movement, rhythm, and vibration in altering states of consciousness. Perhaps it is better to say I remembered.

In my first experience with shamanic trance, I found myself traversing the planes of the classical elements. I trekked across the savannas and mountains of the Plane of Earth. In the twilight of the Plane of Water, I danced with its denizens and came to discern the stagecraft of my Shadow. Within the Plane of Air, I beheld the scions of noetic understanding. Beyond that, I soared through the Plane of Fire, across empyrean skies inflamed and infuriated with an ecstasy that has inspired humanity into madness. Rising beyond I beheld a vast ocean of Stars, glistening souls cast against the inky blackness; such was Quintessence. Unexpectedly, my gaze turned towards the ground far below and I knew I was not to remain. So, I chose to sink back down, away from their radiance. The experience was to come full circle upon meeting my soulmate, for he was the first to encourage me to rise while being the one into whose embrace I would so willingly return.

I experienced the numinous as a visage both black and blinding. This was not experienced through sight as much as it was through being. I was everything and nothing, within and beyond, experiencing the colliding, extravagant cycle of death and rebirth. I came to witness the notion of Self with eyes unclouded. It exists between the framework of what we believe to be ourselves. From this, I came to understand cosmos and psyche in an entirely new light. My eyes were forever opened to the precious potential of humanity and the immortality of consciousness. In terrible darkness can be found numinous light. In my experience, shadow is not inherently deceptive for its very nature is revelation and a light cast upon mirrors creates far greater confusion than one extinguished.

I lived the tale of a being that was once a vitki, a Scandinavian sorcerer, but had aged from knowledge to the point of resembling a withered husk. I experienced a memory of his younger days, traversing a timeworn forest in a relentless thunderstorm. Above me, I saw what I would describe as an anti-sky, as though I was walking through the quagmires of Hel. As I gazed upon those clouds, I bore a deep knowing that they were apertures to Aeons both great and terrible. The skies sang, the earth groaned and so it was until I reached a sanctuary in the form of ancient ruins and the yawing maw of a cave beyond—a sign that for every bright sunrise, there is always another night to be conquered. This was the only spot in the forest that saw sunlight. And so, I beheld what remained of a great temple and in that pristine moment, I knew I stood upon hallowed grounds where the ancients still breathed. Through shamanic flight, I would return to these ruins many years later and into the cave system just beyond. In the heart of the cavern, I would learn the means to reach other territories of Spirit, the first being the sanctum of Sekhmet.

I stood upon an emerald cliff before sapphire shores, the Vanir behind me and the Aesir before me. I witnessed my brothers sail off into the great unknown. Their chants and songs rang out against the billowing winds and raging seas until they disappeared beyond the horizon. I solemnly turned and walked into the ageless groves, away from what was expected of me and into the deep, eternal embrace of the Earth. This would prove to be a lesson of great value, one that would take a great while to learn.

It witnessed a pharaonic funeral with an empty sarcophagus and walked in the body of an embittered, disgraced priest of Aten. I experienced his journey of healing that lasted nearly two decades, far from the glistening sands of his homeland. I witnessed his return to a nation that would not recognize him and walked the hallowed grounds of an overgrown temple where he would offer in sacrifice his divine ka to the Netjeru. In exchange, the old man besought the Two Lands and their people healed and redeemed. As I lived, he spoke, and I recorded what I could.

“The life of a newborn child is not defined by his anthropological sinews, yet he is their herald in flesh irrespective of his desire. As the child learns – no, it would be practical to bestow consideration to chance; should the child learn to use causality as an extension of his Will, so too may he begin to grasp all that has been sacrificed and accomplished just so that he may behold this physical world with his own eyes, touch the elements and treasure the miseries and joys of Love, experience the chemistry of pleasure and pain, glory in his individuality and the ongoing eruptions of Will that light the Universe aflame, and feel the pride swelling in him for the celestial rivers of life that cascade within his veins. Since the first monumental and alchemical sunrise over the Black Lands, known therein as Kemet in aspects both terrestrial and visionary, the Netjeru have erected endless skies and buried them just as effortlessly. Every man and every woman are borne of the Netjeru as flesh and blood.”

We are children of a divided cosmos, saplings conceived by the union of Earth and Sky. We possess the capacity for profound healing but find it to be an unconquerable sun, rejecting the notion that we are, in fact, the very Star we fear to surmount. Our demons are part of us just as much as our dreams. Better they be treated with love and compassion than rejection and infamy. We are capable of such greatness but forget that greatness always begins on one’s own terms.

This year I will turn thirty-five and I can say with confidence that I have only just begun to live. I was born with clairvoyance, clairaudience, and clairsentience—the abilities to see, hear, and feel on degrees beyond our dense reality. I like to say that I was born with “one foot in the river;” one step in the foothills of Life and another in the river of Death. I am entirely comfortable with the concept of death as I know it is merely a transition to another state of being. Death is a homecoming, a return to what you always were. I don’t just perceive Spirit, I experience It. For most of my life, I was in denial of that fact, so much that during my first dark night of the soul, I suppressed my gifts altogether and would continue to do so for nearly a decade.

It wasn’t until I found myself in the position to teach, to pass down what experience and wisdom I have attained to someone eager to learn and discover their own Path. I have had a few students but one in particular left an undeniable mark. This apprenticeship wasn’t to last and I soon parted ways with them but with the realization that they had given me a gift—they had reunited me with my Path and Opened the Way. I have since come to learn that this individual was my twin flame; whether or not we cross paths again remains to be seen. Years later, it was in meeting my soulmate that everything that was lost and scattered began to coalesce. When you meet the right person in the right place at the right time, everything stops and a moment in time becomes truly eternal. In that precious moment, another soul becomes a window to our own.

The sum composite of my being exists far beyond this reality, a realization that came later than I would like. My purpose in life is not to grasp such things, for Thou Art That. As much as I love to learn and theorize, I came into this body, first and foremost, to help people. The first way to do this is to be my authentic self. By living in accordance with my True Will, I find myself in a position to master my own existence and in doing so will attract what is in resonance with that. I’ve found this a feat much easier said than done but I have lived its success and thus know it to be true.

The second way is to live as a human being. We do not master ourselves by being perfect for there is no such thing. Our journey of imperfection—of skinned knees, bitter fears, and many, many falls—is meant to help us grow by reminding us in small doses that we are eternal. I haven’t discovered the third way, which I am sure exists, but if the formula rings true, I would imagine it has something to do with one’s unending potential. I am fortunate enough to have experienced the lessons afforded to me. In the final analysis, they were just that: things that happened for me rather than to me. I am not always able to maintain that outlook but the fact that I can at all tells me that I have grown.

There emanates a fundamental duality from the heart of the cosmos. The resonance of its heartbeat touches every particle, every antiparticle, all notions of gravitation and expulsion finding themselves awash in the grace of the First Energy. We’ve given that primordial spark many names throughout civilization but the most endearing one can be the easiest to forget when its wisdom is needed the most: Love.

We only have so much time incarnate on this Earth. A third of the way through this life, I now stand at the beginning of a grand, new adventure. I choose to make the most of this life. What makes this easier for me will not work for others. Find what works for you, my friend, and embrace life.

Image is Life Journey #2 by PsychoShadow ART

#shaman #shamanism #shaman journey #altered consciousness #life #life lessons #meaning #soul #soulmates #twin flame #spiritual growth #spiritual awakening #spiritual journey #pagan #paganism #eclectic pagan #pathworking #vanir #vanatru

[salvawhores-world]

This Love (Taylor’s Version) - Colin Bridgerton x Oc

Colin Bridgerton x Miss Turner

Warnings - Colin and Food, cringe tooth rotting fluff,

A/N - In the wake of S3 The second story from the Taylor x bridgerton series is here, this had to be fluff. Because Colin is way too Colin-y for Angst. Also Mothers version of This love makes me wanna fall in love. Eww what have I become.

In the realm of profound and all-encompassing love, a mesmerizing connection unfolded between Miss Turner and Mr. Bridgerton. Their hearts danced in sync, utterly smitten by one another's presence.

Colin, a man of discerning eyes, couldn't help but be drawn to the quiet allure that emanated from her amidst a sea of voices. From the very beginning, their souls recognized a kindred spirit, weaving a love story that left an indelible mark on the Bridgerton clan.

Miss Turner, the cherished best friend of Francesca Bridgerton, shared a bond so strong that it seemed they were destined to be inseparable. Growing up as neighbors, their lives intertwined in a beautiful tapestry.

Their childhood lessons, overseen by the same governess, only deepened their connection. It was during these shared moments that Colin first noticed the enchanting Miss Turner, finding solace in her gentle presence and cherishing the rare moments when their eyes met.

Their love grew, captivating the entire Bridgerton family, as Colin's devotion to Miss Turner knew no bounds.

He revered her with a tenderness that words could not adequately express. Even when Colin embarked on his worldly travels, their love remained steadfast.

Letters became their lifeline, carrying the weight of their emotions across vast distances. Miss Turner would eagerly immerse herself in every word he wrote, savoring the essence of their bond. In return, Colin cherished each letter she penned, his lips softly gracing the paper as if kissing her soul.

The day of Colin's return was an eagerly anticipated moment for Miss Turner. She would rush into his arms, her heart bursting with joy as she finally found solace in his presence once more.

The world melted away, leaving only the two of them intertwined in an embrace that defied time itself.

However, as Miss Turner entered her second season in society, the weight of expectations loomed heavy.

Lady Turner, who held Colin dear like a son, couldn't help but prioritize her daughter's future happiness.

It pained Miss Turner to consider asking Colin for a proposal, fearing the sting of rejection. If he truly loved her, she believed, he would take the initiative to make their love known to the world.

Time slipped through their fingers, and Miss Turner found herself at a crossroads. The ache in her heart pushed her to make a decision that would forever alter their course.

With a heavy heart, she made the agonizing choice to end their undefined courtship. If Colin possessed the freedom to choose, she deserved the same agency in shaping her own destiny.

Yet, destiny had other plans in store for them, intertwining their lives inextricably.

Clear blue water

High tide came and brought you in

And I could go on and on, on and on, and I will

Skies grew darker

Currents swept you out again

And you were just gone and gone, gone and gone.

As Miss Turner delicately reached for another cup of tea, her graceful hand unknowingly collided with Colin's, who seemed to appear out of thin air, his own hand reaching for the last delectable piece of butter cookie.

A surge of electric energy pulsed through their touch, causing her to instinctively withdraw her hand, a gentle blush coloring her cheeks.

"Oh, umm..." she stammered, her voice barely audible amidst the flutter of her racing heart.

Colin's cerulean eyes locked onto hers, his gaze filled with an enchanting intensity. "No, please, it's all yours," he said, his voice laced with a mesmerizing charm. "You can have it."

A mixture of surprise and admiration danced within Miss Turner's eyes as she studied Colin's features, her heart swelling with affection.

His selfless act of relinquishing the cookie ignited a spark of admiration within her."No, please, I was just..." Her voice trailed off, a soft smile gracing her lips. "...I'm already quite full from all the cakes."

Colin's lips curved into a tender smile, his eyes never leaving hers. "No, I insist," he murmured, placing the coveted cookie gently on her saucer, their fingers momentarily brushing.

Time seemed to stand still as they shared a lingering gaze, their hearts entwined in a silent understanding.

However, the enchanting moment was abruptly shattered by a shrill whistle, piercing through the air, causing both of them to startle.

Benedict's voice echoed through the opulent Bridgerton drawing room, drawing the attention of every occupant within.

"BEHOLD!" Benedict's voice boomed, his mischievous tone cutting through the room. "Colin, the renowned lover of food , selflessly sharing his precious food. A truly rare spectacle! I simply must capture this moment for posterity!"

The room erupted in a symphony of laughter, each member of the Bridgerton family joining in the playful banter. Miss Turner's cheeks deepened in hue, a delightful mixture of embarrassment and affection flooding her being.

Amidst the joviality, Anthony couldn't resist adding his own jest to the fray. His laughter reverberated through the room as he quipped, "Is this the moment we've all been waiting for, dear brother? Has Colin, the inveterate bachelor, finally succumbed to the intoxicating power of love?"

The teasing atmosphere reached its peak, enveloping the room in a joyous symphony of laughter and affectionate ribbing.

Miss Turner found herself caught between blushing and smiling, her heart swelling with a newfound warmth.

Colin, undeterred by the banter, simply smiled, his eyes gleaming with mirth and adoration. He reveled in this lighthearted teasing, for it affirmed the depth of his growing affection for Miss Turner.

In this moment, amidst the laughter and gentle banter, a sense of undeniable romance filled the air, as if destiny itself were whispering sweet promises.

Colin had stormed into her life like a high tide crashing upon the shore, sweeping away any doubts or reservations, leaving only an indelible mark upon her soul.

And now, as their gazes locked amidst the playful teasing, a profound realization washed over them—a shared acknowledgment that love had taken hold of their hearts and woven their fates together

The mention of tasting new kinds of cookies in the sun-kissed lands of southern Italy unleashed a flood of emotions within her.

As Miss Turner's delicate fingers traced the words of Colin's letter, a wistful smile graced her lips. The inked words danced before her, transporting her to a distant memory, etched in the depths of her heart.

His vibrant presence had illuminated her world, breathing life into every corner of her existence.

Yet, the memory that tugged at her heartstrings was the day he departed—the day the heavens seemed to mourn his absence.

Dark clouds veiled the sky, mirroring the anguish that swelled within her. The London rains fell relentlessly, as if the heavens themselves wept in recognition of their impending separation.

In the shelter of their final embrace, their bodies pressed together, finding solace in the warmth of each other's arms.

Colin's voice, a tender whisper against her ear, painted promises of devotion and endearments that seeped into the very fabric of her being. It was a moment where time stood still, their souls intertwined in an unbreakable bond.

As he prepared to board the ship that would carry him away, their fingers intertwined, hesitant to release their grasp.

In those precious moments, he whispered words of comfort, his voice a soothing melody that resonated deep within her. With each syllable, he painted a picture of a future filled with love and longing.

And then, with a gentle kiss upon her forehead, he surrendered to the pull of the ocean's currents, bidding her farewell. As the ship sailed further into the distance, the once vibrant colors of their world faded, leaving behind a sea of gray.

She stood there, her heart heavy with the weight of their separation, watching as the silhouette of her love diminished, swallowed by the vast expanse of the ocean.

In silent screams

In wildest dreams

I never dreamed of this

The poet in her soul sought solace in crafting verses that would immortalize their love, the echoes of their whispered assurances etching themselves upon her memory.

The memory of that day, cloaked in darkness and sorrow, remained eternally etched within her, a testament to the depths of their affection.

Oh, how she yearned for the return of his touch, the sound of his laughter, and the warmth of his presence.

But until that day, she clung to the memories they had woven together, their love forever enshrined in her heart.

In the tapestry of her life, Miss Turner had never dared to envision the arrival of someone like Colin. His presence, like a brilliant sunburst, had shattered the confines of her expectations, flooding her world with an overwhelming wave of joy that transcended all reason.

Every corner of her being overflowed with the sheer magnitude of emotions he awakened within her, leaving her with no sanctuary to contain the boundless bliss that danced in her heart.

This love is good

This love is bad

This love is alive back from the dead, oh, oh, oh

These hands had to let it go free, and

This love came back to me, oh, oh, oh

In the tapestry of her memories, Miss Turner cherished the moments of pure bliss they had shared, frolicking through the verdant garden of their country house in Kent.

Colin, ever by her side, a steadfast companion in their playful escapades, from their carefree dashes along Pall Mall to their clandestine expeditions into the kitchen, where they concocted delectable treats in the hush of early morn.

Racing against one another, their laughter echoing through the air, and engaging in lively crossword battles that ignited their intellects.

But it was those languid afternoons that held a special place in her heart.She would grace the piano keys with delicate fingertips, as Colin serenaded her with his melodious voice, his gaze fixed upon her, the depths of his eyes brimming with adoration.

In that moment, the world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them intertwined in a dance of affection and shared dreams. Hyacinth and Anthony twirled around the room, their laughter filling the air, while Benedict spun Kate with effortless grace.

Eloise and Simon, ever the lively pair, playfully stomped on each other's feet as they reveled in the joy of the music.

Gregory, a true gentleman, extended his hand to Daphne, guiding her with tender care, while Violet swayed elegantly with her cherished daughter, Francesca, as John observed his beloved from afar, his eyes filled with an unspoken devotion.

As the final notes of the piece reverberated through the hall, Colin leaned in closer, his voice a gentle caress. "You were magnificent," he whispered, his words laced with awe and affection.

A soft chuckle escaped Miss Turner's lips as she delicately adorned her hands with gloves, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"Please, you possess a voice that could captivate hearts for a lifetime," she playfully countered, taking a few steps towards him. "Is that so?" he replied, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

With a seductive pull of her waist, he drew her nearer, their bodies melding together. "Indeed, Mr. Bridgerton," she teased, a twinkle in her eye, gently tapping his nose before darting away, laughter echoing through the grandeur of Aubrey Hall.

Colin pursued her with unrestrained enthusiasm, a symphony of giggles filling the air as they chased one another through the magnificent halls.

Love unfurled like ivy, wrapping them in its tender embrace, as the walls of their shared laughter absorbed every ounce of joy. In that ephemeral dance, time seemed to suspend, and the world existed solely within the contours of their affection.

In the shadows of their idyllic moments, there lingered a tormenting truth that gnawed at Miss Turner's fragile heart.

She could no longer bear the weight of their intermittent separations, the anguish of feeling abandoned, left to weather the storms of solitude for countless months each year.

And yet, as she mustered the courage to voice her inner turmoil to Colin, she saw the flicker of uncertainty cloud his eyes.

He, too, grappled with his own demons, yearning to be a man worthy of marrying the love of his life. No longer content with merely being the viscount's overlooked younger brother or just another name in the lineage of Bridgerton children, he longed for purpose and significance.

In the depths of his soul, he yearned to offer Miss Turner a life beyond the confines of a mere Bridgerton title.

The thought of being a loving and devoted husband, one who could provide security and prosperity, consumed him. But as he questioned his own worth, a chilling realization took hold: perhaps it was best to let her go, to release her from the binds of their love.

What if she found a duke, an earl, a viscount, or even a prince? In the arms of someone deemed more suitable, she would find a life far grander than being known as Mrs. Bridgerton, the daughter-in-law of the third son, a wife left in the dark about her husband's endeavors.

The ache of their unfulfilled desires resonated through the hollow chambers of their souls, echoing with a haunting melody of longing and unspoken words.

Tossing, turning

Struggled through the night with someone new

And I could go on and on, on and on

Lantern, burning

Flickered in the night, only you

But you were still gone, gone, gone

The heartache etched upon their souls was palpable, the ache of shattered dreams and unspoken longings. They stood at a crossroads, their hearts torn between the love they shared and the weight of their own insecurities.

The prospect of parting ways loomed like a specter, haunting their every thought. And yet, in the depths of their despair, they clung to a flicker of hope, a glimmer of faith that perhaps, someday, their paths would align once more.

Lying on the exquisite quilt that adorned the verdant expanse, Colin shared his thoughts with Miss Turner, his head cradled tenderly in her lap.

The warm sun bathed them in its golden glow, casting a halo of tranquility around their intimate moment. With a playful gleam in his eyes, he mused about Benedict's unwavering fascination with an elusive masked beauty from the masquerade ball.

"How does one become so captivated by someone hidden behind a mask?" he pondered aloud, savoring a succulent strawberry she lovingly offered.

"Well, my dear, artists have their peculiar ways. They find inspiration and thrill in the most unconventional of sources. Who knows, Benedict might just stumble upon a stroke of luck," she responded, her fingers gently weaving through his chestnut locks.

"But you know, my love, the only person who truly captivates me is you," he declared, playfully pouting his lips.

A musical laugh escaped her, filling the air with a symphony of joy. "Ah, the eternal charmer," she teased, unable to resist stealing a soft peck on his lips. In that sweet moment, their connection intensified, as their hearts danced to the rhythm of their shared love.

"I miss you so much when I'm away, you know," Colin confessed, intertwining their hands and placing them gently over his heart.

A radiant smile graced her face, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Oh, Colin, my heart aches for you in every moment of our separation," she replied, her voice filled with tenderness.

In the depths of her being, she carried the weight of longing, a lantern burning brightly within her until the day he returned to her side.

Restless and plagued by the memories, Miss Turner tossed and turned in her bed, her mind consumed by the impending visit of The Marquess Whitewood.

The mere thought of his arrival filled her with unease and a gnawing sense of dread. Every fiber of her being longed for Colin's comforting presence, his reassuring words that would soothe her troubled heart. The absence of his touch amplified the ache within her, intensifying her longing for his embrace.

As the night stretched on, Miss Turner found herself trapped between the past and an uncertain future.

Her heart ached for Colin, her soul yearned for his presence, and the anxiety over The Marquess’ impending visit threatened to shatter the fragile equilibrium she had managed to maintain.

With a heavy sigh, she succumbed to sleep, hoping that the morning would bring some clarity, some respite from the storm that raged within her.

The dawn of a new day arrived swiftly, just before the anticipated arrival of Marquess Whitewood. In an unexpected entrance, Colin walked into the room unannounced, casting a warm greeting towards Lady Turner.

“Good morning, Lady Turner," he offered, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and restraint. Her mother, sensing the need for privacy, excused herself with a smile, leaving them alone.

As Colin stood there, the love of her life, memories flooded Miss Turner's mind, from their cherished moments in their teenage years to the present.

She couldn't help but hold her breath, hoping for an affectionate nickname to escape his lips. However, Colin caught himself just in time, halting the endearing address that had always brought a sparkle to her eyes.

“I came to check on you," he continued, his words laced with a subtle disappointment. "I hope your meeting with the Marquess goes well."

Her heart sank at his distant tone, the absence of the familiar endearment leaving an ache deep within her.

The bouquet of Chrysanthemums he held, her favorite flowers, seemed to mock the pain that surged within her. She longed for his embrace, his comforting words that would alleviate her fears.

But instead, she found herself standing on the precipice of disappointment, the unspoken yearning lingering in the air.

Your kiss, my cheek

I watched you leave

Your smile, my ghost

I fell to my knees

When you're young, you just run

But you come back to what you need

"Colin, you licking your plate clean won't change a thing happening next door," Anthony remarked, the Bridgerton siblings gathered in the drawing room, their voices filling the air. Colin, consumed in his furious eating, devoured every crumb on his plate.

"He's always eating like this, maybe we should coin a new term instead of 'stress eating'," Hyacinth whispered mischievously to Benedict, eliciting a chuckle from her brother.

“Well, Hyacinth, you best get on with it instead of flitting about in my head all day," Colin retorted with a touch of bitterness far from their daily fun banter.

"Hey, do not speak to her like that," Anthony interjected, his protective nature shining through as Hyacinth sought solace in his embrace, finding comfort in the presence of her eldest brother.

Colin cast an apologetic glance towards Hyacinth, regretful for his sharp words. She was safely nestled under Anthony's arm on the couch, her fingers playing with her ribbons while Kate adjusted her skirt.

"I have nothing to say to you, Colin. Honestly, she will have everything as the Marchioness married to the Marquess. Her contentment will be secured, but she will never be able to love again. Not because she didn't marry the love of her life, but because when she truly loved someone, they didn't fight for her," Violet spoke quietly from the corner, her gaze fixed upon Edmund's painting that adorned the fireplace mantle.

"Don't abandon her, Colin. Fight for the love you shared," Violet continued, her words laced with concern and determination

"And from what I know of her, she'd perch on a cliff with you in some godforsaken land rather than gaze upon her grand estate as a Marchioness with her Marquess," Benedict chimed in, subtly sliding a flask towards Colin from under the table, his hushed plea of "Go" barely audible.

Overwhelmed by the realization that Colin couldn't fight for their love, Miss Turner could bear it no longer.

With a surge of determination, she excused herself and dashed out into the pouring rain. And there, amidst the deserted streets of Mayfair, fate intervened. She spotted the third Bridgerton sibling running towards her, his steps echoing her own.

Their bodies collided, merging into an embrace that spoke volumes of their longing and desire. Reluctantly parting from the hug, their eyes locked, refusing to let go. Their families, including the Marquess, bore witness to this poignant scene, their hearts swelling with hope and joy.

"I cannot endure this any longer. I need you, Colin," she uttered, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "My love for you is so immense that the mere thought of staying apart is a physical agony. Every passing second feels like a punishment.

Whether I'm anywhere in the world, I see you. I see you in the hues of every sunset, in the blossoming of every flower, in the descent of every falling fruit, and in the innocent smiles of children.

I see you even in my tears of anguish," Colin confessed fervently, his words ringing in the rain-soaked air. The intensity of his declaration blurred the lines between raindrops and tears, stirring a tempest within her.

"You are the only vision I long to behold from the moment I wake till my last breath on this Earth. Please, take me back," he pleaded earnestly, raindrops intermingling with his panting breath.

"Colin Bridgerton, you are the love that found its way back to me. Of course, I will always have you back," she whispered, as she cupped his cheeks her voice filled with unwavering devotion.

“Always," she added, her words an ethereal promise that reverberated through the rain-soaked air, their foreheads gently touchin

The turners and the bridgertons smiled form the shelter of their homes. Lady turner looked at marquess Whitewood. Who only smiled graciously at the couple.

Admiring their love. Their love would be good, bad, alive dead,it would glow in the dark, it would leave a permanent mark but their love. would always come back.

————-

Do not steal my work

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