#but my clothing is overwhelmingly black. there's some white. a touch of dark blue.

[ravenbrenna09]

Jij Verliest - Chapter Four: Clip 1

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Zaterdag 9:31

Robbe was used to waking up alone.

It had become something he was well-accustomed to. He missed the feeling of waking up with two arms around his waist and of holding someone to his chest. He was used to groggily waking up, slowly and surely becoming aware of his surroundings, turning over and stretching with eyes shut, the silent reprieve and internal pleading of ‘five more minutes’ of sleep that would certainly turn into two more hours. Some mornings, he woke up without a fuss, immediate and alert. Other mornings, he never slept.

However, this morning, he woke up slowly like the drowsiness was slowly and ineffectively wrung out of his body. His dream—whatever it might have been—vanished from his mind like smoke in the air. Robbe stretched against the silkiness of the sheets and the plushness of the mattress before whatever fight to get up and start the day vanished like a light and he collapsed against it again. There was something in his arms, soft and full, but Robbe’s tired brain knew right away that it was one of his pillows that he had grabbed overnight. Turning over, he pulled the sheets higher on his shoulders and snuggled into a pillow that smelled like Sander’s cologne.

Sander. 

Wait. What was Sander’s cologne doing in his bedroom?

Even as sleep sang its gentle siren song, trying to will him back to sleep, Robbe forced his eyes open. 

Immediately, Robbe spotted the navy blue sheets that were twisted around his legs and his waist, keeping him warm and comfortable. Next, he found the nightstand next to his bed with his phone and his watch sitting on the corner. When he checked, he saw the number of notifications, but his brain was still taking in the sights around him. Lastly, Robbe spotted the black joggers and the black t-shirt with a white building that he was wearing. Both articles of clothing weren’t his own. 

And, like that, his brain woke up with a snap and his memories of last night returned to him in full force. 

He remembered finding Sander looking up at the stars behind the warehouses—spotting the ocean mural hidden in the shadows, the ocean mural that Sander had created, the one that Sander was nervous to show him. He remembered the kiss that melted his thoughts, curled his toes, and surged new life through his body. He remembered how they kissed against the wall until their lips were red and bruised and the rain started falling. He remembered how they fled for shelter, giggling and laughing and unable to stop touching each other on the bike ride to Sander’s apartment, which was closest to the warehouses. 

Despite the gentle rain, they had somehow ended up soaked by the time they reached the fancy apartment complex. As soon as they arrived, Sander had wasted no time in hunting down clothes for Robbe to wear. Once all of their soaked clothes had been thrown into the dryer, Sander was dragging him into a bedroom. It was dark and Robbe wasn’t focused on the details of the room as they laid on Sander’s bed. 

As they waited for their clothes to dry, facing each other with their hands intertwined, Sander told him about how his mother used to make croques on weekend mornings. While Sander traced featherlight patterns on the back of his hand, Robbe told him about how his mama created an annual Valentine’s Day movie marathon because she didn’t like celebrating it anymore. Sander learned that his mother was incredibly partial to discovering all of the ways to make vegetarian dishes for Zoë. Robbe found out that Sander’s mother loved sunflowers more than anything. 

While the dryer had continued and their yawns increased, the two of them had traded stories, whispers, and kisses. He wondered which one of them would fall asleep first or if they would both be up all night, unable to stop talking to one another. Of the two of them, Robbe had been the first one to be lulled to sleep while Sander traced the outline of his face with his ringed finger.

Sitting up, Robbe glanced around the room, taking it all in now that he wasn’t focused on Sander. 

The bedroom was larger than Robbe’s bedroom. The bed itself was at least a queen-size and there seemed to be more room than his room at the flatshare. Overall, the bedroom seemed immaculate. There was hardly any laundry on the floor or trash on the nightstand. Across from the bed, there was a large wooden dresser with a record player resting next to a Bluetooth speaker and a television mounted on the wall. There was a large, spacious window on the other side of the room, but it was covered by gray curtains to protect the room from the morning sun. 

Beneath the window, there was an artist’s table that was the messiest place in the room. There were three mason jars filled with a variety of paintbrushes, bristles up, and a sketch pad with an empty page resting on top. Beside it, there was a bookshelf filled with art supplies and what looked to be different kinds of paints, sketchbooks, and canvases. On the other side of the desk, there was an easel standing on a tarp with paint splattered across the wood and a leather jacket hanging off the back. 

But the walls quickly drew Robbe’s attention. The walls themselves were painted with a light cream color. There were a handful of David Bowie posters hung on them. But the rest was covered by what Robbe assumed to be Sander’s creations. Everywhere Robbe looked, there was something new to look at and absorb—sketches, paintings, photos—all hung up by a thumbtack or a string of tape.

Robbe tossed the sheets aside and climbed to his feet. He moved around the room, looking over each of the sketches and photos in turn. Near the nightstand, he found a photo of Senne with Sander and Amber at Christmas time. There was a sketch of a park and another of the night sky. Robbe found half a dozen professional-looking photos from around Antwerp stuck on the walls. There was a photo where Noor was used as a model, one with Senne, and another with both of them. Hidden amongst them all, he had even spotted one or two sketches of him.

In the midst of the realistic sketches of friends and people he didn’t know, Robbe also found a handful that looked like creatures from a cartoon. Some of them were paired with a similar-looking figure that looked like a video game character. Near the desk, he spotted a great bird on one of the sketches. It was standing with its wings folded beside him. But his dark feathers looked sharper than normal. It looked like it was wrapped in armor. 

Curious, Robbe grabbed his phone from the nightstand and typed “armored bird” in the search engine. Even as his phone pinged with notifications, he ignored them all. Flipping over to the images, Robbe scrolled past the Assassin’s Creed and photos that initially popped up. Thankfully, he didn’t need to scroll something before he found a photo with the creature that he was looking for. The photo didn’t seem to have been drawn by Sander, but Robbe could tell that it was the same creature: Corviknight. 

As Robbe moved to search for the word, the bedroom door opened behind him. There was a gentle patter of footsteps before two arms circled around his waist and pulled Robbe back against him. Sander placed a kiss against his clothed shoulder. “I thought I heard you shuffling around in here.” Robbe leaned over to press a kiss against his temple before returning to his abandoned search. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to figure out what this is,” Robbe said, pointing at the sketch with the bird—Corviknight. 

“It’s a Pokémon called Corviknight,” Sander said matter-of-factly. “It’s one of the Pokémon from the newest generation of their games.” Robbe bit down at his lip, staring at the sketch in question. Sander shifted against him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and placing a kiss against his cheek. “Have you never played Pokémon, Robbe?” 

“I have played,” Robbe said. “Just not recently. I played back in primary school. But I haven’t played it in years.” Sander nodded, snuggling closer into the crook of his neck. Robbe glanced at him, curious, and asked, “Do you play it?”

“Yeah, I’ve always gotten the games as soon as they were released,” Sander said, his breath brushing across the skin of his neck. Sander smiled, a small sad smile that Robbe felt against his shoulder. “After school, my little sister and I would play it all the time. She loved to play pretend and be a Pokémon trainer with all the cutest Pokémon.” 

Robbe nodded, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Will you teach me how to play?” 

Sander glanced at him, his green eyes wide in confusion. But soon, the corners of his lips tugged up in corners in a bright, dazzling smile. “Really? You want to learn how to play?” 

Robbe nodded. 

Sander’s smile brightened further before he ducked down to press their lips together. Sander’s hands cradled his jaw and Robbe turned so he could wrap his arms around his neck. This kiss was more like the ones once they had reached the apartment, laying together in the bed and exchanging stories. It was sweet, simple, and overwhelmingly chaste, but Robbe didn’t mind at all. He loved the sweet, chaste kisses as much as he loved the passionate ones that ended up with him out of breath and pinned against a wall. 

Almost too soon, Sander pulled away, looking down at him over the tip of his nose as his lips curled into a bright smirk. “Later,” he said. “Right now, we’re going to have breakfast and then we’re going to lay in bed all day.”

“I can’t do all day,” Robbe said shyly. While the thought of laying in bed with Sander all day and night sounded amazing, Robbe knew that he promised a stream for this afternoon. He could always cancel the stream or move it tomorrow, but he had moved enough streams. Plus, he was supposed to be studying with Yasmina at the library for their remaining exams. “But I can lay in bed all morning and afternoon until 14:00. If that’s alright with you.”

“14:00,” Sander mumbled, his breath ghosting against his face. There was a part of Robbe that wondered if Sander was going to ask what plans he had. But Sander simply smiled down at him and said, “Laying in bed until any time is alright with me, Robin. I’m sure that you have to study your beautiful brain out for your remaining tests.” 

Robbe flushed at the compliment, thankful that Sander didn’t ask.

Sander seized Robbe’s face rather abruptly. He placed a peck against Robbe’s lips, fleeting and quick. Then, he repeated the motion before moving on to his jaw, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, and all over his face until Robbe was left squirming under his lips. Then, Sander returned to his original destination, giving him a long kiss that made Robbe’s knees melt, before he pulled Robbe off his feet—literally. As Robbe latched onto his waist and shoulders like a vice grip, Sander was moving out of the room, taking Robbe with him. “Come on, I made pancakes.”

Robbe leaned back and beamed down at him. “You left me alone in bed to make pancakes?”

“Yes,” Sander said, sounding almost sheepish as he grinned. “I didn’t want you to wake up with an empty stomach and no food to eat!” Robbe smiled, leaning down to kiss Sander. He paused in the middle of the hallway, putting all of his focus on kissing Robbe back. Then, as soon as the kiss broke and Robbe hovered over his lips, Sander was moving again, holding Robbe a little higher on his waist, and walking like he never stopped. “It’s not very nice to not have food for such a treasured guest.”

#brenna writes #jij verliest fic #wtfock #wtfam #wtfock fanfiction #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe #rosander #wtfock fanfic #wtf fanfic #twitch streamer robbe #twitch streamer!robbe #tattoo artist!sander #kisses #sobbe being kissy and in love #pokémon fan sander #pokéfan!sander is a little self-indulgent #but i also love it #because he's such a nerd #so of course he is

[dansedan]

Did anyone ask for bad impulsive original fiction? no? ok so I’m doing it anyway under readmore bc 

1) it’s four pages long

2) It’s not good

open at your own risk it’s gay pining and isolated places bc that’s what I’ve been thinking about latelyyyyyyy 

ok here ‘tis sorry everything I touch becomes brooding and horny at least this one isn’t explicit lmao I started it right after watching brokeback mountain and maybe that’s super obvious and sad!

The blonde man is in a yellow suede coat (for that is what blonde men wear) and the black-haired man is wearing blue (not denim, though, just house-clothes) and they are standing in a bog-road not quite a mountain, too tropical for Western dessert, and the black-haired man is short but the blonde is shorter.

The are moles on the black-haired man’s blonde-skinned face and the blonde man wants to kiss them quickly, kiss repeatedly like a combo in an arcade game. The black-haired man is grinning more than he would really grin and his eyes are proud, round almonds and his hair is long and leather-smooth. The Blonde man looks like carrot cake in essence but not color, he is pale and strawlike.

The Blonde man is shivering under the coat and hat and isn’t used to it, but the black haired man just smiles again and says that Jersey winter’s colder, that he should visit sometime and see it for himself. The blonde man does believe him, still shivers without being cold.

“It’s good that you’ve managed to make it all the way down here.”

The two men are in the cottage- or house, or shack, or whathaveyou- and they’re shedding their coats with warm hesitance. The light from the windows is white-cold and streaming in like sheafs of silk, and the blonde man stares like a movie-still, too conscious and composed. The black-haired man is real, though, and he’s rustling through the kitchen for mugs, and spoons and coffee grounds. Chattering about the weather and elections and the recent movie by the actor they both like to fill the space in the air, and the Blonde man is breathing with intent, too much intent. Like receiving a shirt from a lover, he is breathing in the air of the house (it is still air with no notable fragrance, the coffee from the kitchen exempted by its diegesis) and looking around, taking slow steps like a peppy realtor on a tee-vee show. The house is American, and hand-made several years ago (he knows, for this is how he met the black-haired man, in that year of furrowed brows and little lies and paperwork) and overwhelmingly warm, wooden brown. It is draped in corners with thick fabric, like a swaddled child, and the Blonde man can see embroidery and weavings he himself had sent along with a mutual friend on her much more frequent visits- a pillow with a bird design, a blanket made to look like an old overcoat, art-school projects disguised as adult whims that had never fooled the black-haired man, but had successfully flattered him.

And the black-haired man has finished making coffee, or gotten sick of hearing “yes” and “really?” from the younger man, is instead sneaking up behind him with the mugs.

“neat house, huh?”

“thanks, made it myself.”

And the black-haired man pretends to gasp, and pretends to laugh, and passes on the coffee to the blonde man. And they are not drinking over an open fire, they are walking to the sofa- one in sock feet, one in boots.

“how’s school?”

“s’fine- ‘school’ makes it sound like I’m in sixth grade.”

“…is sixth grade fun?”

“fuck no.”

The black-haired man’s smile is wide, and heart-shaped, and it breaks the blonde man’s heart to see it plastered like that and to know it’s his fault.

“Still, god, how long’s it been now, three years?”

“threeish.”

The black-haired man is looking everywhere other than him, and it’s painfully obvious in the closed quarters of the open living room.

“all because of-“

“yeah, well, and the distance is-“

“of course, of course, still-“

“yeah. No excuses.”

And the blonde man wonders how they can do that- having never heard each other’s voices- how the black-haired man can read his tone and answer without seeing him face, without staring like the blonde man does and is at his small face dwarfed by warm-toned sofa seat.

“You know, you’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”

“really?”

“well, from the photos-“

“ah. Well, my roommate’s- uhm, whatsit… like, five feet? One-twenty cm, whatever that is.”

“oh. Tiny.”

“yeah, tiny.”

And the black-haired man looks away again, towards the door that leads to a half-kilometer of nothing and no-one, and farmlands sat past that, so no-one was making any sort of noise or was otherwise expected. And it is warm inside the house, and they sit apart on the single sinking sofa, their hands next to each other but apart.

“god, you’re white.”

“well, that’s evident in-“

“yeah, photos but-“ the black-haired man reached out, tentatively placing their hands side by side, touching pinkies. “god, in person… it’s a lot.”

“hm.” The blonde man hummed to cover his sudden breathing. He didn’t know where to look, so he stared. “…The British have a lot to answer for.”

“ha! Maybe so,” the black-haired man seemed emboldened, he kept looking amiably about the blonde man’s face, starting to fully touch the surface of the Blonde man’s hands. “do you burn easily?”

“too much.” The blonde man nodded, looking up, jittery. He made a gesture, a short nod up, signaling to notice the field of faint freckles on his face. The black-haired man noticed only the quirk of his pink lips, puckering slightly as emphasis, and the youthful blemishes on his rounded chin that lead his eyes down to the soft expanse of neck and chest under the button-up. It was quiet awhile, both faced towards each other but looking away, choking on still coffee and stale air.

“how is the book-“

“So what did you think about me?-“

And the second the words were out they were still again. The Blonde man had been tentative, the black-haired man weakly attempting a mocking falsetto, crowded into a pose with his feet drawn up on the sofa. They finally locked eyes, both half-desperate and half-heartened, restraining the urge to laugh or cry out of politeness.

The black-haired man broke the gaze first.

“um, well- Book’s okay! Got it into querying, so that’s good.” He scrambled to stretch out again, break pose and settle further away into the arm of the couch, further away from the blonde man still looking at him, still stunned serious.

“good.”

“yeah, good. Pretty good.”

And the black-haired man couldn’t look forward but seemed to feel the stare still standing solid back at him.

“You’re… “ the blonde-haired man hesitated, voice low. “you’re older than I thought you.”

“hah! Yeah, I’m a geezer, right?”

“you’re handsome.”

And that gave the black-haired man some pause, the easy tone he’d suddenly taken then, as if suddenly reporting on some subject he was confident about, like there was somehow more shame in asking him about work than there was in breaking that barrier. And he kept watching and talking.

“you look old Hollywood. Like that one guy- god, what’s his name? He was in one of the older westerns…”

“…s’rude to make fun of folks like that, you know.” He could feel his voice was small, and suddenly those couple inches height seemed to have lost their worth.

“I’m not making fun.” The blonde man said, and he stood up from the couch with his empty mug of coffee, walking back to the corner kitchen and the dripping sink. Even from away, there was a certain elegance in the way he went about the movements of walking and washing the cup, hands flowing soft like thin silk in smooth motion. And the blonde-haired man didn’t speak, while the black-haired man watched and sat in relative silence.

He watched the blonde man wetting, washing, coming up to rub his neck and card through the short-shaved back of his nape. The blonde man ducked his head down, gathered water to wet his face, and his neck was slender and unmarked, snow-white, and the black-haired man could not explain why it made him hungry, recalled the scent of citrus, of the bitter pale-white pith.

He could feel and see the light outside the window finally waning into night, bathing the open room in cold grey-casted light, see its effect on the blonde man, patting his hands dry on his pants and glancing around for a light switch.

“hey- why don’t you bring the matches? Second drawer.”

A brief pause and elegant hands took up the order, diving into the dark of the white wooden cabinet and strolling back over to the sofa.

“do you know how to strike it?”

The blonde man plucks a match out of the box, stares down and strikes it on his teeth.

“I’m not that young.”

The black-haired man wants to make a joke of it- ask about the party trick, make light of the dramatic gesture. But sadly, it works, the blonde man’s little living movie scene gimmick, and while the air between them grows thick all he can do is breath in and lean back, salivate. Candles on the coffee table lit, the blonde man sinks into the seat next to him, breathes even in the silence and doesn’t look away from the flame.

Three years in a cold, golden counterweight. In a joke gone bad and a cheesy gimmick.

The blonde man swore to himself this wouldn’t end with them in bed.

The black-haired man swore inwardly that this could only end with them in bed.

And the night swore nothing, just lay itself on their laps, belly-up and threateningly expectant.

#my writing #cabin boyfriends

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Tears of an Angel (Crowley/Aziraphale)

Right... so I saw this beautiful, heartrending artwork post and... I couldn’t help myself.  I didn’t think I could ever do this, but... I’m sorry.  I am truly sorry. 

Warning: Major Character Death

Tagging: @tonystark5ever @giulisetta @swanheart69

---------------------------------------------------------------

Adam’s wedding day is beautiful – a gorgeous, sun-stroked jewel of late summer, imbued with an intoxicating scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass. Not a hint of clouds in the brilliant blue sky that smiles down at the happy mingle of guests: some chatting amicably with those around them, others indulging, somewhat furtively but with obvious pleasure, in the impressive spread of refreshments heaped onto the white-clothed tables, others still swaying blissfully to the soft, enchanting sounds of music.

 It’s perfect.  And Crowley wouldn’t have expected it to be anything but.  Adam, after all, is still, to this day, the Spawn of Satan, whom he so bravely, so brilliantly rejected all those years ago.  And that means, reality is very much still his to change the way he pleases.

 Crowley can’t find it in himself to complain.

 He leans casually back against the side of a gazebo, arms crossed on his chest. Smiles fondly as he watches Anathema drag Aziraphale out into the dancing area, the angel shooting a pleading look Crowley’s way before submitting to the inevitable with a resigned huff, hurriedly shoving the remainder of a strawberry tart into his mouth.

 Oh, angel…

 “Interesting setup you got here.”

 He straightens out instantly, all sense of leisure gone from his posture, tension bleeding from every line of his body.

 “What do you want, Hastur?”

 “I’ve been watching you two,” the demon drawls out ominously from behind him – an oppressive, dangerous presence just off to the side, just out of his line of sight.  And Crowley fights the urge to turn around; suppresses the frisson of unease the demon’s presence sends down his spine.

 “What do you want?” he repeats in a growl of forced annoyance, even as his metaphorical heart clenches in mounting fear.  Hastur’s been watching them.  All these years.  Does it mean he figured out their swap? Does it mean he knows?

 “I know you tricked us,” Hastur answers his unspoken question, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice telling Crowley the demon noticed his panic despite Crowley’s best efforts.  “I don’t know how you did it, but…” There’s an ugly bark of laughter – like a crack of a dry twig underfoot, followed by rustle of clothes and an overwhelmingly strong presence, dark, magical.  “I don’t really care.”

 And Crowley can’t help turning around now.  Can’t help looking down at Hastur’s gloved hand, at the wicked-looking knife held cautiously in its grip. Can’t help the nasty, cold feeling that claws at his chest when he sees the flame-red sigils carved into the darkened blade.

 “Oh, good, you recognize it.” Hastur’s smiling at him now – a dark, sadistically gleeful grin.  Turns the blade in his hand in a mockery of awed contemplation.  “A hellfire-forged blade with holy sigils – a perfect weapon against any being, ethereal or demonic.” Growls out low, his upper lip curling in predatory anticipation, “Heaven and Hell will be happy to see both of you gone.  Me personally? After watching the two of you for a bit? I think killing just one of you will make for a far better torture.”  He waves his free hand in the air, a look of almost blissful dreaminess spreading across his face.  

 Crowley grinds his teeth together in helpless rage, glances back out to where his angel is fumbling dreadfully across from Anathema in a poor imitation of dancing, blissfully unaware of the danger lurking only a few feet away.  Flinches when he feels Hastur shift closer.

 “I’m feeling generous today, Serpent,” he murmurs, the smell of swamp and rot wafting over the side of Crowley’s face.  “I’m gonna let you choose.”

 Choose.  A bitter smile twitches at the corners of Crowley’s lips, his eyes never leaving the achingly dear white-haired form in a cream color jacket.  What is there to choose, really?  His choice has been made over 6000 years ago, standing on that wall in the Garden of Eden next to a beautiful, mystifying angel who gave away his sword to protect humans and then proceeded to shield a demon from the First Rain.

 He doesn’t even have to think about it.

 “Me,” he states calmly, ignoring the sharp pang in his heart at the thought that this is it for him, that he will never see his angel again.  “Take me.”  Turns briefly back to his unwelcome companion to glare murderously into the bottomless dark pools of his eyes.  “But thisss isss it, Hastur,” he hisses, low and menacing, putting all of his venom, all of his demonic, serpentine conviction into the words.  “After thisss our debt isss paid in full. Nobody touches the angel, understood? Not your lot, not the Heaven.  And you will make sure of that.”  He leans in closer, eyes bleeding a terrifyingly hypnotic, poisonous yellow. “You will make sure of that, Hasssstur, or I swear on all that is unholy, that I will find a way to come back, and I will make you wish you were the first one through my office door that day instead of Ligur.” He lets his upper lip curl, lets his fangs slide out in warning. “Undersssstood?”

 Hastur’s lips twist in an echoing snarl, but Crowley can see the minute perturbation on the other demon’s face, knows his threat (bluff, yes, but Hastur has no way of knowing that) has hit its mark.

 “Meet me in the cemetery behind the church,” the Duke of Hell spits out, nodding blindly in the direction of the small village church that hosted the wedding ceremony a mere hour ago.  And disappears in a cloud of thick gray smoke.

 Crowley remains where he is a moment longer.  Lets his gaze linger on Aziraphale for one last time, drinking in the sight of his dancing angel – so blessedly carefree, so endearingly clumsy, so unfailingly good, so… so… beautiful.  He sighs, smiling despite the traitorous, anguished tremble of his lips.  Closes his eyes, letting that final image of Aziraphale become engrained in his memory. And follows Hastur to his doom.

 He doesn’t see Aziraphale turning to glance in his direction an instant before he disappears from view.

 ***

 He reappears but a moment later in the place of Hastur’s choosing.  Stumbles a bit on the uneven surface of a freshly laid grave.

 And gasps, his breath choked off and stolen, as sharp pain explodes below his ribcage, doubling him over with the force of the blow.  A wave of power rushes through him – angelic and demonic, woven together to create a monumental, monstrous hybrid of destruction.  Cold and fiery, deadly and unstoppable, sluicing through his veins to tear him apart, piece by piece by piece.

 He reaches forward on instinct, grabbing blindly, convulsively for the support of the putrid smelling shape that materializes in front of him.  Groans pathetically as Hastur shoves the blade deeper with a hard, vicious thrust.  And shudders, his fingers unclasping, nerveless, from the demon’s sleeve, as Hastur yanks the blade out and steps quickly back out of reach.

 “We are even now,” Hastur observes dispassionately as Crowley sinks to his knees before him onto the clumpy ground, one hand pressed uselessly against the bleeding gaping hole in his chest, the other seeking purchase in the loose dirt.  Cringes with sympathetic fear as Crowley draws in another harsh, labored wheeze of a breath, face twisting at the ever-mounting pain.

“It was quicker for Ligur,” he notes darkly, sheathing the blade and putting it away into the folds of his coat. “Merciful almost, compared to yours.”

His cheek twitches minutely, a fire of grim satisfaction flashing in the black depths.  Then, suddenly, he squats down before the injured demon, stares unblinking into the wide, pain-glazed eyes.  

“But perhaps you can be thankful for a chance to say goodbye.”  He cants his head to the side, nodding at something in the distance.

 Blearily, Crowley follows his motion, and the cold that fills his chest no longer has anything to do with his impending death.  Because there, weaving his way toward them between the maze of tombstones, is the angel, his angel.

 No.

 He grasps for Hastur’s coat again, gritting his teeth at the fresh flare of pain that rips through him at the unsanctioned movement.

 “Your promisssse… re… remember your…,” his voice cuts out, his throat spasming from a sudden buildup of pressure that drowns the rest of his words in a vicious gurgle of a cough that spills forth in a spectacular spray of blood.

 He gasps, breathless, against the intensity of it.  Squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, missing the grimace of disgust that flits across Hastur’s face as the demon raises his hand to vanish the bloody splatter that carried from his former colleague to settle on his face and clothes.

 “I have not forgotten, Serpent,” he grouches, extricating himself once again from Crowley’s feeble grip. Straightens back out, making a show of dusting off his forever-filthy coat. His cheek twitches again – a tell of discomfort, as he forces out the parting words of (questionable) reassurance. “Have a nice… death.”

 A snap of fingers and the Duke of Hell vanishes from sight, and then the angel is there, kneeling on the ground before Crowley, hands pawing frantically at the darkened, bleeding hole in the middle of his chest; grasping Crowley’s shoulders as he sways alarmingly on his gradually weakening knees.  

Crowley tries to steady himself, tries to look strong for his angel, but the devastating power ravaging his essence has already done too much damage, and he can’t help but succumb, slumping forward into Aziraphale’s chest with a helpless groan.

 “Crowley?”

 The angel’s voice trembles, tinged with desperation and fear, and Crowley can feel the same anxious tremble in the arms that wrap themselves around him; can hear the panicked beat of the angel’s heart.  This will not do, he thinks, sluggish.  He can’t leave his angel like this – so desperate, so panicked.  He has to–

 “I can’t… I can’t heal it. What…. Crowley, darling, please, what’s–?”

 “Shhhhh….” He forces his head up, forces his weakened hand to move.  Presses a shaking finger to the beautiful plump lips that he has been so fortunate, so privileged to taste in these past few years.  How incredibly, insanely lucky he was!  

“Shhh,” he repeats, running careful, gentle fingers across the angel’s cheek, wiping away a streak of golden tears that trails down the soft pale skin. Frowns when fresh tears begin to trickle down the same track.  This isn’t right, he thinks. Aziraphale shouldn’t be… he can’t…

 “Don’t cry,” he pleads, voice raspy and shaking with pain that is becoming harder and harder to conceal. But he will try.  He has to try. For his angel.  “S’okay… Zira… sss’okay.  I cho…chose this… My choicssssse…”

 Tear-filled blue eyes widen in understanding, the angel glancing briefly at a spot where Hastur stood only moments ago, before shifting his grief-stricken, horrified gaze back to Crowley.

 “No…,” he whines, tears falling harder now, as his arms tighten around Crowley’s shivering form in mounting despair.  “No, Crowley… Crowley, you can’t….”

 Crowley blinks at him fondly, a faint smile pulling at his blood-stained lips.  “S’okay,” he exhales, fighting to speak against the gradually thickening blanket of darkness that begins to weigh down on him, threatening to pull him under.  He can’t let it happen.  Not yet. He needs to get the angel to understand, needs to explain.  He knows that, once he surrenders to that darkness, he won’t get another chance.

 “I had to… They won’t… won’t bother you now.  Not any…anymore.”  

 It’s important that Aziraphale knows this.  Because it’s something that’s been bothering the both of them all these years – the fear that Heaven or Hell or both will be coming for them any moment.  It dampened the serenity, the pleasure of that short time they spent together, forcing them to constantly look over their shoulders. But no more, no more…

 What little strength he has left to keep himself upright runs out and he sags, boneless, in Aziraphale’s feverish embrace, their foreheads touching.  

Aziraphale is saying something, the angel’s breath hot and suspiciously wet against his skin, but Crowley can’t hear him, not anymore – the darkness pulling at him, engulfing his senses.

 “Kiss me,” he asks instead – a barely there whisper.  

 He can hardly feel his arms anymore, but he manages somehow to raise one, to hook it feebly around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, smearing blood onto the white curls.  Tugs, trying to urge the angel closer.  

 There’s barely any discernible pressure behind his gesture, but Aziraphale follows it nevertheless. Surges forward with a choked off sob, closing the already negligible gap between their mouths, latching on to Crowley’s lips as a man wandering for days in the sweltering heat of the desert latches on to the refreshing watery escape of an oasis.

 The fear of loss, the desperate denial, the frantic need to hold on, and the love – overwhelming, all-encompassing, unfaltering love: Crowley reads it all on the trembling, tear-stained lips that cling to his own.  It’s warm, the angel’s kiss.  So beautifully warm against the numbing, agonizing cold that fills his entire being.  

 He closes his eyes, sinks deeper into the kiss, trying to capture as much of that warmth as he can, to bask in his angel’s essence before darkness pulls him away for good.

 It isn’t long now, he can feel it.  Can feel himself falling, breaking will-lessly away from the soft anchor of Aziraphale’s lips – the warm light of his angel’s presence growing dimmer and dimmer, until only a tiny spark remains in the thick, stifling darkness that swathes his mind.

 He latches on to it, weakly, stubbornly.  Peels his eyes open, unsurprised to find the angel leaning over him, his face – a pale, haloed blur for his failing sight.  But even now, faded almost beyond recognition, he’s still the most beautiful thing Crowley has ever seen.

 He tells him so. Releases the truth of it on the final exhale his corporation’s lungs allow him.  Along with a faint susurrant confession, “Love you… angel…”

 A soft, wet splatter of a warm, golden tear on his ice-cold cheek is the last thing he feels.

FIN

#good omens #good omens fic #crowley/aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale #hastur #character death #tragedy #angst #hurt #i broke them #i didn't mean to #somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes #sjsob good omens fics

[taeguboi]

BTS as... Rockers

Ngl, I panicked a little when I checked on the masterlist because an older post about BTS as rock band members was labelled as this title and I’d already written this one for like 3 members already. There’s various genres I mention, some of which are also metal and pop but I thought a simple general title would be best here.

Anyways, my second post coming back recently. Hope you enjoy.

RM

Mainly a classics man

Loves to analyse lyrics

and loves writing his own lyrics based on his current favourites

It’s like a form of literature to him

Loves to chill out to prog and psychedelic rock

Accidentally had the same music tastes as that weird geography teacher in school

Probably has a pet named after a member of a power / symphonic metal band

sorry I’m a bit of a Nightwish nerd and now I can just imagine him calling for his dog “Floor!” and everyone getting confused because they think he’s just shouting at the ground

this is the kind of genre he likes the most other than classic rock; that’s where the most literature references are. It’s poetry about poetry

Has a journal of art and lyrics quotes for when he’s super into a song

Could be mistaken for a geek in school 

because to a juvenile ear, his taste in music might be challenging to listen to

like no one else had the patience aged 12 to listen to a 9 minute song or an instrumental track

and then even at 15/16, how many people your age would listen to Dark Side Of The Moon?

Guess he would say music is all about sitting back and listening and taking it in

Would love to be a songwriter for the right kind of singer

unfortunately though, he’s a bit of a loner

likes his own company too much

it’s probably the solitude that motivates him to write 

too many more friends than he already has would be too much of a distraction

It’s not a sad situation though

music is what Namjoon loves the most

and “nothing else matters”

Oh yes, let’s have a bit of Metallica in there too

It’s not until he finishes school that he becomes more in touch with what people in the current world of rock and metal like

discovered “Rollin’” by Limp Bizkit like WAY too many years after it came out

“Have you heard this ace song man?”

“yep... in 2004 dude”

“oh”

But he’s no ashamed or anything, no

He’s proud to be a fan of the bands he likes

even if they aren’t to everyone’s tastes

“Well, sorry if this isn’t some 3 minute long four chord song repeating the same 5 words”

If they don’t appreciate it, their loss

Jin

The old ones are the best ones

Think 50s rock n’ roll; Little Richard, Elvis, and so on

mixed with guilty pleasures of songs about ‘my baby girl’

Loves themed music nights

Whilst of course his favourites are the 50s themed ones

he also loves showing up to 60s nights to flaunt the flower power

or 80s nights in a fun wig as some member of a hair metal band

all the styles are very fun

but on a daily basis, he’s basically dresses like a teddy boy

tight trousers with white socks peaking out

jacket - sometimes a suit jacket, sometimes denim

as you can imagine, when a lot of this stuff comes back in fashion...

“Well, I did it first...”

you know, in this era he means he did it first

Loves a good finger clicker song

Once considered doing a tribute act around pubs and clubs

but he couldn’t decide who he wanted to be

Probably should take a role in some live production of Grease

he’s seen it enough times

and he can sing

He reckons he could never do theatre for long though

his fantasies are with playing instruments to perform

talented keyboard player

starting to get the hang of guitar too

but he does get carried away whilst trying to learn guitar

because he wants to add on all the cool moves NOW

He’s got some bangers he created on the keyboard though

he didn’t really intend to create original songs

it just happened one day after a break up

and he listened to Heartbreak Hotel

too many times

he just sat at his keyboard

and made something that really felt special

and then the day after that, he made a more upbeat song

and the week after that, he has 4 full songs in total

Open mic nights become something he enjoys 

a bit of a local celebrity

“Would you play my grandma’s 80th party? Pleeeease?”

and aww bless him, he plays all the throwback songs at care homes

all free of charge

slips in some of his original music too

“Ooh, I’m afraid I don’t remember that one dear, must be my brain”

“Oh, no no no” explains Jin “I made it myself”

Old dears just love him basically

but so do the girls his age

Whilst some think the whole 50s get up is a bit lame

some go wild for it

because he dons all his outfits so well

and his songs feel so true to the era they were inspired by

you gain a love for the 50s just from watching Jin

Talented boy, keeping the 50s alive

Suga

A lot say Yoongi has an acquired taste

an electronic element to rock or metal always makes it more interesting to him

loves industrial music - NIN for days

Linkin Park made most of his jams

cried for half a day at the news of Chester no longer being with us

Likes a bit of new wave, synthpop, all that

emo songs just help you through the bad times okay

Can equally enjoy a dub festival as much as a rock concert

some people think his taste is actually naff

but then they realise he also listens to the likes Foo Fighters or Sum 41

Plays like the same 30 songs on repeat

but his collection has so much more

He has some rock and blues for the road trip

he’s got your 70s singalongs for the party

Was briefly a DJ at a rock bar

got fired for not playing enough popular songs in his set

“wtf I thought this was a bar where people could appreciate this” huffs Yoongi

“yes but people want to sing to ‘down with the sickness’ or something, not ‘down in the park’!”

“stuff you then, I’ll take Gary somewhere else with me”

guilty pleasure: Kate Bush

A somewhat gothic sense of style

but not overwhelmingly gothic

He likes bandannas and black clothes

not always in black clothes though

sometimes the merch he wants just isn’t available in black

but no worries

as long as he can happily flaunt the music that makes him who he is

J-Hope

Can listen to any rock genre

give him something and he probably already loves it

So yeah, the band members are pretty cool and all that

but what Hoseok has more interest in the backstage roles

he’d love to manage a rock band

be a tour manager

guitar tech

Much knowledge is stored in that brain of his

and he wants to put it to good use

He starts out as a promoter and organiser for the rock bar in town

which he eventually lives above 

His events are ace

he can pick out fresh talent that everyone on that scene can enjoy

His showcase nights are the place to be

everyone can agree, he’s got amazing taste

no one can disagree with him

He’s a one man show and still managed to pull it off

he’s the promoter, the sound guy, the tech on all the instruments

way more professional than most other local music events

He takes pride in his work

did I mention he’s so good, it becomes a full time job?

As time goes by, he listens to less and less older music

but that’s okay

he’s happy with the time it takes to listen to all the up and coming bands

in the moment is where you should live

and he can still appreciate a band’s influences should they initiate conversation

“man, this dude really knows his stuff”

“will you manage our next tour?”

“can you do sound at our next gig? our guy’s rubbish”

and that one is like right in front of their current sound guy

The future is bright for Hoseok

his love for rock music could really earn him a solid living

Jimin

Some say he’s a bit of a poser in his leather jacket

but he really does love his rock music

Sometimes a bit behind on modern rock bands or releases

Low key wishes he was born in the 50s / 60s 

just so he could live in his favourite eras

his heart really lies with the classics

60s, 70s, 80s.

90s at a push

not the later 90s where grunge bands did pop

ew

actually any movie made in that time makes him cringe

like he’s all up for good clean fun

but christ it’s like they were trying to go back to the 50s or something

not everything is ‘swell’ you know

Don’t get him wrong though

he does also like some 50s music

He may or may not have spent that one time acting like Elvis in the mirror

it really hyped him up before a night out though

it may or may not have become a thing before going out in the evenings to boost his confidence

His all time favourite bands have to be The Rolling Stones and AC/DC

and no, he couldn’t pick between the two, ever

Doesn’t really have a desire to be in a band

but sort of accidentally picks up the bass to help out a mate in a band

and sort of accidentally becomes a permanent member

It’s just a cover band

but it’s so much fun

Sometimes, you can have a really bad day

and then listening to 23 people singing “I Love Rock n Roll”

kind of lifts your mood

“Play Wonderwall!”

gets a bit annoying to him

kind of wants to hit that one guy around the head with his bass

but he holds back

Because being aggressive wouldn’t be very rock of him

and whilst he does like punk music

he’s definitely not a punk

Screw all that political rubbish

music should be to enjoy yourself with

stop worrying about the world for one minute and

let’s sing about whiskey and cigarettes and just living life

“What do you MEAN you don’t know any Def Leppard songs?”

“For crying out loud!”

He tries to understand that not everyone will listen what the music he likes

“but... like seriously, how can you not though?”

V

Probably likes all the underrated bands

Loves vinyl

definitely collects vinyls

Likes to shop at vintage stores to fulfil his obscure taste

People are like “you paid £60 just for that?”

but to Tae, it’s worth every penny

He likes the classics too

he can sing along in a rock bar to all the well known tunes

old or modern

and there may be loads in his vinyl collection barely anyone recognises

but there’s some more familiar faces too

there’s The Beatles, Guns n’ Roses, Foo Fighters, anything like that

it’s just only like 20% of his huge collection

Whilst his style is inspired by those he idolises...

he can never copy them

that would be an insult to them and his originality

Plays guitar and writes songs

never anything soppy though

actually fairly hesitant to pick up an acoustic guitar

always plays electric

and the songs he makes are about having a good time, life experiences

but not about love

He can listen to a couple of cheesy tracks

he just won’t make any

“Who the heck is John Otway, Tae?”

“Oh, you know, Wild Willy Barrat”

“Willy who?”

“Cor baby, that’s really free!”

“....”

“Headbutts! da da da da da... Headbuttttsssss”

I feel like rocker V loves anything that feels slightly random

probably make his own secret songs that sound silly to others

Probably has a band that never gigs

it’s him singing and playing guitar

and a bassist and drummer that aren’t really sure why they’re here

but they kind of like the unique stuff he does

and the band is almost purposely bad

“It’s the imperfections that really give a song character”

Jungkook

Modern rock and metal

low key emo

Tears Don’t Fall by BFMV on repeat aged 14, his first break up

Lives for festivals

like when he goes to work, that is what he is earning money for

well, that and bills and food

has a jar for each festival he wants to go to this year

Also loves a bit of melodic punk

like when that one Australian band are finally coming to his country

he HAS to go

help me I’m really sad because this is me and The Decline were supposed to be coming to the UK and then this pandemic happened and now I might never see them criii

Has a playlist for every aspect of life

every feeling, every colour, every occasion

songs that remind him of a time, ones where he can visualise a colour...

many people don’t get it

“how many playlists?”

“how can a song be a colour?”

it just is

like come on, listen to this Red Jumpsuit Apparatus song 

and tell him this doesn’t remind you of gold

Could be a journalist

knows everything and anything about his favourite bands

AVENGED SEVENFOLD

because it’s the perfect mixture of everything he loves about music

vests because M.Shadows

So badly wants to be in a band

tries every instrument you could find in a typical rock band

loves the drums

gets stuck on guitar though in his first band

well, he was just desperate to go gigging

he left after a year and a bit though

got boring

forms his own band instead around him being on the drums

Lives for this band

it’s like a rock band but with political lyrics

and they can perform at most events

they just fit any bill

gigs are booked almost every weekend

road trip with the lads

they travel like 50 miles just to be paid in beer only

Dreams of big time collaborations

that will probably never happen and he knows that

but it’s nice to dream, right?

puts on his own gigs a few years down the line

of course his own band are always on the bill

everyone thinks his gigs are a hoot

He even manages to book some lesser known punk bands 

but they are a massive deal to him

“God, I love live music!”

“Do you always wear a black shirt guk?”

“Hey, I’m a drummer! It’s hard work; a lot of sweat involved... I’m sure no one wants to see my wet pits whilst trying to enjoy the show”

and then that person wishes they never asked...

but he’s right

he knows that a good band is all about the hard graft and work

and he is always so thankful for the great rock bands that influence him

#bts #bts fic #bts hc #bts as #bts as things #bts as rockers #bts fanfic #bts imagine #rm #namjoon #kim namjoon #jin #seokjin #kim seokjin #suga #yoongi #min yoongi #jhope #hoseok #jung hoseok #jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #bts v #taehyung #kim taehyung #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts music #bts headcanon

[onenerdtwonagas]

Can we get the story of how Orpheus saved Uriah from the venomous naga?

The creature’s body was as black as tar, with scales as slick as oil. It had features far more reptilian than Uriah had seen on Orpheus or Kenneth, or any other naga he’d ever met. It looked like something from a primordial nightmare. The guttural voice it spoke with didn’t make the experience any better.

“You are precious to the demigod,” it growled. “When he comes, we can bargain with you.”

Uriah recoiled against the cavern wall as a lanky hand extended its claws, taunting him by dragging one down the side of his face.

“Or perhapsss,” the beast hissed, “my pack and I can simply eat you.”

The plant fiber ropes felt even tighter and more constricting. Uriah swallowed thickly as the creature bared it’s fangs, staring into his face with pitch-black eyes.

“I wonder what would be sweeter: your blood, or his sssubmission…”

“Get…g-get away from me!”

A deep, ugly laugh reverberated off of the cavern walls.

“Prey that struggles is always more entertaining. I wonder what made him choose you for a plaything, when he could have devoured you instead.”

“Hra’khal.”

A second decrepit naga slid in to view at the cave’s mouth, just as dark and frightening. It bore its teeth in a malicious grin.

“He approachesss.”

Uriah’s stomach dropped.

“Orpheus, no—“

A scaly hand clamped over his face, muffling his protests and shoving him back against the stone.

“Quiet, mortal,” Hra’khal snarled. He turned to the guard. “Essscort him in.”

The cavern’s temperature seemed to drop as Orpheus’ figure appeared, flanked by several of the greasy-dark beasts. His eyes were colder than Uriah ever remembered seeing them. Suddenly, breathing felt difficult.

“There he isss, the little demigod, come to answer the Blackscale call.”

“I’ve little patience for your…politics,” Orpheus muttered. “You’ve attacked my family on numerous accounts. The Pantheon knows you are a dangerous breed to deal with. Dare I ask what you brought me out here for?”

Hra’khal smirked.

“I thought you might like your toy back…”

His coils threw Uriah, bound and newly gagged, down to the dirt in front of him. Orpheus instantly tensed, eyes wide as he lunged for Uriah, but several blackscale guards leveled their crude spears at him.

“…For a price,” Hra’khal hissed. His tongue, as inky black as the rest of his being, slipped out between his fangs.

“Your father’s lands for this…thing. A fair bargain for something so precious to you, isn’t it?”

Uriah, terrified as he was, whined through the fibers between his teeth and shook his head furiously. He wouldn’t be the reason Orpheus or his family had to lose some sort of turf war. He didn’t want Orpheus to suffer whatever humiliation would fall to his father’s name if he gave in to a cluster of thugs like these.

Orpheus stared down at him. And then his eyes rose to meet Hra’khal’s. Something about his being shifted. The stars marking his scales seemed to burn, and his eyes did too.

“Return him to me, and I won’t slaughter you and your entire pack.”

“Give me the territories, and you shall have what you asked for.”

“I wasn’t asking,” Orpheus snarled. There was ice in his tone. Uriah didn’t recognize it.

Before any one of them could move, Orpheus let out a roar that deafened Uriah’s ears. He curled up tightly against himself as every dim light in the cavern was snuffed out by an invisible gust. He heard several outbursts, inhuman shrieks and snarls, all in a horrifying cacophony. White-blue flames would occasionally streak across the walls as Orpheus unleashed his nightfire from his claws, tearing through flesh and crunching bone when he could grasp it. Uriah felt something hot splatter across the right side of his face as he tried to bury himself against the soil. He smelled smoke, and rust. So much rust.

Claws grasped the back of his shirt and turned him on to his back. Even with only the flicker of Orpheus’ flames, Uriah could tell it was Hra’khal’s maw opening wide over him. Something in his breath stank of acid and decay.

But the fangs never touched his skin. A flaming hand snatched the pack leader by the throat, throwing him against the dirt before recoiling to hoist him against the wall.

Orpheus spread his own jaws and sank his fangs deep in to Hra’khal’s neck.

Uriah wasn’t sure if he heard the beast’s death scream before Orpheus had torn his vocal cords out, spitting a mouthful of flesh and blood on to the stone. Hra’khal sputtered, gasping in ragged wheezes, before he finally collapsed in a pathetic heap. Orpheus spat a second time to clear the taste from his mouth, and turned towards Uriah.

“Uriah, are you—“

He stopped when he saw how wide Uriah’s eyes were. There was fear there, aimed at him. At the display of alpha male strength and violence he had just put on. Orpheus looked down over himself, his body miraculously unscathed by venemous fangs, but spattered with hot blood. He whispered something, a magic phrase, and nightfire washed over him, cleansing the disgusting filth from his being. His attention turned to Uriah again.

Uriah winced as Orpheus’ claws grazed his cheek, reaching back to unfasten the gag and remove the rest of his bindings. 

“Shh. It’s alright now,” he whispered. “Were you harmed? Bitten?”

“...N-No.”

That was a relief. And yet, it still felt tainted, somehow. Orpheus could feel the nervousness in Uriah’s being, and heard it clearly in his voice. He spared a glance at the cavern, his eyes well-adjusted to the dark, and realized there was one less blackscale than he’d remembered. 

“Come on,” he sighed heavily. “It’s not safe here. They’ll bring another pack soon. I should get you back within my father’s territory, to the temple.” 

---

The silence between them was stifling. Even when they’d gotten to the well-defended safety of the ancient temple Orpheus and his family occupied, neither of them spoke much. Uriah barely even looked up from his hands in his lap as Orpheus sat before him, a warm cloth in his hand to wipe the dried blood from Uriah’s face. About halfway though, the demigod lowered his hand, and let out a long breath.

“I never wanted you to see me that way, or for you to be put at risk. I...I’m so sorry, Uriah.”

Uriah finally looked up to see shame weighing on all of Orpheus’ features. For such a strong, powerful creature, he suddenly looked terribly small, and submissive. Even more shocking was when Orpheus sank to the floor, prostrating himself before Uriah, his forehead touching the stone just in front of him.

“I should have been able to prevent this. I should have kept you safe. Whatever I need to do to make you forgive me, I’ll do it.”

“Orpheus--H-Hey, don’t...don’t be like that,” Uriah stammered, overwhelmed. “I’m not a...a god or anything...”

“No. You’re more important than that. You’re my lover,” Orpheus insisted. “I need to do right by you.”

Uriah bit his lip. Was this some sort of cultural custom of Orpheus’ sort? He wasn’t sure. There was a lot he didn’t know about naga culture, actually; Kenneth was an outlier, and Orpheus’ family was the only other group he really knew. Maybe... Maybe this was normal for Orpheus, to feel so strongly. It was foreign to him, considering his last relationship had gone so sour, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

And, really, as frightening as the experience had been, he couldn’t say he was angry or upset. Uriah knew he would’ve died if Orpheus hadn’t come for him. That, and he had to remember the laws of these beings were vastly different from human culture. Sometimes there was no room for diplomacy, and Orpheus, as human as his face and hands and voice appeared, was still a predator by nature. Predators defended themselves and their own with brute force; it was just how they were. 

“I’m not mad, Orpheus,” Uriah said softly. He leaned forward, shifting to his knees, and reached out a hand, lightly brushing his fingers through Orpheus’ hair. The naga looked up at him, leaning his face into Uriah’s touch. 

“I could...I could make you forget, if it would make you feel safe again. I have the ability.”

“...No,” Uriah answered, after some hesitation. “I don’t want to forget. I’ll... Well, I’ll learn to cope with it, but... I don’t want to forget the lengths you’d go to for me. If I’m really that important to you--”

“You are,” Orpheus professed, clasping Uriah’s hand in his own and kissing it with reverence. “Ancients, Uriah, if I ever lost you... Especially to those beasts...”

“G-Geez, you’re gonna give me a big head,” Uriah mumbled. His face felt hot. He knew Orpheus loved him, but having a being this powerful, an eventual god, practically beg him for forgiveness felt... Flattering? 

“I trust you to protect me, okay? You’ve never hurt me, not once. To be honest, I think this whole mess was my fault, trekking around a part of the jungle I wasn’t familiar with,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“You...don’t want anything from me?”

“From you?”

“To make up for it,” Orpheus clarified. Again, it was so overwhelmingly flattering that it took Uriah a second to form words. 

“No. I-I don’t need or want anything. Just... Just you. For you and me to be alright.” He hesitated. “You can hug me, though, you big noodle. Could kinda use it.”

For a moment, Orpheus just stared up at him in some sort of amazement. Then he lifted himself from the floor, pulling his glistening tail close and curling it once around Uriah’s waist as he cradled his face in his hands. He knew Uriah was human, and that their customs were different, but to think that he could ask for anything, and yet desire nothing but his presence and comfort... The warmth Uriah had put in his heart sparked pleasantly. His lips pressed to his forehead before he nuzzled against him, his tail sliding up a little further around Uriah’s frame. The man in his arms and coils felt infinitely precious and rare.

“You, Uriah Hoffman, are dearer to me than all the stars.” 

“And uh...maybe there’s a way you can fix my glasses? They got kinda cracked when those things took me.”

Orpheus smiled against his lips, and watched Uriah blush as his tail slipped around his shoulders.

“Anything for you, my love.”

#onenerdtwonagas #orpheus #uriah #starry scales #freckle muffin #freckles and stars #anon ask #ask post #lit

[buckyssoul]

You Owe Me One (college!au)

this is part 2 of Trust Me, which you can read here.

Pairing: bucky x female reader

Word Count: 4.8k (buckle up bois)

Rating: explicit

Warnings: mild language, very nsfw (oral m&f receiving, kinda graphic smut) *i request that you be 18+ to continue reading* (but i know that i cant really stop you, so whatever).

Summary: you cash in on the favor Bucky owes you for helping him ditch his crazy ex.

A/N: I would like to thank @lokissoul for all of her help with this fic, I probably wouldn’t have posted it otherwise. I would also like to thank @avenging-barnes and @legendaryloki for beta-reading for me. And last but not least, I want to give a huge thank you to anyone that read Trust Me and left me a like, comment, and/or reblog. The amount of support I received from all of you was overwhelmingly heartwarming, I hope I have done right by you all with the conclusion to this story. xoxo

You were checking your makeup in the mirror to make sure everything looked okay. You went with a natural look; a subtle black eyeliner wing, mascara to lengthen your already beautifully long lashes, and a little bit of highlight to give your skin that sun-kissed glow. You left your hair down and put some loose wavy curls in it. Bucky would be at your dorm in 10 minutes to pick you up for your date. You were dressed in a casual looking red blouse, cute pair of black jegging capris, with your black strappy sandals so your freshly painted red toes could be seen. This get-up was covering your sexy new red lace bra and thong set.

After you helped Bucky get rid of his obsessive ex-girlfriend, you told him “You owe me one, Barnes” and he said you could have whatever you wanted, you asked him to take you out on a proper date. That’s what you wanted. He agreed immediately, “I’d love to take you out, doll” he had said. You shivered at the memory; Bucky was by far the best kisser you’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing. You reached up to run your fingertips over your lips, they were aching to be pressed against his soft lips again. The knock at your door startled you out of your trance. You grabbed your small black crossbody purse, threw it over your shoulder, gave yourself one last glance in the mirror, then went to get the door.

“You look amazing, Y/N.” Bucky smiled at you as you blushed at the compliment.

“Well thanks, Bucky. You don’t look too bad yourself.” You winked at him. He was wearing dark jeans, a red henley with the sleeves rolled up on his muscular forearms, and his black combat boots. Of course, his silky brown hair was down, tucked behind his ears. He chuckled at your blatant flirting and smiled so wide that he had little crinkles by his beautiful blue eyes.

“Shall we get going?” He asked as he extend his arm to you. You gently slid your hand up his forearm, was it possible to be attracted to someone’s forearms?? You rested your hand in the crook of his elbow, then grabbed your door and pulled it closed with your other hand.

“Lead the way.” You said as you smiled up at him.

Bucky lead you out of the dorm hall and to his car. He opened your door for you before going around and hopping in the driver’s seat. Bucky took you to The Pub, a casually classy Irish Pub themed restaurant. Your conversations at dinner flowed smoothly, you and Bucky talked like you have known each other for years. You were both so insanely comfortable with one another, it was almost kind of bizarre. The food was delicious, and the drinks were even better. Bucky had a short craft beer and you had two of the house special cocktails. You were both far from drunk. He was perfectly fine, and you were just buzzed enough to bring a little warmth to your cheeks.

You were both quiet on your way back to his car, your mind was screaming at you to get your lips back on his again. You chewed lightly on your bottom lip trying to relieve that little ache that hadn’t really gone away since last time he kissed you, four days ago. After he agreed to take you on a date, you exchanged numbers, and he gave you one last lingering needy kiss before he left your dorm room.

When you finally reached his car, he went to open the passenger door for you again, you put your hand on the door and pushed it closed before he could get it open more than two inches. He looked at you with his eyebrow scrunched in confusion.

“I can’t wait to do this for another second longer.” You breathed out as you reached up to the back of his neck to pull him down to your pleading lips. Bucky hummed in appreciation; he was going mad at the thought of having your lips on his again too. You nibbled at his bottom lip and he quickly granted you access into his waiting mouth. You sighed at the feeling of his tongue dancing with yours. Bucky’s hands were on your hips pulling you closer to him. He wanted to feel your body pressed against his again so damn badly. You pulled away first, both of you were breathing at little heavy.

“We should get back to my dorm.” You said breathily, still lightly panting.

“Yeah, Yes. Good idea.” Bucky shook his head yes too, as if his agreement wasn’t expressed strongly enough already. He opened your door for you then ran around to his side and climbed in.

The drive back was going to be roughly 12 minutes and you didn’t know if you could keep your hands off of him for that long. About 5 minutes into the trip back, you got an idea. You looked over at Bucky, seeing his eyes were focused on the road, you reached over to his knee and started to slowly run your hand up his thigh.

His gaze snapped over to you, “what are you doing, doll?” he questioned in a low warning tone.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and crouched up on your knees and leaned over the middle console to whisper in his ear, “don’t worry about it, baby.” You said softly, “just keep your eyes on the road.” You finished by lightly nibbling at his earlobe.

Bucky groaned loudly when your hand finally made its way up to his already half hard cock. You rubbed him through his jeans, loving the way you could feel him hardening under your touch. You took your hand away and you heard the faintest little whimper come from Bucky. You popped open the button of his jeans and slid his zipper down. Bucky felt his breath catch in his throat, were you really about to do what he thought you were going to do?? That question was answered when he felt you reach into his boxers and pull out his fully erect dick. You stroked him a few times then glanced up at his face to make sure he was still watching the road, he wasn’t.

“Eye’s on the road, baby.” You said in a lightly chastising tone. He groaned again, this time in slight annoyance at not being able to watch you.

Once his eyes were back up on the road you dipped your head down and took the weeping pink tip of his very impressively sized cock into your mouth. Bucky moaned loudly at the feeling of your warm soft tongue swirling around his sensitive cockhead. You took him into your mouth until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, and he let out an almost angelic sounding groan. Bucky didn’t think this could get any better, then you relaxed your throat and took him all the way in until your nose brushed the soft curls at the base of his cock. Bucky’s right hand fell from the steering wheel so he could gently weave his fingers through your hair and massage the back of your head. He took a deep breath attempting to calm his thudding heartbeat, his left knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.

“oooh fuck” he sighed, “that feels amazing baby” he praised you as you swallowed around him. You hummed at his praises, sending vibrations through his cock that he felt all the way in his balls. Bucky choked on his breath and tightened his grip on your hair. You started pulling back slowly, being sure to give the head of his cock some special attention; flicking your tongue over his slit a few times. You hummed again at the taste of him leaking onto your tongue. Bucky had just thrown the car in park, finally back at the dorm hall, at the same time as you began to bob your head up and down swirling your tongue around his sensitive head while your hand worked the rest of his shaft.

“Oh s-sh-shit, Doll” he stuttered out “Fuck! I-I’m cumming” he threw his head back and held tightly onto your hair as you took all of the hot cum he shot into your mouth, swallowing it and continuing to gently lick at the head of his cock until you were sure he was completely spent.

Bucky’s hand detangled from your hair and fell to his side as you sat up to look at his completely fucked out state of being. He was panting, his head was still tilted back on the headrest, and his eyes were still screwed shut as he tucked himself back into his pants. You smiled to yourself, you had been able to get that sort of reaction out of Bucky and you hadn’t even taken your clothes off yet. When Bucky felt like he could breathe properly again, he opened his eyes and lifted his head from the headrest, turning to look at you. He couldn’t believe you were sitting there smiling at him sweetly and gazing at him innocently with your big (Y/E/C) eyes.

“Holy shit” he breathed, “you sure are something else Y/N” he half chuckled and shook his head at you.

“A good ‘something else’ or a bad ‘something else’?” you questioned in an innocent tone. He full on laughed at your question.

“A good ‘something else’ doll. A very good something else.” He smiled at you that big eye crinkling smile again.

Bucky turned the car off and hopped out, then jogged over to your side to open your door for you. You took the hand he offered you and climbed out. You walked back to your dorm room hand-in-hand; Bucky’s thumb was gently rubbing the back of yours the whole way there. You loved the feeling of his hand in yours, it was soft yet strong. You couldn’t wait to feel those hands all over your body. Your nipples were starting to bud just at the thought of him feeling you up again. You took in a sharp breath and felt a shot of warmth go straight to your core as the images of your heated makeout session invaded your thoughts.

“You okay doll?” Bucky tilted his head toward you, eyebrows slightly raised in question. You looked up at him, god he was so beautiful, what the fuck.

Your gaze snapped back forward and you squeaked out a quick “yep.” You felt your face warm up in embarrassment at your inability to control your lust for this man. But Bucky took your change in demeanor as hesitance. When you finally reached your door, he spun you around by your arm to face him.

“Listen doll, if you’re unsure about this we don’t have to go any further tonight.” He said in a quiet gentle tone as he stared at you with soft eyes. Your heart rate jumped. Was he having second thoughts now?? Was your performance in the car not evidence enough that you definitely wanted this, wanted him? Your throat tightened a little as you stared back at him, panic was evident in your eyes. Or maybe he got what he wanted and now he’s trying to find an escape route.. You dropped his hand and looked down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat so you could speak, “no Bucky, I definitely want this” you said in a slightly shaky voice “b-but I get it if you don’t… don’t w-want me like that.” You finished, turning your head away from him and blinking rapidly to get your unshed tears to stay at bay.

Bucky grabbed you by your shoulders and turned your attention back to him, “hey no, no baby. That’s not it at all!” He said in a pleading tone, “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else before in my entire life!” he finished, looking into your sad eyes with his now desperately begging ones. “I just wanted you to know that I’m not only in this for the sex. I actually really like you. Our conversations at dinner were so comfortable and easy, you’re witty and charming beyond belief, and beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, stunning.” He smiled and brought his right hand up from your shoulder to rest on your neck so his thumb could stroke the edge of your jawline. His left hand dropped to your hip to pull you closer to him, then he leaned down and gave you the softest sweetest kiss you’ve ever received. You reciprocated the kiss immediately, bringing your hands up to run through the hair at the base of his neck. You sighed in pleasure of having his lips on yours again, but also in relief at his confession.

You pulled away before things got too heated outside your dorm room. “Bucky,” you sighed “I’m not just in it for the sex either, I really like you too” you said in a light quiet tone. He smiled sweetly at you and kissed your forehead in response. You unlocked your door and pulled him inside with you by his hand. After you pushed the door closed and locked it you slowly turned to him, his hands grasped your hips as you ran your hands up his chest and to his shoulders then extended onto your tippy toes to whisper in his ear, “but with that being said,” you started in a low tone “I’d really like you to fuck me into that mattress right now until I’m screaming your name so loud the whole hall knows who’s making me feel good.” Bucky groaned loudly, his eyes rolled back in his head, his grip tightened on your hips, and he bit down on his bottom lip so hard he thought it might bleed. No woman had ever had the effect on him that you did, and he fucking loved it.

“Okay baby doll” he breathed in a husky tone “I’ve said it before and I’m sure I’ll say it again.. Whatever you want, name it and it’s yours” he finished as he scooped you up into his arms, your legs wrapped around his trimmed waist immediately as he carried you to your bed. He sat you down gently and slowly crouched to his knees. He began undoing the straps on your sandals quickly getting both of them off. His hands ran up your legs to the waistband of your capris “As nice as your ass looks in these, I still think they’d look better on the floor.” He said as he pulled them off of you and tossed them to the corner of the room. Bucky hummed in appreciation, “god damn, baby. More lace?” he smiled remembering how good you looked in nothing but the black lace panties and his t-shirt. He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of more clothes ruffling. You had pulled your blouse over your head and tossed it to the corner with your pants, now you lay there in front of him in just the red lace bra and thong set, looking up at Bucky innocently.

“I bought this set just for you, Bucky” you said as you ran your hands up your sides and to your breasts slowly kneading them, you arched your back to push your chest out to him more. Bucky thought he might pass out from all the blood in his body flowing directly to his cock. He had to take a few deep breaths before he could respond to that.

“I’m honored, Doll” he rasped out, “you look good enough to eat” he finished- sporting a devilish smirk. This man was going to be the death of you. He went to reach for the waistband of your panties, but you grabbed his hand and stopped him. He looked up at you in confusion.

“I don’t think so, mister” you said cheekily, “you are far too overdressed for this part of the evening’s activities” you smiled brightly when he realized what you meant.

Bucky got up from the floor and started to strip down. While he was doing this, you shimmied up to a more comfortable position on the bed and watched him. Bucky had the textbook definition of an Adonis body, the way the muscles in his back rippled as he bent down to unlace his boots had your clit throbbing with need. You removed your bra, the material felt like it was constricting your lungs. After ridding yourself of the offending garment, you discreetly slipped your right-hand into your panties and started to rub slow circles on your clit to alleviate the ache that was becoming almost unbearable. You tried to be quiet so you could enjoy Bucky undressing in front of you for as long as possible. He started pushing his pants and boxers down now that his boots and socks were off. His cock sprung free from its confines and you couldn’t hold back the nearly pornographic moan that escaped from your throat. Bucky’s gaze snapped over to you so fast he could have given himself whiplash. He nearly came at the sight in front of him. You; laying there with your legs spread open toying with yourself as you watched him undress, you had your bottom lip trapped between your teeth and your left-hand giving attention to your obviously hard nipples.

“As much as I love watching you play with yourself like that,” Bucky groaned out, “you got your date that you asked for, and you got dessert on the ride home.” he stated matter-of-factly as he crawled up to you on the bed. He leaned over you; his leaking cock pressed against your thigh. Bucky looked like he was going in for a kiss then he quickly changed direction to whisper in your ear, “now you owe me one, baby.” He said with finality as he grabbed your right wrist and pulled your hand from your panties. You whimpered as he brought your fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean.

That pleading sound broke something in Bucky. He quickly sat back up and ripped your red lace thong to pieces. Before you could even voice your protest at the destruction of your new lingerie; Bucky’s mouth was on your dripping cunt, lapping up your abundant arousal.

“uuuuugh my god, Bucky!” you moaned loudly and brought your right-hand down to tangle in his silky soft hair. Your back arched involuntarily as your body shuddered under his tongue. Bucky wrapped his left arm around your hips and held your body back down as he continued to expertly eat you out. He purred at the feeling of your nails gently caressing his scalp. You felt the vibration throughout your whole body, you released another moan of his name as your legs began to shake. Bucky dipped his tongue into your pussy then curled his left hand downward to start rubbing fast circles on your swollen clit. “Oh god yes, Bucky…yES” you began chanting his name like a prayer as that familiar coil in your lower belly approached its breaking point.

“Come on baby, cum all over my face” Bucky encouraged you before he dipped his head back down; doubling his efforts to make you cum, moving his head side-to-side quickly, his fluffy hair tickling your inner thighs. Two more strokes of his tongue and your dam broke. You came hard, all over Bucky’s face, just like he asked you to. He gently stroked your clit and continued licking your pussy as you rode out your orgasm, he didn’t let up until you were pushing him away, too sensitive to take anymore. 

Bucky sat back with a giant self-satisfied grin on his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. You took a second to catch your breath then sat up and grabbed him by his shoulders, you pulled him closer to you and crashed your lips together. You sighed lightly and smiled at your taste that was still lingering on his tongue. Bucky’s hands slid up your sides to cup your breasts, he rubbed his thumbs over your hard nipples loving the way you arched your back to press harder into his hands. You pushed one of your hands up to card through his amazingly soft locks. Your other hand fell down to stroke his rock-hard cock. His breath caught in his throat at your actions, then he let out a long drawn out groan with his lips still attached to yours. You collected the precum leaking from his tip and used it to slide your hand up and down his cock with ease. Bucky detached his mouth from yours and began to kiss down your neck to your collarbone sucking a small love bites everywhere he went. You kept your hand in his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. You picked up on the fact that he enjoyed it immensely. Bucky’s hands slid from your chest to wrap around to your waist, then down to your ass, expertly kneading the supple flesh. He dropped his mouth down to take one of your sensitive nipples between his lips. He massaged it with his tongue enjoying the soft moans you rewarded him with for his ministrations. He switched over to give the other nipple the same attention.

You gave your sensitive pussy enough time to rest, you were coming apart at the seams with the need to have him inside of you. So, you pulled Bucky away from your breasts and flipped him around to lay on his back. He didn’t much protest to your movements and fell to the mattress gracefully. You threw your right leg over him, so you were straddling his waist. He looked up at you like you were a Goddess among women, because to him, you were. His hands slid up your thighs to your hips. He started rubbing little circles over your hip bones. You ran your hands up his abs and chest loving the way his muscles flexed and his skin prickled just from your fingertips grazing over him. You leaned down and started kissing and nibbling at his abdomen.

You pushed your hips down to grind your soaking wet folds against his cock. He took in a deep breath, “Not that I don’t love having your mouth on me sweetheart, but if I don’t get inside you within the next 10 seconds.. I might actually die.” He said as he exhaled.

You leaned up to look him in the eyes and chuckled at the very distressed look on his face, “Don’t be so dramatic, baby.” You chastised him shaking your head at his theatrics.

He grabbed your face and pulled you into a breathtaking kiss. He released you and looked you dead in the eyes, “I’m being serious, I need to be in you.. like, right now” he deadpanned. “Where do you keep your condoms?” He looked to your bedside table.

“Don’t worry about it” you said in a husky whisper, “I’m on the pill and I’m clean” You smiled brightly at him.

“I’m clean too, babydoll” he sighed as he brought your face back to his for a soft kiss. You loved the way he kissed you, you never wanted him to stop. So, you continued to tangle your tongue with his as you reached down to line his cock up with your soaking wet pussy. You rubbed the head through your slick to ensure he’d slide in easily. Bucky groaned at your actions, loving the attention his achingly hard cock was finally getting. Once you felt he was sufficiently lubricated with your wetness, you began to sink down on him. Bucky removed his lips from yours, taking in a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Your velvety soft walls were gripping him so tight, and he’d be damned if he blew his load too early.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good wrapped around my cock.” He moaned out.

“oh Bucky” you whimpered in pleasure. You continued to praise him with moans of his name as you started to rock your hips up and down.

Bucky loved watching you fuck yourself on his cock; bouncing up and down like your life depended on it. He reached up to toy with your nipples, making you moan even louder for him. You started panting as you continued your movements. Bucky didn’t want to make you do all the work, so he quickly flipped you both over and began to pound into you at a bruising pace. He loved watching your tits bounce every time he thrusted back into you. He could tell you were close as your walls started to flutter around him. He was getting pretty close himself, but he swore he wasn’t going to cum before you did. So, he reached down to start rubbing circles on your clit in an effort to get you over the edge faster. And it did. You came harder than the first time, yelling out Bucky’s name as he continued to fuck into your throbbing cunt. The combination of your pussy milking his cock and you shouting his name for the entire campus to hear sent Bucky over the edge, throttling him into the most mind-blowing orgasm he had ever experienced. You cried out again as another smaller orgasm washed through you as he painted your inner walls with his release.

Once you both calmed down a little bit and he softened and slid out of you, you padded to the bathroom quickly to clean yourself up, when you came back out Bucky was picking up his clothes. You were about to ask him to stay when he walked up to you and handed you the henley he’d been wearing. “You take this, and I’m going to clean myself up real quick. I’ll only be gone a few seconds” he smiled and kissed your forehead. You slid the shirt over your head loving how it smelled like him, then crawled into your bed. Bucky came out of the bathroom in his boxers and few minutes later and laid down right beside you and wrapped his arms around you as you snuggled into his welcoming embrace.

“Hey Y/N, can I ask you something?” Bucky spoke softly.

“You just did” You responded with a chuckle.

“Ha ha, very funny, Doll.” He smiled and rolled his eyes at you.

“Yes Bucky, you can ask me anything you’d like” you amended, smiling back at him.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to.. uhm, if you wanted to- to be my girl… like, my girlfriend.” He breathed out a heavy sigh, frustrated with himself for stumbling through such an important question. 

“I’d love nothing more than to be your girl, Bucky.” You answered almost embarrassingly fast. He grinned that eye crinkling grin again that you’ve deemed your favorite look of his.

“Perfect” he said as he leaned in to claim your lips with his. You broke apart after a few light kisses were exchanged. You snuggled into Bucky’s neck and he rested his chin atop of your head, you felt the rumble in his chest as he started to speak again. “Yanno, I’ve actually wanted to talk to you for almost a month now” he started, “we have Western Civ and English together, and every time one of those classes ended, I tried to hype myself up enough to talk to you. I thought I could ask you your name, even though I already knew it. Or maybe talk to you about your major.. I don’t know. I was trying to think of anything to use as an excuse to get your attention, but I didn’t think you’d be interested in me like that.” Your head tilted back to look at him in astonishment.

“Pfft, are you for real Barnes??” you questioned. He looked down at you, brows crinkling together waiting for you to continue, “you are seriously the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on, you giant dummy.” He laughed shaking his head in disbelief.

“Then why did you never approach me?” He challenged.

“You could have literally any girl on this campus that you want.” You deadpanned.

“Then I’m exactly where I want to be.” He said as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, then to your nose, then your lips again. You smiled at his sentiment and cuddle back into his chest. Bucky pulled the blankets over you both and placed one last kiss to your hairline, you responded with a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, before you both drifted off to sleep.

and thats all she wrote folks! thank you so much for reading <3

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader series #bucky fluff #college!au #bucky!au #thank you all so much for reading #i hope you liked it! #rae writes marvel #user:raegan

[hallofwisps]

Bite of the Frost Fae

Chapter One: Sailing at Night

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652593

There's something different about sailing at night. Not necessarily bad, but definitely different. More quiet, and obviously more dark, with chilled wind and the rock of the waves that you can barely see.

Mathias pulled his hat down more to cover his ears. Trying to protect them from the cold snow that started falling. The rest of the crew had already gone inside, but Mathias wasn't quite ready to head in. Instead, leaning over the rail and looking out over the waves.

The lights from the boat cast a yellow glow on their path. The light that convinced Mathias that the glowing swirls of snowflakes in the distance were a trick of the light. Though the longer he stared the more perplexed he became. The flakes swirled and congregated just out of reach of the boat.

"Must be the wind..." He murmured, ignoring the fact that the wind he could feel, wasn't that strong and wasn't disturbing the snow around him, in the way the swirling flakes ahead were. Mathias suddenly stood straight and rubbed his eyes. Atop the water and in the snow, there were figures. Dancing and laughing. The man could just barely make out their shape and sound.

"Maybe too much to drink..?" He started to step back, chills running down his spine. This time not from the cold. "It's time to get to bed with the others anyways... I just need sleep." He continued to stare out at the dancing figures that never seemed to get any closer.

After hesitating for a moment, Mathias stepped back to the rail for a better look. He leaned forward, gripping the rail as tight as he could, but despite that, he still slipped on the slick floor; grunting as his stomach hit the bar and flipped him over the edge and down. He braced himself to fall into the icy water, more focused on catching a breath first, rather than yelling for help. Except, instead of splashing into black waves, he gasped and wheezed from hitting a flat sheet of ice, definitely bruising most of his body. After catching his breath, he looked up in time to see his boat passing through the ice as if it was just mist.

"What the fuck... What the fuuuck.." He stated, rather than asked softly.

"That's impossible- this is impossible," he whispered to himself as he shakily stood, groaning slightly as his body moved. The ice was as solid as actual ground, yet it appeared to not exist when the boat touched it. Mathias pulled at his hat, watching in bafflement and shock. Finally, it settled in that the boat was leaving without him.

"Hey! Wait!" He ran to catch up and ignored the ache in his body, still not fully comprehending what was happening. "Stop the boat!" His lungs started to burn, he undoubtedly needed to stop smoking. The Dane had completely forgotten about the people he had seen on the surface until he slipped on a wet patch. Sliding across the frozen sea, wincing at the scrapes and bruises he received, his skin starting to burn from the temperatures. Shivering and teeth chattering, Mathias propped himself on his hands and knees and looked up again. Chest filling with a sense of wonder and fear from what was before him.

Men and women of all races and shapes were dancing and laughing, a mystic and indescribable type of beauty to them and their dance. Almost as if floating and gliding over the ice. Their clothing mixed between modern and early Victorian in vibrant shades of blues, purples, and whites, occasionally a shade of green. Any pain and problems Mathias had were forgotten as he sat back on his feet, watching them in sheer bewilderment. The way the snowflakes twisted around them as if guiding their dance simply entranced him. None of them seemed to notice his presence, barely sparing him a glance as their dancing and conversations started to pull them further away.

Mathias didn't know how long he had been watching them until a man stopped in front of him. He was gorgeous to put it simply. The sailor's breath seemed to catch in his throat as the man crouched in front of him.

"Oh, you poor thing..." His eyes were not only indigo but seemed to glow softly. "You'll freeze to death down here..."

He gently caressed Mathias' cheek. Mathias subconsciously leaned into the touch, despite the porcelain hand being just as cold as the ice.

"What is your name..?" His thumb brushed over the Dane's lower lip.

"M-Mathias..." If his skin wasn't numb, he probably would've blushed. Mathias watched the other's thin pink lips upturn in a small smile.

"A lovely name... Come along, I'll help you to your boat." Taking Mathias' hand, he helped him up. Mathias stood just two inches taller than him, and now that they were standing he could get a good look at him. The mysterious man wore a form-fitting tailcoat of the lightest shade of blue, while his undershirt was a simple white button-up. Along with white trousers and boots.

The taller had to restrain from reaching to stroke the silky blonde hair that hung by the other's eye. The rest clipped back with a silver cross. All he could do was follow, gripping his hand tight. They walked past the other fair beings, seeming to move quickly. Though it felt like normal walking to Mathias. Once they were at the front of the boat, the stranger took both of his hands. Snow swirling around them, carefully lifting the two up. Gasping, Mathias watched in amazement before carefully stepping over the rail.

"No more falling off boats, alright?" His voice was deep but soft and soothing.

"You could almost say I was falling for you," Mathias said without thinking. The other laughed quietly, covering his mouth with his hand.

"It was wonderful meeting you Mathias..." The snow started to lower him.

"Wait I didn't learn your name-"

"Goodbye, Mathias." Mathias could only watch as the ship continued to move. The sheet of ice with the dancers and beautiful stranger, drifting away from the left of the boat. It was only when he could no longer see their lights, did Mathias get fully hit with the cold. At first, starting to feel overwhelmingly hot before he passed out on the deck...

When he awoke again, he was in bed being fussed over by a short Finnish woman. Scolding him frantically.

"Oh good, you're awake! Now you can actually hear my lectures- you absolute idiot, we told you to come in that it was way too cold, but noo-" she was cut off by his groan.

"Tuuli, please... I feel awful.." Her lecturing stopped and she sighed.

"You're terribly sick... "

"Need a cigarette..." He pulled the blanket over his head.

"That's the last thing you need- you've been hacking up a storm all night," Tuuli sighed and pulled the blanket over him more. "Get some more rest, I'll be back in with lunch soon."

Mathias responded with another groan, burying his head more. He barely remembered anything that happened last night. Vaguely remembering lights and cold. And strangely enough, a dream about fancy clothing. His head was pounding, and his skin was still sensitive and dry. Just as he was starting to fall back into a restless sleep, the loud horns and bells of other boats caused him to jolt. Whining more, he finally sat up. Sniffling and groaning.

"How does it feel to be back in your home country?" Tuuli asked, setting some broth on the stand next to his cot.

"Awful.." Mathias pouted, shakily lifting the bowl and starting to drink.

"Poor baby," she teased. "After you finish eating I have some medicine, then I'll help you home." She laid out some clean clothes for him, humming a tune to herself. "Just so you know. If you weren't sick I wouldn't be doing this."

Huffing, Mathias rolled his eyes. "Thaaank you Tuuli. You're a wonderful friend."

"Damn right I am." She forced a spoonful of medicine into the Dane's mouth. Causing him to gag and cough, but he swallowed. Having trouble standing, he removed his shirt as Tuuli grabbed his empty bowl and left the room.

Mathias sighed and changed into new clothing, using multiple things to prop himself. Feeling woozy and nauseated. The swaying of the boat didn't exactly help either. Using the wall, he guided himself out of the room and up on deck. Everyone had already left except Tuuli, who was waiting for him.

The Finnish woman hooked their arms so she could carefully guide him to the bus. It was a short eight-minute ride to a neighborhood near the Dane's. Just one block to walk before he was fishing out his keys and opening the door.

"Do you want me to stay and take care of you while you're sick?" Tuuli asked, setting his bags down that she had carried for him.

"No. It's alright... I'll call you if I need anything," Mathias responded.

"Okay, well I'm heading home then. Don't forget to call your cat sitter to bring home Catthew." She giggled a bit. "Still can't believe you named him that." She said her goodbyes, waving and left.

Mathias sighed, falling onto his beaten down and old grey couch. It wasn't long before he was drifting into sleep again. His head being filled with dreams of beautiful people and snow...

#DenNor #hetalia #aph dennor #APH Denmark #APH Norway #APH Finland #nyotalia #nyo finland #fanfic #Axis Powers Hetalia #fae au

[skyeravenhelliquinn]

Happy Accidents

Wrote a fanfic slightly based off of the body paint headcanon I made. I hope y’all like this shitty little story that got way out of hand. I typically never post my writing, but this thing is long af, so sorry. I did not proofread, my dudes. I’ll cut it so I don’t absolutely take over anyone’s dash.

The air was cool and inviting in the hut as you began to occupy yourself in your solitude. Muriel had gone out to gather firewood and other small supplies while you stayed behind to give him some space. You had become a regular visitor in the man’s home, which was a very large step in your relationship to say the least. It had taken quite a number of weeks to get him to warm up to you, but with each passing visit, you had the pleasure of observing the tension between the two of you evaporate into a comfortable trust. You loved to bring him various treats and trinkets from the market when you had the opportunity, and Muriel seemed to greatly enjoy your small gestures of kindness, as evidenced by the way he had begun to set your gifts on the shelves next to his whittled sculptures. The humble hut had changed to feel more like a home since you had met him, and it was having an overwhelmingly positive effect on Muriel, though he himself rarely vocalized this fact.

Sighing contentedly into the silence, you began to pull some rolled up canvases and various jars of paint out of the large sack you had brought with you. Spreading the assortment out on the floor of the hut, you casually selected one of the smaller pieces to unravel. It was a partially complete rendering of a starry night sky, with a few constellations still needing to be inserted. Running a hand over the dry portrait, you let your intuition guide you into your work.

Picking up a small brush, you began dotting white across the midnight background, meticulously mapping out the remaining stars needed to complete your masterpiece. For depth, you decided to add some deep violet and blue hues, swirling them together to create the illusion of a vast galaxy. Your hand continued to glide across the material until every inch of canvas was lovingly covered in your art. With a couple of larger brushes, you flicked some remaining color onto the page, getting your face and hands stained in the process. You wiped a palm across your brow before giving a satisfactory grin to the painting before you, but you realized it still needed a little extra touch. Concentrating your magic on the stars, you waved a hand over the portrait, and below your palm, the white specks flickered to life against the backdrop.

It was then that you heard a soft breath of awe coming from behind you, and, startled, you turned all too quickly to see Muriel standing before you, a pile of firewood in hand. Apparently you had been so caught up in your art that you hadn’t heard him come in, and your hasty movement accidentally tipped the large, open jar of black paint you had resting next to the canvas, spilling pigment all over the freshly finished picture. Muriel saw it before you did, and the poor man scrambled helplessly to save your beautiful painting, dropping the wood to the dirt floor and reaching his arms around and behind you in the blink of an eye. The sudden closeness took you by surprise, and your hands flew up on instinct, gently meeting his broad chest before he shifted back, face crimson with embarrassment.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to startle you,” was all his gravelly voice murmured, gaze falling to his now paint-covered hands as he sat on his knees in front of you.

You looked behind you to see what he was talking about, and your face fell into a small frown when you beheld your ruined image, now a wet, messy blob of darkness on the ground. Picking up the now empty paint jar, your brows hardened in thought for a moment before you tried using your magic to extract the mess. The black puddle of paint glistened for a moment before most of the inky liquid receded back into the jar, but there was still a distinct black stain permeating your canvas, tainting all the other colors along with your precious stars. You quietly replaced the lid before pivoting back to Muriel, who was dead silent under your gaze. You lowered your voice to speak to him warmly.

“It’s okay, Muriel. It’s not your fault. I should have been more careful.” He seemed to uncoil a bit at your words, settling his shoulders before you spoke again. “I just didn’t hear you come in. Besides, I can start on something new.”

“Like what?” his voice still carried an air of frustration, as though he felt responsible for your portrait’s demise. Perhaps he was disappointed because he had liked it, you thought.

Your eyes drifted around the hut, searching for some muse, when you noticed small streaks of paint from your hands on Muriel’s chest. A fraction of it had dipped into one of his scars, staining the soft tissue and creating a gorgeous, dark texture. The unexpected sight gave you an idea.

“Muriel,” you hummed with a curiosity that was dying to press your luck. The large man grunted in acknowledgement. “Will you sit up straight for a minute?”

His brow furrowed in confusion before he hesitantly sat back and leveled out his posture, leaving the muscles of his torso splayed out before you. You discreetly plucked a small brush and a jar of gold paint from behind you, and began dipping into it before slowly, carefully, moving it toward Muriel’s body, giving him time to protest. When he said nothing, you scooted between his long legs and gently started to smooth the paint across a particularly large scar on his chest, causing Muriel to tense and his breath to hitch quietly.

“Is this okay?” you asked with a hint of concern. The large man took a moment, but nodded silently, prompting you to continue. You brushed the paint in fine lines and swirls around each scar, tracing delicate patterns along the fragile skin. The pigment glistened in the low light of the hut as you worked your way up his body, sparing no detail as you covered every last marking in the shimmering liquid. As you shifted your attention toward his shoulder, you timidly slid the edge of his cloak off of it, and Muriel tensed for a moment before letting his eyes slide shut to relax into your touch. After a long moment, he appeared to actually be enjoying himself, and when you paused to switch colors, he let out an almost inaudible whine at the lack of contact.

With a bit of green, you went back over your previous work to create intertwining vines, with tiny leaves feathering out from the branching edges of each scar. The hulking figure looked absolutely tamed before you, and a blush crept its way onto your visage when you took a moment to glance up at his face. Muriel was unusually relaxed in a way that you had never seen before. His normally hard brow line was completely free of worried creases, his eyes closed as though in a deep trance. His lips had released themselves from their hard line, and were instead parted, letting out soft sighs and hums every now and then. It filled you with repose and a passion to make your new showpiece as beautiful as the canvas it rested upon. Every last stroke of your brush was filled with devotion and purpose as you strived to create an image that would be both pleasing and symbolic to the forest-dwelling man. By the time you had finished, he was practically asleep under your ministrations. He stirred only when he heard the sound of lids being screwed back onto the paint jars.

“Finished,” you whispered with a pleased sparkle in your eyes. You searched around for a reflective surface before finding a small mirror tucked away in the corner of the hut, which you grabbed to let him see your work. When he saw what you had done, he froze, expression unreadable as he sat, staring at himself and the exquisite colors lining his body. His emerald eyes seemed to glow even brighter with the accents of the paint, and there was something very strong and urgent swirling around in his immense irises. His body didn’t move as he simply continued to stare, and you cleared your throat awkwardly, confidence waning in the quietness.

“I-is it… okay?” You stammered, averting your eyes as you fumbled with the fabric of your clothes sheepishly.

This seemed to break him out of his state, and he shook his head before focusing intently on you. He let out a long breath that almost shuddered as it left his lips. As he moved to speak, you could barely notice a gleam of moisture in his eyes.

“I… Yes… It’s perfect.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, and you moved from your position in front of him to wrap your arms tenderly around his neck. His hands drifted absently to your waist, savoring the closeness for a moment before pulling back to admire your handiwork once more.

“I think it’s… almost perfect,” you remarked, realizing that it needed one last thing. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths and focusing magic into your hands once again, and the golden sheen of the paint came alive like glowing embers against Muriel’s skin. He was positively dazzling like this, embraced by the soft luminescence of the wild flora you had created for him. His body appeared to be one with the wilderness he adored so much, the leaves on his body seeming to breathe with him as he sat cross-legged before you. Muriel looked so different under the illusion of having no scars, no reminder of the gruesome past that he was forced to endure. It felt so pure, so riveting to see him like this, unhindered by those eternal marks just for a few fleeting moments.

You could feel him staring at you in the midst of your thoughts, and upon returning his gaze, you saw his eyes glazed over with a softness that was beyond anything you were accustomed to. His glassy orbs were half lidded, longing hidden in their depths. They called to you, and you felt yourself leaning into his body on instinct, the familiarity entirely inviting to your senses. He didn’t pull away, but instead waited for a fraction of a moment, his heated breath ghosting over your lips in a small gasp before the two of you connected. The kiss was stiff at first, but as Muriel’s mouth molded to yours, any reluctance the two of you had seemed to melt away. He was rough to the touch, but his movements were so agonizingly gentle as he returned your affections. Seconds passed like hours as you savored each other, but after a short time, you pulled back for air, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Muriel was crimson all the way to his shoulders, so after a brief pause, you decided to say something first.

“I’m glad you like my art Muriel. You make a lovely canvas.”

His blush only deepened at your words, and you chuckled a bit at his flustered expression. There was a trace of a smile on his lips though, a sight which sent a flood of joy through your veins. You ran a soft thumb over his scarred cheek, and his face nuzzled into your palm without any hesitation.

“I should probably help you wash this off,” you spoke again.

“Not yet,” he responded rather quickly. “I like it…”

“Okay,” you grinned, silently thanking your own clumsiness for knocking over that paint jar before pressing another kiss to Muriel’s eager lips.

#muriel #arcana muriel #the arcana muriel #arcana muriel fluff #muriel fanfic #arcana fanfic #the arcana fanfic #muriel arcana fanfic #muriel stans #love that boy #give him the world #let him be happy

[distressedpanda]

Her Song (Loki x OFC) Part 1

Warnings: Language

I will be posting this every other week, let me know if you would like to be tagged. Gets a read more for length.

Present

Iloa sat with her back against the closed door. How had she gotten here? She could remember how she had met him, the Horned God from Asgard.

Some time ago

Iloa was sitting in Stark Tower, eating breakfast with Thor and Natasha, she was the newest recruit to the Avengers, having the ability to influence people with her singing voice. Her song could be lethal or it could simply stun, but it could also heal. Steve had started calling her Siren, and the name had stuck.

Now that she had an Avenger name, Tony had taken to giving her different nicknames. Mostly comments about how small she was. With her standing at just five feet, it was easy for him to come up with a plethora of options to choose from.

Suddenly, Steve had stormed into the kitchen ranting, “Why are you allowing him to stay here? Of all the horrible ideas in the world, this has to be the worst!”

Tony, who was following close behind countered, “No it is the best idea, first of all because it was mine and secondly because we can keep an eye on him. He seems to have changed, I would like to keep it that way.”

Steve ungraciously crossed his muscular arms across his broad chest, “I still don't think it's a good idea,” he grumbled.

Thor was the first to speak up from their little group, “I am sorry, who will be staying here?” he asked, scrapping the last bit of his eggs from his plate.

Tony sashayed up to the table, as if nothing at all was happening. He grabbed a box of cereal from the table and made like he was reading the ingredients before he said, “Oh didn't I tell you Point Break, your brother Reindeer games is coming for a visit.”

Iloa nearly chocked on her mouth full of cheerios, and coughed several times before croaking out, “Loki, is coming here?!” Her ruby red hair falling into her face.

“Why yes, Teeny, as a matter-of-fact, he is,” his ostentatious grin, flashing across his face had Iloa scowling.

Natasha gently patted her on the back a few times, before turning on Tony, “Why would you do that Tony? We already have one wild card to deal with why would you throw a second into our hands?”

The wild card she was referring to was of course Banner. Banner had recently become incapable of controlling the Hulk when he emerged. To the point that he was becoming increasingly dangerous to be around and often stayed locked in his lab.

“Well, you see, my dear,” Tony began, not looking up from the box in his hand. “If he is here, then he isn't in enemy hands and I can keep him on lock down if need be. Right, F.R.I.D.A.Y. ?” He said the last, glancing up and calling to the AI.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” The computer generated voice announced matter-of-factually.

Iloa rolled her eyes at them both, refocusing on her cereal as the conversation continued.

Natasha shook her head, “I agree with Steve, I don't think this is a good idea, Tony,” her voice low with a dangerously thin edge.

“This would be why I didn't ask you,” Tony glanced at Natasha with a smug smirk.

Thor broke into a full face grin, “I think it's a wonderful idea!” His voice boomed joyously, “When will he be here?”

Tony turned toward Thor, setting the box back on the table and crossing his arms over his chest. But when his mouth opened, it wasn't his voice that was heard.

“I am already here, brother.”

Iloa glanced up at the open door, behind a still brooding Steve. The slender figure of the God of Mischief, stood in the shadows. She could see his smirk even with the darkness keeping most of his features hidden. His green and black leather clothing catching the light and throwing it back away from him. She had never met him, but had heard enough about him to know she should be weary and on guard.

Thor bounded from his chair, moving to his brother and patting him warmly on the back. “Welcome, brother,” Thor smiled at Loki.

Shifting slightly, the light casting more across his face, Iloa could see the lines of his face smooth and form into a genuine smile as he looked over at Thor, “Thank you.”

Iloa could feel her heart kick up a notch. She glanced away not understanding the reaction. Out of the corner of her eye she watched, as Thor led Loki toward the table to the seat that was next to him. Which just so happened to be next to her as well.

He sat, his arm brushing against hers and electricity burned up her arm at the contact. She jerked her body away, snapping her eyes to his. He was staring back at her with what had to be the mirrored reflection of her confused features. Did he feel it too? She wondered. The smell of spice, ink, old parchment and leather, overwhelmed her senses and warmed her blood. He smelled deliciously masculine.

Thor fussed over him for a bit, asking if he had eaten. He didn't seem to notice the arc of tension suddenly flowing between the two strangers. When she finally pulled her eyes from his, glancing unassumingly around the room, she realized that no one had seemed to notice. Until her eyes reached Natasha that is, who was giving her a dreary smirk.

Not sure what this was and not particularly wanting to think to hard on it, she grabbed her now empty bowl depositing it in the sink before heading out of the kitchen for her rooms. Reaching the doorway, an unexplained pull had her glancing back over her shoulder. Her eyes drawn to Loki, he was still staring at her, his emerald eyes glowing. A knot formed in her throat, a blush threatening her cheeks as heat rose in her veins. She was about to turn away, when his lips quirked into a playful grin. She watched him wink at her, unbeknownst to anyone else. The blush came in full force, heating her entire body. Whirling on her heel, she stormed off to her rooms unsure what had caused her body to react in this manner.

Present

That had been about two months ago, she thought sitting on the cold floor just inside her bedroom.

Afterwards, there had been little contact between them. But when she had seen him, the same electric arc connected them. Fire ran through her veins when they brushed past each other, and as much as she tried to avoid it, sometimes contact was inevitable.

They had yet to speak to each other, until tonight.

A few hours ago

Iloa had intended to go to dinner after many hours in the training center. She practiced martial arts and with Kunai, as well as honing her singing skills. Cause lets face it, sometimes things happened and she couldn't use her voice as a weapon.

Natasha had sparred with her, and it had been a brutal training. She was tired, sweaty, her sports bra and leggings clinging to her uncomfortably. Even if she wasn't human, she had limits. So when she rounded a corner, her head hung low from exhaustion, she didn't see him and couldn't avoided the contact.

Running full force into Loki's hard chest, she was startled and gasped loudly. Both from the contact and the electricity and heat that ran through her veins.

She would have found herself falling flat on her ass, if not for the hand that shot out to grip her arm and steady her. But the action didn't stop there, he pulled her into his chest, wrapping his other arm around her bare waist. Her hands shot up to his chest, that electricity tingling across her fingers and the places his hands touched her skin. The familiar spice and leather scent of him, was joined by another. . . was that magic. It smelled very close to her own, but not quite the same. And yet it still wrapped it's self up in her veins, comfortingly.

“Are you alright?” His voice low with concern.

She didn't want to make eye contact, terrified of being caught up in those eyes. It was unavoidable, her manners not allowing her to skip out on thanking him for keeping her upright. Craning her neck back and pulling her steely blues up to his electric greens, she fought to find the breath to form words. He was so tall. The sharp lines of his face, were a thing of perfection. Her naturally curly, ruby locks fell away from her face, tickling her bare shoulders, she shivered. She knew that it hadn't been her hair that was causing the reaction. Instead, the overwhelmingly obvious worry that shone from his eyes and wrinkled that sharp brow. Her mind fumbling for words, she pushed away from his chest putting some distance between there bodies.

Allowing her head to dip, her hair fell long over the front of her face. But try as she might she couldn't break eye contact with him, couldn't ask him to remove his hands from her, though she knew she should.

Finally, her brain kicked in, noticing how short his breathing had become, “I'm fine. Thank you.”

His eyes instantly changed from concerned to callous, masking any further emotion. He let his hands fall reluctantly from her, his fingertips lingering on her skin until they fell away to his sides. Clearing his throat, his entire demeanor changed. Instead of the concerned gentleman that had saved her from making a fool of herself, she watched as an animal suddenly stood before her.

“You should watch where you are going, mortal,” he growled, exposing his perfect set of white teeth. He took a step back, crossing his arms roughly across his chest. “You could have been hurt.” Though it didn't show in his features, a thread of concern laced that last sentence.

Iloa felt cold at the absence of his earlier warmth, and the tone he was taking with her just made her furious. She didn't deserve this treatment. Sure she had been distracted and had barreled into him. But it was an accident and not something he should be so angry about. Unless it isn't about the collision at all? Her brain coughed up.

She took a step back as well, mirroring his arms and cocking her hip to the side. “It was an accident, Loki,” she spit, lacing each word with venom. “Be happy I didn't scream at being startled, I could have killed you.” He scoffed at her until she added, “It's not like I ran into you on purpose, anyway.”

His features shifted again. If she hadn't been staring so hard at him she would have missed the shook that registered there, before turning devilish. He grinned, impossibly wide and a shiver ran up her spine. His eyes flashed lime green for an instant and she knew it as his seiðr. He chuckled, as he leaned forward, bringing his face almost level with her own. “Didn't you?” He dared, seductively.

She suddenly felt how small she was with him looming over her. She had been short her entire life, but she had never been made to feel like this. It poured gasoline on the fiery anger raging inside her. Dropping her arms, she leaned toward that demeaning gaze, “Trust me, Loki,” she kept her voice low and sultry, “If I had wanted your attention, I would have it.”

He blinked in surprise, and she got the distinct feeling that no one spoke up to him like this. Pushing it a step further, she slowly took the two steps toward him. Swishing her hips daringly and licking her lips. She watched him raise back up to his full height, at her approach. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes darted across her body curiously. She lifted a hand, starting at his shoulder she drug it across his chest as she moved around him. Stilling to stand next to him, her hand pressed firmly against his peck, she lifted her gaze to his, “And you would know it,” she added, feeling the muscle tense beneath her hand, though his face still betrayed no emotions. Letting her hand fall quickly away, she walked off down the hall. A gratifying smile gracing her lips, when she heard his sharp intake of breath.

Just as she was about to reach the next corner, she heard a new voice thunder down the hall, “Are you alright, brother?” Thor's unmistakable timber reached her ears.

“I like her,” Loki's voice answered, as she rounded the corner and broke out into a sprint.

Present

So here she sat, out of breath, wondering over the interaction. Her hunger and exhaustion, temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. Did he feel the same electricity and heat that had her heart racing? She guessed she could probably just ask him. But what if he didn't.

He had said he liked her, but that could mean any number of things. Was she seriously even considering these feelings he was stirring in her.

Yes. Yes she was.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. She stood, squaring her shoulders with a new sense of resolve. If she didn't want to be embarrassed, she just needed to get him to tell her on his own. Certainly, she could come up with some way to influence him.

Grinning, she ripped the sports bra, leggings, and underwear off her body. Leaving them in her wake, walking naked to the shower.

Humming a new tune.

#loki #fan fiction #loki x original female character

[unholyhelbig]

Prompt; when Emily doesn’t know what she’s being for Halloween yet and Aubrey doesn’t have a partner for what’s considered a “couples costume” (u can choose what costume)

SEND ME CUTE HALLOWEEN PROMPTS HERE

The second her bedroom door slammed shut behind her, Aubrey Posen reached for an embroidered pillow and let out a muffled scream into the fabric. A stupid little saying had been written into it’s muted brown color. Something about bears- she had never paid much mind to the decretive piece, and she wasn’t going to start tonight. It was nothing but a silencer.

A stark white wedding dress laid easily among a meticulously made bed. The plaid design of it all was lined up perfectly with the dresser. The room still mostly dark; a propped open window let in cool October air as moonlight washed over a vacuumed floor. The dress had been through a wringer, stained in mud and deviled by long scrapes of Spanish moss that fell from the very trees past their front door.

Things hadn’t gone Aubrey’s way tonight. She had stayed late on a lecture to give her physic’s teacher a piece of her mind, nearly missed the bus back to her lowly apartment. She had just caught it, but not before large tires sloshed murky ice water into her clothes. And now this? Her coworker deciding, he wanted to suck face with the cashier at a ready-mart instead of attending a Halloween party with her.

At least he had been polite about the decline in plans, having left the perfectly trimmed suit in front of her door with a little post-it note that was scrawled with the word sorry. Yeah, Aubrey was close to punching his stupid face. She was dateless and fuming and he probably got a discount on slim Jim’s and artificially flavored nachos.

The knock at the door didn’t help much either. It was soft and timid- and god, why hadn’t Chloe pulled herself from the clutches of her room and answered it already?

Aubrey threw the pillow aside, nervily avoiding a lamp that had a flickering bulb in the first place. Her whole body ached, and her lips tasted like mud. Her clothes had just begun to dry but she swallowed back the chills that plagued her. The apartment was quiet. Maybe Chloe wasn’t even home, having gone to the Halloween party herself dawning a pair of flawless feathered wings and cherry red lip stain.

She pulled open the door. A near stranger blinking dangerously at her. Aubrey quirked a brow at her upstairs neighbor, a small woman that looked too young to even be renting an apartment on this side of the city. The artificial lights hung by maintenance shaded her face, and more importantly the innocent beauty about it.

“Oh… Hi,” She blinked like she wasn’t expecting an answer. She raked pools of honey over Aubrey’s stained appearance. The obvious chill that rocked through her was from the cold, she told herself. She looked and smelled like a wet rat.

“I just- well, I found this suit in front of your door, and it looks like a nice suit. But not that I say it, I’m sure you know it’s here. It looks like it’s about to rain, but I’m not Al Roker, so I’m probably wrong and” The stranger clenched her eyes shut, taking a steadying breath “I thought’ I’d let you know.”

Aubrey parted her lips and breathed out deeply, the door creaking as she moved it open a little bit more. This woman was rocking back and forth on her heels like a child awaiting approval. She held the clothing in her grasp, nervously running her thumb over the stinted fabric. She smiled, cheeks heating as Aubrey scanned the woman’s appearance. “How tall are you?”

“What?” It was a breathless mess of a word, the stranger letting tension fall from her shoulders. Relaxed, maybe.

“I mean, you must be 5’6 at least.”

“5’8 but I don’t see-“

“What are you doing tonight?”

Aubrey’s mind was in overdrive. This woman was certainly tall enough to fit the length and stature of the very suit that she was holding, her perfect eyebrow quirked as she clenched her jaw. She was dressed in oversized sweatpants that had Braden written across the side. An even larger sweatshirt pulled over her arms.

“Nothing, really.” Her cheeks heated “I bought a bunch of candy but not many kids come around here so I’ll just sulk and drown my sorrows in chocolate- and you didn’t need to know that.”

No, she didn’t’. But it was quite charming, the way this woman stumbled over her words when she tried to talk. She nervously tucked a strand of brown hair behind a slowly reddening ear. Again, rocking back and forth on her toes.

“How would you feel about being the Victor to my Corpse’s bride? My date kind of bailed last minute and a zombie bride is pretty lame when there’s no suiter by her side.”

“I mean,” Emily swallowed loudly, looking down at the suit “What do I have to lose?”

“That’s the spirit.”

Aubrey stepped further to the right, allowing the woman inside of her tiny little apartment that smelled overwhelmingly like pumpkin spice (courtesy of a bubbly roommate that had a monthly subscription to white barn.). She closed the door, leading the way to her bedroom like it was second nature to bring a stranger into its cool clutches. She followed nervously.

She gasped when she saw the torn wedding dress, it almost made Aubrey’s heart swell. She had worked hard to make it look just distressed enough to pass as dead. Had even invested in paint in a sickly blue and grey shade that would really complete the look that Tim Burton had originally sculpted.

“Whoa, this is so cool-“ She glanced at her, eyebrows knit.

“Aubrey,”

“Emily.”

“Well, thank you, Emily. Halloween is kind of my thing.”

She nodded, taking in a gulp of air as she set down as she glanced around the small room. It was homey, if not a bit chilly from the window that was left propped open. Aubrey could almost smell the incoming of rain that Emily had mentioned so feverishly in her opening statement. Aubrey smiled at the woman’s awkward nature before she grasped the wedding dress. “You can change in here if you’d like. I’ll take the bathroom.”

“Okay,” She agreed, scratching the back of her neck as a few stray edges of hair fell from the bun on top of her head, framing her face as she managed a nervous smile.

Aubrey bowed out, pulling the wedding dress that she had found at a thrift store on ninth over herself, wiggling into it with enough gusto to break a sweat. She had taken more than enough time to squeeze the beaded top closer to her grasp, trying not to let it slip as she knocked back on her bedroom door, the unreachable zipper cold against her skin.

She got a weak response, pushing the door open as she got a good look at Emily. Her neighbor upstairs had folded the sweatpants and jacket easily against the corner of the dresser. She had let her hair down, the suit fitting her as smugly as Aubrey hoped it would. A bit of silver peaked from a vest and a back puffed ascot lay untied against the white shirt.

Aubrey’s color drained and the base of her stomach heated unexpectedly. She steadied herself against the doorframe, struggling to keep her dress up as Emily adjusted the collar of the blazer. A lopsided grin graced her lips. “This look okay? I need some help with this tie, though, I don’t really know how to fasten one. I only went to one girl scouts meeting and, yeah, didn’t’ pay much attention.”

“You look perfect,” Aubrey beamed, “Could you um, zip me up?”

Emily stared for a moment, almost mesmerized herself before letting out a squawk and propelling herself across the room where she moved the zipper easily up her back, fingers cold, but not nearly as frigid as the ruined clothes Aubrey peeled from herself earlier. She turned Emily’s touch not entirely dropping as she reached up and grasped the black ascot.

“How come I don’t see you around much?” Aubrey’s asked, trying to ignore the fact that Emily shivered under her touch, breath hot on her cheek.

“Oh, I’m what they call in introvert.” Emily chuckled, chest rumbling at her own joke. “Like I said, my plans were pretty much drowning my sorrows in snickers and turning out my porch light.”

Aubrey laughed, looping the fabric around as she secured it. Emily really did look like Victor, pale composure and all, her touch lingering, but never enough to warrant discomfort. The two of them standing there in innate silence.

“You know, Aubrey, usually I ask a girl on a first date before getting her into a wedding dress.”

“Is that so?” She asked, masking a smirk.

“Oh yeah, I’m a real Casanova too.” She beamed “Next time I’ll even bring my dog, his name is scraps. Though, he is a little boney.”      

#Aubrey Posen #Emily Junk #Junksen #Fanfiction #request

[junkyardlynx]

The sea spread outwards to forever.

Waves gently lapped at the shore, slowly crashing into themselves, subsumed by each wave that followed it. The dawn was breaking above the sea’s skin. A picture of tender destruction and creation, played out like the same five second video, again and again. If your eyes rose just enough to lose the shoreline, you could pretend you were standing in the middle of the sea, surrounded on all sides by nothing but pure blue. 

It was frightening.

My right hand tightened unconsciously on the grip of the weapon I held. Blood slowly rolled down it’s shining blade, dripping from the tip and falling to the sand below. Instead of staining it a dark red, however, the sand smoked and glassed over. A small puddle of molten glass was curling and cooling in a curious pattern at my feet, all of it a sickeningly bright shade of red. Like veins - like fresh blood from an artery.

I rolled my wrist to flick the rest of the blood off, scorching a line in the sand. My left hand let go of what it was holding, and something hit the sand with a wet thump. The thump was followed by hissing smoke, which eventually bubbled down to a soft simmer. My fingers were slick with something. I rubbed them together and the gritty texture told me it was blood. I couldn’t take my eyes off that infinite sea.  My long, golden mane fell around my shoulders and waist, flecked with blood. So much blood. Some of it my own, some of it otherwise. More blood?

Ah. 

That’s right. 

I was holding a head. I remember now. 

---

I came home from my journey last night. The night had been dark and seamless, a black cloak that shrouded everything. The lights of our village were nowhere to be found on the horizon, but my feet knew the way. No guards stood watch at the gates, the streets were silent, and the air was surprisingly cold. I invented scenarios in my head, deluding myself. The answer was there all along.

Everyone was dead, of course. I smelled the corpse-wind when I came up on the unmanned gates. I told myself, begged myself to believe that it was simply a butcher who left a slaughtered pig out in the summer sun too long, a man cursed in passing by his neighbors the following morning. My feet tread lightly, relentless hope still gripping my heart.

The first...body I found banished all such idyllic thoughts. There was barely enough person left to be called a corpse. Wet scraps of meat clung together in the middle of the street, bits of black and yellow cloth decorating the ruined mess. It looked like they were ripped open with tremendous force, enough to splatter the walls of the nearby bookshop and tailor. That shirt, I think I knew him I think I knew him I think I knew him I think he’s-

With a mere thought, a blade crystallized in my hand even as I felt the gorge rise in my throat. It took everything I had to pull my mind into a rational place, locking the imminent panic away in the recesses of my heart. The sword I held whispered to me, comforting and kind, but the actual words were lost on me as my head rolled through the facts.

You’re okay.

No guards. Unnatural chill. No alarms raised. Few bodies. A village of six hundred odd souls swallowed up with no warning, no time to escape, and no interference from the outside world. Only one answer.

Demon. Phantasmal. Something wearing human skin, probably. Driving a smoldering vessel of punishment, taking it’s hatred out on anything that dared to be alive in it’s terrible sphere of influence. Greedy. Foolish. Overwhelmingly powerful.

It makes my skin crawl. Hard to believe creatures like this exist in the White.

I silently agreed with her.

I broke into a run, blade held at the ready to deflect any incoming attacks as I desperately began to search the town square for any survivors. It’s beautiful diamond-like edge shone brightly despite the deepening night, and it’s straight and sharp form comforted me. Rather, she comforted me. I could feel a set of ethereal hands on my shoulders, warm and soft, guarding me from the black sky’s cold stare. My mind began to slip backwards in time, gazing on the memories of yesteryear.

My sword. My companion. My power, my rock, my safe harbor, my touchstone. All those and more. The reason I had journeyed across the sea three years ago was to receive of my birthright - this wondrous burden. Though my brother was eldest, he didn’t possess the aptitude nor willpower to pull a spirit-blade from the White, and thus, my father sent me after teaching me all he knew. I stepped into  the Black and bound my soul to one of it’s denizens, who took the oath to do nothing more than protect me. Sarisa.

Thinking of me again?

Sometimes I forget you know my thoughts, even when I don’t think them at you.

Two years I spent in the White, formless and free, together with her. I returned, changed. A year we spent in the flesh, traveling from town to village to city, hunting the hunters of men. Ghouls, wights, geists, therians, hedge witches, anything that used unnatural power for cruel and disastrous means. Sometimes we made coin, sometimes we didn’t. It didn’t matter. We were together, and we were excising the rot from my beloved world. Making it a safer place.

I couldn’t protect my home. My people. My neighbors. These thoughts filled my head momentarily, but were banished by the sound not unlike a joyous shriek to my immediate right from inside of a house. Broken glass and a sickening crunch accompanied the noise as a young woman’s lifeless body sailed through the night sky, skidding across the pavement to land at my feet, face caved in, almost like a Hallowed Equinox lantern. Like an offering. Like a taunt. I thought to myself:

It is looking at me through broken glass, through shattered stone, and smiling. 

It is saying, “come to me.”

I do not deny it this.

I wish you would.

I wished I had too, if only for a single second. 

Something that was not human stared at me through human eyes. Cold, radiant eyes. A shade of blue. Not like a color like mine, golden as they were, but an intensity that was unmistakable. Like my late father’s. Exactly like my brother’s. A strange power hummed in it’s gaze, piercing the bleak darkness of the house. Human eyes don’t reflect light, but these did, a catseye glint manic in nature now housed within those cold blue eyes. 

The thing that was not my brother stepped forward with his feet and extended a hand in a manner so jovial it seemed perverse. Dark red blood stained his fingers and slicked his wrist and forearm, stained his white front-button shirt, absolutely decorated his frame for all to see. The thing that was once my brother smiled and shifted his hand knowingly towards my weapon. He grabbed it’s blade and gave it a good shake, unflinching as it bit his skin and burned his flesh. I could feel Sarisa’s revulsion from the moment he made contact.

Please help me wash up later.

“You must be my brother’s dearest wife! I’ve heard...absolutely nothing about you, I’m afraid. I’m Mikhail, the sibling with all the charm. So pleased to meet you.”

I wrenched the blade from his grip with a flick of the wrist, sending burning blood from his cuts into the wood and stone of the house. It seared black pits into whatever it touched before drying and fading away. I snuck a glance at his hand, only to find the wounds already closed.

“What have you done, brother mine?” I asked, wary, but unmistakably sad. Though I knew already, I had to hear it from him. There was only one way to be possessed by a demon. I still needed to hear it.

This is only going to hurt you, dear.

I know.

“Julien, you know well what I’ve done! Did it yourself, you did. I merely...met my soulmate, shall we say. Didn’t feel right that the old man let you have all the responsibility, so, thought I’d help out,” He shadowboxed with the oppressive air around us for emphasis. “you know, slay a couple evildoers, bed a few fine women after my exploits, become a hero like my precious little brother.”

“So you tried it. Even after Father warned you what would happen, even after all the times he begged you to let it go and pursue a different path. You still went into the White.” 

My voice cracked. I didn’t care. Mikhail was already gone, and this abomination was wearing his skin. Let it see my tears. It matters not.

“Course-course I did. You tell me that our line is descended from a union of human and spirit-spirit-spirit, then expect me not to follow up on it? Are you daft, little brother-brother? Just because ol’ dad said I didn’t have the right stuff doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try to ah, carry on the family tradition-tradition-tradition myself. He wasn’t even planning on letting me have a child-child-child-child! Can you believe it? Keep the blood pure-pure-pure-pure-pure-pure-pure, he said. Magic like ours running wild-wild-wild-wild-wild-wild-wild and getting in with the hedges would be bad, after all. Fuck off!” 

I payed rapt attention as his voice flanged, as if his words were doubled up and played back through a faulty phonograph, followed by a number of repetitions. Mikhail’s mannerisms as he spoke were stilted, and his eyes wandered as he spoke, searching for someone or something who wasn’t there. 

As the final expletive left his lips, his spine suddenly bent backwards at a horrific angle, and a tremor ran through his body, before he stood back up straight and slow. Mikhail’s blue eyes were a pale yellow, and his skin crawled, like it was full of leeches. Slowly, his skin began to pale, and then flush over a deep blue. Like he was swallowed up by the sea.

I never liked the sea.

Me, either.

“No-no-no more pretending though, little brother. You know he’s gone. All that’s left...is me. But don’t worry, I’ll take wonderful-wonderful-wonderful care of what’s left. After all, til’ death do we part!” 

A distinctly female voice issued from his lips, and a rapier of solid black, cut out of midnight, formed in his hand. The thing that devoured my brother laughed and stabbed forward like lightning, aiming for a surprise attack on my heart. I stepped back from her attack, slicing Sarisa’s blade up through the air to parry the rapier towards the ceiling. As her attacks depended mainly on thrusting, guiding the blade into the air would give me a moment to riposte. I feinted with a downward slash aimed at the demon’s shoulder, but pulled it at the last second and followed from the left with a closed fist, driving it home into her stomach. She staggered back for a second, but followed my attack with a fist towards my face, making contact with my cheek. Seizing the moment, we both pulled back.

“No manners! You’ve hit your brother’s wife. Such a brute-brute-brute-brute-brute. He was much more gentle when he grasped my hilt-hilt-hilt, you know.”

Ignore her.

Sarisa whispered in my mind, a honeyed balm for the slowly building rage burning in my breast. I felt a hand touch my cheek, and the pain faded away. That’s right. I should ignore her. I began to form a spell in my left hand, eyeing the demon who stood motionless but guarded. She was airtight. My brother had been a fantastic fencer, after all.

Thank you, darling.

A gentle laugh echoed in my head at my reply, and I took that as the cue to attack. Driving forward with a dashing leap, I stabbed through the air with the tip of Sarisa, aiming at the demon’s heart. At the same time, my left hand surged forward, bringing a crashing wave of thunder down with enough force to blast the wall behind the demon open and tear the ceiling off the building. 

She blocked it. Her left hand had moved to intercept the blade, taking it’s bite to and through her palm, and with her right - my brother’s right, I suppose - she had erected a magical barrier just in time to shield herself. Smoke rose from the demon’s body, billowing into the cold night as my brother’s brown, shoulder length hair was swept up in the wind. I briefly wondered where the rapier was before my instincts forced me back and to the left, the air whistling loudly as the obsidian rapier thrust through the air, aimed at my neck. It embedded in the wall, but she quickly pulled it out and levied it at me.

Oh. She’s good. This, well. This isn’t good.

“You’re not half bad-bad-bad-bad, little brother.” The demon eyed me carefully, attempting to measure my guard and find my weak points. “I suppose I can tell you my name-name-name. I’m Delilah, your new sister-in-law.”

She laughed in a voice not quite my brother’s and not quite her own, before stepping forward into an impossibly fast thrust. I parried every thrust with a sweep and slash of my own blade, attempting to drive her back, but her attacks were fluid and precise, forcing me to submit any advantage I gained seconds later. 

We carried out into the street, trading slashes and blasts of magic - my lightning for her frost - that tore up the village’s streets. Buildings burned all while covered in frost, and the sky above us began to churn as I called on more and more lightning. Snow began to fall, filling the abandoned and bloody streets, like a painter attempting to cover up a tragedy with happy thoughts.

I don’t know how long we fought. The sun slowly began to rise through thick clouds behind us, casting a cold and dim light on our battlefield. Delilah was covered in a legion of slashes that were healing slower and slower every time, and my own body was carved and covered with patches of frostburn. We stopped for a moment, taking quick breaths, and eyeing each other. 

I’d lost all panic in the fight. Lost all fear. All despair. There was only my will to survive and my will to spend another day with Sarisa. My brother was dead, and something wore his skin because he treated with forces beyond his ken. I lost everything but that which I held in my hand, but it was enough. She was enough. 

“You know-know-know, your brother did say something curious to me,” Delilah started slowly, eyeing the blood dripping from a cut on my forehead. 

Julien, please fix her speech quirk. It’s...quite vexing, to be honest.

It bothers me too. She’s a failed summoning, so I suppose it’s because she can’t manifest on her own?

“What’s that?” I spat quite literally, as a wet chunk of congealed blood landed on the cobblestone. Carrying on two conversations was something I was used to at this point.

“When he saw what marked his soul in the White-White-White, he approached me-me-me, bent the knee, and offered his right hand. He said, ‘it’s yours and yours alone.’“

“I see.” 

I didn’t, really. 

I do, Julien. Don’t worry. You were...something of the same.

“I supposed it charmed-charmed-charmed me. So I came back with him-him-him-him-him. But he couldn’t handle-handle-handle it. His flesh was too weak. I couldn’t-couldn’t-couldn’t help it - by existing, I ate-ate-ate-ate-ate him up, gobbled him up slowly, and then he was gone-gone-gone. And all that’s left is this sweet-sweet-sweet-sweet-sweet hunger.”

She came at me again, faster than any time before. There was a sort of pleading in her actions. A cry for help. In the way she stopped to tell me about Mikhail, in the way she sped forward with reckless abandon. Part of me said she thought I was blinded by the the blood trickling into my eye. Part of me said she was over confident until the end. Part of me said she just wanted it to be over with.

I slipped under her thrust by dropping to my knee, feeling the black blade slice through a lock of my hair. I watched it fall in what felt like slow motion as I thrust Sarisa up hard, carving through my brother’s stolen flesh, piercing Delilah’s heart. In one fluid motion, I withdrew the blade and spun on my heel, diamond-blade singing through the air, decapitating Delilah. I caught the head with my left hand, wrenching it free from the neck as it began to regenerate. 

“I’m so-so-so-so-so-so-so hungry...” 

I know. I’m sorry.

Delilah’s voice died on the wind, swallowed up by her own violent death. I closed my eyes and began to walk as the sun began to rise higher and higher. I could hear it. The call of the sea. Like Delilah’s deep blue skin. I could hear the waves, and so, I didn’t need my bloodied eyes. I stepped, one foot in front of the other, comforted by warm hands on my shoulders. I felt everything. Six hundred irreversible deaths. My brother’s loneliness and anger. My absent father’s careless mistakes. Delilah’s pain by way of existence. Sarisa’s apology. I felt it all on that long, slow goodbye. 

---

I broke my gaze and returned my eyes from the dark waters. My hands were empty, covered in blood and dirt as they were. I clutched at the air for something, and felt warmth and softness meet my right hand. A hand itself. I turned and looked.

My beautiful Sarisa. Black, unblemished skin that accepted all of the sun’s radiance and turned it into her own. Silver locks of hair that fell in wavy curls, framing her proud and sharp face. Eyes like twinkled like diamonds, staring at me with warmth and love. Her strong hand clasped mine, fingers entwining together, regardless of the blood and dirt.

“Let’s go, Julien. There’s nothing left for us here.”

“...Okay.”

All I had was this blade and forever.

It was all I needed. 

#writing #my writing #short story #fantasy #horror #gore #magic #demons

[studyshrine7-blog]

Sweet As Mackay!

Sugar Cane Factory

The lush, green area of Mackay in Queensland is just 1.5 hours away from Airlie Beach. It's a area famous for sugarcane but it's also one where nature literally sits on your doorstep and one where the food scene is coming ahead in leaps and bounds with plenty of local and Queensland grown produce.

Tourism Events Queensland

Ivy busies herself with the rental car while I watch the sugar cane leaves flapping in the warm breeze as we drive past. It's the first time to Mackay for both Ivy and I and while we knew that it was famous for sugarcane, we had no idea that it is literally everywhere you look, even at the airport.

As we touched down, I saw vast expanses of green swathes across the landscape. Early April is just after monsoon season and as a result the greens pop. To orient ourselves we drive the adorably named Mango Avenue in Eimeo to the Eimeo Pacific Hotel, a faded retro blue pub that looks like it has stepped out of the movie set. From there you can have a coffee or tea while the view below shows St Bees Island.

It's time for lunch and we visit 9th Lane Grind, a cafe located in the middle of town. It has an on trend menu of cafe offerings along with a range of home baked cakes, sweets and donuts. Service is very friendly and we take a seat at an outside, undercover table.

Chai Frappe $7 and Pina Colada Smoothie $7.50

Drinks wise, my chai frappe is too good that even though I can't finish it because of its size, I take it to go so that I can sip on it all afternoon. The non alcoholic pina colada smoothie is also full of fresh pineapple flavour.

Creamy truffle mushrooms $21.50

The creamy truffle mushrooms are just about the perfect breakfast or lunch dish. With a fat slice of downy soft brioche, a generous portion of streaky bacon, wilted spinach and creamy mushrooms in a truffle cheese sauce, forget calories or diets or any strange notions and just eat this and be happy with your life choices. It's so good that it doesn't even need bacon (but really who is going to ever leave bacon behind?).

Beef Brisket Benny $21.50

The beef brisket benny comes on two slices of bread with two poached eggs, potato hash, beetroot hollandaise and plenty of soft, saucy beef brisket in a barbecue style sauce.

KFCB Kristy's Fried Chicken Burger $18

The fried chicken burger is luscious with a saucy kaleslaw, Sriracha mayonnaise and smashed avocado with a crispy deep fried chicken fillet all on a charcoal bun. It's creamy and crunchy and slightly messy but oh so good at the same time.

Shoe string fries and sweet potato fries $4 each

And for the perennially greedy and undecided (guilty as charged!) you can get both types of fries-shoestring with a salt and vinegar powder as well as excellent sweet potato fries with aioli.

Tim Tam Pancakes $19

And for dessert? It's hard to choose because the cakes are calling me. But we decide to try the Tim Tam pancakes served with Nutella mascarpone, chocolate fairy floss, dark chocolate pearls, berries and house made fudge sauce as well as whole and smashed up Tim Tams. It's enormous and rich but we had to start our trip off with a bang!

Our first home for our Mackay stay is the Rydges Mackay centrally located right opposite 9th Lane Grind. We have a connecting room with two separate entrances and separate ensuites. It's a spacious simply designed room with a king bed.

The bathroom is large with a spa bath and Biology toiletries while there is a separate room for the toilet. Service does vary somewhat but there is a really helpful staff member who assists me when I need to change rooms because the air conditioning wasn't able to be switched off in my original room. Once I move to my new room it doesn't have wifi in it.

Downstairs is the Moss on Wood restaurant where there is a bar area as well as the restaurant at the front. We take a seat at one of the huge white wooden booths and order one of their steaks.

Black Angus Rib Fillet 300g $39 and potato puree $7

The Black Angus rib fillet is from Darling Downs in Queensland and has been dry aged for 100 days. It's perfectly cooked medium rare and comes with battered fries and a salad with honey mustard dressing as well as a sauce of your choice. We chose the red wine jus and the peppercorn sauce, the latter being our favourite. The steak is fantastic and we also order a side of potato puree made with real potato and it's such a satisfying meal especially when we spoon some of that peppercorn sauce on the potatoes.

The next morning we make our way to The Greater Whitsundays Farmers Markets that are held every Wednesday at Bluewater Quay. It's a small but well stocked market with a good range of items from meats, fruit, honeys as well as other goods.

We end up buying some goats milk shampoo bars, lip balms and honeys and trying some samples of sweet Queensland grown bananas and pineapple and pet an adorable doggy called Audrey with a purple tail!

Hi Audrey!

After doing a spot of clothes shopping we head towards The Dispensary which is a bar as well as a breakfast, lunch and dinner eatery. We take a seat under the large painting of a cow and settle into comfortable leather chairs for a feast.

The freshly shucked oysters are served with fresh citrus and Yarra Mountain Ash triple smoked caviar.

Duck Liver Parfait $19

The duck liver parfait is flavoured with Cointreau, sage and orange jelly and comes with a generous serve of roti bread. The duck liver is quite a bit stronger than chicken liver but the onion pickles help pare back the intensity (just a bit more of them please).

Warm Bread $15

We nibble on slices of buttered, toasted warm bread with hazelnut dukkah, olive oil and balsamic glaze. Although we're trying a lot of food both Ivy and I can't resist another buttery slice of toast.

Grilled Scallops $26

The grilled scallops are served on the shell with some smooth red apple puree, roasted hazelnut butter and apple micro salad and have a good balance of flavours.

Fresh fettuccine $26

Mains wise, we are sharing three -the first is the fresh fettucine with lime crème fraîche, smoked salmon and grilled asparagus and basil.

Chicken Teriyaki $24

Our lovely waitress tells us that the teriyaki chicken and the fettucine are the two most popular dishes on the menu with the chicken being the most popular. The teriyaki chicken is served with a sliced daikon and cabbage slaw in a horseradish dressing. We both like that it is served with a lighter side than rice because the weather is so balmy and warm.

Sumac grilled local kingfish $34

My favourite main is the sumac grilled local kingfish with crispy skin. It's served on a bed of cherry tomatoes with a spiced chermoula. It's a simple dish but cooked well, the kingfish perfectly moist.

Dark Chocolate Tart $18

And then we come to dessert. The dark chocolate tart is paired with a delightfully crunchy Queensland macadamia crumb and house made chocolate mint ice cream and blueberries. Ivy likes the serving size of this, it's not too overwhelmingly large or small and the tart has a nice dark intensity to it.

Crema Catalana $16.50

While the crema catalana makes use of one of Mackay's biggest exports-sugar. It's a lightly spiced crema catalana with orange and cinnamon and topped with torched Mackay sugar.

Speaking of sugar the nearby town of Sarina, around 40 minutes drive is home to the Sarina Sugar Shed. They hold four tours daily that detail the interesting history of sugar in the region. It's well worth doing as it is actually really fascinating.

Our fantastic guide Trudy tells us that 95% of Australia's sugar is produced in Queensland. Mackay itself processes around 6-7 tonnes of sugar cane a year. She explains the sugar cane harvesting and growing process to us that starts with small pieces of sugarcane on the ground. The "eyes" on the sugar cane sticks or billets grow the sugarcane which rises to the sky and this process of "planting" the sugar only has to be done every 2-5 years. Sugar cane needs heat humidity and lots of rain or irrigation.

The top leaves of the sugar cane makes the sugar by accessing sunshine but the sugar is stored in stalks and when harvested they do not need the leaves (they can cause problems with the harvesting machines). Decades ago, sugar cane farmers used to burn the sugar cane but that is largely an abandoned process with many just cutting down the leaves to make a trash bed on the ground that breaks down to become nutrients in the soil.

There are 30-40 varieties of sugar cane grown in this area although there are around 160 varieties in total. The farmers help to fund research into finding more disease resistant varieties. And when it comes to harvesting and selling the sugar cane, the farmers are paid by the sugar level in their cane.

Trudy then takes us to the factory to explain the process of how sugar is made in their micro factory. It is first crushed and then they add natural lime to have the mixture reach a ph level of 8 so that it won't rot or deteriorate. It is then heated to 104C/219F to kill bacteria. A flocculant is added to clarify the mixture much in the same way that egg white is added to wine. From an original 80 litres of juice you will get 20 litres of syrup to work with. From this syrup you grow the sugar crystals using a process called "shock seeding" which starts to crystallisation process. They inject raw sugar crystals, raw sugar syrup and air and then the sugar crystals start to form. The longer they sit in the pan the larger the crystals. 7 tonnes of sugar cane will reduce down to create 1 tonne of sugar crystals.

Trudy then shows us the difference between molasses, treacle and golden syrup. Molasses is most concentrated in terms of water but it is also the least sweet. Treacle has more water and sugar while the highest level of sugar and water is with golden syrup.

And that brings us to a very interesting point-did you know that raw sugar in Australia is not actually raw at all? Food standards have ruled that for Australian consumption no sugar can actually be raw. So raw sugar is actually refined sugar that has an additional process to add molasses into it to make it taste like a raw sugar and is actually more refined than white sugar! And most of us I think would assume that we're doing better by using raw sugar.

After blowing our minds with that tidbit we adjourn back to the video room where we get to try all of the products that they produce from chutneys to sauces. I particularly love the ginger sweet chilli sauce and the Asian style mango chutney. All items are gluten, colour and preservative free.

Then she takes us through the alcoholic spirits and the various rums offering us any to taste. The special edition rum is smooth and sweet and spicy while the Noi (Nice over Ice) is perfectly balanced limey deliciousness.

And then Trudy asks us if we'd like a freshly made fairy floss. I don't think that this day could have gotten any better but it does! We are transformed into kids again with our very own stick of lemon fairy floss.

We head back to the town area. The Riviera Mackay is the home for our second night in Mackay. Located right by the River the atmosphere here is a bit more relaxed than in the centre of town. Check in is smooth, parking is easy and we quickly find our way up to our seventh floor two bedroom apartment with two separate bedrooms and two separate bathrooms.

The accommodation is a really pleasant surprise. They are serviced apartments with a kitchenette which we never tend to use as we eat out. But the colour scheme is visually appealing with whites, yellows and pineapple motifs and plenty of neutrals. There are nice touches like L'Occitane toiletries. The apartment is roomy with a good sized balcony. Internet is fast and free but drops in and out and Ivy isn't able to connect at all.

I have a shower and do some work and then we head out again to dinner. Tonight's dinner is at Romeo and Juliet's at the Shakespeare Motel. We sink into a powder blue velvet booth that oversees the whole restaurant and Ivy whispers that she feels like Tony Soprano.

As the name suggests it's a rather romantic restaurant. I'm guessing a birthday or anniversary sort of place although it looks like there are guests that are staying at the motel dining there.

Oysters $34 for a dozen

We start with a dozen oysters with soy, mirin and ginger. They're nice although the soy does tend to overpower the flavour of the oysters.

Caprese Risotto $17

Given we've eaten 10 courses for lunch we go for a lighter dinner. We decide to share a Caprese risotto entree and a pasta main. The caprese risotto ends up being my favourite dish of the night. It's a tomato based risotto with plenty of flavour, sliced up buffalo mozzarella and roasted red vein cherry tomatoes and micro basil. I would have happily devoured this perfectly portioned size dish.

Pappardelle with chicken and mushrooms $26

We also order the pappardelle with shimeji and shiitake mushrooms in a cream sauce. It needs a little seasoning but it is comforting and the pasta well cooked.

Chocolate pave $18

Dessert is a chocolate pave slice, with sticky caramel popcorn and a popcorn sorbet which is a milky, mild sorbet with a touch of butter flavour.

Raspberry and yogurt terrine

There's also a raspberry and yogurt terrine which is Ivy's favourite. It's tart and refreshing and served with fresh strawberries. It's a quick drive back home to rest and sleep before we head to our next stop! Stay tuned because up next Mackay has some nature surprises in store for us.

So tell me Dear Reader, do you like doing food tours like the sugar tour? Did you know that about raw sugar not being raw at all? Have you ever visited Mackay?

NQN and Ivy were guests of Mackay Tourism but all opinions remain her own.

9th Lane Grind

43 Wood St, Mackay QLD 4740 Monday to Friday 6:30am–3:30pm Saturday 6:30am–2:30pm Sunday closed Phone: [phone]

Rydges Mackay Suites

9 Gregory St, Mackay QLD 4740 Phone: [phone] rydges.com/accommodation/mackay-qld/mackay-suites/

Moss On Wood

Ground floor, Rydges Mackay Suites

Greater Whitsundays Farmer's Markets

River St, Mackay QLD 4740 Wednesday 7–11am Phone: [phone] greaterwhitsundayfood.org.au/farmers-market

The Dispensary

84 Wood St, Mackay QLD 4740 Monday to Saturday 6am–12am Sunday Closed Phone: [phone] thedispensary.nefood.com.au/

Sarina Sugar Shed

Field of Dreams Parkland, Railway Square, Sarina QLD 4737 Open 7 days 9am–4pm Phone: [phone] sarinasugarshed.com.au/

Riviera Mackay

5/7 Nelson St, Mackay QLD 4740 Phone: [phone] rivieramackay.com.au/

Romeo and Juliet's

Shakespeare Motel 309 Shakespeare St, Mackay QLD 4740 Open 7 days 6am–9pm Phone: [phone] shakespearemotel.com.au/dining/

Source: https://www.notquitenigella.com/2019/04/11/mackay-queensland-food-things-to-do/

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