#he grazes the carpet like a sheep

[eddie-sweetheart]

You’re sad, but your boyfriend is Eddie Munson

You’re feeling sad and Eddie notices - so he does his best to take care of you and talk you out of the blues.

Here's a little blurb I came up with last night while I was feeling down and needed my Eddie pill! Hope you like it :)

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

The orange rays of the setting sun filter through the blinds of the trailer, refracting into warm, glimmering stripes on the carpeted floor of the living room. Spirals of fine dust swirl in the light, catching your attention as you lay on the sofa, the book you were holding now laying flat on your chest, open on the page you’ve been trying to read for at least five or six times. 

Against Eddie’s proposal (and his consequent begging and pleading, puppy eyes included), you’ve decided to ditch your role of favorite spectator at today’s D&D meeting to rest at his place, waiting for him to join you for dinner. You’ve blamed your pass on a headache, but the truth is you’ve not been feeling mentally great these past few days: a sense of meaningless sadness has pervaded you, causing random pangs of anxiety and silent crying episodes that you’ve managed to hide and camouflage in order not to spoil the upcoming grand finale of his campaign. 

Being with him has helped, a lot - you've been so absorbed in admiring the focused look on his face as he planned the next steps of the story, with lots of furrowed brows and occasional “ah-ha!” moments of enlightenment whenever he thought of a clever plot twist, that you've somehow managed to push your emotions back a little. But now that you’re alone, you’re feeling exhausted and none of the activities you’ve tried to engage in seem to help as a distraction. You’ve got no energy left to fight the feelings: you just want to be sad - and that’s okay, you guess, it’s just that you don’t want to be a burden to him or make him worry for such a silly mood that doesn't even have a logical reason. 

You’ve been staring at the mug collection on his trailer’s walls for a while now, not really registering all the different shapes or colors though - when suddenly you hear a shuffling sound coming from the front door, then a key turning into the lock and said door opening. You turn your head towards it, a soft smile warming up your face as your boyfriend finally appears. 

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart” Eddie exclaims as he finally enters the room, placing all his dungeon master books and guides on the kitchen counter and throwing the keys in a small basket next to the door. “God, you’re beautiful” he’s quick to add as he catches a glimpse of you, his eyes widening and his smile shining brighter at the sight of your hair sprawled on the sofa to perfectly frame your face, bright in the late summer sun. 

You smile back at him, slowly getting up to meet him in the middle of the room. “You’re handsome too, babe” you tell him, kissing him softly on the lips and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he welcomes you into the warmest hug he’s capable of. “How was the game?”

“Well, you weren’t there, so it could have been better” he replies, holding you tight, “but it was great! Those little sheep sure weren’t expecting Kas to make his comeback… but alas! He lives, and he gave them a good fight”. 

“Told you that was a nice choice” You tell him, chuckling a little at his enthusiasm, but your smile is quick to fade as you nuzzle your face against his neck, the familiar scent of his skin making you feel at home. And, somehow, a bit sadder. 

“But what about you, princess? Are you feeling any better?” He asks you, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face, his heavy rings grazing your skin as he knowingly investigates your eyes. 

You shrug. “A little bit” is all you can manage to say without tearing up, so you distract him with another kiss and a casual cough. “Is pizza okay for dinner? I can call now to order some” you tell him, looking away towards the telephone on the wall behind him. 

By now, Eddie knows something is wrong - he always does, because he’s so used to studying all the little details and expression changes in your face out of pure love and admiration that he can tell how you’re feeling at all times with scarily exact accuracy. But, this time, he goes along with your silence, giving you time and space to decide whether to open up to him or not. 

“Pizza is good” he replies, kissing your forehead and lightly ruffling your hair, “but I need a shower first. Wanna join me?” He hopefully asks, gently placing his thumb and index on your chin to lift your gaze up to his doe eyes. 

It’s surreal to reject his offer, but you find yourself doing it anyway. “I had one already” you lie, and you regret it almost immediately - but you need some time alone to get a grip and try to escape this horrible mood. 

At first, he pouts and clasps his chest with one hand, as if you've just given him the worst heartbreak of his life - but then he immediately kisses you with understanding, his lips the perfect match to yours. “I’ll miss you in there, princess” he states, before getting rid of his leather jacket and denim vest and heading towards the bathroom. 

You lean on the kitchen counter while making the call, the sound of the shower and Eddie’s soft humming in the background calming you down. After a little while, Eddie comes  back in the kitchen, a clean, sleeveless Metallica t-shirt draped on his torso and his usual pj pants on. 

You’re rummaging through a drawer looking for mismatched cutlery, unaware of his concerned stare until you feel his arms wrap around your waist and his chest press against your back. “Sweetheart” he whispers in your ear, his damp hair tickling your neck as he leans down, “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

That finally makes it. You turn around in his arms, tearing up as you hold him tighter than ever. “I don’t know” you mutter with a sniff, “I’m just sad”. 

Eddie doesn’t reply. Instead, he lifts you up in his arms, making you wrap your legs around his waist, and he carries you to his bedroom. There, he gently places the both of you on his unmade bed, in the middle of the messy and tangled up sheets. 

You’re now sitting in front of him, your body intertwined with his as he slowly strokes your hair and your back with impossible kindness. You completely lean against him, feeling safe as you rest your head on his shoulder and finally let the tears flow down your cheeks. It feels liberating. 

“Feeling better?” He asks you once you’ve calmed down, for real this time. You nod. 

“I’m sorry” you add after he kisses you sweetly, “I don’t know what’s going on".

His big, brown eyes get lost into yours as he gives you the tiniest nod with his head, silently encouraging you to say whatever is bothering you.

"Do you ever… do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?” You tentatively ask after a while, the worry of sounding a bit stupid never leaving your thoughts. 

Eddie smiles, moving a strand of hair away from your face. “Uhm, you know, just… on a daily basis” he replies, a soft grin appearing on his lips, “I mean, I feel like I’m losing my mind right now, looking at your beautiful face. How the hell are you so pretty even when you cry?”

You chuckle at the compliment, shaking your head as you stroke his soft curls. 

"But, yeah, I do" he continues, his now bare fingers intertwining with yours, "and sometimes I truly feel like a nutcase, and I even wonder if at the end of the day I actually am the resident freak of Hawkins. But" he declares, one hand wavering in the air at his statement, "it happens. Life can suck. No need for a particular reason, either".

You nod, feeling understood while his gaze never leaves your face.

“You know you can talk to me right?” He suddenly adds, pulling you closer, “About anything. Even if it’s stupid. And I promise, most times it won’t be - stupid, I mean”. 

“Yeah, I know” you sigh, “I just… don’t want to burden you”

He frames your cheeks with his hands again, placing small kisses all over your face between his words. “You’re. Not. A. Burden.” He says, managing to make you smile once more, “I’m your handsome boyfriend all the time, y’know? Not just when everything is good and nice. Also when life feels like shit”. 

You nod, warmth seeping into your chest at his words. 

“And since by now I think I know you pretty well” he adds, “trust me when I say that I’ll always be with you. It doesn’t matter what’s going to happen. Hell, we fought a supernatural demon and his demobats in a fucking alternate dimension and we lived!” He exclaims, head shaking in excitement, which makes you finally laugh, “We literally can go through anything together, princess. I promise”. 

You look at him straight in the eyes and kiss him, and you keep kissing him until you’re out of breath. You feel his grin against your lips as he topples you over, his weight a stabilising force that fills you with comfort. 

“I love you, Edward Munson” you whisper in his ear as he holds you close to him, “to the death”. 

He lifts himself up, his forearms flat at your sides against the mattress and his hands in your hair as he looks in your eyes with a loved up gaze. “I love you too, y/n y/l/n - to the death, and beyond” he says in his signature melodic tone. 

Your lips collapse together again, this time turning the kisses into a full on make out session - that is soon interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. 

Eddie jumps to his feet, his mischievous smile never leaving him as he extends his hand to you to help you get up. 

“But first” he theatrically declares as he presses one final peck to your mouth, “Pizza. I’m starving”. 

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things x reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): Before His Birth, His Birth and His Childhood

The Prophet is Given to a Foster Mother: Part 2

The Holy Prophet (PBUH) is brought to His Mother

The season of returning the foster children had arrived. So, Halima, who had taken our Holy Prophet (PBUH) under her wing and who loved him much more than her own children, had a cloud of sadness pervade her heart since she was about to be separated from him. She was going to be far from his fragrance of roses that reminded her of heaven.

However, she had no choice other than to deliver him and that is what they did. They took the radiant Muhammad (PBUH), went to Mecca, and delivered him to his mother in the midst of heartfelt tears.

The foster mother’s world was filled with sorrow whereas the real mother’s world was filled with happiness. One of them was in bliss for being reunited with her child and the other was burning in the fiery pain of being separated from him.

At that moment, it was as if an inspiration came to Halima’s heart and she pleadingly made the following offer with the fullest sincerity in her heart:

“Would you please allow my son to stay with me for a longer period of time? I am also afraid that he will come into contact with the Meccan plague”.

This offer and wish was sincere. It was as if these sentences were spilt from the heart rather than her lips.

Dear Mother Amina was unable to oppose this genuine and heartfelt appeal and consented to her beloved child staying in the homeland of the Sa’d’s for some more time.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) is in Sa’d’s Homeland once again

Halima had attained her desire. In the endless pleasure of having her wish accepted, she returned to her homeland together with our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) sometimes went with his foster brother, Abdullah, to graze the sheep. The sheep would respond to his sweet smiles by bleating.

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) eyes always faced towards the skies. He would look up attentively and meaningfully as though he was going to discover something. It was as if he was waiting for a hand to reach down and take him to the high heavens.

In the meantime, a strange incident took place that did not go unnoticed: There was usually a cloud over our Holy Prophet (PBUH) that traveled over him and protected him from the sun.

All eyes were now on him. His beauty was on everyone’s tongue while his sweet love was in everyone’s heart. His honesty, good manners, and earnestness were always talked about.

His peers would compete for his amiable friendship.

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) days would pass peacefully and happily in the upland of the Sons of Sa’d.

The slitting of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) Chest

It was a beautiful spring day and the mid-morning sun was emitting life everywhere.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) whose face was filled with noor (light), and his foster brother, Abdullah, were grazing their sheep in a meadow that was near their home. They sat on a carpet of grass as they were having a nice conversation underneath a tree. After a while, Abdullah fell asleep on the tree’s cool shadow while the Master of the Universe (PBUH) thought about the Creator who encompassed the universe with incomparable beauty.

In the meantime, the sheep had dispersed far away. In order to have them turn back, the Holy Prophet (PBUH) walked away from Abdullah.

After a while, he saw two men clothed in white garments. Both of them had smiling faces and were pleasant. One of them had a golden bowl that was filled with snow in his hand. They quietly approached the Holy Prophet (PBUH).  They held him; they laid him on top of the standing grass that was like a Divine carpet. The Holy Prophet (PBUH) made no sound and no fuss. He knew that these pleasant people with clean and smiling faces would not hurt him.

In the meanwhile, Abdullah, who had fallen asleep on the tree’s cool shadow, was now awake.  When he saw the scene, he immediately began to run home in a hurry. He explained what he saw to his parents. Out of their excitement and worry, Halima and her husband did not notice how they rushed out of the house, as they hastily ran towards the Holy Prophet (PBUH). They reached the Holy Prophet (PBUH)’s side; however, the situation was not as Abdullah had described since nobody could be seen. In an instant, the men fulfilled their appointed duty and left. The Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) face had gone pale, and he lightly smiled as he stood on his feet.

Halima and her husband who were in too great of a flap, asked: “Sweetie, what happened to you?”

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) narrated the following:

“Two people with white garments approached me. One of them had a golden bowl filled with snow in his hand. They held me, slit my chest, took out my heart, and slit my heart as well. From my heart, they took out a black blood clot and threw it aside. They left after they cleaned my heart and chest with that snow”.

He would be given the duty of Prophethood after many years passed.

One day, some of the Companions (Sahaba) had asked: “Oh Messenger of Allah, could you describe yourself to us?”

The Holy Prophet (PBUH) answered: I am the supplication of my father, Ibrahim. I am the glad tidings of my brother, Isa (Jesus). I am my mother’s dream. When she was pregnant with me, she saw a noor that rose from itself and lightened the castles of Damascus”.  After his answer, he explained the aforementioned situation in this way:

“I was nourished and brought up next to the sons of Sa’d bin Bakr. One day, I was grazing the sheep with my foster brother behind our home. In the meantime, two men in white garments approached me. One of them had a golden bowl filled with snow in his hand. They held me, slit my chest, took out my heart, and slit my heart as well. They took out a black blood clot from my heart and threw it aside. They cleaned my chest and heart with that snow”.

In this phenomenon, our Beloved Messenger’s (PBUH) holy heart was widened with a soul and tranquility by the Divine Light and God Almighty. At the same time and from that day on, the nafs (soul) of the Holy Prophet (PBUH) was filled with holy emotions. And with the testifying of Divine lights (noor), his nafs was cleaned from every type of apprehension and doubt. It should be remembered here that the heart should not be thought of as some piece of meat. It is a dominical subtle faculty, Latifa -Rabbaniyya. To become better enlightened on this topic, it is beneficial to look at Hazrat Badiuzzaman’s explanation of the heart:

What is meant by the heart is not just a piece of meat like a pine cone. Instead, it is a dominical subtle faculty (Latifa Rabbaniyya), and the conscience, the purpose of feelings, intentions, and ideas, are its intellect. Therefore, an amenity has resulted from interpreting this piece of meat that contains the dominical subtle faculty: the dominical subtle faculty, the service that one does for his own spirituality, is like the service that is performed by the physical body.  Yes, just as the One who has endowed this physical body with life is like a life-producing machine and this material life is extant because of His handiwork, the physical body reaches degradation when its material life is halted. He animates and illuminates the dominical subtle faculty with deeds and circumstances; and when the light of faith diminishes, its true essence will be left remaining like a lifeless and inanimate statue.

It is understood that the faith, knowledge, wisdom, and compassion of the material heart are closely connected to spirituality. In the same way, the relation between material and spiritual cleanliness is extant. In this regard, the filling of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) heart with knowledge, wisdom, Divine light, and enlightenment after the cleansing of his material heart, should not be seen as unreasonable.

#allah #god #islam #muslim #quran #revert #convert #convert islam #revert islam #reverthelp #revert help #revert help team #help #islamhelp #converthelp #new muslim #new revert #new convert #how to convert to islam #convert to islam #welcome to islam

[lindsaystravelblogs]

Iceland, here we come

Not another huge breakfast! Well yes, but marginally less huge than the last three or four. And no stolen extras for lunch - well, not many anyway.

Our chauffeur to take us to the airport arrived a little early so we were out there by 11.15am for our 3.55pm flight. We had arranged our boarding passes online, but the bag drop only opened at 1.55 so we did jigsaws on our iPads for a couple of hours. Getting through all the formalities was relatively easy and the amazing thing was that we never had to show our passport at any point in the whole process.

I managed the shorter flight quite well in an aisle seat. I had a few unpleasant moments when the guy in front of me tipped his seat right back, occupying about a third of the space we had paid for. I really can’t understand how people think themselves entitled to claim space paid for at considerable cost by other people. And when he tilted his seat back, it pushed my screen so close to me that I couldn’t see anything. I just leant out into the aisle and watched the screens of people across the aisle 3 or 4 seats ahead of me.

Entry into Iceland was quick and easy - again, no need for a passport! There was a longer wait to get our car but when we did, we got two little bonuses. Firstly, they didn’t have the Skoda we had booked so they upgraded us to a Rav 4 - a very nice car, immensely sophisticated, but with such a poorly written manual that I still don’t have a clue what most things are or how to use them. The index is interesting too. I wanted to find how to use ‘cruise control’ and after reading most of the index verbatim, I found it under ‘I’ for ‘If you are driving……..’!!!

I reckon we did pretty well to find our guesthouse. With the aid of a superb navigator using both the onboard GPS and the great maps.me app, we negotiated 214 kilometres of mainly highway with no English road signs to get to our guesthouse within about 3 hours. Road One is very good and brought us three-quarters of the way. Not quite such good roads after that but still OK. Biggest issue for tourists like us is that there are very few places to pull over to gawk or take photos. We had one stop for a hotdog for dinner and a visit to the supermarket across the road for a few extra supplies, arriving at the guesthouse about 6.30pm.

It is spectacular country with towering mountains all around, many with large patches of snow later in the drive. Huge expanses of pasture, often dotted with hundreds of brilliant white plastic rolls of fodder. A lot of Icelandic Horses (a very special breed) in small groups and a few cows too. There were also a few sheep but a lot of them were grazing immediately adjacent to the road, making driving a tad more exciting.

Every couple of kilometres, we passed a farm with a quaint farmhouse, usually with a brilliant red, green, blue or occasionally yellow roof, very stark against the multicoloured greens of the pasture. Lots of wildflowers beside the road too. Really very pretty!

And the lava! Sometimes kilometres of it at a time, contorted jagged rocks tortured into every conceivable shape - and many not conceivable. The landscape is made of it, often eroded to a flattish plain that would be quite impossible to walk on. Your boots and then your feet (up to your thighs) would be shredded in no time. The lichen is slowly breaking down the rock to form rich soil but that takes millennia and a new lava flow could undo all that work in a day. We also saw walls of lava, up to about 30 metres high at a guess, where the lichen has many millennia of work still to do. Breathtakingly beautiful and everything on a grand scale. Many of the mountains are not that different in shape to our Aussie hills - just ten times the size. Often it seems that a giant has just taken a bite out of the landscape where a mammoth ancient glacier carved its way to the sea. There are rock walls surrounded by hundreds of metres of scree calved off over the centuries, often broken down enough for a carpet of green to form an apron along the mountain range. It really is a spectacular country.

Our accommodation was very comfortable and the manager simply couldn’t do enough to make us feel at home and very welcome.

[rotworld]

2: Centaur

it’s said that only pure virgin maidens can call a unicorn, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

->explicit. contains horse genitalia, weird sex magic to enable human-to-horse genitalia compatibility, dubcon/noncon, semi-public sex, implications of mind-altering magic, gore, murder, kidnapping.

.

.

.

You’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

The meadow is in full bloom, a sea of brilliance. Here, a profusion of daisies. There, a carpet of poppies. Asters and yarrow and little clovers, flowers you’ve never heard of, colors you didn’t know existed, bloom as far as the eye can see. There are starbursts, blue as the sea, that smell of salt and sand, and cones of pink blossoms that glitter in the light. Petals dance in a gentle breeze like prismic rain, carrying a soft, sweet scent. It feels like a dream. You’re knee-deep in flowers beneath a cloudless sky.

“This is impossible,” you say softly, afraid to disturb the peace. Your fingers graze a curving stem, heavy with bluebells. “It’s autumn. The leaves should be turning. How is everything so green?” 

The king’s men sigh tiredly, looking uncomfortable and terribly out of place in their clanking armor. “Unicorn,” they say, the only word they seem to know. Why are the winds so gentle here, spring-sweet and warm? Unicorn. Why is the water crystal clear and sparkling, the perfect temperature for both a quenching drink and a quick rinse of your dirtied hands? Unicorn. Why couldn’t you see the meadow until you crossed the river and passed a certain willow tree? Unicorn, obviously. They shake their heads at you like you don’t know anything.

“Sit here,” one of them tells you, pointing to a spot among the daffodils. 

Another one stops you just as you’re kneeling in the grass. “No, no, wait, over there is better. There are lilies. Lilies are a symbol of virginity.”

“I think the roses would be best,” a third chimes in. “Seems very maiden-like, doesn’t it? That’s what a maiden would pick, I think, if a maiden were out here, picking flowers.” The other knights nod sagely. “Then it’s decided. Over there by the roses, please. Here, sit with your legs folded like this…”

You roll your eyes. You can’t believe how seriously they’re taking the stupid little details. This whole expedition is a lost cause. It doesn’t matter how much they pretty you up, dressing you in this flowing gown and making you wander barefoot among the flowers. You’re a sheepherder, not a waifish little girl. A unicorn can tell the difference. But the king must really be desperate, because the knights are insistent as they correct your posture, smooth out your hair, and inspect you from every angle.

“Good. Perfect,” one of them says, nodding at his handiwork. “We’ll get into position. Do,” he pauses, waving his hand vaguely, “maiden things. Sing songs. Braid your hair. Whatever it is maidens do.” You watch them clang and clatter away to the treeline, hiding poorly among the rocks and flower bushes. You relish in the space and freedom, flopping on your back in the grass. You couldn’t care less if a unicorn comes or not. The fields are yellowed and prickly at home, nothing like the beautiful softness of this meadow. Your cousin agreed to watch your sheep for the day, so you don’t have a care in the world. You close your eyes and let eternal spring wash over you. 

You open your eyes to darkness.

You sit up slowly, groaning and groggy. You must’ve drifted off. Petals fall from your gown as you yawn and rub your eyes. Snoring drifts from the trees; the knights fast asleep. You stand up to stretch, only to find a new, fantastic landscape stretched before you. The meadow is tinged silvery blue in moonlight. New flowers, unopened buds just hours ago, bloom with a faint glow. A river of stars shines overhead. This must be the dream, you think, or maybe you’ve been dreaming since you crossed the river. Everything about the meadow is otherworldly, a place of beauty and gentleness unlike anything you’ve ever known.

And then you hear it. Softly at first and indistinct, but nearing, gradually louder. A rhythmic gait, too heavy for a human, too pronounced for fleshy feet. Hoofbeats. Your breath catches in your throat. You scramble to your feet and look around. Auroras shimmer above you, rippling ribbons of green. Night breeze blows across the meadow and the grass whispers at your ankles. You see him, trotting across the meadow. You see him and there are tears in your eyes. You realize you’ve never known beauty until this moment.

The unicorn is the color of night, black and deepest blue. His mane shimmers, woven with gemstones and glittering flower buds, and his horn shines like polished onyx. He is a man from the waist up, silver eyed and handsome. There are scars along his broad shoulders, puckered skin that healed a lighter gray. Beneath the waist, muscle twists and transforms into long equine legs. His gait is leisurely, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“My oh my, what do we have here?” he says. His voice is velvety smooth and alluring. Your apprehension melts away even as he stops before you, his front legs bending so you’re face to face. A heavy, coat-like fabric rests across the back of his horse body, royal purple and delicately embroidered with intricate floral patterns. He reaches for you, slender fingers curling along your jaw. You’re sure of it now. This is all just a dream. The unicorn chuckles, a warm and rumbling sound that fills you with heat. “You’re wide awake, little one.”

“You can read my thoughts?” 

“I can read more than that.” His smile widens and he stands to his full height. You fidget nervously as he walks in a slow circle around you, a hand beneath his chin. His hooves kick up petals and glittering pollen with every step. “Hmm, let’s see...a shepherd! How precious. What gentle hands. Ah, but a solitary life. You’ve not known a lover’s touch in quite some time.” Your face heats in embarrassment. His palm trails across your back as he passes behind you, squeezing your shoulder. 

“I thought unicorns only came to pure maidens,” you say. His every touch sends sparks across your skin. You can feel his warmth through the flimsy, thin fabric of your gown. At that, his smile gains a sharp edge, almost predatory. It’s gone as quickly as it came.

“What a delight you are,” he murmurs. “Coming all this way was worthwhile after all.” He begins to walk and you follow without being asked. There are flowers all around you but you pay them no mind now, too entranced by the beautiful creature beside you. You don’t know if you go far or not, time and distance rendered meaningless in the dreamlike embrace of the meadow. He leads you to a large, mossy rock formation, the stone sheared away to leave an unnaturally flat surface. You look back over your shoulder, remembering the knights. Did they sleep through all of this? Should you say something? The unicorn’s hand cups your chin, dragging your gaze back to him. His breathtaking smile obliterates all thoughts of anything else. 

“The stories are an exaggeration,” he tells you. He guides you gently, hands on your shoulders, to sit on the stone. His legs fold beneath him and he sits, his hands carding through your hair. The affection and desire in every touch, every gentle scratch of his fingers against your scalp, makes you hotter. “We appear to whomever we wish to appear to. But I confess, some of us do have a soft spot for virgins.” He presses a sharp kiss to your lips, nipping at you. “We enjoy teaching them pleasure,” he hisses, and pushes you suddenly onto your back. The gown is pulled from your body, discarded in the grass. Night air caresses your bare skin and you squirm beneath his wandering gaze.

Somehow, it only occurs to you now what his intentions are. The gentle caresses, the sensual touches and the heat in his gaze didn’t feel real. They still don’t, but now, naked and at the mercy of his hungry eyes, you understand. “You...you want me?” you say, your voice small in embarrassment. When you say it out loud, it sounds even more ridiculous, but there’s no mistaking this. He rests his arms across your abdomen, gazing up at you with fondness and longing. 

“I do,” he says. “Very, very much. Would you let me have you?” 

You bite your lip, your body trembling as he slips a hand between your legs and just grazes your sex with his fingertips. The touch is teasing, too fleeting, and leaves you aching for more. You nod shakily and he hums, pleased at your acquiescence. “What’s your name?”

He looks rather charmed that you asked, warmth filling his gaze. “I am Myurva,” he says. You give him your name in return and the way he says it back to you, the lascivious purr, makes you squirm. The unicorn rests his hands on your knees, gently but firmly easing them apart. “Spread your legs for me, lovely. I want to see you.” 

Myurva’s seduction is slow and patient even as you writhe and beg him for more. He opens you on his fingers, soothing your frenzied whimpers with sweet nothings and loving whispers of your name. You’ve never been treated with such devotion, such smothering lust and affection. He touches you like the love of his life, kisses tenderly and messily, drags his hand along your side and savors the way you move for him. “So very worth it,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. He has two fingers inside you, caressing your walls and curling just right to reach the spot that makes you shriek. “How fortunate I am to have found you, lovely. I want to keep you. I want to spoil you each and every night.” 

You’re keening for him, sobbing with need, when he flips you onto your stomach. You hardly notice. You spread your legs when you feel his hands on you, kneading your ass. Everything is hot and electrifying, hazy with pleasure. Then his front hooves land heavily in the grass near your head and something enormous rubs against you. “Wait,” you say shakily. You hear a chuckle above you. The fleshy end of Myurva’s cock slides against your ass, smearing precum along your spine. Your heart skips a beat feeling the sheer size of it against you. There’s no way. It’s impossible. You try to push yourself up on your elbows and one of his hooves stamps dangerously near your head. 

“I thought you wanted me, lovely,” he says. He thrusts again, the length of him slipping between your thighs and grinding against your sex. “If you move, I’ll have to chase you. You won’t get far.” 

“You won’t fit,” you tell him, voice pitched in desperation. Trying to squirm just makes him rest his weight against you, crushing you between the stone and the bulk of his body. “You’re going to break me!”

“I’ll go slow,” Myurva purrs. He demonstrates with a slow grind, a gradual roll of his hips. His heated flesh feels so good against you. “I’ll be so, so careful with you. Don’t you remember the stories? I enjoy virgins. I haven’t harmed a single one. They wander the woods in search of me, begging to feel my cock again.” You hear his back hooves shifting, repositioning behind you. He lines himself up and his cock prods against your opening. “Let me show you,” he urges. “Let me bring you pleasure you’ve never known.” He grinds against you again, hot pressure building as he begins to push inside. You gasp his name, beg him to wait, to go slow, to give you a moment to collect yourself, but he chuckles and presses harder.

Your nails rake against the stone and your vision whites out. The burn of the stretch becomes a tingling sensation, numb at first and then blindly pleasurable, lighting sparks in your belly. It shouldn’t be possible but you feel the head inside of you. The pain is a dull ache but every movement chases it away, pleasure washing over you. He rocks his hips and the steady, shallow thrusts push him deeper. True to his word, he fucks into you agonizingly slowly, panting and moaning

“How do you feel, lovely?” he asks, his voice strained. He’s holding back, you realize, his hooves stomping restlessly as he makes small, unconscious thrusts to feel you wrapped around him. “Let me in deeper. Let me fuck you properly. You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think he can get deeper. You try to tell him as much, but a hard thrust knocks the breath out of you. The fullness makes your head spin. You feel yourself pushing back against him despite all of the sensations, the ache inside of you, the impossibility of the whole situation in the back of your mind. He makes a breathy, choked sound and then laughs, fucking you harder. “Ohhh, that’s it. Just like that. I knew you’d love this.” You can hear his cock slamming into your body, can feel the weight of his heavy balls slapping your ass with every thrust. You feel like a cocksleeve, a snug toy for him to fuck. The force of his thrusts drags you back and forth over the stone, scraping up your chest, but the pain is nothing compared to the pleasure he gives you. 

Someone is screaming, crying Myurva’s name into the night. You barely recognize your own voice, the needy pitch, the tremor in every word. You’re so full, so unbearably stuffed with cock, no longer trying to meet his thrusts but letting him move you, ruining you for any human partner. Your knees bruise on the stone. Your toes curl. Your cries build to a frenzied crescendo and you cum impaled on his enormous cock, shaking, panting his name.

“Lovely,” he moans, an obscene sound leaving his lips as your inner muscles clamp down on his cock. “Gods above, darling, I’m going to fill you.” He fucks you wildly, no rhythm, no caution, his whole cock slamming into you as hard and deep as he can get. You can’t move. The whole world turns white-hot and blinding. You go limp, gasping weakly as Myurva begins to grunt, his cock pulsing, his whole length crammed inside you.

You thought you were full already, but then he cums. You feel him straining on top of you, his whole weight thrown forward as he fucks ropes of thick cum into your body. It foams up around his length and makes obscene, slick sounds. You feel it overflowing, trickling down your thighs. It feels like it goes on forever, his moans, his deep, straining thrusts, his cock pouring more and more cum into your body until his balls empty and he finally, with a satisfied sigh, pulls out. 

You make an undignified sound at the sudden emptiness, and the rush of cum that follows. You’re grateful for the stone beneath you, cool against your sweat-soaked skin. Your legs are jelly. You don’t know if you’ll ever walk again. Myurva’s front hooves lift, stepping back from the stone. His human hand caresses your cheek. “You’re truly something, lovely,” he says quietly. “I spoke in jest of keeping you, but now...it’s difficult to resist the temptation.” 

You try to speak but only manage an incoherent murmur of noise. He chuckles and strokes your hair. Distantly, you’re aware of other noises than the two of you. Shouting. Footeps. Clattering steel. You remember suddenly that you aren’t alone out here, arms struggling to lift you. The knights. How could you forget? Shame heats your face. How long have they been awake? How much did they see? How much did they hear? Myurva shushes your protests, pressing a gentle hand on the small of your back. “Rest,” he says. You don’t think you’re capable of doing much else, anyway.

You hear a commotion behind you. The knights, shouting in outrage, drawing swords. Are they going to hurt Myurva? Your eyes widen and you try again, uselessly, to lift yourself and see what’s happening. The unicorn gives you one last gentle caress and leaves you, his hoofbeats stopping somewhere between you and the knights.

“At last, you show yourself!” the knights exclaim. You manage to roll onto your side, craning your neck to see them surrounding Myurva, but he doesn’t look concerned. He glances around, examining each of the men. 

“Let’s see,” he murmurs. “Subjects of King Cornelius. And you want…” The corner of his lips twitch in amusement. “A hostage? Is that right? Your people have no claim over our mountains. A hostage will not change this. My king does not negotiate.” His words are ignored. The knights are wary but they do not back down. You feel like a fool. Why didn’t you ask them what they wanted the unicorn for? You assumed it was something trivial, a silly princess who wanted a pet. Nothing like this. 

Myurva glances back at you. His silver eyes catch the moonlight and glint dangerously. Those are a predator’s eyes, you realize. A thing that hunts and stalks the night. “You worry for me, lovely?” he purrs. “Your every emotion is so tender. I really must keep you. But, alas,” he chuckles, turning back to the knights, “business first, my sweet.”

You hadn’t looked all that carefully at the fabric across the back of his body. You hadn’t noticed the sword sheaths hanging there, hidden beneath the drapes and tassels. You hear steel scraping steel as he unsheathes twin blades, long and curved, as strikingly silver as his eyes. One of the knights tries to say something. “Come quietly,” or some other meaningless thing. He never finishes speaking. You hardly see Myruva move. A flash of silver, a rush of air; that’s all it takes. The knight’s head falls from his shoulders, and his body sinks to the ground soon after. The others begin to scream and scatter, but they’ll never get away. There’s no outrunning a unicorn. 

Laying there upon the stone, you see everything. Prey fleeing and predator giving chase. Swords clashing. Flesh pierced and mangled. Myurva tramples one of them, snaps the man’s ribs with glee in his shining eyes. Their armor does nothing but trap them in slow, awkward shells, easy prey to catch and dismantle. The unicorn moves like a whirlwind across the meadow, death his shadow. Blood soaks the soil and splatters the flowers, almost black in the night. 

You’re on your knees when it’s over, hunched over the stone with your legs in the grass. You can’t stand. You can’t run. You can’t do anything but turn and see Myurva standing there, fresh blood dripping from his swords. He smiles at the sight of you, the shivers wracking your body. “You didn’t know,” he assures you. “I can read you, remember?” He wipes the blood from his blades, sheathing them at his side once again. You flinch when he comes closer, sitting in the grass beside you. You smell the carnage on him. The fingers that tuck your hair behind your ear are wet and warm. “Pleased to meet you,” he purrs. “I’m Myurva, the royal spymaster. And you are the loveliest little human I’ve ever seen.”

You protest weakly when he scoops you up in his arms, standing suddenly. You’re vaguely aware of moving, of being carried somewhere. You fight to cling to consciousness, but it’s slowly slipping out of your grasp. “Hush,” Myurva coos, kissing your forehead. “We’ve a long ways to go and you’re in no condition to ride me just yet. But, eventually…” He chuckles, one of his hands cupping your backside. “Eventually, we’ll have all the time in the world to do whatever we like, won’t we?”

#rotpeach writes #teratotober #i feel like ive ascended to a whole new level of deviancy with this one #this is the prettiest and most Aesthetic thing i'll write all month and it has horsecock in it

[alleycat-arcade]

*You can hear the sounds of machinery and scrapping metal from one of the off rooms. Peering in, you can see Temperance setting up a new machine.*

Come on in, no need to just stand there. I purchased a few Virtual Reality Systems for the Arcade recently so I could set up this little VR room. This one right here was given to me by a friend actually, it even has one of the games he said he was stuck on still in the drive. Since it's all set up and everything, wanna take it for a spin? I'll grab you something from the vending machines for your troubles.

(Okay so! This will probably be another long fic, like my Reverse AU. I think I'll try and update each of those weekly, as well as doing requests as they come in. This is sort of a hybrid between Persona in general as well as Obey Me, I've adapted it in a way that follows along with the plotline of Obey Me but with a Persona twist!)

Prologue: A World of Wicked Hearts (Obey Me Phantom Thief! Mc AU, Mc is Gender Neutral)

Content Warnings: Persona as a series contains a lot of Mature themes! These themes pertain to the darkness in one's inner cognition and how said cognitions can be warped by the world around them or how their minds warp their worlds instead. Inner demons and that sorta stuff, yeah? This has a few references contained within the story that may have out of context spoilers for multiple games, but these will likely be as minor as possible!

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

(Note! This is when Barb speaks. This is when Mammon is talking. And this text is for when ??? speaks.)

It was an unnaturally cold day when you returned to your apartment in the Shibuya district. You had gone out to catch up with Makoto after your college classes, just a nice little meet up at one of your old hideouts. The tiredness that overcame your body was immense and you couldn't tell if it was from the weather or all the walking around you had done with Ann the day prior. Likely, it was a mixture of both. You tossed your bag to the side as you entered your bedroom, not taking the time to take off your jacket as you flopped onto your bed. The fleece of the blanket you had bought the other day was enveloping, like shoving your face into a freshly washed and dried sheep. You lifted your head for just a moment to see if any of your friends had texted you for anything, and settled down for a quick nap.

The side of your head felt quite warm when you finally stirred, raising a hand to pat around in your pockets for your phone. As you lazily lifted your arm, you felt your fingertips graze against hardwood. Strange, the floor in your room was carpeted. Actually, just every floor in your apartment was carpeted last time you checked. And your bathroom floor was tiled. Did you one your friends come and pick you up while you were asleep?

You braced your forearms against the ground as you slowly rose into a standing position, making sure to give an hearty stretch before you opened your eyes. Okay, this was definitely not even a house. Some kind of courtroom was what it resembled more. It couldn't have happened again, could it? The Metaverse had already came back twice now, you silently prayed that it wasn't back yet again while you met a pair of golden eyes.

You stayed silent as your eyes darted around the room, taking everything in. There were multiple other occupants in the room, who were all eyeing you as you held your defensive position. The room didn't quite feel like the Metaverse though, and you couldn't sense any shadows. "Do you intend to fight us?" A voice from your left spoke, making you jump and raise your fists to block an oncoming attack. Yet, it never came. The person who had been dressed in an attire similar to that of a butler simply stood there, smiling.

As you were introduced to the room, you felt awkward. You were supposed to live in the Devildom as an Exchange Student, at live amongst literal demons. Sure, you had dealt with physical manifestations of inner demons before, but these were legitimate ones! Not to mention, you couldn't summon your Persona. No matter how hard you called out to him, you couldn't feel a response or even form your thief attire and mask.

Now, you were just being dragged back to a house by the demon assigned to essentially be your caretaker. Mammon, or the Great Mammon, as he called himself, made it quite clear of his stance on you quickly, as did his brothers. Some of them actually reminded you a bit of your friends from home, who were definitely going to be worried sick about your disappearance. Your phone didn't even work down here.

"Here's your room." The Avatar of Greed's voice snapped through your thoughts, making you look up in surprise. "Ah! Sorry, I was just thinking about... things." "What dumb little human things are ya thinking about so hard? Ya pretty much got steam comin' out yer ears." "...Personal stuff." "Tch. Secretive type, huh?" You set down your stuff a little bit past the doorway as you turned back to the demon in front of you. And thus began a beautiful friendship? Guardianship?

You and Mammon tolerated each other for the most part. You only really had any issues with one another when he'd drag you into a scheme of his and the two of you got in trouble for it. For the first week of your stay the two of you didn't talk much. Well, you didn't talk much. He'd just escort you to classes and what not, maybe just complaining at you about his brothers or debtors or whatever other nonsense. You hadn't actually seen much of his siblings, since you just stuck to Mammon's side like glue. Since you understood what even the strongest shadows were capable of, it wouldn't be hard to assume that an actual demon would likely rip you to shreds much easier than one of them.

Seeing as Mammon was sort of forced to be your Guardian, you figured he'd be the safest thing to be around. There did exist some form of a bond between the two of you, but it was strained at best. It didn't earn him any friendship points with you that he also wouldn't call you by your name at all. Just "filthy human" this and "lowly human" that. To be completely honest, you didn't really even know him all that well. The thoughts of your odd relationship with one of the strongest demons in the Devildom were interrupted though, by rapid knocking on your door.

"Coming, coming." You called out, trying to mask the shake in your voice. Upon opening the door, you locked eyes with none other than the demon on your mind. "You gotta hide me, he's gonna kill me for this." "What?" He was panting, like he had just ran a marathon. On reflex, you stiffened and just stared at him. The silence between the two of you was deafening, with you staring at the Avatar of Greed with a bewildered expression. Until the sound of heavy stomping started to draw near.

You saw Mammon stiffen before grabbing you by the wrist. "Damn it, you waited too long. If he catches us now we'll both be in trouble. C'mon!" Like a bullet, Mammon shot down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door, dragging you along the whole way. You attempted to glance behind you a few times, but only really managed to catch a glimpse of glittering scales that disappeared around the corner nearly as soon as you saw it. Was your guardian being chased by a dragon or something?

Well, whatever it was didn't matter now, since Mammon was now dragging you through the streets of the Devildom. The House of Lamentation began to fade into the distance as he dragged you further and further away. It wasn't as harsh and quick as before, but you were still probably going to have a bruise in the morning. You were actually keeping up with him fairly well, only lagging behind just a little. Running around stealing hearts is pretty decent cardio, you guessed. Honestly, you were just hoping Lucifer wouldn't be as pissy as usual about the two of you breaking curfew. You weren't a stranger to "delinquent" type activities, but you'd rather not sit through an hour long lecture again.

Bringing your attention away from your thoughts and to your surroundings, you found it much brighter and lively than it was before. Colourful lights and loud music filled the streets as many demons darted amongst the crowds. It reminded you vaguely of the times you'd pass by the Red Light District. Your leader had gone in there multiple times in the past in order to gain more insight in the Metaverse, but you had preferred to stay as far away from there as possible. Now wasn't the time for preferences though, seeing as your only protector was now dragging you deep into the heart of it.

Mammon finally stopped dragging you once you entered the largest building in the area. You could tell long before you had entered that it was a Casino. He had stopped at one of the many tables on the ground floor, sitting down and preparing to play the next game. The other demons seated at the table greeted him happily, but you couldn't help but notice the way they looked at you. "Mammon, I thought we were hiding. Whoever we're running from would guess we're here in a heartbeat." "Listen, it's just gonna be one quick round and we'll get outta here, yeah? I haven't been able to come here since Lucifer made me look after you all the time. Just play on your D.D.D. or somethin' while you wait." Mammon waved you off dismissively, already grabbing the cards the dealer had set out for him. You just sighed at sat on the ground next to him, pulling out the aforementioned cellular device. You didn't really have anything downloaded on it, and none of your contacts would probably be good to chat with. Honestly, there wasn't much you wouldn't give to be at home right about now or to at least tell your friends that you were alright and not dead.

Though you had lost track of time a while ago, if you had to guess you had been there for three hours. You were just seated on the floor while the Avatar of Greed won and lost and won and switched the game and lost and won, a process that was ever repeating. You had given up idly scrolling Devilgram a while ago, and now you were flicking around the home screen for some form of entertainment. Sure, you could've just left him at the table and went home, but you'd rather not take the chance to become some random demon's dinner that night. After a while, your eyes settled on an application with an odd symbol. It looked a bit like a crow's eye, so maybe it was something to do with Karasu? You thought about tapping on it, but held back for a moment. Considering your previous history with mysterious applications that bore an eye symbol, you were a bit wary of just pressing on it. But ultimately, you took the chance. There was no way some place like the Devildom would have a Metaverse anyway, right? Still, you braced yourself.

No sort of voice or anything came from the device, and you didn't feel any sort of rippling effect on your body like you would usually feel after using the MetaNav. You let out the breath you were holding in, before glancing back up at Mammon. Based on his current expression, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. You could just barely see the tops of the stacks of chips on the table from your position on the floor, but they weren't anywhere near his side of the table. With a pout, you rested your head on one of your hands. "I don't get what Mammon sees in this place. I mean I get he's the Avatar of Greed and all, but seriously. It's a damn Casino, yet he acts like he's a damn kid at a Carnival or something." You muttered under your breath, barely audible to even you over the loud chatter of the demons around you. "Mammon, Avatar of Greed, Casino, Carnival." A voice repeated from your lap. You jumped in shock, nearly dropping your phone before it uttered one final phrase. "Location found. Beginning Navigation."

The familiar headache and rippling feeling racked through your body as you stood up. But when you looked around, there was no traces of your Guardian or any other demons for that matter. You were standing outside of what was definitely some sort of travelling carnival, the type that they put up in one night and moved the next day. Next to the entrance was a young looking person of a tall stature, who held a simple tome in their hands. As they noticed your presence, they smiled and waved you closer.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

End Prologue. Continue?

*It seems that Temperance isn't back yet, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to keep playing.*

(This was getting kinda long, you y'all will have to wait just a little longer for shadow Mams. Don't worry, the angst will be very delicious. Or at least it will be for me. Like always, any additions or edits will be made as needed! Hope you did enjoy it, even though it is pretty self Indulgent. Mammon will get more character later lol, and you'll be meeting characters slower than the main game sorta. It has a slower start I think is what I'm trying to say? I dunno. Also, the Carnival palace concept is not set in stone, and may or may not change. Ciao!)

#obey me imagines #obey me mammon #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me gender neutral mc #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x gn!mc #obey me barbatos #if you squint #im going to take a 5 hour nap now lol #stolen paradise #new tag for the AU

[5lazarus]

Lazarus' Writing Prompt Challenge

In the name of democratizing institutional knowledge, I'm sharing a challenge I've used in writing classes before and think would be really fun to explore in fandom spaces and elsewhere. The idea is to stretch your writing muscles and push yourself to try new things, and really experiment and exercise your writing skills. You don't improve or grow unless you push yourself, and here's an easy way how! Pick a letter, a number, and a character, and see what you get! Or let people prompt you randomly--the point is to have fun and surprise yourself! The letter will pick what perspective you write in, the number will pick the setting, and the character will pick the style! Take the paragraph I quoted and copy the style of the writer! LETTER A. First person B. Third person objective C. Third person limited D. First person plural E. Third person omniscient for definitions and examples, check out this article here! NUMBER 1. a rainy beach in the morning 2. a coffee shop in a Renaissance trade city 3. in the woods at night, under a clear sky 4. on a ship with the shore just past the horizon 5. in the tea mountains, during a drought CHARACTER !. “For one thing, Orlando had a positive hatred of tea; for another, the intellect, divine as it is, and all worshipful, has a habit of lodging in the most seedy of carcasses, and often, alas, acts the cannibal among the other faculties so that often, where the Mind is biggest, the Heart, the Senses, Magnanimity, Charity, Tolerance, Kindliness, and the rest of them scarcely have room to breathe.” --Orlando, Virginia Woolf @. "Now they journeyed down that river but were again in fear from Melko, and fought affrays with his Orc-bands and were in peril from the wolfriders, but his firedrakes sought not at them, both for the great exhaustion of their fires in the taking of Gondolin, and the increasing power of Ulmo as the river grew." --The Fall of Gondolin, JRR Tolkien #. "Three doors down was a little cocktail bar with a glass sign over it that was illumined some way from inside and said 'BAR.' Stan hurried in. The murals jagged crazily this way and that up the three-toned wall and a radio was playing softly where the bar man nodded on a stool at one end of the bar. Stan laid a dollar on the polished wood. 'Hennessy, Three Star.'" Nightmare Alley, William Lindsay Gresham $. "Perhaps a very little thought will now enable you to account for those repeated whaling disasters--some few of which are casually chronicled--of this man or that man being taken out of the boat by the line, and lost. For, when the line is darting out, to be seated then in the boat, is like being seated in the midst of the manifold whizzings of a steam-engine in full play, when every flying beam, and shaft, and wheel, is grazing you. It is worse; for you cannot sit motionless in the heart of these perils, because the boat is rocking like a cradle, and you are pitched one way and the other, without the slightest warning; and only by a certain self-adjusting buoyancy and simultaneousness of volition and action, can you escape being made a Mazeppa of, and run away with where the all-seeing sun himself could never pierce you out." --Moby Dick, Herman Melville %. "In real life there is something fraying about their host, a suspicion of unraveling weave; being at his leisure, he wears a simple wool gown. The new carpet, for their inspection, is stretched out on two trestle tables. The ground is not crimson but a blush color: not rose madder, he thinks, but a red dye mixed with whey. 'My lord cardinal liked turkey carpets,' he murmurs. 'The Doge once sent him sixty.' The wool is soft wool from mountain sheep, but none of them were black sheep; where the pattern is darkest the surface has already a brittle feel, from patchy dyeing, and with time and use it may flake away. He turns up the corner, runs his fingertips over the knots, counting them by the inch, in an easy accustomed action. 'This is the Ghiordes knot,' he says, 'but the pattern is from Pergamon--you see there within the octagons, the eight-pointed star?' He

smooths down the corner, and walks away from it, turns back, says 'there'--he walks forward, puts a tender hand on the flaw, the interruption in the weave, the lozenge slightly distorted, warped out of true. At worst, the carpet is two carpets, pieced together. At best, it has been woven by the village's Pattinson, or patched together last year by Venetian slaves in a backstreet workshop. To be sure, he needs to turn the whole thing over. His host says, 'Not a good buy?'" --Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel

tagging a few people who I think might be interested! feel free to send me a prompt as well! @saathiray, @ellie-effie, @the-venereal-bede, @necronomiconiclasm, @batsy22-me, @pedlimwen, @inquisitoracorn, @sapphosewrites, @lantur, @josiecarioca, @masaotheheckindog, @maria-de-salinas, @hbprincealice, @snapescapades, @paraparadigm, @visceralcoma, @noire-pandora, @potatowitch, @musetta3, @dreadfutures Let me know if you want to be prompted and I'll send you one! Pretty proud of this--if I taught a creative writing course, this would be one of the exercises I'd use. And if you end up using it, please tag me if you end up posting it! I'd love to see what anyone does with it!

#writing challenge #writing prompt #prompt list #go wild y'all #this tumblr beta wordpost is fascinating #it doesn't let you write vowels half the time #prompts #writeblr #writing exercise #writing inspiration

[mintenochian]

what other people want added to Minecraft: g u n s

what I want added to Minecraft

•Birds

-For multiple biomes, but mainly for the forests.

-Songbirds would add SO MUCH life to the otherwise quiet areas of the game

-Ravens and crows would be awesome and could use some of the parrot mimicking AI

-Cardinals in the snow biomes would bring a GORGEOUS pop of colour into the white atmosphere

-Seriously we need something to populate the sky, parrots do NOT fly like they should

-nests in trees, can find eggs in them

-doesn't really add a use but fun new feather types would be cool

•Owls

-technically still a bird but would go really well in covered rooftop forests and snow biomes

-we're already getting larger avians added in the form of vultures so why not more large birds?

•Mice and / or rats

-absolute precious babies

-sadly would go well with owls :(

-with cave update coming we need adorable rodents scurrying around

-lil bastards could make mouseholes inside of blocks

-will they be tameable? idk.

-adds the necessity for cheese

•Deer

-MOJANG this is a MUST, this is a NEED

-You literally have pigs, chickens, cows, and sheep spawning in forests what the fuck

-Deer with spotty baby fawns??? Yes

-Young bucks with different stages of antler growth? Yes

-Fawns frolicking in flower forests bc they feel safe

-Stripped wood appearing on trees where bucks scrape velvet off their antlers

-Being able to collect sets of antlers when they fall off periodically (would NOT be attainable by killing the deer, you have to wait for them to shed)

•Elk and Moose

-Same vein as deer

-Bigger, much bigger, neutral instead of passive, less shy

-Snowy biomes

-Better additions than fucking llamas tyvm

-Sidenote but savannahs could also really use some endangered deer-like species to help raise awareness for their status

•Squirrels

-Mojang plz

-Adds nuts to Minecraft ;)

-Black, grey, red, and mixed colour squirrels and breeding

-Brings life to forests like songbirds and deer

•Bears

-Mojang bby you literally already have a neutral bear in Minecraft why have you not reskinned it for grizzly/brown/black bears?

-Bear caves

-Hibernating mobs

-Brings more use to the beehives and bees, bears could be attracted to any area that has more than one bee hive with honey

•WOLVES AND DOGS

-They NEED the ocelots and cats update

-More wolf types (red, timber, snow, black, etc)

-Actual wolf packs (the AI would be difficult to program but the doges are worth it)

-Please let the howl at the moon, if foxes get to say ringdingding all night long wolves deserve to be allowed to howl

-More dog breeds (I know that there's no reason for domesticated dog breeds in Minecraft but ACTUALLY THERE IS)

-Hunting dogs like springers that can jump and run faster

-Foxhounds :D

-Most Important Goodest Boy: Herding dogs like collies and sheepdogs

-Herding dogs could be found in plains where cows and sheep spawn and create herds

-LET DOGS LAY DOWN FOR FUCKS SAKE

•Herding

-Instead of having to pen up and enclose your livestock you could form herds of cows and sheep

-Your Goodest Boi herding dog would protect them and move around with them when they graze

-Just soft peaceful minecraft tingz

•Salt licks

-Something SO SMALL but would make SO MUCH HAPPINESS

-Drawing new cows into your herd by putting up a salt lick

-I'm soft

-I guess salt would be a new ore???

•Bird feeders

-idk I think it would be cool

-excess seeds used for SOMETHING

•Raccoons

-The coolness of wolves, the chaos of foxes, the cunning of cats

-thumbs

-be gay do crimes

-can open chests (trigger trap chests to catch them?)

-Fantastic little shits

-Not tameable but will trust players like foxes do

•Snakes

-I know it's a lot to ask and it would be hard to make them look good

-But??? Imagine a tiny lil garter snake in your garden

-unlikely but would be so fantastic

•Rope

-climeable

-please Mojang we need this so badly

-imagine the ships? The bridges? The bell towers and everything?

-super easy to add, just reskin vines and add a string crafting recipie

•Butterflies and Moths

-Bflies could be a unique mob to flower forests and friends with bees

-if moobloom is added they would all be BEST BUDS

-get it "buds" ahahaha

-help with flower polination but just gives a TON of life to flower forests

-We literally have lanterns in minecraft why do we NOT have moths? Such a cool aesthetic addition.

-helps fill both the daytime and nighttime sky

•Hummingbirds

-fourth member of BEST BUDS

-just soft baby

-i love birbs okay

-the only avian who does not work for the bourgeoisie

•Fireflies

-10 million of them please

-they give great hugs

-adds so much atmosphere to the night world

•Cheese

-We have milk

-We have, presumably, goat milk

-Quit being cowards and add butter and cheese

-Butter churn job block for villagers

-V funny bc they have no arms to churn with?? Oh well

•Seashells

-Something decorative and beautiful that could 1) liven up beaches and 2) have snails and crabs inside!

-Mojang plz do not add sand dollars to the game people already don't know how to tell if they're still alive before trying to take them home

•Whales

-WHALES.

-Imagine something as massive as the ender dragon but peaceful. Allows you to stand on them (idk how but make it happen Jeb)

-WHALE SONGS.

-Being so deep and far out into the ocean, and when the moon is high in the sky and you're sitting in your boat, you just hear the beautiful melancholy sounds of the whales in the distance

•Jellyfish

-Idk if y'all know this but the glow squid is a bad idea

-Dream buddy you fucked up, please use your influence to get in contact with Mojang and have them redo the vote. People would have so much regained respect for you if you tried to fix your mistake.

-Also why does a speedrunner get to tell millions of people what mob would bring more life to Minecraft? He's only playing the game for 5 minutes smh

-aNYWAYS

-Jellyfish could literally do everything the glow squid is going to and look better for it AND possibly be neutral instead of peaceful

•Orcas

-Not much to say but it would liven up the frozen water biomes a bit

•Penguins

-You already know why

-Imagine giving a new home to all the Club Penguin players? Legendary.

-Gender doesn't exist in Minecraft but we all know penguins would be hella gay

•Lobsters

-I think they would be cute

-You would NOT BE ABLE TO BOIL THEM ALIVE THANK YOU VERY MUCH

•Mermaids

-Never going to happen since passive mobs are generally real life animals but it would be so cool

•Otters

-they can hold hands

-brings life to the rivers

-super cute

•Frogs and possibly toads

-Swamp gods

-Absolute mad lads

-maybe grow from tadpoles

-wouldn't do much but needed

•Fairy Forests

-NOT Twilight Forests. Not a new dimension.

-Just gentle hidden groves in forests

-ADD FAIRY RING GENERATION TO MINECRAFT.

•Big cats

-Tigers, lions, bobcats, panthers

-Literally anything that could finally add a strong predator possibility to savannahs and jungles

•Zebras and Giraffes

-Shy and skittish

-cannot ride (their skeletal structure is NOT MADE FOR CARRYING HUMANS)

-Super cute tho, brings much needed life to savannahs

•Camels

-The better llama

-Can honestly just be a reskin

-brings much needed life to the desert

-spits and wears carpet and forms caravans like llamas

•Lemurs

-Easier to add to "jungles" than monkeys

-it would be really cool if we could just get a Rainforest biome

-King Julian stans awaken

•Red pandas

-we need them

-cuter than normal pandas and you can @ me

-better idea than sloths or koalas

•More Eldritch Horror Hostile Mobs

-Fun fact time

-The enchanting table language already has Lovecraftian references

-"phnglui mglwnafh cthulhu rlyeh wgahnagl fhtagn" is literally a quote from the enchanting table

-translates to "In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming."

-Bet you didn't know that fun fact

-aNYWAYS add the Kraken to Minecraft instead of the shitty guardians. Thanks.

-imagine how cool it would be to see lights slowly extinguish as something terrifying and dangerous slowly moves in for the kill

-torches get extinguished and can get relit

-if not relit fast enough Something will be waiting

•Ice statues

-We have giant fossils and ship wrecks and cool stuff like that but please imagine finding a GIANT humanoid ice sculpture in an ice spikes biome

-maybe bones inside to show you that... That wasn't carved or naturally generated.

•Skeletons

-Not a mob but a decoration block

-Found in temples, mineshafts, and caves

-implied to be the remains of miners and explorers

-rare

-also implies that every skeleton you kill has some backstory since they look the same

•Constellations

-Not real world star maps but completely unique to Minecraft

-chance for LOTS of fun references

-The stars are your only companions in an apocalyptic world where you are the last of your kind

-Space is gay minecraft is gay thus minecraft space is gay

•Corn

-we have butter in this list

-we have salt in this list

-popcorn. That is all.

And finally

•Leeks

-mostly a joke but would be a cool crop

-100% a reference to Hatsune Miku the creator of Minecraft

DISCLAIMER: I recognize that mobs are added to Minecraft to serve a purpose within the game and that many of these mobs would be better in mods and such, but I also feel like many of these suggestions would really bring so much more life to parts of the game that really need it. Even if they don't serve a huge purpose, they would still be really amazing additions imo.

I would love to see the ideas and suggestions that other people have for what they want added to Minecraft, please TAG ME if you make a post like this, I wanna hear and read it!

#minecraft #cave update #caves and cliffs #mojang #minecraft update #minecraft ideas #video games #mcpe #mc #minecon #minecraft earth #minecraft dungeons #minecraft live #minecraft design #game design #mineblr

[griffin-xiv]

New Horizons

Still light-headed from traveling by aetheryte, G’hana took slow, deliberate breaths to quell her nausea. She could still smell the steppe - the invigorating scent of so much damp grass, with a touch of earthy animal musk - and when she squeezed her eyes shut, she could still see it, too: a verdant carpet stretching to the feed of far away mountains beneath a vast azure sky through which fluffy white clouds drifted lazily, casting shadows in their image over distant herds of grazing sheep. She had never seen anything like it. 

The sky above her now was not so different, but the air was. It was briny and balmy, and the breeze carried the cries of hungry shorebirds. She had reported here, to the La Noscean coast - another place she’d never seen - at the chairman’s behest. She was just finishing her errand when he reached out to her via company issued linkpearl. That technology, like aetheryte technology, made her queasy.

Opening her eyes, she shifted the weight of her leather satchel; it was heavy with pearl ginger and yellow ginseng she’d collected along her route from the Doman Enclave to the Azim Steppe on behalf of the company physicians. In her ambition, G’hana had volunteered to fulfill their order for the herbs before she’d set foot in the kitchen or even settled into her room. The rush that followed was the natural consequence of that decision.

She’d been disheveled when she encountered R’zevi Tia the eve before her departure. He was not like the tias she grew up with. He was taller, stronger - she wasn’t surprised when he told her that he was a monk. She had never met a monk before. Although her tribe had seldom descended from the mountains to trade with the people of Ala Mhigo, they shared their reverence for the Destroyer - members of the monkhood were respected. Their meeting was brief, but felt decidedly unhurried compared to the whirlwind of cleaning, stocking, packing, and planning for her dispatch to Othard that was already beginning to fade from memory.

Here, now, she drank in the sight of the ocean, and the scrubby, wildflower covered slope. The new headquarters was just to her left. The mist-colored mansion was nothing like the previous building, but the garden was once again planted with elegant trees and shrubs with lavender leaves and flowers that complemented the colors in the ornate stonework, a stylish palette ranging from charcoal to snow.

Walking from the steps to the door, G’hana turned her thoughts to the menu for tomorrow. Breakfast options would be fresh fruit, La Noscean toast, dodo omelette. For lunch: alligator pear salad or pan-fried mahi-mahi - and for dinner: mole loaf or raptor stew. She wondered if there needed to be a vegetarian option for dinner. Upon opening the door, G’hana felt swallowed by the spacious, dimly lit red interior of the building. It looked warm, but was, in fact, drafty - which wasn’t a bad thing, after a moon in the oppressive dry heat of the sultanate.

Fatigued and still in a rush, G’hana found a desk where she could scrawl out a note, and another housekeeper to deliver it to the clinic, along with the satchel:

Miss Himaa,

I am sorry I couldn’t deliver these supplies personally. I have just returned from overseas and have much to do to prepare for tomorrow’s kitchen service. I would love to have you in the kitchen for tea when you’re able.

Respectfully, 

G

Her work here had only just begun.

((Mentioned: @hadriel-ffxiv, @rzevi-tia-ffxiv, @khairxiv))

#writing #ashen wolves

[bbhyeoliskooks]

…〔𝐈𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬〕…

FINAL, PT. ONE.

Having an unrequited crush on Soobin was difficult, but you manage to make them hidden so he’s oblivious. It’s getting harder though, since each time you see him, you fall deeper into his mesmerizing eyes. You want to get rid of your feelings for him, so you grow closer to a boy named Beomgyu. However, when your one of your best friends, Sunhye asks you to back away so she can have a chance with Soobin, everything inevitably comes crashing down on you.

intro / one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / finale, pt. 1 / finale, pt. 2

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Pairing: Beomgyu x Reader (female) x Soobin

Genre: 4 ¾  cups of angst, literally no sprinkle of fluff in here 

(Damn, I’m going to be honest here. This made me sob so hard as I was writing this, I’m sure all of you are going to hate me after this because I would too :cc Like, I really broke my own heart here as the writer of this series. Part one will mostly be focused on Soobin’s feelings with a few events of the reader here and there~! And just warning you- get your tissues ready for this one. I’m so sorry in advance, please forgive me.)

Playlist: Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, Something, Still Into You, Confession, Crazy For You

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Pacing around the room with heavy feet, Soobin rewound the events from yesterday as he tried to call you from the phone several times in a minute. Every time he’d ring up your phone you’d answer right away, yet this time you weren’t picking his calls up. Was it because you were already tucked in bed, sleeping through your blaring ringtone? Or was it because you were still angry at him for how immature he acted today? Guilty enough, he felt terrible for not talking to you all day, and seeing you get frustrated since he was ignoring you created a dim spot in his conscience. But this was what he chose to do. Sure it was unbearable- extremely to the point where he wanted to yell out loud how much he adores you even sitting there, but he didn’t want to talk to someone who would break his heart sooner or later. That part was inevitable...

12am almost passed by the time he stopped trying to contact you. It was a quiet hour with his feet trudging against the white carpet- the only noise being there at the moment. His parents were already fast asleep, probably dreaming of counting sheep who jumped over a few fences in their dreams. He was really silly for not getting some rest, right? Instead of worrying about some girl, he could be getting the rest his body deserved after such a long day. Lots of concerns occupied his head including how you were doing, but he needed to stay optimistic which meant sleeping it off in hopes that the next day would be better. 

At the same time though, there would be no harm in checking up on you! If he could just sneak one peek at you even if through the window you were sleeping, he’d be okay with that. He just needed to be sure that you were okay… which led him to throw on his black jacket and rush out of the house with hasty feet. 

As he rushed against the forest trees, chest heaving up and down from how fast he was sprinting, in no time he was able to get to your house. There were a lot of trees in your backyard which he could use to his advantage to hide himself if you were somehow doing a task in the middle of the night outside. He didn’t want you to see him, almost seeming like a shadow in the night with no light to be found except with the glimmering pale light of the moon. There’d be no way you’d notice him as long as he hid himself well; he had no doubt!

When he entered your backyard through the secret passage you two planned to use whenever there was an emergency, he soon found the perfect tree to use as a cover. Honestly he wasn’t sure if you were asleep since sleep schedules these days were hectic, so he clung on tight to the tree where nobody could see him spy on you through the glass. In only a few seconds later, he would call himself foolish for acknowledging the fact that… His finger ceased its movement against the bark of the tree once he realized what was happening, nails grazing at the rough path before a soft and sad smile decorated his face. Why didn’t he know? Why couldn’t he realize this already? You were sitting there on the bench where you two would meet in the middle of the night, but this time however, you were with someone else. With that same person who he thought he’d never be a rival with. With that same person he had been dreading to come closer to you. With that person who’d win you over for sure. Which person could it be other than that darned Choi Beomgyu who reached you first? His heart was heavy with agony, being painfully strung when you giggled for God only knows how many times as Beomgyu tickled your stomach. 

Bringing up the shaking hand to his chest where his heart stung, he did his best to appease the pain even if the love of his life found their soulmate. He had so much time to acknowledge the feelings he tried to conceal for so long, and now this was definitely karma. The bleak wind swirled around his head, messing up his black hair but hell, he couldn’t care less. He lost you. Soobin lost you. And like a fool, he lost you before he could even kiss you again. His first one with you was the last time, he sighed. He couldn’t bother you anymore for the fact that you’d definitely be happy with Beomgyu; he’d finally come to the realization in such a terrible anguish he could ever imagine. 

With unknowingly drops of tears streaming down his cheeks, he achingly nodded at the beautiful sight of you smiling after a long time of not being able to see the genuine one, “I guess I was too late.”

If he could turn back the time where only the two of you were together, he would hold you in his arms, kissing the top of your forehead while murmuring how much he loves you.

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Soobin?

Or Beomgyu?

Your best friend since eighth grade, Soobin…? Or charming Beomgyu who you’ve been arguing back and forth till now…? 

To you, these were the hardest questions you could ever be asked because, really. Who could choose between both of them? They completed you in more ways that you could ever hope for, whether it be through development or just plain loneliness. One of them made you feel so many things from true desperation to euphoria that you’ve never experienced before while one made you feel comfortable with whatever you didn’t want to go through. One held your hand and made sure you were okay with it while the other one was bold, holding you whenever he felt like it. One had stayed by your side up to now while the other one wavered back and forth. Here we are again. All of this fighting made you feel tired, completely exhausted from rethinking and rethinking over and over again. Not to mention the fact that they both kissed you this past year… but, you weren’t one to argue which one was better.

Love triangles were certainly messy, and you never imagined yourself to be in any one of them. The future had different plans, obviously. 

What a predicament you’ve gotten yourself in without knowing of what was to come. 

You thought back to the way they made you feel from before to now.

Whenever you glanced at Beomgyu, your heart would flutter to the point where you wanted to rip it out, but Soobin had been there for you much longer. Starting from eighth grade, he was extremely sweet to you, placing you first before all of his needs even if you didn’t ask him to do it in the first place. However Beomgyu made you feel alive, making sure that you were all smiley and giggly with him at all appropriate times. They both had a special place in your heart where you had already carved out a hole for each of them. This far into the game already, you were sure they were both your soulmates. It isn’t possible to have two or even if soulmates exist, but this was tearing apart your heart much more compared to the beginning of the year in which everything went totally wrong. 

Gosh, just why did it have to be you?, you pondered as you prepared for school. Why did they have to be so charming? Why did they affect you in so many ways? And why couldn’t you honestly say you liked both of them at the same time? Because look, you really couldn’t. You just couldn’t! If you did, then it’ll crush both of their hearts in the end regardless of who you choose. 

It wasn’t long before you became tired of all of this choosing. You decided to take a walk to clear your head instead. 

Passing by the route to school, you surprisingly came face to face with Yeonjun who seemed to lose himself in his thoughts. Hand rubbing against his chin in wonder, he walked quite slowly which caused worry to creep up your back. You’d never seen him this way before, so something must’ve been bothering him. Maybe you could help him like he did to you one time. And not to mention that you owe him one for getting the group together! 

“Hey, Jjunie! Is there something wrong? You look a bit lost today.”

He turned back with a grin on his face, shaking his head. Hesitation was weighing on his shoulders as if a great pressure was placed upon it. To be honest, he couldn’t sit back anymore and watch any of it go down. Seeing two of his best friends fight for a girl for several months made him uneasy, his stomach a carousel he couldn’t put a stop to. Back then he thought everything would work out in the end. Back then he assured his raging mind that everything would be okay, slowly losing belief in what he thought. Back then he didn’t want to budge in since it wasn’t his business. Now though… he could say differently. Of course he didn’t want to be nosy into the situation, but any more of this and he swears he’ll explode. 

So that’s what brought him here today. He was actually hoping to find you during the weekend in order to set some things straight- well, try to for the most part. 

Not even five minutes later, the two of you were messing around on the swings, talking about whatnot when Yeonjun brought up the tender subject of the two boys. To Kai’s favorite plushies, how he keeps dropping every bowl of noodles he cooks, to the few songs he produced as a joke- you weren’t prepared at all after that story talk. He was ever so careful with the topic too, fingers twiddling together reluctantly for an answer he couldn’t even find himself. 

“You know that whoever you choose… the other one is going to be hurt, right? I hope you choose correctly since this is a hard decision to make. I’m not choosing sides, but the other day Soobin mentioned to me that he really really loves you more than anyone here. He even-” a clasped hand from the chains beside him threw over his mouth in panic, and he laughed it off as if he didn’t blab too much information in the first place. 

You cocked your head to the other side, looking at him as if he was joking at what he said in the last part. His eyes were blown wide with fear since he caught his big mouth talking too much at the perfect time. You knew it all, but the truth still remained. He was right, and you hated it more than anything. Soobin loved you so much, you could see it after being so blind for so many years. 

With one last push on your feet dangling on the edge, the wind brushes against your cheeks while you undo your stress with a ragged sigh.

“I know, Yeonjun. I know.” 

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Weeks passed by after the incident of what happened that night, despite you not knowing entirely what that event was. Soobin continued to give you the cold shoulder, glaring down at you whenever you tried to speak to him. Gradually, you made no efforts to talk to him anymore. All of this back and forth was like talking to a wall who wouldn’t listen simply because it’s a wall. He wouldn’t listen to what you wanted to say, what you wanted to do with him as an apology. Whatever you did, he would only turn around and walk away while you hopelessly kept shouting his name. At this point, it was far past useless.

If Soobin wasn’t going to talk to you, then so be it. You couldn’t blame him either for what he chose. There was no reason to get angry with him when this was all your doing. Unfortunately, it all came crashing down on you one fateful afternoon when he brought you to the back of the school to “talk.”

“Hey, sweet pea?” His voice was shaking with trepidation as he tapped on your shoulder. “Could we, um, talk for a second?” 

Your chatter with Beomgyu ceased when you stared back at the other boy, your nerves becoming like jelly in front of him. There was a tense, pursed frown on his face when you turned back in worry to hear what his request was. So he was finally talking to you now after almost a month of ignoring you, huh? It was still the same though. He had this weird effect on you whenever he stared deep into your eyes, as if searching for the soul you had in yourself. 

“What is it, Soobin? I-Is there something wrong?” You inched closer to him, but he scooted away, his feet carrying his whole body before he could stop them. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you in the eye, choosing to stare down on the floor as if the ground was much more interesting than what you had to say. His body was a whole quivering mess, and he very much despised how he felt due to your glossy eyes- which is the ultimate reason why he needed to tell you right now. 

With one swift pull on your arm, he guided you to the back of the school where only the two of you remained. You were quite confused on why he dragged you back there. 

A few minutes overflowing with silence passed with the exception of outside ambience. You were getting more antsy as the ticks of the clock passed by, wondering if he was going to say anything. He must’ve been troubled greatly if he was wondering whether to speak up or not. If it was up to you, you would’ve definitely thought he was going to speak up about ignoring each other when he finally looked you in the eye.

You searched his eyes for any emotion, may it be something dejected or sorrowful. And you were able to strike right on the dot. The whites of his eyes were burning with pain, really anybody could feel it from a mile away. Feeling much more worried than petty, you were going to do something- anything that would comfort him until...

“I’m giving up on you,” he blurted out. You ceased immediately in your tracks, the whole, wide world plummeting down and crushing you like a teensy spider. All of the air was winded from your chest, tightening when you comprehended his shattering words. You couldn’t hear anything except his soft, breaking voice murmur into the passing winds, yet that was going through one ear and out the other while you tried to understand what he was saying.  

“I know deep down that he’ll make you happier the most so please be well for me,” a tear slid down his cheek, but he rubbed it away with his fluttering, slender fingers. He pretended like they weren’t there even if it unbearably pinched his poor heart. Instantaneously, you sprinted to him due to the growing distance between you as soon as the first set of tears fell, your legs aching from how much power you put into them. “Soobin, I-” he interrupted what you were going to say by grabbing your hands into his once you reached him, squeezing when you drew closer. The boy stared into the clear tears welling up in your eyes, all the more feeling severe guilt cloud his choice. Other times you would cry because of someone or something that terribly upset you, but this time it was different. This time, he couldn’t pick up the tears that fell against his chest because he was the reason that hurt you in the first place. He hung his head low, the pressure of hurting you becoming stronger while he gazed down upon your teary  face. “Please, don’t make me regret my decision right now. I’m giving you up so you can be happier. That’s the least you can do for me, so just don’t say anything for now,” he begged. 

You adhered to his wish, sewing your mouth shut despite wanting to scream your lungs out.

“If I never knew you then I wouldn’t have ever seen so many gorgeous things because of you. I would’ve never experienced this much happiness through eighth grade and high school. I would’ve never known what it meant to love someone who is my best friend. I would’ve never known the true feeling of what love is. And it’s all because of you. Because of you, you brought beautiful colors into my world when I accidentally pushed your book and asked to be your new friend. Because of you, I really can’t say that I regret what we’ve become even if you’ve fallen for somebody else. Because of you, I’ve grown to love in the right way. I can’t be selfish and make you stay because in the end, you would’ve ran away from me. So that’s why I need to do the only thing that would hurt less for both of us.” 

“No, Soobin… please, listen to me this once. You’re the one. You’re the one that I choose,” you cried. 

“See?” He pointed at himself, smiling through the tears as he tried to swallow each one of them down. “You don’t feel any butterflies for me anymore. Your heart doesn’t waver whenever you see me. Your smiles aren’t because you love me in the way that I’ve always wanted, but because you only think of me as a friend. That says e-enough.” The breaking of his voice threw you over the edge and soon, you lost more breath than what you took in.

“I’m letting you go this time, okay? I can’t keep crushing myself- fighting for your love that’ll never be returned. Because even if I’m hurting myself, I know I don’t stand a chance against him. He makes you smile more than anyone here, even me. He turned you into the best version you could be through this mess, and those promises he gave you are still valid. He will protect you in ways that I can’t- as a lover who you can count on forever.” Soobin glanced at the streaming tears against your cheeks and with a swift thumb, brushed delicately against your cheeks so that they would disappear. “Please don’t cry for me now, make those efforts from before when you loved me towards him so that all of us can be content. This is one of the last things I’ll do for you before you go to him.” You shook your head frantically in an effort to make him stay, “No, Soobin! I can’t- I can’t let you go! I’ve loved you for so long that I just can’t… I don’t love Beomgyu- I’ve loved you this whole time!”

“No, sweet pea,” his lips turned into such a disappointed grin which absolutely broke you from the inside. “You love Beomgyu, I know you better than anybody else. Don’t say that just because I’m giving up on you…” he trailed off.

Soobin knew he was right for doing this. He was right in giving you up although the tears flowing ardently burned his cheeks. This was what his role was as your best friend. This was what he needed to do after such a draining time of holding you tight when nobody else could.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything anymore. Your throat throbbed as a huge lump appeared by itself, choking up the words you so desperately wanted to say. All of the butterflies from before had died in your stomach, taking captive your heart that died with them. You were done. 

No other words were spoken after that, and he assumed you heard enough for the day. 

Soobin eventually turned to go in strong silence when you suddenly crashed against his back, holding him as tightly as you could in your desperate embrace. 

“But Soobin, I love you! That’s what you wanted to hear, right?! I said I love you so please just don’t go away from me! I can’t do this without you,” you gasped before your throat ripped a loud sob from out of you. 

The boy shook his head before turning around to wrap his arms around you as gently as he could. His touch was warm to you, and you let yourself melt into his hug after a long time of holding it in. Although a bit reluctant, he let you lay your head on his shoulder, crying your heart out as loudly as you could. 

“I’m sorry, Soobin… I’m so sorry.”

Bringing his hand to pat your back like you two did whenever one was upset, he couldn’t help but undo his agony with tears falling on the crown of your head. Now he had been comfortable in sharing your tears, letting them pour as his eyes burned with such intolerable pain. “I know you are. And it’s okay. We were never meant to be in the first place.” His soothing voice which whispered in your ear continued on, “just… for the meantime, leave me alone. Let’s take a break for each other until these feelings go away.”

“Make sure to eat well without me, okay my cute sweet pea?” He nuzzled the bottom of his head onto the top of your head. “And don’t stay up too late for those exams that are coming, I know fully well that you’ll pass like you always strive to do,” he sniffled, holding you tighter in his arms without a thought of objection.

Like incessant, big drops of rain, many tears gathered into a puddle that fateful afternoon while you held onto each other, more seconds than what was needed.

“Farewell. I’ll miss you so much,” you croaked from underneath the hug that held you captive with such fondness and love. He never wanted to let go of the person who taught him what true love was, but you weren’t his to begin with. At last, he stared at your each and every feature, memorizing the subtle changes before pulling away to press a kiss on the forehead for one, last time. 

“I’ll miss you too Y/N, and I… I love you.”

“I love you too, Bin. Be happy for me too.”

٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ´`ﾟ٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ´`ﾟ٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ

Strolling around the garden of the school, Soobin trailed amongst the path way to the greenhouse. Not a lot of people came here during the winter when it was after school since the club called this a break time. It was absolutely silent, the only sound being the buzzing of the bothersome bugs outside. Pots of several flowers were now abandoned from the cold which entered through the front of the door, and they crumbled upon contact when he made physical contact with them. The solemn petals of the blooming flowers had long withered off onto the floor, dazzling the ground with a variety of entrancing colors on the scale. Soobin tried not to step on them to find his safe place which was in the corner containing the grey table. He always came here to clear his mind whenever distress popped up around the edge. 

Something caught his eye when he round the grey table, opting to take a few quiet steps towards it. There were two purple orchids laying side by side on top of the table, soon to be overlapping one another when Soobin’s fingers brushed beside them. A bit surprised, he was wondering why they were here. Nobody should’ve left something as pretty as them in the mysterious green house…! Who could’ve been that lazy not to give it to someone? He’d definitely give them to- No, he said he shouldn’t think about you, but it was so difficult. The remnants of one of his favorite days immediately brought him back to you no matter how much he wanted to erase your precious smile from his mind. 

( F l a s h b a c k )

- an excerpt from Chapter 3, if anybody remembers. 

A few seconds later, you found him with two purple orchids in his hand. He had picked the most beautiful ones in the wilting garden that you saw after scanning it, and you gasped in pleasant surprise. He ambled towards you with an adorable smirk on his face, and crouched down beside you.

“Bin… why did you pick those flowers?” He gazed deep into your eyes, and you felt your heartbeat swiftly skip a beat just like earlier. He tucked one of them into his ear, and you giggled at how sweet he looked. He mirrored the same chuckle, and you swore that you could feel something bloom in your chest. He looked as if he was a royal prince from those movies because of the glowing scenery behind him while he smelled the other one that was enclosed by his hand.

He shrugged, and looked down at the floor to hide his blossoming pink cheeks. “They just reminded me of you- delicate and lovely like an orchid.”

Before you could say anything and thank him, he softly tucked your chin into his hand, and moved your flowing hair to the side of your head. He tucked the orchid onto the crook of your ear, and took a step back to smile in pleasure as if he was admiring his work.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were a stunning princess, Y/N?”

Perhaps that was just another example of his newly, blooming feelings towards you. 

(  E n d  o f  F l a s h b a c k  )

There was a tug on the upper corners of his lips and he smiled, embracing the warm effect you still had on him even if you had completely crushed his fragile heart.

“She loved me, huh? I know she did.” 

And that’s one reason why Choi Soobin had to move on, like he promised to you years ago.

٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ´`ﾟ٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ´`ﾟ٩๑۶⁎⁍̴̆⁎ ๑)｡ﾟ

Posted: 12/14/20- 11:00pm

Tags:

#txt angst #txt fluff #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt series #txt reactions #beomgyu angst #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu series #soobin angst #soobin fluff #soobin scenarios #soobin imagines #soobin series #DAMN I BROKE MY OWN HEART #THE AUDACITY I HAVE #N E WAY BIG FAT STUPID CRIIIII

[yatorihell]

In The Darkness Chapter 60 - Back to Hogwarts

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 2,221

Summary: The trio are back to school. Do things get worse before they get better?

A fluff-ish birthday present for myself

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

The summer passed before Yato could even think about going back to school. Most days he stayed at home – not his should-be home at Grimmauld Place –, but Yukine’s house where he had stayed for the past few years.

He was thankful he hadn’t left anything important at Grimmauld Place; he’d yet stepped foot back in that house, the emotions would be too raw to handle without falling apart altogether. Ebisu, the freed house-elf, had stayed in residence with the assurance that he would maintain the house and look after Buckbeak and Coo Phone until Yato came back - if he ever did.

Yato may have gone mad if it wasn’t for Yukine’s company and the frequent visits from Hiyori, making distractions to keep him from the headlines of wizarding tabloids that speculated where the Sorcerer was, or what attack he was planning next.

However, today the Daily Prophet brought some good news. There was a new Minister of Magic; a small woman with long, white hair that spilled down her back and eerily pale eyes that stared back at Yato from the news pages. Amaterasu, they called her; a new Minister who promised hope and strength, crackdowns on the Dark Arts, and vigilance.

As for Yato, no visions plagued him, nor invasions that split his head open and made him claw his way back to reality. But he would admit only to himself that the all-encompassing rage that had bled into his heart that night at the Department of Mysteries would creep into his nightmares with insidious intent to turn him, to make him see reason in the Dark Arts, to join the Sorcerer. Until Sakura, smiling softly and weaving into his dreams amongst the darkness, would make the darkness recede for the night and Yato would wake up with tears on his face.

It seemed the darkness had let him be in peace for now, as long as Sakura was there.

Yato sighed. It really was a miserable birthday. Now seventeen and in his final year at Hogwarts, Yato had no idea what to do with himself, and he would be even more lost without Hiyori and Yukine to keep him company in their final year.

The distant clatter of dished in the kitchen reminded him that the pair were both downstairs waiting for him, hopefully not with a lavishly small yet sad party. He wouldn’t mind cake, though.

Yato brushed his teeth and plucked at his mop of hair, deciding it would be a lost cause to battle it before showering. He made his way downstairs, the sunlight dazzling him as it shone in through the window and backlit the light, orange curtains that framed it. The kitchen was a mess of dishes and icing sugar and cake batter, and a gentle scent of sweetness emanating from the oven that Hiyori had just closed.

“Anything for me?” Yato asked.

Hiyori spun around, the loose hairs from her ponytail and fringe whipping around her face. She shoved her oven-gloved hands as if they would reveal what she and Yukine were up to, despite the batter on her clothes and the tell-tale sprinkling of flour over Yukine’s blue apron.

“Not yet,” Yukine replied. He didn’t seem too bothered about being caught in the act – it was to be expected as Yato always woke up just before noon.

Yukine untied the apron strings behind his back and took it off over his head. “Happy birthday, old man.”

“Happy birthday!” Hiyori chimed in. She had removed her oven mitts and placed them on the side, highlighting the three small presents on the countertop.

Yato’s eyebrow quirked at the biggest, lumpiest, broom-shaped object that lay against the drawers. It was wrapped haphazardly in brown parcel paper and string with no note.

Yukine caught Yato’s look and smirked, knowing what he was thinking. “No, I didn’t buy you a new broom. I got Ebisu to send your Nimbus over so we can try out for Quidditch again.”

Yato blinked. They had left their teams following the Triwizard Tournament, and even then the entire Quidditch Cup had been cancelled that year. The Sorcerer’s return among other things had left no time for Quidditch between the Order of the Phoenix and exams.

“Why are we trying out for Quidditch, again?” Yato asked, rather stupidly.

Hiyori rolled her eyes. “It’s your last year at Hogwarts, you need to go out in a blaze of glory. You don’t want to disappoint your fans.”

Yato’s look lingered on Hiyori at the word ‘fans’. She had been, in fact, a fan of his since she saw him play for the first time. He wondered if that was still the case.

“That is,” Hiyori continued, “if you can beat me?”

Yato caught the smirk and roll of the eyes as Yukine turned away, his hands dipping into the mess of the kitchen sink as he began to tackle the mountain of dishes. Yato grabbed the parcel and threw it into his opposite hand, catching it without breaking eye contact. He smirked at Hiyori and ripped the paper off the broom in one fell swoop.

“That will be no problem at all.”

Yato’s other presents turned out to be a Potions for Dummies book from Yukine, who had caught wind that Yato had barely passed his Potions O.W.L.s exams the previous year. Yato groaned but thanked him regardless. He would have to start reading it if he wanted to pass his N.E.W.T.s. from Hiyori, new Quidditch gloves made of moleskin, tailored for the harsher Quidditch months in the winter.

The final present was more of a sentimental piece Ebisu had also sent over – Sakura’s wand case. Her actual wand had been lying on his bedside for months after Madame Kofuku had returned it to him, but now he could lay it to rest and keep it safe. Yato smiled down at the box and slipped it into his trouser pocket without a word.

“I’m gunna go get dressed.”

Yukine hummed in response to Yato’s announcement, dish suds up his arms already and small bubbles floating down to his bare feet, whereas Hiyori made a few noises that sounded like ‘okay’ as he flashed an appreciative smile at her.

Only when Hiyori saw him like this did she find herself lingering on him for a tad longer, her chest burning at the lazy smiles he so often threw her way. She pretended not to notice the way her heart flipped over. Half-awake and hair spiked up like a road-kill magpie, toothpaste in the corner of his lips and its scent that just about reached her as he turned away, blue eyes that could kill a girl…

Hiyori turned the thoughts away and pushed down the warming buzz in her cheeks and shoved the oven mitts back on.

Now was not the time for romance.

~

The Hogwarts Express rolled out of Kings Cross Station at eleven o’clock on an unusually foggy September morning.

The carriages and hallways were once again alive with first-year students on their way to their brand-new school, robes and all their precious things packed and stored away in small towers in the rear carriages. Yato, Hiyori and Yukine fought their way into an empty compartment and tried to ignore the whizzbangs and pops of colour that would explode every now and again against their doors window, and settled into the long slug ahead of them.

Yato buried his head in his Potions for Dummies book, ignoring the scenery change from urban metropolis to rolling fields and grazing sheep the further north they ventured. He grumbled every now and again, swearing that he would have to use all his free periods to do Potions if he stood a chance.

Hiyori smiled at the top of Yato’s head before glancing back out of the window, seeing the rising peaks of distant mountains over the top of Yukine’s head that signalled that they were nearly there.

The sky had begun to darken as the Hogwarts Express rolled over the outskirts of Hogsmeade when Yato threw his book back into his bag.

Yato groaned loudly and stretched his arms up until his fingers touched the ceiling. “I’m starving, I’m going to get something for the ride up to school. Want anything?”

Yukine and Hiyori both shook their heads in reply – they had been smart enough to bring lunch rather than try to get in on the pumpkin pasties, a feat that Yato was going to try and accomplish now. With a grumble, Yato ventured out of the carriage.

The hallways were quiet except for a few loose chocolate frogs that fled from the sound of Yato’s muffled footsteps on the plush red carpet. The blinds were drawn on almost every compartment he passed through, no doubt first-year students changing into their robes in preparation for their introduction to the school.

The train clattered and rattled, swaying Yato from side to side as he made his way further down the train. Yato felt his way down the corridor, the distant lights from sleepy villages not enough to light his way and the filtered lights from compartments only sending slivers of gold onto the floor.

Yato paused, his ears detecting the faintest noise that sounded like a whimper. He looked behind himself, finding the hallway as vacant as before. He took a step, shrugging it off before it came again.

A squeak of the train? A branch against the window?

Yato frowned and his eye caught on the compartment door on his left, slightly ajar and rocking back and forth on its railings with dull, methodical thumps.

“You good in there?” Yato asked. The interior was dark aside from the occasional orange flicker that flashed through the window, apparently vacant until the noise came again.

“Help…”

The faintest voice had Yato startled, but within the next second his hand was pushing the door wide open, his voice catching in his throat and one foot in the room that exploded with blue light.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Yato’s body jolted, every joint locking into place and making him keel over face-first into the compartment. He pushed the air from his lungs in a groan, his words trapped and unable to see who was pulling on his shoulders, dragging him fully into the compartment.

Short breathes came from his attacker, followed by a sweetly vindictive voice. “Father wants to have a word with you, Yaboku.”

Nora.

Yato wanted to curse her but all he could manage was another forced grunt, his nose pressed into the carpet that smelled like hundred-year-old pastries. He could feel the train gliding to a halt, accompanied by the growing swarm of students flooding out onto the platform.

“I’ll see you at home, Yaboku.” Nora stepped around Yato, her school robes brushing against his face and the door slamming shut behind her.

Yato wheezed another breath out, willing someone to come to find him, but the clamour outside and the dimness of the carriage would blot out his paralyzed body lying on the floor until the spell wore off. By that time, he would be well on his way back to London.

Agonising minutes passed, Yato fighting the immovable curse to the point of exhaustion until he was breathing shallow and rapid. This was it. He was going back to Father to be delivered on a silver platter to the Sorcerer.

The door slammed open with an almighty crash, jolting Yato from his thoughts of impending doom through his body remained perfectly still. He heard the faint gasp and swear behind him that was quickly followed by an uttered spell.

“Finite!”

Yato felt his joints unlock, aching despite only being bound for a short time and his jaw relaxed. He reached out his arms and faltered for a holding like a baby deer, cursing under his breath. He felt a hand under each armpit, being dragged up from the ground by Yukine and Hiyori along with questions of ‘are you okay?’ and ‘what the hell happened to you?’

“Nora.” Yato grunted, rolling his lower jaw and trying to make it feel less like melting butter. Yukine and Hiyori exchanged a look behind Yato’s back, their grip loosening as Yato got his bearings and exhaled. “She said Father was after me.”

Hiyori’s hand still rested on his upper arm, concern etched in her face. They hadn’t seen Nora since the Forbidden Forest when the centaurs had taken Oshi. She hadn’t even been present at the end-of-year feast, though Yato suspected she left straight after returning his mirror after she fled the forest.

Now she was back and trying to kidnap Yato.

“We saw her on the platform, she looked like she was in a rush,” Yukine replied bitterly.

Yato grumbled in return. If Father’s only option was to snatch him right outside of school, then it must have meant that he didn’t know where he nor Yukine lived. That was something to be thankful for at least.

The clamour outside on the platform had died down to a diminishing racket, students vanishing into the forest to load onto Thestral-drawn carriages that would take them to Hogwarts.

They would have a long wait to get to the castle, and something already told them that this year would not be better than the last.

#noragami #noragami aragoto #yato #yukine #hiyori #iki hiyori #nora #my writing #hp au #harry potter au #in the darkness

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): Before His Birth, His Birth and His Childhood

The Prophet is Given to a Foster Mother: Part 2

The Holy Prophet (PBUH) is brought to His Mother

The season of returning the foster children had arrived. So, Halima, who had taken our Holy Prophet (PBUH) under her wing and who loved him much more than her own children, had a cloud of sadness pervade her heart since she was about to be separated from him. She was going to be far from his fragrance of roses that reminded her of heaven.

However, she had no choice other than to deliver him and that is what they did. They took the radiant Muhammad (PBUH), went to Mecca, and delivered him to his mother in the midst of heartfelt tears.

The foster mother’s world was filled with sorrow whereas the real mother’s world was filled with happiness. One of them was in bliss for being reunited with her child and the other was burning in the fiery pain of being separated from him.

At that moment, it was as if an inspiration came to Halima’s heart and she pleadingly made the following offer with the fullest sincerity in her heart:

“Would you please allow my son to stay with me for a longer period of time? I am also afraid that he will come into contact with the Meccan plague”. 

This offer and wish was sincere. It was as if these sentences were spilt from the heart rather than her lips.

Dear Mother Amina was unable to oppose this genuine and heartfelt appeal and consented to her beloved child staying in the homeland of the Sa’d’s for some more time.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) is in Sa’d’s Homeland once again

Halima had attained her desire. In the endless pleasure of having her wish accepted, she returned to her homeland together with our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) sometimes went with his foster brother, Abdullah, to graze the sheep. The sheep would respond to his sweet smiles by bleating.

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) eyes always faced towards the skies. He would look up attentively and meaningfully as though he was going to discover something. It was as if he was waiting for a hand to reach down and take him to the high heavens.

In the meantime, a strange incident took place that did not go unnoticed: There was usually a cloud over our Holy Prophet (PBUH) that traveled over him and protected him from the sun.

All eyes were now on him. His beauty was on everyone’s tongue while his sweet love was in everyone’s heart. His honesty, good manners, and earnestness were always talked about.

His peers would compete for his amiable friendship.

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) days would pass peacefully and happily in the upland of the Sons of Sa’d.

The slitting of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) Chest

It was a beautiful spring day and the mid-morning sun was emitting life everywhere.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) whose face was filled with noor (light), and his foster brother, Abdullah, were grazing their sheep in a meadow that was near their home. They sat on a carpet of grass as they were having a nice conversation underneath a tree. After a while, Abdullah fell asleep on the tree’s cool shadow while the Master of the Universe (PBUH) thought about the Creator who encompassed the universe with incomparable beauty.

In the meantime, the sheep had dispersed far away. In order to have them turn back, the Holy Prophet (PBUH) walked away from Abdullah.

After a while, he saw two men clothed in white garments. Both of them had smiling faces and were pleasant. One of them had a golden bowl that was filled with snow in his hand. They quietly approached the Holy Prophet (PBUH).  They held him; they laid him on top of the standing grass that was like a Divine carpet. The Holy Prophet (PBUH) made no sound and no fuss. He knew that these pleasant people with clean and smiling faces would not hurt him.

In the meanwhile, Abdullah, who had fallen asleep on the tree’s cool shadow, was now awake.  When he saw the scene, he immediately began to run home in a hurry. He explained what he saw to his parents. Out of their excitement and worry, Halima and her husband did not notice how they rushed out of the house, as they hastily ran towards the Holy Prophet (PBUH). They reached the Holy Prophet (PBUH)’s side; however, the situation was not as Abdullah had described since nobody could be seen. In an instant, the men fulfilled their appointed duty and left. The Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) face had gone pale, and he lightly smiled as he stood on his feet.

Halima and her husband who were in too great of a flap, asked: “Sweetie, what happened to you?”

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) narrated the following:

“Two people with white garments approached me. One of them had a golden bowl filled with snow in his hand. They held me, slit my chest, took out my heart, and slit my heart as well. From my heart, they took out a black blood clot and threw it aside. They left after they cleaned my heart and chest with that snow”. 

He would be given the duty of Prophethood after many years passed.

One day, some of the Companions (Sahaba) had asked: “Oh Messenger of Allah, could you describe yourself to us?”

The Holy Prophet (PBUH) answered: I am the supplication of my father, Ibrahim. I am the glad tidings of my brother, Isa (Jesus). I am my mother’s dream. When she was pregnant with me, she saw a noor that rose from itself and lightened the castles of Damascus”.  After his answer, he explained the aforementioned situation in this way:

“I was nourished and brought up next to the sons of Sa’d bin Bakr. One day, I was grazing the sheep with my foster brother behind our home. In the meantime, two men in white garments approached me. One of them had a golden bowl filled with snow in his hand. They held me, slit my chest, took out my heart, and slit my heart as well. They took out a black blood clot from my heart and threw it aside. They cleaned my chest and heart with that snow”. 

In this phenomenon, our Beloved Messenger’s (PBUH) holy heart was widened with a soul and tranquility by the Divine Light and God Almighty. At the same time and from that day on, the nafs (soul) of the Holy Prophet (PBUH) was filled with holy emotions. And with the testifying of Divine lights (noor), his nafs was cleaned from every type of apprehension and doubt. It should be remembered here that the heart should not be thought of as some piece of meat. It is a dominical subtle faculty, Latifa -Rabbaniyya. To become better enlightened on this topic, it is beneficial to look at Hazrat Badiuzzaman’s explanation of the heart:

What is meant by the heart is not just a piece of meat like a pine cone. Instead, it is a dominical subtle faculty (Latifa Rabbaniyya), and the conscience, the purpose of feelings, intentions, and ideas, are its intellect. Therefore, an amenity has resulted from interpreting this piece of meat that contains the dominical subtle faculty: the dominical subtle faculty, the service that one does for his own spirituality, is like the service that is performed by the physical body.  Yes, just as the One who has endowed this physical body with life is like a life-producing machine and this material life is extant because of His handiwork, the physical body reaches degradation when its material life is halted. He animates and illuminates the dominical subtle faculty with deeds and circumstances; and when the light of faith diminishes, its true essence will be left remaining like a lifeless and inanimate statue. 

It is understood that the faith, knowledge, wisdom, and compassion of the material heart are closely connected to spirituality. In the same way, the relation between material and spiritual cleanliness is extant. In this regard, the filling of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) heart with knowledge, wisdom, Divine light, and enlightenment after the cleansing of his material heart, should not be seen as unreasonable. 

#allah #god #help #islam #religion #love #revert #convert #muslim #pray #salah #prayer #dua #hadith #quran #muslimrevert #muslimconvert #reverttoislam #converttoislam #reverthelp #reverthelpteam #howtoconverttoislam #welcometoislam

[unpack-my-heart]

EXIT

@tinyarmedtrex​ @xandertheundead​ @constantreaderfool​ @violetreddie​ @oldguybones​ @eds-trashmouth​ @moonlightrichie​ @toziesque​

The noxious smell of formaldehyde and death hung in the air like smoke, but Richie, for the most part, didn’t smell it anymore. Perhaps in the morning, when he walked through the large blue double doors, ash on his tongue from the cigarette he’d abandoned on the wall outside, cherry slowly turning octopus-ink black, he’d smell it, and his nose would wrinkle automatically, but it never lasted. Soon enough, it would filter into his nose and sprout its tendrils, stoppering up all the tiny smell receptors, until Richie could never remember smelling anything but that very specific odour that he’d smelt for the first time fifteen years ago, and had been smelling ever since.

The linoleum floor squeaked under his shoes. He squeaked down the labyrinthine corridors, passing nurses and doctors and people who were here now but wouldn’t be here tomorrow, he squeaked into the lift, he squeaked down more corridors, and he squeaked into the third floor staff room. His locker was the first on the left, the one with the broken door and the broken shelf, but he continued to bundle his meagre belongings into it anyway. He’d do this even though he knew that when the clock struck eight he’d stumble in here, exhaustion clogging his veins like cotton wool, and he’d pull the door open, and his trainers would smack him on the forehead vengefully. The locker door protested loudly, a great metallic whine, and Richie shoved his bag inside before slamming it shut again.

It was a Thursday morning. The clock struck six fourteen minutes ago, which meant that Richie was sixteen minutes early for work, for no other reason than he’d simply been bored at home. He’d woken before his alarm, almost an hour before his alarm, and had laid in bed almost petulantly, desperately trying to throttle sleep out of the slumbering body of the night, but it hadn’t worked. He’d quickly tired of staring at the small cracks that tumbled over each other on his ceiling, vein-like, so he had hauled himself out of bed, feet landing on the threadbare carpet with a soft thud. Wednesday night had become Thursday morning whilst Richie was still awake, and still he had woken before the rest of the world had even entered REM, eyes yet to flicker jubilantly behind velvety eyelids.

Read the rest under the cut or on AO3 HERE

Richie wiggled his socked toes. The staff room was empty, save for three coats hanging, limp and lifeless, from the hooks that lined the wall. Change-over was in three minutes, when his manager would bustle into the room, eyebrows pre-emptively raised, the uniquely disappointed look that he only gave Richie. He was the arse-end of twenty, just over half Richie’s age, and yet, he was still able to turn Richie’s knees into the gelatinous chocolate pudding they serve in the cafeteria when his eyebrows shot up like startled caterpillars escaping a bird.  The schedule tacked onto the flaky corkboard had his name written on every morning shift this week, Monday through to Friday and then Saturday and Sunday as an extra added ‘fuck you’ to Richie and his bustling, raucous social life that didn’t exist.

When Richie had taken this job, fifteen years ago to the day, it had been a temporary stop gap. “Something to pay the bills,” he’d told himself and anyone who’d listen to him. The lady doth protest too much, the cricket on his shoulder would whisper casually to him, as the first week became the first month became the first year became the fifth year became ten years later and here he is, fifteen years later, older, greyer, wiser but only in ways that don’t count. Fifteen years an orderly, fifteen years a fucking fool in grey-white scrubs. ‘Are you the doctor?’ people would ask, simpering and with reverence in their voices, humbled by the glow of the M.D.-halo hovering over Richie’s head, until Richie would point out that the light of the halo was just a dodgy lightbulb, and that he was, in fact, just the person they employed to push people around and clean up their piss. Then, the reverence would slide off their faces like butter, and all that would remain was apathy tinged with vague disgust.

The door burst open.

“Ah, Richard. Finally decided to join us, have you?”

“I was fifteen minutes early, Henry.”

“Patrick was thirty-five. Now, Mrs Jefferson’s knee hasn’t improved so she’ll need wheeling down to x-ray at nine, but before that you need to clean up …”

The rest of Henry’s impassioned speech, Julius Caesar to the deaf Roman Republic, dissolved into the stale air of the staffroom like sugar in water that Richie refused to drink. As quickly as he’d arrived, Henry was gone, leaving behind nothing but a list as long as Richie’s forearm that simply had to be completed before Richie was allowed to disappear into the staff cafeteria to snatch at some feigned respite and to pretend that the meatloaf was anything but inedible.

With thirteen and a half hours to go, Richie stepped out of the staff room, and walked down the corridor, regulation crocs slapping the floor with every step.

– X –

When the interviewer had asked Richie why he wanted to be a hospital orderly, the answer that had come tumbling out of his mouth was well-rehearsed and only half a lie. He’d told the very bored looking man in the ill-fitting suit that he wanted to help people, Sir, and that the job of a hospital orderly perfectly suited his innate skill at problem-solving and would allow him to work with people who needed the most help, something I believe is so valuable, Sir, especially in the current nihilistic political climate, Sir. The sweaty, uncaring man simply stared at Richie, rolled his eyes, and told Richie to show up at half six the next day, and not to bother showing up at all if he can’t deal with mopping up the piss and shit of elderly patients who can’t wipe their own asses. Richie had grinned, manic, wide, false.

Mr Reitzman’s eyes were still open, and, had this been the first time Richie had come face to face with death’s prickly hand, he might have been shocked. Still a naïve young man whose only experience of death was the death of his hamster when he was nine, the first time Richie saw a dead body the predominant emotion he’d felt was confusion. Hollywood death, the death that’s illuminated on the silver screen, is powder-perfect and serene, bodies lying on tables, eyes closed demurely against the bright white light of the mortician’s lab, skin still a flushed petal-pink, even though their blood lay still and coagulated in their veins. Real death, the sort of death that comes creeping up on real people before pouncing and slashing and clawing and biting is … cold. Cold, stiff bodies, arctic-cold rooms with stacks of beginning-to-bloat bodies that are swiftly turning a grizzly grey colour, eyes that stare, glassy and cold. Cold. Richie was cold, and Mr Reitzman was cold. Richie tugged his open sweater closed, zipping it shut with a flourish. Mr Reitzman continued to stare at the ceiling, stare past the ceiling, stare into the void. The void stared back at him, reflected in his blown pupils.

There’s a picture on the wall of the room. The hospital tries to keep the end-of-life rooms – the rooms where people are wheeled into in a wheelchair, blinking, and are wheeled out of on a gurney unblinking – as light and fresh as possible. The walls are a clinical white, the sort of white that displays blood and piss in gory, vivid technicolour, and the bedspread is white, and the floor is white and the curtains are white, like every other room, apart from in the end-of-life rooms, the light and fresh end-of-life rooms, there is a picture on the wall.  

Richie wonders idly whether the picture of a dozen small sheep grazing on a hillock made the rupturing of Mr Reitzman’s stomach any less painful, and whether the shepherd guarding the flock soothed him as his stomach acid dissolved him from the inside out.

The room is easy to clean. The mop glides over the floor, dances over the ice-white linoleum, and Richie hums tunelessly as it flies this way and that. Three other orderlies that Richie can’t name bustle in, heave Mr Reitzman’s rigor-mortised body onto a gurney, and wheel him out of the room, sheet placed pulled up and over his body, as if the sight of death would cause the whole world to scream in pain, in denial. In reality, Richie knows that the body will linger in the morgue until Mr Reitzman’s wife claims it, and then it will linger in the ground until the worms claim it, and then it will linger nowhere, forevermore.

Now, with nothing in the room but Richie, the bed, and the now redundant IV, the air feels warmer.

– X –

The end-of-life room only remained empty for as long as it took Richie to scrub the last remanences of life once lived out of the floor, before another life that was clinging to existence by a thread was bustled into the room. Where Mr Reitzman had been comatose for much of his stay, and had barely been able to grunt in Richie’s direction, the new end-of-life occupant was much more vocal.

“I want the best doctor, Eddie-bear, the best doctor they can find, I don’t care if they have to fly him in from… from Kentucky! Do you hear me, Eddie? Edward, are you listening to me?”  

“Yes, Ma.”

The voice that spoke first was tea-kettle shrill, metal grating against metal, the sound of nails on a chalk board. It spoke with a nasally inflection that tugged at the ear, and warbled on without taking a breath. The voice that spoke second was small, retiring, reserved to the point of annoyance and Richie’s head whipped around as the screeching wheels of the wheelchair came to a halt just behind him.

“And who might you be? Are you the doctor?” The first voice implored, demanded, and Richie blinked.

“Richie Tozier, ma’am. Just an orderly, I’m afraid, you’ll have to –”

“Oh. Well, fine. Fetch the doctor then, go on, what are you waiting for?”

“Ma,” the second voice scolded, a verbal slap on the wrist that was as effective as a sugar placebo, “don’t be so rude.”

“Rude? Shut-up, Eddie. I’m dying, or have you forgotten? That your own mother is about to shuffle off this mortal coil with a tangled gut? Is that it? You’ve forgotten?”

The owner of the second voice, a smallish man around Richie’s age with a pinched face and bruised, lifeless eyes, sighed.

“You know I haven’t forgotten,” the man – Eddie – replied, helping the nameless orderly lift his mother onto the bed with Promethean effort.

Richie watched dumbly from the corner of the room, mop clasped between his hands, as this pantomime of family duty continued to unfold before him. Eddie and his bleating mother seem to have forgotten that he’s there, nestled in the cheap seats, as they continue to speed through the first act of their tragedy. Richie doesn’t plan on sticking around for the fifth act finale.

Before he can slip out of the room unnoticed, Eddie catches him by the arm with calloused fingers.

“Hang on, wait a second,” Eddie said, but Richie pre-emptively shakes his head.

“Look man, I don’t know where the doctor is, the cafeteria is down the hall on the left, there’s a toilet through that door right there, I don’t know how long it’ll take her to die. Just,” Richie shrugged, hoping that the hopeless motion of his shoulders would communicate more than his words could ever dream to, “just leave me alone. I have another room to clean.”

Eddie dropped his hand from Richie’s arm as if Richie had suddenly combusted into hot, blue flame.

Two little words floated after Richie as he all but ran from the end-of-life room and those damn sheep grazing on that damn hillock, they chased him through the hospital as he scrubbed and cleaned and mopped, they followed him home that night, and they burrowed deep into his brain as he lay in bed, sleepless, staring at the ceiling, eyes fighting the dark.

“Thank you”

– X –

The shrieking woman is still alive in the end-of-life room when Richie marches in the next morning, mop lodged safely under his arm like a musket. The man whose words had stalked Richie as he tossed and turned in his bed last night was slumped in the chair in the corner of the room. Family didn’t usually stick around. That was another thing that had thrown Richie when he’d first started here. He’d assumed that he’d be falling over the slumbering, weeping bodies of relatives who camped out in the wards, desperate to hold their loved ones in their arms as they slipped peacefully off to a better place. Death is a solitary experience, Richie had learnt this quickly. It happened in the middle of the night when relatives had gone home, when visiting hours were over and those who weren’t attached to machines with plastic tubing were tucking into their evening meals or fast asleep, wrapped in blankets and the womb-like comfort of unconsciousness. It happened in the middle of the day, when people were at work, faces buried in spreadsheets. It happened when the rooms were empty, silent, save for the laboured breathing of the person who was about to breathe no more. Death, for those who don’t die, isn’t an experience, it’s a discovery. The dead wait patiently for the living to have time to grieve.

The shrieking woman wasn’t shrieking when Richie shuffled in, she was asleep, snuffling and snorting like a newborn. Eddie looked up as Richie entered the room, before closing his eyes again.

Richie cleaned. Eddie breathed.

“What’s your name?”

The question came barrelling out of nowhere, cutting through the air like a knife through cheese.

“Uh, Richie. Richie Tozier, orderly extraordinaire, at your service,” Richie said, and Eddie let out a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh and wasn’t quite a sob.

“Yes, yes, you told me yesterday. Look, Richie, I’m –”

Richie knew what was coming, he knew that he should stop Eddie from apologising for his mother, knew that the harpy lying in the bed was more trouble than Richie could even care to imagine, but he let Eddie continue anyway.

“I’m sorry about her. She’s … She’s scared.”

“Aren’t we all”

“I suppose so. She’s got cancer, lung cancer. The doctor said her lungs look like she’s smoked forty a day for twenty-five years, and that just set her off, “I’ve never smoked a day in my life! Dirty, dirty habit” and all that. She’s funny about that stuff. Do you smoke?”

The question wrapped itself around Richie’s legs and tugged, pulling him off balance.

“Yes, yeah I do, but don’t worry, I won’t – it’s against hospital policy to –”

“I do, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Started when she got diagnosed.”

“…Shit”

Eddie laughed, properly this time, and it was an ugly sound, too high pitched and breathy, but it chiselled a smile out of Richie’s icy heart.

“Is that really fucked up? I don’t even like it, it tasted disgusting and it’s fucking with my asthma but … it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Teenage rebellion twenty years too late?” Richie asked, wringing the mop out.

Eddie chuckled. “Something like that.”

The woman’s snuffling became moaning which became groaning which soon became loud, verbal protests which made Richie’s teeth itch, and sent Eddie skittering off to his mother’s bedside.  

“It huuuuurts Eddie-bear! Fetch the doctor, fetch him now, it huuuuurts!”

Richie took that as his cue to leave, the tragedy having steamrolled straight into Act II without him even noticing. He picked up the mop bucket, and left the room, but not before sending a quiet, “goodbye Eddie” over his shoulder.

The woman’s noisy protestations about her son befriending the janitorial staff followed Richie down the corridor, and Richie grinned.

– X –

The staff cafeteria of the hospital was hidden away behind a large white door marked with ominous red letters, STAFF ONLY DO NOT ENTER, as if it was concealing something much more exciting than lukewarm casserole and stale bread rolls. Richie often found himself in there, choking down whatever food the chef had decided to punish them with on that given day, as he hid in the corner of the room, sat at a table that hadn’t been cleared for days. This lunchtime was no different. The table was covered in used plates and cookie wrappers, and Richie sat hunched over his phone, trying to crush candy in a desperate pretence at fun. A small knock  at the door echoed out across the room, and Richie glanced around. He was the only person in the room. The knock sounded out again, louder this time, and again, and Richie groaned.

Food now abandoned to becoming cold and more inedible, he got up and slunk across to the door, before pulling it open.

Eddie was stood on the other side, wringing his hands.

“Hullo, Richie. I was wondering, y’see, she’s asleep again, and I’m … well, I’m bored of watching her breathe and listening to her fart.”

A spluttery laugh erupted from Richie, and Eddie grinned.

“Do you want to come in? I can offer you stew that tastes like nothing and apple cake that tastes like pork”

“… Sounds appetising. Are you sure I can come in?” Eddie asked, gesturing to the ominous message on the door.

Richie shrugged. “It’ll be fine, and if anyone does ask, I’ll just tell them you’re interviewing me.”

“For what?”

“Orderlies Weekly, Orderlies Monthly, a podcast about menial labour jobs, some shit like that, I don’t know. Look, do you want this apple cake or not?”

– X –

When things take a turn for the worst, you can feel it in the air. Outside the room of the nearly-dead, the air ripples violently, as if preparing to absorb the energy of a life expended, and the cold creeps in, slowly at first, unnoticeable, but before long the room is frigid, held tightly in the gaping maw of Death, who won’t wait much longer. The air shifts around Sonia Kaspbrak’s room at four in the afternoon on the Tuesday after she’s admitted, and the tragedy reaches its climax. The medication has stopped working entirely, both the painkillers and the last ditch attempt at shrinking the cancerous squatters currently making the cavities in her lung their home. She’s left, bereft of all chemical comforts, to fend for herself, to will her broken, bruised, rebellious body to spare her some pain, to ease her into the sweet sleep of death without too much discomfort, but her body, as it is wont to do, proves stubborn. She moans in her sleep, grasping at her chest with arms on auto-pilot, as if she might rip through the papery skin on her clavicle and grasp her lungs, patch them up, make them work. Eddie watches her writhe in her bed, and Richie watches Eddie.

Eddie has barely moved from the chair for two days and two nights. He’s pushed it right up against his mother’s bed, crushed as close as he can possibly get to the metal bed frame, and he sits rigid in it, standing vigil over his mother’s sleeping body, as if he might catch her last breath, as if he might shock her stuttering heart into life one last time. He’s all but mute, nodding wordlessly to doctors who speak rapidly, popping into the end-of-life room for nothing but a cursory nod at the dying mother in the bed, and the already mourning son clutching at her crow-claw hand.

“She’s on her way now, Edward,” they say, voices hushed and gentle but removed, always removed. “It won’t be long now.”

Act IV of the tragedy rips past in a blur. A blur of endless silence, the only sound being the slopping sound of the mop on the floor, and of the regular beeping of the machines. Eddie barely breathes. Richie breathes enough for the both of them.

– X –

“Coffee.”

The word is sour in Richie’s mouth, and he spits it out. It falls out wrong, and Eddie blinks.

“Pardon?”

Eddie’s voice is hoarse, and it cracks violently, as if it hasn’t been used for hours, maybe even days. Richie knows it hasn’t.

“Come with me. You need a break, you’ve been sat in that damn chair for days, Eddie. Coffee. My treat.”

Eddie gets up wordlessly. Richie, who had steeled himself in anticipation of a fight, exhales. As the barista is mixing their drinks, the air shifts violently, once, just once, as if Atlas has shifted his grip on the world, and Richie knows it’s happened.

“Eddie,” Richie says, and he reaches out and grabs Eddie’s hand from where it was resting on the table, “it’s going to be fine, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Eddie cocks his head, a dog confused at a command, but nods once, then twice, then his jaw is set and Richie knows he knows.

They get back to the room twenty minutes later and Sonia’s body is covered with a sheet. Her eyes stare up, open, unblinking.

Eddie doesn’t cry.

– X –

Cleaning the room is harder this time. Sonia’s body is removed almost immediately, and Eddie goes with it, eyes glistening with damp but no tears escape them. His voice wobbles but it doesn’t break. He is picture-perfect composure, and Richie is almost scared of him.

The room smells like bodies, the warmth of life hasn’t been chased out yet. This syrupy warmth makes the clean-up harder, changing the sheets sends beads of sweat down Richie’s spine, turning off the equipment has him panting and by the time he’s moving the chair back to the corner of the room he’s practically sobbing.

He doesn’t notice Eddie standing in the door way, a bunch of flowers clasped loosely in his hand, so Eddie coughs awkwardly.

“Richie?”

“Hiya, Eds,” Richie says, tears now streaming freely down his cheeks.

“These are for you,” Eddie says, thrusting the flowers at Richie. They’re a slapdash bunch of shocking reds and yellows and umbers, and they’re beautiful.

“Isn’t it supposed to be me who buys you flowers?” Richie asks, taking the flowers in his hand and staring at them as if they held the secrets of life, the universe and everything. They smiled up at him.

“Isn’t it supposed to me be who cries?”

“Ah, you got me there. I just –”

“It’s weird, isn’t it.”

“It never has been before.”

“Did you know any of them before?”

“No, but I didn’t know your mother either.”

“You knew her about as well as I did,” Eddie says, and Richie is caught in a web of silence and something that claws at his gut, something he doesn’t understand, something he doesn’t want to understand.

“You were very kind to me,” Eddie continues, “and these, they’re from the shitty hospital gift shop, but these … these aren’t shitty.”

Eddie gestures at the flowers, and their tiny red and yellow heads seem to turn in Richie’s grasp, turn away from the white room, and the white floor, and the white curtains, turn away from the picture that hangs, melancholy and alone, on the wall, and they turn towards the sun.

The room feels warm, and Richie grins.  

#reddie #hospital au #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #it fandom #it fanfic #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #IT 2017 #IT 2019 #it fanfiction #fanfic #3-4k words

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

A period drama featuring an ancestor of Bastien Lykel of TRR

At last Elizabeth visits her future home, Laxton manor, seat of the Lykel family

Word count 3015

Apologies for the long gap between posting chapters. No warnings, just mild fluff

7 An Impressive Location

‘Are we there yet?’ Amelia asked for the tenth time, and Lady Charlotte sighed as the carriage bearing them bounced along the rutted country roads.

‘For goodness sake young lady, pray do not ask again. Walker is sitting with the driver and will tell us when Laxton comes into view.’ she snapped. Elizabeth, Amelia and their parents and Morag, who was acting as Elizabeth’s chaperone, were making their way to her fiancé’s country estate in East Lothian, south of Edinburgh. The maid Jane had gone ahead with their luggage.  They were to stay for a month, and she would see the place that would become her home once she was married at a date yet to be decided. After that, they would visit her father’s estate and John would in turn see the manor where she and her sister had grown up. Sir James planned to gift a farmhouse and some land to Elizabeth as part of her dowry, and as elder sister she would eventually inherit his estate, leaving the Edinburgh townhouse for Amelia.

The countryside was lush and fertile, and crops of all kinds grew on the rolling green hills. Herds of cattle were raised closer to the city to supply it with fresh milk and other dairy products, but further away, grain and vegetables were grown. Game of all sorts were hunted in the copses and woodland and moor.

Elizabeth was just as excited as her sister, but being older knew how to present a calm countenance in front of her parents. John had gone ahead to arrange things for his guests, and it had been agonising not being able to see him daily. Very soon, they would not only enjoy each other’s company but would be under the same roof for a whole four weeks. She would meet his mother, and hoped to make a good impression. Lady Margaret had spoken of going to live with her widowed sister some twenty miles way once Elizabeth and John were married but she was still eager to be on good terms with her.

‘I’m starving, did we bring anything to eat?’ Amelia complained

‘Now Melly, remember the last time we went to our estate’ Elizabeth said ‘We had to stop twice for your upset stomach. I’m sure John will have something for us when we arrive, but you mustn’t ask – it’s not polite’ Amelia pouted and settled back into the padded seat. It wasn’t long before they heard Walker call out from the driver’s seat that the manor was in sight. Amelia straight away leaned forward to the window.

‘Oh Lizzy, it’s wonderful’ she cried. Elizabeth felt herself a little peeved that her sister had been the first to see her potential new home, and she also leaned to the window to take a look. Her stomach lurched and her heart fluttered to look along the driveway to a pale umber stone building of some two stories with dormer windows in the roof. As they drew closer, she saw the porchway, housing a great oaken door. To either side of the portico there were four tall narrow windows, and the windows of the story above that were smaller, indicating that the ceilings were lower and that the ground floor housed the grandest rooms in the house. To the left of the main building was another wing projecting forward, and well kept flower beds sat under the windows.  

The carriage drew up in front of the door where John stood with a middle aged woman and an older man, dressed simply, so denoting their rank of servants. They slowed to a halt and John stepped forward as Walker jumped down from beside the driver to open the door. Sir James alighted first, shaking hands and exchanging greetings with the Captain before turning to assist his wife.

‘Sir James, how good to see you . I trust your journey was comfortable’

‘Tolerably so, Lykel, it is good to feel the ground under my feet’

‘You have met my manservant Lewis’ John said ‘And here is Mrs Lewis, my housekeeper. They will see to all your needs while you are here.’ Lady Charlotte had alighted and nodded graciously.

‘What a delightful property you have’ she smiled ‘I can see Lizzy will be very comfortable’  

‘It is at your disposal, Lady Charlotte’ he replied ‘My home is your home’ He stepped forward eagerly as Elizabeth appeared to descend. Boldly he placed his hands either side of her waist to swing her out onto the ground. She suppressed a cry of delight, and beamed at him adoringly.

‘Lizzy’ her name fell from his lips with happiness ‘We are together again’ They stood holding hands and gazing at each other for some few seconds, oblivious to all else until Amelia spoke up.

‘Is no-one going to help me out?’ she complained ‘It’s a long way to the ground’ John tore his gaze away from his fiancée.

‘Of course, how amiss of me – allow me, Miss Amelia’ he said, offering her his hand to support her as she stepped down to join the rest of her family. Morag appeared, and Walker helped her down as they started toward the door.

‘Well’ John said ‘I expect you are tired and hungry. Allow me to show you first to the dining room, and then to your rooms to freshen up before we serve luncheon. My mother will attend when we eat’ He offered Lizzy his arm and led them all inside, where they marvelled at the hallway and the grand staircase up to the first floor. Family portraits and landscapes hung on the walls, and pieces of fine furniture supported vases of fresh flowers which scented the air. The polished oak floor was crossed with an intricately patterned carpet, and the ceiling rose up beyond the ground floor with a painted plaster frieze running around the top of the wall. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. It gave an impression of comfort and harmony as well as wealth and stability.

Elizabeth’s eyes roamed the hallway as John lead them to the dining room, which had a view of the grounds to the back of the manor and featured a long dining table and chairs, and an elegant sideboard on which a few dainties were already displayed. Amelia looked longingly at the display, but Lady Charlotte glared at her. She whimpered slightly as John lead them back out into the hallway toward the stairway.

‘I’m sure you’ll all want to freshen up before we eat. My mother will join us – please, take as long as you need’ He indicated the first door which opened onto a large bedroom put aside for Sir James and Lady Charlotte looking out onto the front of the property, and carried on down the corridor, showing them all the two smaller rooms put aside for Elizabeth and Amelia, whose eyes grew large.

‘A whole room to myself?’ she gasped, as at the townhouse she and her sister shared a room. Then her face dropped ‘How will I sleep without Lizzy there?’

‘We can move a cot into your sister’s room if you like’ John conceded, but Lizzy laughed

‘You always sleep well in the countryside, Melly’ she exclaimed ‘It’s so much quieter, and the fresh air will invigorate you so you’ll be tired at bedtime’ She smiled ‘But you can always come to me if you can’t sleep’ She indicated the bed, which was big enough for more than one. John cleared his throat. It was plain to Lizzy that he wanted to say more, but he glanced at her parents and widened his eyes at her to indicate that he might explain when they were alone.

The girl’s rooms looked out over the rear of the property, which overlooked the gardens and orchards and the fields beyond, where cattle and sheep grazed. Woodland stretched to the horizon and the blue sky sported a scattering of clouds. The sun was shining and the day was warm and pleasant. John left them to unpack the trunks that the servants had just brought up It wasn’t long before they had done so with the help of Jane and one of John’s maids. They went to their parents’ room together and knocked, to find that they also were ready. Lady Charlotte insisted on them entering the room so she could inspect them to make sure they were presentable. Elizabeth bore the indignity as the butterflies danced in her stomach at the thought of meeting her future mother-in-law.

At last she met her mother’s approval, and the four of them left to descend the staircase, her parents arm in arm leading the way and the two sisters following dutifully. Her legs felt shaky as they entered the dining room to find John standing at the window talking to a tall elegant dark haired woman dressed in black. Lewis announced them, and John turned, beaming. The family fanned out so that they formed a row facing them. His mother turned also, a cool expression on her face that changed into a polite smile.

‘Ah, the Dalgleish family’ she said ‘how charming to meet you again. Sir James, Lady Charlotte’

Sir James bowed and Lady Charlotte dropped a small curtsy. The two families were equal in rank although Elizabeth’s family had more land and property. The widow came across to greet them as the two girls curtsied and bowed their heads respectfully. She extended her hand for Sir James, who took it and bowed his head without kissing it.

‘Charmed, madam’ he said ‘I’m sorry to have finally visited your home after Sir Walter’s death. We had many an interesting political discussion’ She smiled sadly and went on to his wife, who took her hand politely and bowed her head.

‘So sorry for your loss’ she said sympathetically. ‘May I present our daughters, Elizabeth and Amelia’ Elizabeth was glad her parents had presented themselves first and remembered the recent death of Sir Walter, as it had quite gone out of her mind until she had seen her dressed in black. She felt Lady Margaret’s gaze turn to her and she dropped a deep curtsy, looking at the ground before she straightened, hearing her mother introduce her as if from a long distance away. She felt faint, but was grateful to feel a firm steadying hand on her elbow as John came to her side.

‘Mother, this is Lizzy’ she heard John say warmly.

‘Lady Margaret’ she said firmly although inwardly she quaked, as the Duchess’s expression was solemn ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’ The widow looked her up and down critically, and the flicker of a smile came to her lips.

‘Likewise my dear’ she replied ‘I look forward to getting to know you better.’ She turned to her sister ‘and this must be Amelia’ she said pleasantly ‘You share a name with my own sister’ she smiled as Amelia dipped into another curtsey.

‘Your grace’ she said timidly. John cleared his throat as the introductions came to an end.

‘You must all be hungry after your journey’ he said brightly, indicating the table, laden with food. Lady Margaret sat at the head of the table, with John on one side and Sir James on the other. Lizzy was seated next to her fiancée, facing her mother. Morag sat next to her mother where she could keep a close watch on her, and Amelia sat next to her sister. She felt stronger now that she was no longer standing, and her stomach growled in sympathy with Amelia’s. She had had little appetite that morning when she left Edinburgh, and the food was enticing. Even now, Amelia was eyeing the platter in front of her longingly.

John indicated the table, and his mother helped herself from a bread basket in front of her. All of them started to select food and pass dishes between each other politely. It was not as formal as an evening meal, but there was protocol to be followed, and all waited for their host to begin eating. There was silence as they followed her example as she bit into the fresh bread and yellow butter. There was cold meat of every kind, boiled eggs and some salad vegetables and preserves as well as scones, cream and jam and fresh fruit. Soon Elizabeth felt stronger as her empty stomach accepted the morsels she carefully and politely consumed.

‘It is a great pleasure to meet my son’s intended’ Lady Margaret said ‘How are you finding Laxton so far, Miss Elizabeth?’ She swallowed and smiled as brightly as she could as she answered

‘I like it very much so far’ she replied ‘I look forward to seeing more of it’

‘Tell me my dear, how do you think you will cope with running the household when you are married?’ Elizabeth thought for a moment before speaking.

‘Of course Mama and Papa have striven to teach me as much as they can about household management, but I am sure every place is unique. I would be pleased for any advice you might be able to give me, Lady Margaret’ Lizzy said. The older woman nodded sagely.

‘Of course I leave a lot of the day to day business to the staff’ she said ‘but I have particular standards as to the appearance of the house and grounds. Of course I am sure you will bring your own personal touch to the estate’

‘Lizzy is very artistic’ her mother cut in ‘I noted the flower arrangements in the hall and in here – they are exquisite’ This brought a smile to their host’s face.

‘I directed the staff exactly how to set them out’ she said ‘I’m happy that you find them pleasing’

‘If the flowers are from your garden, I am eager to see around the grounds’ Elizabeth said enthusiastically.

‘John’s father was very particular about the flowers. He supervised the head gardener and had a rose named after me’ Amelia’s eyes grew wide.

‘Oh how romantic’ she burst out, earning her a glare from her mother, but Lady Margaret smiled at her softly.

‘Indeed it was’ she replied ‘Dear Walter presented it to me on our wedding anniversary but two years ago’ She sighed and her expression became melancholy and all were silent for a moment. It was John who spoke next.

‘We will have a tour around the gardens after we have eaten’ he said ‘You must see the hothouse – you will be surprised as to what Mellors grows there.’ Sir James nodded sagely

‘I have yet to find a head gardener who lives up to expectations’ he said ‘I would dearly love to have a hothouse, but I simply can’t find anyone good enough to plan and cultivate properly’

‘I will ask Mellors if he knows of anyone’ John promised. The rest of the meal was relatively relaxed, although it seemed that their host found it taxing to make conversation. She was polite and attentive, but did not seem to warm to any of them. Elizabeth hoped that was due to her recent bereavement, and not a poor opinion of the family. At the end, she rose and excused herself, saying she was too fatigued to go around the gardens. Elizabeth saw a shadow of disappointment on John’s face, and she found herself speaking up.

‘I would stay and keep you company if it you would find it acceptable’ she said hopefully, genuinely wishing she could break through the Duchess’s melancholy. She smiled wanly in answer.

‘Bless you my dear, I only wish to be alone and rest’ she said ‘Perhaps we could spend some time alone tomorrow if I have more energy.’ Elizabeth nodded, and John stood, taking her hand. He took them to the drawing room to sit and rest a while before going outside. The room was spacious and elegant with a selection of comfortable easy chairs and couches. The grand fireplace sported a large ornate mirror, and the room was adorned with vases of flowers and fine examples of furniture. Heavy curtains were drawn back to show off the view of the gardens, and John engineered to sit close to her and converse while Morag kept watch.

‘Mother is still grieving’ he explained ‘She has been somewhat morose as you may imagine, but she’s glad to have some company, even though she may not show it.’

‘It must be very difficult for her being alone’ Lizzy replied. She looked around the room. ‘Laxton is a fine place’ she said, smiling ‘It’s difficult to imagine myself as mistress here’

‘Is it very different to your father’s estate?’ John asked. She furrowed her brow as she thought.

‘Father’s estate is larger it is true, but the house is not as fine as this manor’ she conceded. He took her hand and squeezed it.

‘I would be happy in a fisherman’s hut if you were by my side’ he said. She laughed

‘As would I’ she said ‘Though I fear I would not have much use for my ballgowns’ She leaned closer to him ‘You know that I would like to travel when we get married’ she said quietly.

‘I am making plans’ he smiled ‘I can’t tell you all, but I plan to take you to London to begin with’

‘Oh how exciting’ she breathed ‘do you think your mother would remain here until we return?’

‘I believe so’ he said ‘But first we must set a date for the wedding. When you have seen around the estate, that is what we should do, if you are pleased with what you see’

‘I am pleased with what I see already’ she murmured, fixing him with her gaze ‘Looking around Laxton is but a pleasant diversion’ Before he could answer, Lady Charlotte spoke

‘Perhaps you would take us outside, Captain Lykel. I am eager to stretch my legs after our journey’ He rose and inclined his head politely, taking Elizabeth’s hand and placing it on his arm.

‘Of course, if you are ready – please follow me’

#Past times #period drama #Elizabeth and John #Captain John Lykel #regency drama

[ultradiplr]

The Beast

A Vampire!Sigma/Reader fanfiction.

Plot: You awaken the beast inside of Lord Siebren.

Tags: Masks. Claws. Fangs. Oh my! Manipulation. Masturbation. Blood. Mention of death/killing. Reader is gender neutral. Sigma almost does a yikes but I promise he never ever will in my fics.

A/N: Okay! So I know this promised a “romantic“ fic but but the build up ended up being pretty long and important so I’m cutting this b up. This will definitely get a continuation, so treat it as a sort of part one.

Xx

The Carnival masquerade was in full swing in the castle. The esteemed guests, drunk with merriment as they celebrated the beginning of Lent. You on the other hand was very much sober, running around in a ridiculous black and white outfit identical to the other servers, white and gold rabbit masks and all, trying to serve the increasingly inebriated crowd as best you could.

Running around the floor, trying to avoid stepping or tripping on the massive, ornate clothing worth more than what you made in a lifetime was an awful task, especially with a tray full of open drinks and food. It was inevitable that you’d trip and fall and offend a lord or lady by staining their clothes, or that you’d ruin your own in the process, so you hoped that when it happened you’d be shown mercy. Until then you tried your damnedest to be quick and careful.

But alas, you were too quick, and not careful enough and ran straight into the chest of a guest at full force with a full tray of red wine on your way from the kitchen back to the ballroom, causing a loud crash as you fell to the floor with the heavy metal pan and broken glasses.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” You apologize panicky as you scramble to clean up the accident, trying to absorb the expensive liquid with the meager towel you had and collecting the shards of the fine crystal cups. “Please forgive me, my lord.” your voice wavered, a million different scenarios playing out in your head and how you’d be punished..

“It’s alright, my dear, it was an accident.” You hear the man say above as you kneeled in your mess.

“No, no, it’s not, I should have been mor- ow.” You cut your hand on a piece of glass as you try to continue apologizing.

You whimper with tears beginning to prick in your eyes as you put your mouth to it, still trying to clean with one hand licking away the blood that formed there. You thought you were prepared for this to happen but now that it did you could feel nothing but stress and panic. You still try to gather up the glass one handed, but you’re getting overwhelmed.

“Did you hurt yourself, liefste?” You’re taken aback when you hear his voice so close, and you look up to see he has bent down closer to you.

You’re frozen for a moment, looking at the intricately detailed mask, modeled off of the night sky and sparkling with tiny jewels, constellations and planets adorn the face on a deep black base, so dark you can’t even see the light hit it. The white and gold details coming together to point the viewer towards his eye where they pierced from the depth of black, sparkling like fine ruby jewels. Your breath is taken a little gazing into them and feeling of calm covers you, forgetting for a moment why you were so worked up.

 “Your hand?” He asks in a rich, sweet tone that makes your muscles feel all warm, holding out a gloved hand for you to take.

Your hand slips from your mouth into his light hold, and you watch placidly as he takes it to examine, not questioning the lack of warmth from his own even as it causes goosebumps to erupt on your skin. You whimper when he thumbs the cut slightly, causing a few drops of blood to stain the blue fabric of his gloves, turning them into a deep purple.

“We need to get this bandaged, klein konijntje, least it get infected.” He says, and his eyes are darker when he looks back up at you.

You nod, and stand with him, a little voice in the back of your mind reminding you of the mess, of the guests waiting for their wine, of your boss and the trouble you’d be in not asking for permission to leave first. But your body is deaf to those voices, your body is numb to everything as he pulls you into his side, his hand still holding your bleeding one as the other wraps around your shoulder, covering you with the warmth of his cloak.

You feel strangely relaxed as he holds you close and leads you somewhere you don’t know, through corridors you know you’re not allowed through, further and further from the light and sounds of the grand ball, and deep and deeper into the cool castle. Eventually he leads you into the physician’s office, a place you definitely were never allowed in, though you’re unsure how he was able to with the way you took… come to think of it, you couldn’t actually remember any of the directions he lead you.

You must be tired… from the party… exhausted from the high stress… yes…. You were tired.

He helps you easily onto a table in the middle of the room and holds out your hand. You notice his glove is heavily strained with your blood, small blotches of purple covering his palm and fingers as he holds your hand so gently. You hiss when you feel the medicine dabbed gently onto your small wound, making a small shush come from under his masked face before he gently wraps a firm bandage around it.

“All better now, little rabbit.” He coos, large cold fingers petting over the bandages. 

His eyes look much too bright in the meekly lit room, piercing and cold, the goosebumps on your skin still have not dissipated, and now looking at him a shiver runs up your spine. You swallow thickly and try to collect your thoughts, suddenly very hard to think. His clean hand comes up to your mask, fingers lightly running over it, threatening to lift it. You feel something sharp under the soft, thin fabric of his glove as it grazes your skin ever so slightly, his nails drawing a smooth line to your face to caress you neck tenderly. 

You whimper again, feeling yourself flush, but something about this isn’t right, his eyes, his hands, his skin, they’re all wrong somehow, and when he makes to lean over you, your hands come up without thinking and pushes him away.

He seems as surprised as you are by that, and he snatches his hands away from you, taking several steps back. It feels like something is lifted from your shoulders as he creates space, and your brain feels less fuzzy.

“Th-thank y-ou, my lord.” You say, the words feeling sluggish and strained on your tongue, like you haven’t talked in a long time, “I sh-should re-return to the party.”

The reality of where you are is slowly setting in, and so is the anxiety. You shake and hold your head, trying to clear it. When you look up at him he’s looking at you, his eyes now dull and soft, and… scared? He looks away from you, gripping one hand to the other, like he was stopping himself from touching you. He looked incredibly tense, shaking ever so slightly, and when his eyes meet your again, there is a sort of pain inside you can’t quiet place.

“Yes, you should” He says suddenly very serious yet unsure, as he steps back toward you.

His hands, big and strong, finds and rests on your hips, and you blush under your mask. You hadn’t really thought about them before. You hadn’t thought about him at all while he was leading you around. He was a very large man. Very large. Tall and Broad, though his body hidden by the cloak he wore. It was intriguing. It was terrifying. How had you let him trap you in a room alone with him?

He helps you down before ushering you gently toward the door “I am very thankful, my lord.” You say quickly, you mind feels clear and your strength is coming back to you.

“SIebren, It is Siebren.” His voice is tinted with a wavy severity as he gently pushing you out into the quiet hallway, alone, “Now, you should run along before someone comes looking for you.”  he begins to close the door behind you.

“Are you not returning to the ball, Lord Siebren?” You ask looking up at what little you could see of him.

“I am feeling a bit ill, I think I will stay here for a little while longer.” he says quickly, his voice becoming strained.

“Should I get someone to help y-” You take a step toward him and he closes the door firmly in your face.

“I will by fine, I just need rest, please, run along.” It sounds like he just grits that out through his teeth, and you could swear you hear him groan a little.

You stand outside, biting your lip, unsure of what to do. If he needs help, shouldn’t you offer it? He helped you after all. But then again, he had told you to return to your duties, and they are probably looking for you. But then again… You sigh and shake your head, turning to walk back to the main hall, whichever way that was.

---

Siebren rested his head against the door, groaning as he still could smell you so easily, standing just a few measly inches from him, with only the thick wood protecting you from him. He clenched his eyes closed and tensed his body, forcing himself to still as he waited and begged internally for you to just leave. 

It felt like eternity when you did, the soft patter of your shoes against the carpet dying off as you got further from him, though your scent still lingered heavily in the air. 

He sighed out the breath he was holding and relaxed, clean hand coming up to his face under the mask to pinch at the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension in his brain. It had been a long time since his affliction had flared so badly, and an even longer time since he’d actually tried to feed on a human. 

His stomach turned thinking about it, how he had used his powers to manipulate you, to calm you and get you alone, preparing you to be fed on, only to be saved by the will of the lord and your reflexive shock at feeling his claws on your skin. 

He knew he should have left the party as soon as it became late and scurried off to drink the sheep blood he uses to keep the hunger at bay in the privacy of his own keep, but no, he had to stay, had to have one last drink, have one last conversation, to see the king one last time.

Idioot. Idioot. He was pushing it, he knew it, and now look what he almost did! If he had just left he wouldn’t be here now, starving, aching, craving, locking himself away until he was sure he would not seek out and harm you. He felt on the precipice of a frenzy, and all because of a little cut and a few drops of blood!

He threw his mask down, sweating in the heat of it and the clothes he wore, hand running through his hair as the other clawed at the door. His body was being wracked with an unnatural heat, almost like he was alive again, almost like he had warm blood pumping through him, and he didn’t know how to process it.

It’d been so, so, so long since he’d been so close to human blood, the coppery sweet smell so distinctly human, so distinctly alive and fresh and warm, no animal could compare to it, and his body craved it so highly. Like the monster he was.

When he saw you lick your hand, clearing it away, hogging it so greedily, God, he felt a jealousy he could not describe. His mind had focused so much at that little motion that the only thing he could think of was devising a way to have his own taste. And that was what he was planning to do, to patch you up so you’d not spill another drop, and to take every last ounce of it from you for himself. And lord, he came so close, so damn close.

He punched the door, leaving a sizable crack from his strength, frustrated at himself for not doing it and at the same time for even trying in the first place. His mind was racked by conflicted feelings and his body was still warm.

He huffed loudly, trying to figure this all out. Trying to calm himself. He needed a release from all this energy. He needed something to calm him down until he could safely leave the castle. He needed… you...

He looked at his blood stained glove and a desperate thought filled his mind, one that immediately filled him with shame. Slowly, like he was trying to deny what he was doing, he brought his hand to his face, and inhaled deeply, groaning at the sweet smell of your blood so close to his face. His mouth watered but his throat felt dry as he opened his lips and carefully slipped a blood stained finger in.

He shut his eyes tightly, revolted with himself morally, but physically excited at the exquisite taste that hit his tongue, sweet, salty copper human blood, richer than any other kind. It lit a fire within him, a dangerous one, one that he knew he needed to extinguish soon. He moaned as his teeth grabbed into the glove, letting his hand slip from it and brace against the door, it too being marked by your blood.

His claws cling tightly to the already splitting wood as his other reached for his crotch, already half hard from finally tasting you. He needed to tire himself out, he told himself, but he knew this was just another sign of how much of a monster he was, hungering for you in every way.

He moaned around the fabric in his mouth as his hand slipped into his pants, gnawing on the strong fabric as his teeth sought flesh. He felt himself, hot and solid in his slack grip, as he teased himself to complete hardness, burying his head into the crook of his elbow. He pulled on himself, the costume giving him enough room to work with, as a string of moans were pulled from his chest with ever smooth stroke. It’d been so long, so long. 

His mind made images dance in his head, of finding you right now and dragging you into the dark, of touching you, of tasting you. Your legs wrapped around his head, your hands pulling against his hair, of you coming undone underneath him in a bid to get you more relaxed, to get your blood nice and warm and pumping. Of holding you up against a wall, so short, so small, so eager, as he slowly enters you.

He pants as his grip tightens a little, the smooth fabric of his glove getting wet with his precum and letting him slide easily in his fist.

You’d be so tight, a little human compared to the great big monster he was, begging and crying for something you didn’t even know, clinging onto him for dear life. A meal all for him, begging for him to eat, to take, to devour. He’ll fuck into you so hard, so fast, like the animal he was, covering you with bites, making you bleed, playing with his food.

He can feel himself almost there, almost, his breathing is hard, and the only sound in the room is the sick wet slaps of his hard cock rutting into his tight fist. He whines as he sucks on the fabric in his mouth, the meager taste of you not enough and yet everything he needs.

He’d make you cum over and over, until your body is nothing but a limp ragdoll for him to use, until you can do nothing but beg him to eat you up, to take all thats left, because you’re so very thankful for him making you feel so good. And then he’ll bend down and kiss your pulse, fangs slipping as easily into you as his cock does.

He’ll drink from you as he completes, holding you close, feeling the warmth leave your body as he’s wracked by a pleasure unparalleled by anything else.

He shakes his head, his stomach flipping at the idea, tears prickling in his eyes, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want that! He wants… he wants…. He thinks hard as he feels himself approaching the end, trying to overpower the sick beast inside him. His cock is hot and wet in his hand, and his fangs have finally punctured the fabric into his own lip, causing himself to bleed.

He wants to drink from you, to taste the source of this wonderful flavor. To feel you moan and mewl around him, your hot wet heat enveloping him and taking him. He wants you to accept him, all of him, and to bend your neck for him willingly. He wants to feel you shiver as he takes what he needs, and he wants to pull back to see you still warm and glowing with life.

“Thank you.” He says on a broken voice, spilling inside you as you still live, still breath, and still clench out him.

“Everything for you.”

The sound of your voice fills his head and he cums ropes into his fist and the pants of his costume, his body overflowing with that unnatural heat that for a moment almost makes him feel alive again. He gulps on air, shivering, shaking, as his body is wracked with conflicting feels again. Of relief, of dread, of hope, of sorrow, of energy, and total relaxation. 

He slumps against the door as his body cools to it’s normal ice cold temperature and pulls his cum covered hand from his pants, grimacing at the evidence of what he’d just done. He spits the glove in his mouth out, the blood having been washed around by the copious amounts of drool on it, and wraps it around the other before wrapping the whole thing in a handkerchief. Out of sight, out of mind. 

As his sane mind returns to him for now, he straightens what he can, and snatched up his mask again, pulling his cloak tightly around him as he steps out from the room, hoping nobody questions the marks he left on the back of the door.

The decent man in him wanted to apologize to you for what he thought of you and almost did to you, but he knew now wasn’t the best time… or maybe ever. He slipped out the back of the castle and collected his personal carriage, starting off toward his own keep, tired beyond belief.

It wasn’t until he was of sound mind again before daybreak, having drank enough sheep’s blood to satiate him, that he realized.

He’d never caught your name.

#Sigma #Sigma Overwatch #Overwatch Sigma #Siebren de Kuiper #Vampire Sigma #Sigma/Reader #reader insert

[frangipanidownunder]

Falling: fic

A/N This was written for the @just-fic-already workshop on love and romance, using this rubric. I chose a motel, a dog and the line ‘the forest isn’t the only place where ancient flora and fauna reside’. I couldn’t decide on sickfic, friends to lovers or first time, so it’s a little bit of all three! Tagging @monikafilefan and @ofmulder at their request.

It also responds to prompt 10 of the @xfficchallenges ‘come here Mulder, let me look at that’.

The motel looks like it was built out of dirt and animal hide.  She takes a long hard look at the front of it and then back at Mulder, who at least has the grace to look as disgusted as she does. The Dog Basket Inn – you’re always welcome to rest your bones here.

              “Sorry,” he says quietly and opens the door. “I know it’s not exactly the Hilton…”

              “It’s okay, you didn’t know we were going to end up…it’s only one night.”

              “We’ve survived far worse,” he says, but his shoulders round and he kicks at a pebble on the footpath, sending it skittering into the car tyre. “We keep surviving, don’t we?”

              The room is even more pitiful than the outside suggested. Grimy, ripped carpet, tawdry furniture, drapes with mould growing on the lining. She drops it back and a flurry of dust motes burst into the fluorescent light. “The forest isn’t the only place where ancient flora and fauna reside,” she says and he cracks his face into a half-smile and she feels her heart squeeze a little.

He’s had a rough day. Insulted and humiliated by the law enforcement team. Laughed at by the locals. Roughed up by a stray dog as they chased, and caught the perp, who turned out to be a teenage boy in a Sasquatch costume.

“Let me look at those bites again, Mulder.”

“They’re not bites, they’re just grazes. It was only being friendly.”

“It was a giant hound and it dragged you down like a wolf with a sheep. I think you need to take a shower and I’ll find some antiseptic lotion in my kit.”

“There are all sorts of ways of showing friendliness, Scully.” He looks at the door to the bathroom. It’s almost hanging off its hinges.

“Dogs wag their tails, lick you…”

“Sniff your butt,” he adds. “I know, all I’m saying is that there are lots of ways to measure friendship. That dog was all bark and no bite. Sometimes it’s actions not words that are telling.”

“Okay,” she says, pressing her hand to his forehead. He shifts slightly, closer. She blinks away the sad look in his eyes. “No fever, but you should take it easy. Go shower.”

              The bathroom is as gross as the rest of the room, with questionable green-grey slime festering in the corners. When he comes out, wet-haired and softer at the edges, she can see the scrapes down his back and shoulders. “Come here, Mulder, let me look at that. Oh, they must sting.”

              “They will after you’re done with me, Doctor Scary.”

              She dabs at him and he hisses every time she touches his skin. “Let’s hope you don’t turn into a werewolf, Mulder.”

              He mock-howls and bares his teeth. “If I were to transform into an animal tonight, I think a cockroach would be the wiser choice.”

              Laughing, she sinks down on the bed next to him. “Is the shower worth the risk to my health?”

              He holds his breath. Her cure came at a price. A piece of his soul. He’ll never forget or forgive himself, she knows that much. They’ve navigated a long and twisted path to reconciliation, after Antarctica, after Diana, after Padgett. Their friendship is deeply-rooted but there are fronds unfurling inside her that point to more. The question of what to do about it remains between them with each lingering look, each unnecessary hand to the lower back, each night in a motel with nothing but walls between them. They are closer than most friends should ever be.

              “You’ll have to use this, because it’s the only one,” he says, looking down at the rumpled greying towel covering his modesty. “And you do realise we’ll be sharing the bed too? Are you okay with that, Scully?”

              “I’m a big girl.”

              “Then don’t hog the blankets. It’s going to get cold.” He stands up and grabs a pair of jogging bottoms and a fresh shirt from his bag.

              “Friends don’t hog blankets, Mulder.”

When she comes out, he’s rustled up some beer, corn chips, a packet of Oreos and a video. “Movie night,” he says, grinning and taking the top off the Shiner Bock. “Maybe this is a sign we can turn this day around.”

              “The Fox and the Hound? Really, Mulder?”

              “Seemed apropos.” He settles next to her, back against the headboard. Their legs brush and he glances at her quickly. She sips her beer and tucks the chips between their hips.

              It’s not long before she’s cold and slips herself under the covers. He looks a little disappointed. She pats the top. “Come on then.”

              He grins, lifts the covers, and stretches his long legs under. “What you said earlier, Scully, about being friends?”

              On the small television screen, Tod is practising his lines to approach Vixey and they both end up talking over each other.

              “Yeah?”

              “Is…is that really what we are?”

              There’s a splash from the set and Tod is up to his neck in water trying to catch fish.

              “We are, Mulder. We’re friends.” Inside her, the words and feelings she’s kept down for so long are pushing up. It’s so hard for her, this sharing of emotion, declarations. He told her in the hallway those years before what she meant to him, he saved her life in a selfless act of heroism; and then he…His foot taps hers, a kiss of toes. She twists her face towards him.

His brow is crinkled and his mouth is glistening with beer. “Is that all we are?”

Vixey is laughing at Tod and he’s sulking.

“Do you…are you asking me if…we could be more?”

His foot tugs at hers so that their calves are hooked together. Despite the less than savoury surroundings, she feels so suddenly at ease, like they’ve been intertwined forever, and in some ways they have. His hand slips over hers and he rubs the tip of her thumb, as though he’s looking for it to ignite something.

“Is it something you’ve thought about, Scully? Because I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the past year and you’ve been on my mind a lot. A lot, lot.” He brings their joint hands to his mouth. The cooler air is a shock but the moment his lips press into her knuckles warmth flows through her. “I’ve done some stupid things, some selfish things, and yet you’re still here. By my side. Literally.”

In her periphery, the dog is shielding his fox friend and she thinks about how her and Mulder have always been ferocious in their protection of one another. How they’ve always reacted without hesitation when needed. In the face of adversity and acrimony, they’ve stood strong for each other. Bonded by something without name, without end; a loyalty that exists inside and out.

“I think about it too. I think about you.” She lets him kiss the thin skin on the back of her hand. His face is so close to hers she can smell the beer on his breath, sweet and yeasty. If she leans in just an inch she could taste it, lick it from his lips. “I think we have nowhere else to go from here but forward.”

His lips brush hers and she closes her eyes to truly feel the moment. This is such a small gesture, mouth against mouth for a second, but it is seismic in terms of their momentum. It’s a shift that opens up so much potential. She feels her heart pump and her soul spill open, ready to give, ready to receive. Mulder is her friend, her best friend. It could be a disaster, but right now, in this grotty room, she sees only hope.

“Are we really doing this?” There’s wonder in his voice, awe.

She sniffs out a small laugh. “It looks like it.”

“In the Dog Basket Inn, huh?”

“Could we really expect anything different?”

“I’d like to take you out when we get back. Somewhere more…salubrious than this joint.”

Now she’s smiling. Tracing the contours of his face. “A date, Mulder?”

“With proper food and clean furniture.”

“Sounds fake.”

“I could mark my territory, if that’s more your thing. Shake my fur all over the place. Chew on all the table legs.” His face relaxes into a grin and she kisses him again, this time with more ferocity, more intent. It’s hard to let go, to pull apart. His fingers knead her arms and hers brush his Adam’s apple. Their feet are entangled and the covers are twisting around them.

“Do we take this slow, Mulder? Or jump right in?”

“I feel like if we went any slower, we’d be dancing backwards.”

She lifts a knee up and over his midriff, revelling in the feel of his taut body beneath hers. “Jumping right in,” she whispers and lets herself fall.

#txf fanfic #my fanfiction #xfficchallenges #msr

[inexpensiveprogress]

V.E. Day

 Keith Vaughan - An Orchard by the Railway, 1945

Here is an account from Keith Vaughan’s diary of his Victory in Europe Day. As many in the cities danced and cheered in the streets Vaughan was on the fringes and knew of the news too late. From Keith Vaughan - Journals, 1939-1977:

They had no wireless in the cottage where I had supper, so I didn’t hear the nine o’clock news. Walking back to the camp afterwards, the first sign of anything unusual I noticed was a string of small triangular flags being hoisted up across the road by some workmen. The flags appeared quite suddenly out of the leaf-laden boughs of the chestnut, crossed a patch of sago-coloured sky, and disappeared in the dark foliage of another tree. They looked surprised to be there. They were not new flags. They had flapped for a jubilee and a coronation and numerous local festivals, and now they seemed to be getting a little tired of it all. They were faded and grubby and washed-out looking. They hung languidly in the bluish evening air. The workmen tapped away at the trees and thrust ladders up into the ripe foliage, bringing down showers of leaves and a snow of pink and white blossom. Further on there was a cottage with two new Union Jacks thrust out from the windowsill. They hung down stiffly to attention. Against the mellow sunbleached texture of the stone their strident colours looked ridiculous and, because they were there on purpose to disturb the familiar contours, they gave a feeling of uneasiness. From there onwards all the little cottages were sprouting flags.

There was no one about to see them, and no very clear reason how they came to be there. Menacing each other across the road with their shrill colours they were like a flock of rare and fabulous birds which had alighted suddenly and without warning, clinging to chimney pots, windowsills and door posts. They were of many different sizes and shapes and attitudes corresponding partly to the income levels and patriotic fervor of their owners and partly to a certain capriciousness which they seemed to acquire on their own. Some of them, having been unfurled, had hitched themselves up again shyly over the poles. Others had a narrow strip of wood fastened along the extreme edge, so they were forced to suffer the maximum exposure. The large houses had older flags sewn together with pieces of silk with white painted poles and sometimes a gold tassle. The cottages all had new flags; the pieces of calico dyed with raw-looking colours. And when it rained they would run.

Outside one cottage an old woman was standing in a black dress with folded arms. She stood there most evenings, and I had passed her a hundred times without either of us taking any special notice of the other. But to-night she seemed to be standing there for a special purpose, as though expecting something to happen. As I passed her she smiled broadly at me. It was an indescribable smile that lay right across the road blocking my way and demanding an answer. I acknowledged it and hurried past, feeling guilty and uncomfortable and afraid that I might suddenly be called to play some part I had not rehearsed.

 Keith Vaughan - Army Medical Inspection, 1942

On the dung-crusted door of a stable a V had been made with red, white and blue ribbon, and inside the V, hurriedly chalked as an afterthought, a red E. In the little window of the grocer’s was a newspaper cutting of the Prime Minister. It was stuck on the window with four large pieces of brown tape like a police notice. In the window that has bird seed and bottles of sauce was a gold frame with a reproduced oil-painting of two exceedingly mild and dignified lions, and in the bottom left hand corner the words ‘PEARS.’ In front there was a photograph of the Royal Family in sepia, with the word ‘CORONATION’ underneath and round circle of rust from a drawing pin. All the familiar and reliable things had suddenly disclosed a secret and unsuspected threat, though it would be impossible to say exactly what it was they threatened. But when the last house was passed and there were only fields and hedges and ditched frothing with tall white cow-parsley, there was a feeling of relief and reassurance.

Where the road swings sharply to the right before reaching the camp I crossed the little footbridge and sat down on the stile to smoke a cigarette. Between the layers of high lead-coloured cloud and the horizon, a narrow margin had been left in which the sun burned an enormous liquid orange disc. The air was like a thin violet fluid. In the further field was the boy who drives the tractor every morning past the camp. He was shooing some geese under a fence and into the straw-strewn yard if the cowhouse. He walked slowly forward towards the geese and at each step brought both arms up simultaneously above his head as though he were lifting something large that had suddenly lost all weight. His skin and clothes were soaked with the orange liquid from the sun. When the geese had gone he went out of sight behind the barn.

The near field was full of sheep. The full, woolly forms with sharp accents of light against the dark grass, the alternation between light-coloured sheep and dark ones, small and large, had that air of carefully-planned accident which one sometimes sees in paintings, but not often in nature. They glowed a deep gold colour like lumps of phosphorescent substance, and there were little pools of violet between their legs and in their ears. Two sheep had strayed down on to the steep bank of the ditch and were tearing ravenously at the thick, dark water-grass which met over their backs. They had pushed their way through gaps in the hedge and seemed to be expecting at any moment to be driven back. They were gulping as much as they could in the time, their eye wide with anxiety. Standing almost vertically faced downwards, they seemed to be in the most disadvantageous position both for eating and for coping with any sudden emergency that might arise.

The grass in the field was lighter in colour and had already been grazed down to a short turf like the thick pile on a carpet. Each sheep was eating with a sort of desperate concentration as though it had not seen grass for some time. They just kept their heads down and moved slowly forward, one foot at a time. But some, perhaps, because their necks had got stiff, had bent their front legs and were kneeling on their little fluffy knees with their black hoofs tucked up off the ground so as not to soil them and their backsides sticking absurdly into the air. The rams had hardly any wool and their skins had that grey, flatulent look that dead sheep have. They seemed inflated with eating and walked about painfully and awkwardly as though they were pregnant. They seemed just able to eat and transport their cumbersome genitals and excrete the little shiny damp balls of dung from time to time. That was a complete existence. The only sound was the crisp tearing of grass and an occasional low grunt and from the nearer sheep the muffled reverberations of some digestive process and blowing out of wind suddenly through the nostrils.

This, then, I thought, was the beginning of it all. This was perhaps the oldest thing on earth. Before cities and civilizations men had sat and watched sheep graze. In Canaan and Galilee and Salonica and Thrace, on the mountain slopes of Olympus and the Caucasus, on the plains of Hungary and the shores of the Black Sea, in Lombardy, Burgundy, Saxony, along all the routes where men had fought and followed, searching for a home and a pasture, sheep had grazed and men had watched them. Daphnis, Hyacinthus, Thyrsis, Corydon and the famous and anonymous shepherds of Galilee. And I tried to remember all that had gone on as an accompaniment to that watching, the immense architecture of hope that had been built up round sheep. The burnt offerings and symbols of love and innocence; the preyed-upon, the lost and the helplessly young. Sacrificed, worshipped, or just eaten, through mankind’s long adolescence sheep went on being sheep, somewhere in the background of every picture, greedy and silly and perpetually anxious. And each year the same disappointing story of promise and unfulfilment. The tiny wet thing with enormous legs first learning to kneel in the winter grass, as awkward and dangerous-looking as a child with a deck chair. The insolent butting at the udders. The entirely beautiful and unnecessary prancing of lambs, movement purely for the sake of movement, only to be forgotten in a few months in a complacent and woolly middle age.

Out of the north a flock of Fortresses came flying high. It was time for them to come and they crossed every night. The slowly-mounting noise focused the uneasiness in the air. Then I realized that tonight they would not be carrying bombs; the meaning of all the little flags suddenly became real. It was as if one had dreamt the noise: the approaching impersonal menace, the indiscriminate individual death and obliteration of cities, then at the climax of terror, walking, recognized the cause of the dream – after all, only airplanes flying. A sense of absolute security closed over every thing.

The sun has gone and over the horizon was left a stain of dried blood. The air was the colour of watery ink. At the camp the German bugler was blowing lights out. The sheep had finished eating and sat with folded feet, looking without concern on the first night of peace.

#Keith Vaughan