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dr3mvaalmar · 7 months

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Bound by Fate | Kinktober Day 7

Pairing: Solomon x F! Reader

Prompt: Stuck in Wall (nsfw, mdni)

Summary: The reader goes to Diavolo's garden and finds a stone fence. Unaware of the warnings, she becomes stuck under its curse. Solomon, the kind sorcerer he is, lends a helping hand in more ways than one.

Warnings/Tags: power dynamic, slight noncon, unprotected sex, standing doggy style, public (caught)

Credit: @cafekitsune (divider)

“Finally,” I sighed, opening a gap through the large double-wide doors. The cacophony of the party inside bellowed into the silent night, echoing along the wind. The noise was becoming unbearable, so I decided to take refuge outside. Hopefully, no one would notice my absence. I didn’t want anyone to follow me as I relieved the tension in my head.

Diavolo's mansion loomed over me as I walked into the gardens. The trail spiraled across the large expanse of land, a maize for those unaccustomed. I certainly was unfamiliar with the layout. Every step I took made me question my decision to leave the safe haven of the indoors. Maybe I should’ve asked Diavolo if I could rest in a spare room. However, he was quite preoccupied, from what I could tell.

I sighed, observing my surroundings. Neatly trimmed bushes led the trail to a fixed location. Maybe I’ll walk for a bit and return when I feel better. I let the various landmarks guide me. Moss lined the stone walkway, cushioning my feet with every step. Various plants were neatly tucked along the fences and monuments. I wondered how they stayed so healthy with so little sunlight. Before long, the path stretched as I lost myself in the night. I didn’t know how long I’d been walking or where.

“What’s that?” I mumbled to myself, finding a large stone wall before me. Its length traveled beyond what the eye could see. Was it a fence? It looked like some kind of mural with intricate etchings across it. An unfamiliar language was transcribed about should-height, along with strange images. It was an amalgamation of lines and shapes. Curiously, I stepped closer. I recognized some of the text. It was carved deeply into the stone and was worn with time.

I followed the writings, trying to decipher what the words meant. The wall seemed to surround the entire premises, so I wasn’t sure how far I would go. However, not long after my journey, the text abruptly ended. Next to it was a…

“A handprint?” I asked myself, lifting my hand to compare. It seemed almost too perfect for the contours of my fingers. Growing ever more curious, I pressed my fingers against the stone. It was smooth and cold, yet there was a subtle warmth. As the warmth increased, I retracted my arm. However, to my horror, I realized my hand was stuck in place. In an instant, I realized the writing was a warning, not ancient text. Spontaneous panic spread through my mind as I tried to tug and tear my body away from the wall. Without thinking, I brought my nondominant hand to push me back. Regretfully, that hand sunk into the depths of the wall along with the other. Now, I had no leverage but my legs to free me from this predicament.

“Come on! Ugh,” I exclaimed, my breathing becoming ragged from the exhaustion. I had no idea how long I struggled. However, I could hear the music in the distance, dying to a low thrum. Pitifully, I wondered if anyone noticed my leaving. They probably were having too much fun. I jerked back my shoulder in one final hurrah, but the reality dawned on me. I was stuck. I didn’t know how far away I was, but the mansion seemed much smaller than before.

I shouted every name I could think of from the top of my head. My voice was growing hoarse with every plea for help. Yet, as time elapsed, I realized I had no savior. It was just me in the depths of the dark. I stopped, a veil of exhaustion washing over me. What would I even say if someone were to find me?

Resting my knees on the ground, my hands stretched high above me. I laid my forehead on the wall. Shocked, I realized my error but felt relief when the stone left my skin. Why were only my hands affected? I let the tension go, letting my body collapse. My arm was becoming numb the longer it stayed above my head.

“Oh? What do we have here?” a voice bellowed towards me, the slow movement of footsteps in the distance. “You’ve got yourself in quite the predicament, (Y/n).”

I looked up, my eyes cloudy and narrowed. It was Solomon. Of all people, it would have to be Solomon. I wanted nothing more than to flee.

“Go away,” I said, turned away. “I don’t need your help.”

“Are you sure?” Solomon asked, a few feet away from me by now. He crossed his arms, a cocky smile plastered on his lips. “If you don’t need the help, maybe I won’t tell the others. You’ll spend the night out here alone. We don’t want that, now, do we?”

I sighed, bobbing my arm up to get circulation through my arm. As much as I didn’t trust him, he was reliable when I needed him the most. I’d be so sore if I spent the night out here.

“Fine,” I said, relenting. Solomon’s eyebrow quirked up.

“What was that?” he teased. “I’m not sure what you’re wanting, dear.”

“Solomon, set me free or so help me God,” I said, a biting acidity to my words. I already spent so long out here. My legs and back were stiff. I needed to stretch. The wall encasing my fingers felt so oppressive.

I looked expectantly at the sorcerer, but he only stood there and smiled. Solomon showed no signs of budging as he watched me struggle under his gaze. Did he… enjoy this?

“Solomon! Please, just get me out of here already,” I cried, getting up from my knees. I tried tugging on my arms again, using the strength of my legs. Solomon seemed entertained with every passing second.

“Ah, what a sight. Never could I imagine the brave (Y/n) succumbing to the mysteries of the Devildom. Literally,” Solomon said, a finger perched below his lip. I scoffed.

“Haha. Very funny. Get me out. Now.”

“Everything has a price in exchange for a service. What will you offer for my assistance?” Solomon asked, stepping towards me. I couldn’t stand up to my full height as he taunted me with half-lidded eyes. I knew he held me in the palm of his hand.

“What do you want? I don’t have anything,” I told him, rolling my eyes. “I left all my stuff back at the castle. It’s nothing good anyways.”

“Quite the contrary, I have everything I want in front of me,” Solomon affirmed, his pupils scanning me from my head and descending shamelessly. I felt my face burn under the implication.

“You want… me?”

Solomon nodded, enjoying my revelation, “I knew you’d understand.”

I contemplated his offer for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. I can’t believe it’s something I would even consider, but it’s not like I had much of a choice. Solomon was patient as I caved in.

“Don’t worry, it won’t feel like very long at all,” Solomon said in an attempt to comfort me. “I’ll make you forget everything.”

“Just do whatever you want. I don’t care,” I grumbled, averting my eyes. However, I did, in fact, care. Frustration was eating at every fiber of my being.

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Solomon chuckled. “Once I’ve had my fill, I promise to set you free.”

I turned my head away, the guilt of my decision heavy on my mind. However, that soon disappeared as I felt cold fingers snake underneath my shirt. My breathing hitched as the digits contrasted with the warmth of my skin. The gliding of his touch brought goosebumps along my skin. His hands felt my stomach, moving up towards my ribs. I squeaked.

“Ticklish, aren’t we?” Solomon said, a laugh resonating from his throat. He never paused for a moment. His onslaught of calculated movements sent shivers across my body. Solomon hitched the fabric of my blouse up, allowing him to move more freely. The more I squirmed and struggled, the more access it granted to his wandering touch. He would hold my body firm under his large hands if I felt especially resistant. Eventually, his fingers lingered just below my bust, tracing the fabric confining them. I could feel Solomon’s body, his crotch grinding into my backside. The lining of his cock was no secret, even if I couldn’t see it. Our surroundings seemed to fade away with every movement until it was just the two of us.

“No need for this pesky thing,” Solomon mumbled, voice husky, as he flipped the fabric above my chest. My breasts, freed from their entrapment, were immediately seized in Solomon’s greedy hands. He stifled a groan as he massaged each one vigorously. His chest fit into the curvature of my back, hips moving in tandem with his groping hands. Solomon's mouth wavered over my neck before latching on. His pitiful gasps with each wave of pleasure made my mouth open wide. By now, I didn’t even notice what lewd sounds spewed from within me.

“Mmn you need me, right? You don’t mind if I put my thick cock inside you? Hm?” Solomon moaned, his voice a raspy mess. His lips trailed my earlobe, nipping playfully. I could smell his cologne seeping from his clothes from here. It was intoxicating. “Don’t answer. I already know exactly what you need.”

One of his hands left my breast, and I could feel his vice grip against my ass as he pressed into me. I could feel everything. Every curve. Every inch of his throbbing cock. His clothes did little to conceal his aching member. He seemed drunk with pleasure, rubbing against my skirt without a single ounce of shame. Before I knew it, I felt the soft skin of his dick settling on my back. I gasped.

“So responsive. I wonder…” Solomon chuckled, both of his hands now gripping my hips as his dick thrust up and down. His fingers descended underneath the hem of my skirt, prying my panties away from my smoldering skin. He didn’t hesitate to rub the growing wetness of my cunt. “Is this all for me? How enticing.”

Solomon laughed airily as he ripped my skirt from my body. It fell to the ground pitifully. I felt so exposed under his intensity.

“Solomon,” I cried, finally finding my words under a whirlwind of sensations. “Please.” “Do you want me to stop?” Solomon asked, and I could practically see his smirk through every word he uttered. I shook my head. “Use your words, or I’ll have to force them out of you.”

“Please, just fuck me, Sol,” I exclaimed, rubbing my ass rhythmically against Solomon’s engorged dick. I could feel his body shake.

“Good girl,” Solomon said, aligning his dick against my wet entrance. I had no time to prepare before he pushed inside of me. My body resisted, but Solomon was determined. He explored every inch until he hit a dead end. I could feel the warmth all throughout me. Even a twitch was enough to send spikes of pleasure up my spine. “So inviting. I didn’t know you wanted me so deeply. Don't worry.”

Solomon’s pulled back before slamming inside of me. I could feel the tip edging into my cervix.

“I’ll give you…”

He thrust again, slapping skin against skin.

“Everything…”

Again.

“I’ve got!” Solomon shouted, digging deep inside of me. His movements wouldn’t slow as he fucked me raw. His dick slid easily in the essence of my arousal. The wet sound struck against the walls, returning to me in full force. The lewd noise of our sex was too much to bear.

Solomon gripped my throat as he fucked me senseless. I could only give in as he reared my head back, fingers clasped on my jugular. Solomon pecked my lips, straining the muscles as I twisted around. All the while, each thrust brought me painfully flat against the wall. I could feel every gasp for breath as he hovered over the nap of my neck. His nose nuzzled into the crook before biting down, saliva trailing from his mouth. My eyes furrowed as I shrieked with euphoria.

“Oh fuck yes, you fill me up so good, Sol,” I commended. I so desperately wanted to run my hands into his shirt, to feel up every inch of his body. I wanted his dick between my lips, fucking my wet holes like the toy I am. Every word I spoke seemed to make Solomon quicken his pace. His hands would grab every inch of skin he could fit in his palm. His entire body was against me now. I felt almost claustrophobic against the wall, but the pleasure dulled every sense of danger.

As the knot inside me started to reach its peak, my walls tightened around him. He let out a guttural moan, letting every ounce of energy into his last remaining thrusts. Whenever he delved deeper, my vision blurred, and stars crossed my eyes. He was getting close. Too close.

“I’m going to come,” Solomon gasped, not faltering for a moment. “Take it all. Every last ounce.”

I moaned out his name as he pumped his seed, delving deeper until I couldn’t hold it all. I could feel it spurt, warmth seeping into my core. Solomon grinded into me until he was sure I was thoroughly saturated with his cum. His voice grunted as he hit his high of the orgasm.

We hesitated to pull away from each other, his warmth a cocoon over my naked body. Yet, things must end inevitably. Solomon pulled out, my hole oozing with his very DNA. I felt a sense of pride well up in me, despite being taken advantage of by a horny sorcerer.

“Now, for my end of the bargain,” Solomon said, slowly readjusting his clothes. With a snap of his finger, I could feel the stone slowly glide off my skin, almost like goo. I flexed my fingers momentarily, perplexed to see my hands finally set free. I could already feel a dull ache, not only in my hands but in the areas Solomon ravaged. “I hope our intimate moment helped you realize how much you mean to me.”

It was hard to accept the heartfelt moment when a mixture of our fluids was running down my leg. Yet, I still felt his words tug at my heart, remembering each fleeting glance and teasing remark he showed me before. I wouldn’t mind round two.

“I had fun,” I giggled, picking up my skirt and pulling down my bra.

“Well, if you need a little company, you know where to find me,” Solomon said with a wink. The corners of my lips curled up further.

“Let’s go join the others,” Solomon said, holding a hand toward me. I accepted it without hesitation.

“But what about the mess?” I asked, referring to my ruffled clothes and wet skirt.

“What mess?” Solomon teased, pulling me along. We didn’t make it a few steps before we noticed a crowd in the distance. It was the others… I sincerely hope they didn’t hear me as I cried to the heavens.

“Ah, there you two are!” Diavolo exclaimed arms spread out before him. He seemed eager to see us as the demon brothers and Barbatos trailed behind. They all looked aghast, and I noticed Asmodeus snickering something amongst them. “We heard a commotion. I assume everything is all right now?”

“A minor disturbance, Lord Diavolo. Rest assured, all has been resolved,” Solomon said, a sly smile adorning his lips. I noticed a devilish glint in his eyes, which made heat rise to my cheeks.

The sea of faces was perplexing and entertaining. Barbatos was as professional as ever. Lucifer raised an eyebrow, his face indifferent. Mammon looked like he was constipated. Beel seemed none the wiser. Satan had a knowing smirk, suppressing a chuckle. Levi seemed awkward and averted his gaze. Belphie seemed dazed. Lastly, Asmodeus was trying to resist a squeal of delight. This was not how I wanted to make a lasting impression on the brothers.

Now free to move on my own accord, I shifted my clothes, not daring to let out a single noise. If I spoke, I might break under the pressure. Solomon side-eyed me, a teasing but reassuring gesture.

Asmodeus was the first to crack. Every movement—from the tilt of his head to the flutter of his eyelashes—felt like a pang of embarrassment straight to my heart. He seemed to enjoy my reaction more than Solomon ever would.

“Oh, Solomon,” Asmodeus said. “Always one for… hands-on solutions, aren’t you? How resourceful of you both~”

Solomon’s arm snaked under me, looping around my waist protectively. Slowly, he guided me away from them as I turned my head towards the group in disbelief.

“I believe we’ve taken enough of everyone’s time. Good day,” Solomon said, not paying another thought to the tragedy of what just occurred. I had a feeling that gossip would spread like wildfire. I hung my head in shame as Solomon reveled in my misery.

#solomon x reader #obey me #kinktober 2023 #obey me smut #fanfiction #day 7 #obey me solomon #/reader

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quirkle2 · 3 months

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more zombie au :] (1.2k words)

The odor of rot has joined the damp growth of life from pots. Even if some things die off without human aid, there are always stronger elements that thrive in their absence.

The aisles are overgrown. Ritsu brushes past the vines as gently as he can, wooden floor groaning under his worn soles. There’s a gap of empty space in the middle of each aisle that he slots through, eyes roaming the shelves of largely useless things. Stronger stems snag onto his backpack and he tugs distractedly while perusing the labeled pots along the tables.

The barn is quaint, and Ritsu thinks he would love to stay. Moss eats at the boards under his feet and bugs swarm around him in the hot air incessantly, but it’s peaceful and there’s a constant sprinkle of sound to his ears that have grown so used to silence. Whoever owned this place beforehand put up a few wind chimes indoors—they must’ve always had the front entrance open for customers.

It’s a quiet little homemade garden center, or something similar, on the side of the highway. It’s an overgrown property with something dead in the backyard that Ritsu refuses to acknowledge or let Shigeo near. The shingles and boards in the roof have been replaced with polyethylene sheets—a barn-turned-greenhouse, uprooted from the hay and cattle it likely used to house and settled back into the Earth to be a paradise for plants.

There’s a large branch hanging through a hole poked into the plastic overhead. It sways with the wind and the chimes that follow, and Ritsu whistles with the leadless melody and gives it a direction while he studies old seed packets.

They didn’t stop here for any particular reason—a garden center doesn’t have much for apocalypse survivors, but Shigeo has always liked overgrown things. He’d always enjoyed taking care of their mother’s plants back home, and then Reigen’s at the office. His brother likes the humidity of greenhouses and the smell of soil and dirt and must.

He sees the top of Shigeo’s head over the aisles, across the barn. He walks past a shovel hanging on the wall and yelps out a grunt when it clangs to the floor behind him. Ritsu shakes his head and smiles, running his fingers along faded price tags.

The feeling of greenhouses has always had this… wet fullness, to Ritsu.

When he breathes in it’s like he can taste the life that breathes out and it feels like a conversation, a question and an answer, both of which he’s not sure how to articulate. The leaves wave to him and he waves back, the once-active sprinklers pepper his skin with dots, with compliments, with proclamations they are eager to share. The vines weave between fencing just to reach him, just to talk.

He understands why Shigeo likes it, and why he’d always asked to accompany their mother on trips to get new seeds. Ritsu hadn’t really understood, then, how pretty it could be, how full it could feel.

Shigeo had always been right about loving the little things. Ritsu wishes he’d seen that sooner.

His brother ambles down the aisle ahead of him and he listens to the quiet patter of his sloppy footwork, moving around a table of seed trays. His whistles carry across the barn, sort of aimless in their own right instead of leading the wind and the chimes somewhere worthwhile, but the sounds soak into the overhead plastic nicely, so he keeps going.

He pulls back a layering of vines and leaves to scan the contents of another shelf, and then he notices Shigeo stop in his peripherals. His dirty shoes stay planted in the corner of his vision, leaves burying the toes, and Ritsu looks away from the products.

He means to say something, to ask him what’s up even if saying things to Shigeo very rarely results in productivity, but he stops when he realizes his brother’s head is… tilted.

He’s looking at him with as much inquisitiveness as his dulled down awareness can muster, pale eyes flickering across Ritsu’s face like he’s working out some puzzle. He instinctively stops whistling, brain lagging behind on this new info of this new behavior, and the sound fizzles out into a little huff of air that leaves the greenhouse feeling oddly empty.

Shigeo studies him for a moment longer, blinking slowly, and then he straightens his head out as Ritsu stares back. His brother’s gaze lingers there on his mouth, like he’s still confused, like he still expects something to happen.

Ritsu blinks once, twice. The wind chimes call as wind pokes at his greasy spikes, as it prods at the ends of his jacket and fills the silence with a different flavor of itself. The interest in the zombie’s eyes fades a little, gaze straying to the vines around them.

Very tentatively, Ritsu wets his lips and blows. The whistle grabs his brother’s attention immediately, and he’s suddenly tilting his head like a curious dog.

He can’t help the laugh that spills out and makes the whistle a mess of exhales. His shoulders shake a little and he hurries to keep the tune steady and consistent; a few seconds pass and Shigeo tilts his head the other way, exhausted eyes big and more alert than they’ve been in days.

Ritsu experiments, and ventures around with the sound—goes lower and higher and watches his brother twist his head back and forth like he’s trying to understand calculus. There’s something very innocent about it, about the look in his eyes that reminds him of when they were kids and their father would show them magic tricks.

It’s muted by the ever-present fog there in his pupils, but Ritsu thinks he sees a spark of that life in them, of that curiosity born from a mind that knows little. He gives him a simple sensation, a simple experience, and his brother is eating it all up like he’s four again, like he’s new and everything is colorful and unknown and big.

Ritsu watches Shigeo tilt his head back and forth, watches the rusty gears behind his window panes move. He changes tactics, because some sad part of him tells him to, and whistles Shigeo’s favorite song instead.

He remembers the name, but he doesn’t need the name because when he thinks of the tune he thinks of his brother, and that’s all that matters. It’s happy, because Shigeo likes happy music. It’s chipper and yet it meanders, like it’s willingly getting lost, like it’s wandering where it wants to and it’ll eventually find its roots again. It’s happy the whole time. The whole adventure.

Shigeo stops tilting his head, and the gears behind his eyes churn a little bit faster. His gaze clings to Ritsu’s and his brother makes actual eye contact, sinks his own being into Ritsu’s head when he’s least prepared for it. The recognition in his gaze has his soul souring.

He keeps whistling. He doesn’t want to stop, because Shigeo feels like Shigeo right now, and he doesn’t want that to stop.

His brother stares. Ritsu’s grief tints the music.

#qkwrites #zombie au #mp100 ritsu #ritsu kageyama #shigeo kageyama #mp100 shigeo #mp100 mob #every time i think about this au too long i am filled with despair #last line of this . damn i was cookin #ritsu's grief tints Everything he does in this world #he's fucking haunted by it and it's awful bc it's not like he can just.not think abt it #bc the source of his grief is Shigeo. and shigeo still breathes and walks and reacts to things ritsu does like he's alive #and he Is alive. he's very much alive #but there is a lot missing. and ritsu Feels the absence every fucking second #it's like walking into a house that used to have another person in it. and all the familiar sounds ur used to will never be made again #it's very empty and stagnant and the things that Do stay are Different #and it changes a lot. one minute ritsu will be having an okay day—best mood u could possibly have in an apocalypse anyway #and then he looks over and shigeo is doing smth that he used to do Before but it's wrong and a little bit to the left #and without the life in it #pure muscle memory on shigeo's part #and suddenly ritsu's mood drops So fast and he's so Exhausted from these mood swings he keeps having #u know that thing that goes like .uhhhh grief doesn't fade life just gets bigger around it. or smth #yeah ritsu's life isn't rly getting bigger. he is not moving away from the grief bc the source of it keeps staring him in the face

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andromeda-nova-writing · 7 months

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Willingly Within Your Grasp

Vampire! Ayato x Fem! Witch! Reader

Summary: A Witch brought in by fellow practitioner Thoma to help protect the Kamisatos from other Vampires and Vampire hunters who wish to see them fall. Originally met to be around Ayaka ended up with Ayato being the one who keeps her close

It’s the day after an incident outside the home had occurred where neither Ayaka, Thoma nor the reader had been nearby when Ayato had been attacked. The Reader has pulled Ayato aside after picking up that he had been wounded upset at what had occurred.

Words: 2,312

AN: @milkstore you just had to encourage my vampire brain rot lol. Thank you for reading over the fic for me. I appreciate it. You gave such a good idea with it being spooky season. This fic is T-rated. Typical vampire behavior. Mentions of blood and animal death. Implied sexual content at the end. If any of that makes you uncomfortable please check out my other Ayato fic. It's much more wholesome.

2 a.m. The Witching Hour, when everyone that should be asleep is. Where those who are at home are tucked tightly under their covers peacefully dreaming with no worries about the things that go bump in the night. For most households, this was true. Other homes were empty with their inhabitants focused on protecting those who lived in peaceful ignorant bliss. And within the walls of the Kamisato Estate, only those who were permitted with the knowledge knew why the Kamisatos were up moving around.

"Keep it moving boys. That deer was supposed to be here an hour ago. Thoma has been waiting there for a while now.” Y/N told the workers that were moving a live deer that had been tied up into the estate. “I expect next time to be much quicker.”

This was as far as Y/N could enjoy working with the live animal that came into the estate. It was best not to look any in the eyes as they would soon become lifeless and drained of blood with the rest being used for various potion ingredients. Depending on the animal, its meat would be cooked and served to many of the daytime employees who just thought that the Kamisatos preferred any meat to be the freshest to have the highest quality.

The only animals to enter and exit freely with no worry were two familiars, a dog, Thoma’s, and a raven belonging to Y/N. They too were making a return. The dog carried a small basket on their back filled with mosses that were only found on the tops of canopies of the trees in the nearby forest. The raven landed on a rail singing a sweet song that to anyone else would sound like nothing.

Y/N bent down detaching the basket off the harness that Thoma’s dog wore. She peered inside of it with a quick glance before shutting it and bringing the basket underneath her arm. “No need to apologize, this is plenty for what we need.” She spoke to her raven first.

Y/N gave the dog a quick pat on the head. “He’s in the kitchen. Thank you for your help. You’re dismissed.” Off went the dog happy with the praise received, ready for the next task.

“And you. Any other things you saw on the flight over?” Another bird song. “That tree was standing upright just a day ago. And you say there were sword marks and a silver arrowhead close by. Odd. I’ll have it checked by someone for anything else. I’d like you to take a look for anything else suspicious as of late. Be back in an hour. As long as everything goes to schedule I’ll have your favorite snack soon enough.” Y/N sent off the bird before making her way back inside.

The night air was always nice to feel on the skin knowing that nothing out there could bring her any personal harm. One of the things she enjoyed about working with the Kamisatos. Her talents were wanted and not feared like they would have been if she were to work alone. It made the indoor air of the estate more inviting instead of stiff like her old home had been.

Y/N bowed her head seeing who faced her. “Miss Kamisato. How has your night been?” she greeted.

“It’s been lovely. As fun as the summer festivals have been, I've missed the long nights.” She spoke back lively as ever. “And I do distinctly remember asking you to stop calling me Miss Kamisato. That feels weird from you.”

“I’m sorry Ayaka. A force of habit knowing how many vampires prefer to be addressed. Most aren’t as pleasant to be around unlike you.” She spoke truthfully. “I shall be making that cream today for your next daytime appearance. Shall I make you extra? It would be nice to shop around and help to keep up appearances.”

“I would like that. You should come with me. I heard about a dress you were eyeing a week ago. Maybe this shop will have something for my tastes as well.” Excitement over the trip radiated off of her. If it wasn’t for her fangs that showed through her smile you would have no idea she was a vampire.

“That would be fun. Were you heading out for a walk by any chance?”

“I was. Care to join?”

“Please don’t leave the grounds for the night. I was informed of some worrying things in the forest. A tree was downed and had remnants of sword marks. My raven saw a silver arrowhead as well.” Her words were laced with concern, never happy to make reports like this. It always was worrying with the fact no one else but who was up on the night shift was to know for certain if the Kamisatos were vampires or not.

Ayaka frowned. “And the moon looked so lovely tonight.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the deer was just brought in. If you get to the kitchen now Thoma is sure to give you the first glass before anything gets bottled up.”

“I think I’ll do that. Better than any mock version you could come up with. It satisfies thirst but it's not the same.” With that, the two girls made the walk over to the kitchen.

It was good that Ayaka preferred animal blood. Luckily, or unluckily depending on who viewed it, never having human blood before made it to where her tastes were much more reasonable. It kept her innocence as a nice young lady helping to keep the public doubting any claims she was a vampire. To them, she was just normal all be it a normal person with slightly colder hands.

“No fair!” She complained seeing her brother drinking a fresh glass. Clearly the first on his way back from the kitchen.

Ayato laughed. He held up the glass with his left hand. “It’s the second. I had Thoma set aside the first for you already.”

She eyed her brother suspiciously for a second before deciding he was telling the truth. “No work before your glass is finished,” Ayaka told him before leaving to get a glass herself.

“Y/N is there a reason you’re staring? I don’t recall you being so openly enamored by my presence.”

“Take your jacket off.”

He almost choked on his drink. “Blunt now are we? I’m flattered by the speed of what things you’d like to get done but this is a hallway with no privacy.”

She rolled her eyes. "Not for those reasons. Keep it up and we can talk about that silver arrow that must have been shot at-"

"Understood. To my office then."

It was a short walk to his office. He had opened the door letting Y/N in before entering the space himself shutting them in the room. Her basket had already been shoved against the wall of the room. Y/N already had her eyes closed drawing symbols in the air and mumbling out incantations in an old dead language Ayato couldn't recognize. As she worked on her spell, the entrances into the room, door and windows, began glowing a deep purple. On the final word of her spell with eyes glowing entirely that same magical purple around the room, it stopped. It appeared as if nothing happened to anyone else.

"It's been a while since you let your magic consume you that heavily," Ayato commented, placing down his glass on the table.

Her eyes had returned to their normal appearance. "I wouldn’t have to if it weren't for you. The words won't escape this room now unless we wish to speak of it ourselves. The estate's seal has been reset as well to fix any weak points in any barriers. Nothing can happen that I won't be aware of. Including the comings and goings of someone not bringing a guard with them. How you found a weak spot baffles me."

"It seems I should hire a better Witch then." Off came his jacket.

"Too bad I'm the best Witch in Inazuma. Now will you tell me why you left alone or at the very least why you didn't tell anyone you were hurt?"

"I was looking for something and who am I to worry you over nothing."

"It's not nothing. You know that. You know silver could kill you."

"I was only grazed. It's a surface-level injury." With his jacket off and sleeve rolled up revealing his right forearm it was clear to Y/N how slowly the injury was spreading. It was indeed appearing to be surface level to his eyes but not to a trained Witch.

"Sit. There's silver in your arm. You must have been downing so much blood trying to heal from that." Her voice was slowly switching from being one of the few people who could tell Ayato what to do with genuine worry.

"Only slightly more than normal." He was following her directions, beginning to treat the situation as seriously as she was. To an extent.

With Ayato sitting down in his normal spot behind the desk, the only place Y/N could think to work without interrupting her skills was right next to him on the desk. She felt as if she was finding herself there too often nowadays. She held his forearm against her lap keeping a steady eye on the wound.

Her other hand was waving over the wound while she began mumbling through a different set of incantations. Fragments of silver were being pulled through the wound where they had lodged themselves into his skin. He winced finally letting himself fully feel the pain of what he had been going through for the past day.

Y/N brought her hand up with silver Fragments floating in the air circling around her hand. With another minute of incantation, they burst into flames changing form from an object to a plasma to smoke before disappearing altogether.

Her eyes dropped back away from that all-powerful purple once again. The only thing not leaving her eyes was the rage that had taken form as she was casting. “You are a buffoon!”

“And I love you too.”

She was unphased by his common statement of affection and let go of his arm. “If I didn’t figure it out sooner it would have killed you. That arrow had a spell cast upon it as well. It was to crawl through your veins before reaching your heart. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything to help you after that.” Y/N held in any shake of her words able to mask them with having performed powerful magic moments before. She turned grabbing the glass of blood that had been left on the desk half finished, offering it to him.

He took the glass frowning at what had excited him earlier. It wasn’t enough now. “Good that I have the best Witch in Inazuma to care for me.”

“You can’t insult my skills then compliment me the next minute. Just drink. I’ve done what I can. You have to heal on your own now.”

He obeyed downing the rest of the glass not caring for its taste any more. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’ll be sure to let you know if any encounter like that happens again. I’m not trying to worry you.” He placed the glass aside away from the desk.

“And yet you do.” She kept her eyes off the man in front of her looking elsewhere.

Ayato grabbed her hand placing a kiss on the back of her palm bringing her attention back to him. “You know,” another kiss, “I’d heal faster with some blood.” His fangs brushed against her skin. What a tease.

“I gave you blood.” She closed her eyes doing her best from giving in. Ayato, now he was easy to remember he was a vampire. He acted much more like one.

He stood up still holding onto her hand. With his height being taller than her no matter if she sat on the desk. A kiss on the cheek before whispering in her ear. “You know what I’m asking.”

A gasp and a swallowing of her breath. “I’ll have some sent here. I have work to be done.” He was trailing soft kisses down towards her neck.

“It can wait. There’s a more important matter that needs your attention.” The first of many kisses on her neck

And she had gone from Witch caretaker to willing prey for Ayato again. An act she had commented with him countless times before and would continue to do. He had her caged between his arms and the desk once again. She welcomed it leaning into his touch.

His fangs entered her neck drinking up her blood. The taste sweeter than anything he could get from an animal or some other human. Her blood was all he needed. He took a break licking up any drops that tried escaping. “Sometimes I think you enjoy this more than me.”

Emotions were on full display. “I don’t know what makes you think that.” A steady voice was such a lost cause attempting to maintain.

He moved his lips away from her neck admiring the bite marks from his fangs. Waiting out for a response that won’t take too long. He drank too slowly to have her worry about the thought of blood loss. That wasn’t nearly enough for either of them but the stand-off between them was part of the fun.

"Ayato." She spoke softly. The way his name rolled off her tongue was perfect.

"Yes."

"That spell," the one she had cast earlier blocking any sound from escaping the room, “I only have it last one more hour. Whatever we plan on doing, we should hurry up with it.”

He wasted no time before sinking his teeth back into her neck pleased with what was to happen next.

#kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #ayato x reader

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brickcentral · 1 month

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TIPS: Bringing Landscapes indoors

Hi community! This week I will be showing you how to create mountains out of packaging paper, some paint and some cotton.

Everyone has these piles of papers from packages delivered to our home. The first thing we do with them is to throw them away. However, you can transform this into mountains fairly easily (or caves, or rock walls...). Another item that I find unvaluable is a blue sky poster with some clouds (you can also print your own of course). The first step is to crumple up the paper and make shapes with it. Triangles work great for mountains. You can also give them depth by stuffing them with (yes, you guess right) more packaging paper. To keep the shape I put some tape in the back. It will eventually get destroyed with handleling, but this way they last a bit more. Once made, I put them in a box in the balcony (or on the street with some paper) and I paint them completely with a grey spray paint. If you don't have one, you can also paint with a brush! the spray is just faster. I used three different colors to give them some shape. Grey overall, black aiming from the botton (shadows) and white from the top (snow and highlights). These three colors will be enough to give a more realistic impression that just gray.

I then use the cotton to create some clouds. I cut some small bits and put it around the mountains, and the rest at the bottom, to give the impression that we are flying above the clouds to the mountain tops.

For the next tip I will show you how to use moss for grasslands, and how to care for it, so you can always have it available. @taskera

#lego photography #brickcentral #toy photography #lego #afol #photography tips #brickcentral tips

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blorbologist · 6 months

Note

gwendolyn, trick or treat >:3

Treat! Gwennie deserves it after her scare last episode <3 Ended up being more all the de Rolo kids - Vesper, but! :D

Lady de Rolo does not look up from her ledgers as a faint giggle reaches her ears. Her attention thus captured, she notes the faint rasp of carpet as little shoes dart over them, and the rustle of a light dress.

Vex taps off the excess ink and smiles to herself. Oh, Gwen is getting good.

Just because she still enjoys a good hunt she gives her daughter a head start, waits until even her sharp hearing can’t find any sign of life but Trinket’s snores by her feet. Careful not to wake him, she slips from her desk and pads out of her office, door left ajar. Usually the children take it as an invitation to seek her out if they want her - one always does, and it never fails to make her feel richer than she is - but it also helps her keep tabs on their antics.

Tracking indoors used to be Vax’s thing, not her own. But Whitestone castle is as familiar as any forest; the pale stone cliffside, the wooden doorway a tree, the rugs moss and lichen. Just as populated with bears as any she’s foraged in, courtesy of Trinket and his cubs. Vex smiles, inhales cold air and end-of-season flowers and old varnish. Just as much her home, if not moreso.

It’s easy enough to follow the hall, gets more interesting once it merges into another and passes by a few rooms. Vex has to slow her pace and - there! a trace in the carpet. Up the stairs to the right, then. White catches her eye - a handprint just the size for her youngest.

From there, she knows exactly where Gwendolyn was off to.

Under her breath, Vex mouths a prayer to Pelor that Cassandra taught them all about the secret passages. If she wasn’t familiar with the hideholes in the wall, even she might be at a loss for where her daughter ended up.

But as it is, it’s trivial to pause, listen to the stifled snickers and mutters of her children, and push in the engraving that unlatches the hidden door.

Eyes, so many eyes, gleam back at her for a brief second, her little nest of raccoons. Most of them shut the moment the light hits them - all but Gwendolyn, grinning up at her, with a neat row of doughnuts ringing her tail.

Oh, that’s a new one.

“Children,” Vex scolds. She’s gotten very good on biting on her smile. “What have I told you about stealing from the kitchen?”

Dan gulps. Powdered sugar falls from his mouth, which he hastens to dab away with a sleeve. “We didn’t steal, Mum. That’s why we sent Gwen.”

The littlest de Rolo frowns, turning on her older sister, nestled in the back. “But you said it’s because I’m the littlest and have to listen to -”

“You’re just so charming,” Lenoa interrupts, taking a sweet impaled on her sister’s horns. She chews - with her mouth closed, at least - and meets Vex’s unimpressed look with a shrug. “What? She is. You know mister Darrence can’t say no to her! She’s spoiled!”

“Am not!”

Time to cut that short: “Those,” says Vex’ahlia, “were for the dinner tonight. You’ll all ruin your appetite, and we’ll have nothing to enjoy after supper.”

Wolfe clears his throat. “Sorry, Mother. Um…” He extends sticky fingers, holding up a yet untouched doughnut. “Want one?”

Well. She has been working all day. And, on second glance, it looks very cozy in there: they’ve pilfered blankets and pillows, a teddy for good measure. It would be a shame to have tracked down her quarry only to leave empty handed.

“Scoot over,” Vex says.

(The children wail complaints that there’s no room. Well! Not with that attitude there isn’t.)

🎃Trick or Treat! Send me an ask and you'll get a trick (angst) or treat (fluff) ficlet in return! 🎃

#critical role #vex'ahlia #gwendolyn de rolo #de rolo family #Darrence is Andy Darrence mentioned last C3 episode lol #cr fanfic

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my-ants-are-anxious · 2 months

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If you are reading this,

Think about the possibility of indoor moss.

Moss carpet? Moss on your wall?

Moss bedding? Mossy table?

Maybe I'm off base, idk

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whumpprompts · 1 year

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A whumpy ”choose your own adventure” game

Previously:

A man wakes up after mysterious lights make him crash his car. All his other memories are gone; he can’t remember why he was driving or even who he is. When he opens his eyes, he sees…

THE CORNER OF A MATTRESS AND A MOLDY, WOODEN WALL THAT LEFTS IN A DRAFT.

Episode 2

The view of the worn mattress and the moldy walls makes him pause. The dread he’s been feeling grips him tighter as the only answer to why he’s indoors rather than in a burning car slithers into his racing mind.

Someone’s moved him, and he can’t help but wonder if the light he saw had something to do with it.

Slowly, he sits up and gives his surroundings a better look.

It’s a cabin. Not one of those rich-people cabins families could go spend their summers at nor one of those small but cozy cabins people into witchcraft would buy and decorate with herbs and embroidery art. It’s dark and dusty, with only a shred of a flowery wallpaper visible in one corner. The other end of the ceiling has collapsed, and the pile of rotten wood below grows mushrooms and moss. The only things of potential importance in the room are a window, a door, and a few rotten cabinets.

A throb of pain quickly takes his focus from the wreck of a cabin to his leg. It’s been bandaged, but sloppily so. Blood drips down his thigh.

Outside seems mostly quiet, but there is a rustling. Whether it’s trees, wildlife, or something more nefarious, he doesn’t know.

Taglist: @whump-captain @whumpsday @justbabyme @angry-ace @justwhumpythings @bloodyfeverdreams @kiratheperson @a-reader-and-a-writer

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desireigndubai-blog · 8 days

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Indoor Preserved Wall UAE | Dubai

Transform your indoor spaces with Desireign's preserved walls in the UAE. Our walls bring the beauty of nature indoors, requiring minimal maintenance and offering lasting greenery for your space. Experience the natural charm with Desireign's preserved walls.

#indoor plants suppliers in uae #moss wall installation dubai #planters pots dubai #living wall planters uae #vertical garden suppliers in dubai #plants & garden maintenance in uae #artifical plants dubai #green wall systems in uae #artificial plants dubai #preserved plants in dubai

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tamedstray · 28 days

Note

Are there any certain scents, sounds, or textures that you like? What about ones that you dislike? - for Vigor

𝑸𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒆

❝Oh! What a delightful question!❞ Vigor cheers, his joy radiating as he soon dives into the topic. ❝For scents? Fresh bread, when it's still warm. The smell of a campfire. Gardenia, freesia! Oh! And honeysuckle. Cinnamon, too.❞

As Vigor begins to recall all of his favourite scents, he is whisked away by the memories the question provoked. While he had never planned to live in the wilderness for so long, it was a life in stark contrast to a childhood spent indoors, save for Irnvar's walled garden. There was a whole world of wonder to soothe his grief. ❝I enjoy the feel of moss beneath my feet, and the dawn chorus every morning. I'm not sure what I even dislike. I haven't had time to think about it...❞

He pounders the darker side of the question for a moment. The smell of blood. Irnvar's voice. The texture of dried tears that clung to his cheeks. Vigor takes a deep breath, and finishes his reply. ❝If you've known me for even a day, you know how I feel about a good blanket. Alpaca wool is actually quite soft, if you find the right kind.❞ His bright smile returns, forcing back painful memories as he chooses instead to recall the feel of his favourite blanket against his face, and the soft belly of their faithful Scratch.

#hc.#thank you !!#such a cute one T T #letting him be happy and extra excited about it #think of all the joy in the world you big softy !!!

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naturspirein · 9 months

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Naturspire created this moss wall art. The residents wanted to bring a foresty-vibe indoors, and we made that happen! With varieties of preserved moss along with twigs, preserved ferns and preserved amaranthus - this front entry turned into a forest! SO BEAUTIFUL!

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0nemorestranger · 5 months

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visualisation meditation where you're walking through a (preferably indoor) liminal space and finding equal amounts of shadowselves and selves you've been too nervous or ashamed to set free shackled to the wall at almost every turn, sitting and talking with them for as long as you need and deciding to take them with you to the exit if they serve you is a great way to die without really dying

corresponding crystals: tourmaline, clear quartz, amethyst, carnelian, moss agate

corresponding scents: birchwood, dragon's blood, patchouli, grass, tobacco

#meditation #the backrooms #liminal spaces #liminal witchcraft #hedge witch #hedgecraft #witchcraft #witchblr #astral projection

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linksthoughtbrambles · 2 years

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Chef Lonk

Co-authored by @newtsnaturethings who always has top-tier headcanons.

Part 3 of Adventures in Invertebrates. For Linktober Day 1: Bird (but my silly "Lonktober" entry). Rated teen for a little bit of suggestion.

-----

Zelda loved listening to Link cook.

With the sweet, warm spring weather, he'd taken to using the cookpot outside more often than not. Then he'd built a firepit. Then he’d surprised Zelda with a sudden desire to visit Goron City for a few days (“It’ll be fun! The Gorons love the warmer weather!” “Link, for goodness’ sake—it’s hot up there even in the depths of winter.” “Come onnn. Yunobo’d love to see you." “Yunobo is terribly intimidated by me.” “Eh, he’s intimidated by everyone.” “You don’t seem to frighten him.” “True. Huh. That’s weird.” “It’s not weird at all, Link. You have a way with people.” “Maybe he just thinks I have mind powers.” “I doubt it.” “Ooh. Maybe he feels bad for me because he thinks I think I have mind powers.” “…That… seems more likely, now you say it.” “Great! When do we leave?” “Link, I’m in the middle of documenting the life cycle of these irksome ricemeal moths-“ “Yeah, I know. Jerks. Quit eating our stuff! Hey, do slugs eat moths?” “They don’t hunt.” “Aw. Oh—maybe we shouldn’t go.” “That was sudden.” “Our slugs’ll be having slug babies soon, won’t they? They need us!” “Heh. Link, they’ll be fine for a few days in their terrarium. They need plenty of water and food available. The moss will help retain the moisture.” “Cool. So, we can go, then!” “Ah- oh…”).

Their visit to Goron City had been sweltering indeed despite their copious supply of fireproof elixirs. Link had acquainted Zelda with the Goron hot springs (which she enjoyed thoroughly as long as Link joined her or she found an interesting species or phenomenon to observe while soaking), but he also made frequent, secretive visits to Rohan’s smithy. Zelda chose not to tail him—if he wished to be private about it, she wouldn’t pry—but she did take to wondering whether he’d hired Rohan to make some manner of gift for her. She’d imagined a hefty pair of iron boots with which to sink deep in a lake to make observations—she’d need some manner of helmet and air supply, of course, but she would rise to the challenge if such boots appeared.

While she hadn’t been entirely correct, she’d been nearer the mark than she tended to be with Link’s whimsies.

On the third and final day of their visit, Link emerged from Rohan’s shop carrying what appeared to be a miniature set of prison bars in cast iron.

“Check it out, Zelda!!” Link shouted across the molten rivers between them.

She’d been confused.

Then they’d come home, and while Zelda refreshed all their animals’ bedding, food, and water supplies, Link had added two tall brick-and-mortar walls to his firepit, seasoned his cast-iron bars with cooking oil, and placed them directly over his fire.

“Ya-ha-ha!” he’d laughed (to catch her attention, of course), and made rather a show of gathering a smattering of fresh, early spring vegetables from their garden to cook on his new apparatus. He’d even taken some of Zelda’s precious tall-stalk-lettuce leaves from the atrium add-on (which wasn’t a greenhouse exactly but had given some plants a good indoor start) and thrown them on the hot metal.

Zelda had been dubious at first. Surely the leaves would burn.

She ought to have had more faith in Link and his devotion to delicious cooking. Those lettuce leaves, lightly caramelized with just a hint of oil and salt, had become one of her favorite foods.

He now tended his grill in the late afternoon just as she tended to her plants, animals, and studies of all kinds in the atrium, its doors thrown open wide to the soft spring air and Link’s soft voice.

“Hup. Hmm hm hmmm hm hm hmmm... doo dudoodoo..."

Zelda giggled as quietly as possible. The show tended to take an amusing turn if Link’s personal sense of privacy remained in place a bit longer.

“Dahdumdum. Dunkalunk. Dripalip. Hurry up. Uuugh, the waiting! Worth it, though.”

Link’s vocalization of the dredging process found Zelda’s pen-tip unable to move. She’d never be able to write neatly while shaking so. She bit her lower lip.

“Hmm hmmm hm hmmMMmmmyes! Flour and seasonings for you, pigeon breast. You’re going to be so good. Don’t give me that look.”

Zelda clamped her snort down hard.

Surely he wasn’t speaking to the meat.

“It’s not like he wasn’t already dead. Next. Dunkalunk, dripalip. Dah dahhhhh.” Link cleared his throat. The sound of the meat hitting the flour mixture followed. “Look, I know what I’m doing, okay? This isn’t just for show.”

Zelda profoundly hoped he was speaking to some other creature out there with him.

“Dunkaluuuuuunk,” he sang in a surprisingly good operatic tenor. “Maybe I’m chef dunkalunk. Dinkalink- hey, that’s my name! Sounds stupid, though. Donkalonk. Hahahahh, Lonk, ahhhh hahahahahaha!“

He kept laughing as the third cut of meat hit the platter.

“I am SO glad that’s not my name. Lunk’s bad, but LONK? That’s… that’s….”

The sounds of Link’s laugh-wheezes accompanied his next dunking round. Zelda attempted to note the status of her third group of moth larvae.

“Hollo, O om Lonk. Oh my Goddess,” he sniggered.

Zelda stilled her pen with the realization she’d just spelled ‘specimen’ ‘specimon.’

“Lonk, the Horo of Horole! DONK.”

Zelda put her pen on the rugged table and took both her lips deep into her mouth, pressing them together with her teeth. Presumably ‘dunk’ had become ‘donk.’

“Yeah, that sounds more like it. I am the horo. I’m not heroic, I’m horoic. Too bad that doesn’t sound like much of anything. Ho! Hore roic OH no! No. That sounds awful. Roe? Ick! …This just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it? What’s the matter with you, Link? No ‘o’-based puns in your brain-pocket today?” Dredging sounds sped along with his speech. “Too bad we named our slug buddies already. Donk and Lonk would’ve been fun. Eh, but I couldn’t be Lonk, then. No, I definitely want that one for me. I Lonk when I DUMB. Or just when I feel like it. Or when Aster gets sick of the Bolson Construction dance. I can make up a ridiculous Lonk one for her or something. The kids’ll get a kick out of that.”

Zelda slid from her tall stool (which Link had carved for her) and placed a card in her journal to hold her place. A violent hiss announced the rapid onset of dinnertime, and Zelda’s stomach gave a rumble—Link apparently couldn’t hear it over the sizzling. She took a half-step toward joining him outside-

“Oh, chef Lonk donnnnks the food-“

-and stopped dead, cheeks and lips bitten for good measure against Link’s impromptu songwriting.

“Chef Lonk lonnnnks for donnnnnnked foooooood-“

She would not allow a burst of laughter to interrupt him.

“Birdie, birdie, breaded, burny-“

Nor would she snort.

“Well. Hopefully not burny. Uh. Lonk loves eating youuuuuuuuuuuuuu. That was bad. Really bad. Worse than normal. 0-for- uhhhh. How many puns did I try? Crap. I’m too hungry to think with anything other than my eating-parts. Or… it could be your beady little eyes on me. Or the fact that Zelda’s obviously not listening because she hasn’t laughed or told me my new name is even stupider than I am.”

“I would never say such a thing!” she said.

“Ah-ha!” Link’s head appeared sideways in the doorway.

She huffed a laugh. “You sound as though you’d been searching for me.”

“Only searching for your attention.” His eyes glittered. Somehow, his sideways smile did, too.

“You always have my attention.”

“Uhhh-huh. Even when you’re measuring how long all those squirmy little larvae are?”

“That’s delicate work.”

“Kind of my point.”

“Well, I become engrossed, certainly… but you needn’t perform for my benefit.”

“Oh? What else could I do?”

“…You could… keep me company.”

“I do that a lot.”

“You could keep me company more intimately.”

“Oh, I see,” he said with a sage nod. “…Hang on.” He disappeared. No new hissing commenced—she presumed the pigeon need not be turned just yet.

Link and his sparkling smile reappeared in the doorway, his hands busy scrubbing themselves with a towel. “So,” he said, “how intimately are we talking?”

“How intimately can we get away with considering you’ve pigeon on your grill?”

He took half a step over the threshold with just a bit more lopsidedness in that smile of his, stopping for a moment to hang the towel on a hook outside the door.

Then he took another half-step over the threshold and stopped.

Zelda leaned a hand on the high countertop and tried not to pout or appear too confused as Link eyed his left sleeve. He held his other hand gingerly to it, barely touching, and it took Zelda a moment to spy the tiny creature wiggling its way onto his middle finger. Once it had freed itself from Link’s shirt, he swept his hand toward the table and encouraged the spotted caterpillar to investigate that, instead.

His task complete, his eyes found her again—and his face split into a huge grin.

“Wow. That’s—I don’t know what face that is.”

“Come here and find out,” she said, her very royal nose up in the very air.

He did. Quickly.

She gasped as his hands found her hips, as he slid one across her belly as he slipped behind her. She covered that hand with her own, and he kissed the nape of her neck.

“Is it a sad face?” he asked with his lips against her skin.

She wound her other hand through his hair to scratch his scalp. “Why would I be sad?”

Link’s laugh-hum entered her skin through his lips, and she shivered. “I don’t know, but you had a little pout going on there, and your eyebrows were way in and down.” He kissed her neck this time.

Zelda’s back arched involuntarily, and Link pulled her tighter against him, planting tiny, connect-the-dot-kisses up her neck, along her jaw, to her mouth, and she turned her head to meet his lips with hers. They kissed, gentle and warm, his front to her back, their hands anchoring them to each other. Zelda’s heart thumped and her blood roared in her ears as it always did when he touched her like this—every single time—and when she felt too breathless, she melted against him, her neck arched back, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Was that more intimate?” Link asked, his voice roughened.

She swallowed, her eyelids heavy. “More? Yes. Enough? No.”

A deep dimple appeared along with his smile as he ran his nose along her cheek, hissing-

Hissing?

Link’s eyes blinked wide open. “AH!” he yelled, sliding his arms from her and bounding outside despite Zelda’s (rather uncharacteristic) ‘meep’ of protest. The sounds of rapidly rotating meat followed.

“Oh dear,” Zelda muttered as she strode to peer outside, but the sight of Link’s face—totally focused, as if hunting gold bokoblins (as opposed to flipping bird chunks coated in egg, flour, and whatever seasonings had generated the sublime, earthy-sweet aroma)—set her laughing with quiet relief. His poise meant their dinner had, in fact, been rescued, but the resolution in his gaze, in the set of his jaw, directed at a problem such as this—and not of war, of loss, of Calamity—warranted a celebration entirely its own: that he could feel such freedom to devote himself to pursuits so removed from their violent past.

The past.

Zelda didn’t want her smile to fade. He’d notice—he always did. He’d attuned himself to her. Even without seeing, he always knew. Something in the air must change—something in the depth of her silence.

Grease spattered from a pigeon thigh and scattered tiny stains on the lower half of Link’s shirt. He didn’t seem to notice, but Zelda knew a project when she saw one.

An apron: that’s what he needed.

She would make him one—embroidered, of course, perhaps with a likeness of his imaginative cooking apparatus. In war, she’d emblazoned him with the white sword. In peace, she thought it only fitting his new garment should reflect his new instrument.

Perhaps she could include his name, as well—or an inscription!

Linkadink? Dinkalink. That was it. He’d thought it ridiculous- though not quite as ridiculous as donkalonk.

As though summoned, the tune he’d invented issued as a hum from his throat.

Zelda giggled.

Link smirked with sidelong suspicion, his eyes darting toward her after each vegetable he deposited on hot metal, steam from their moisture obscuring his view of her. He leaned sideways with pursed lips.

“To what do I owe that look, Sir Knight?” she asked.

“Hmm. To you giggling when nothing’s funny.”

“Something’s funny.”

“Is it my face?”

“Now you mention it, it is rather amusing in its current state.”

“Wait ‘til you see it full of grilled pigeon.”

“I look forward to it, though I expect your after-dinner faces to be funnier.”

“Funnier?” he said with a scandalized flip of a lettuce-stalk.

She snorted, but her retort disintegrated on her tongue as she salivated. She did love that grilled lettuce.

-----

“Is it after dinner yet?” Link asked, his head resting lopsided in the crook of his upturned elbow on Zelda’s worktop. It wasn’t comfortable, really, but at least it was different from standing and looking over her shoulder or sitting straight-backed on the stool or leaning heavily on the table with an elbow with his cheek on his fist or madly dusting and tidying the rest of the workspace or standing with his neck craned to stare straight up at the ceiling or-

“It’s been after dinner for quite some time,” Zelda finally said as she finished transferring several moth larvae to a separate container.

“I knooooow,” he groaned. A smile tugged the corners of Zelda’s mouth, and he loved watching that, but if he kept watching that it would be harder to wait.

If he kept waiting much longer, he’d be hungry again, too.

He’d already cleaned and covered the grill, chopped another day’s worth of wood, scoured their dishes, and planned tomorrow’s meals in his head (finalized, really, since he thought about cooking days and days ahead most of the time). There wasn’t anything left he needed to do. He could wander off and find something to occupy his time (other than watching Zelda or standing around in her general vicinity), but what if she forgot about him and started a new task while he was gone?

He understood Zelda couldn’t just stop. She’d started this ricemeal-moth-life-cycle experiment and she’d finish it with his blessing and much cheering —but wow, did he want her to be done for the night.

His half-glazed eyes slid to her open notebook on the countertop. For lack of anything else (except Zelda) to concentrate on, he began reading her notes.

Bunch of numbers… yesterday’s date. Bunch of notes on her specimens… oh look at that, they were basically the same length yesterday as they were today but she took an average and it’s just a tiny bit bigger today, cool—oooOOoh and she made a graph! Graphs were helpful to Link. He understood those. Nice, chunky pictures showing when things were what.

Of course, Zelda sometimes went a little Hinox on the labels. Other scientists probably preferred it that way: super-detailed, the space jam-packed with as much info as her tiniest print could fit. Link, on the other hand, liked giant letters that said things like BIG and SMALL or TIME and didn’t list it with a bunch of those weird little decimals or those x 10 to-the-somethings.

It’s not that he couldn’t understand those things. He’d just rather see all the zeroes.

They put things in perspective.

Like how many seconds he’d been staring at the page with his eyes crossed—because there was no way she wrote ‘specimon.’ Zelda never wrote things wrong.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them as wide as possible before refocusing.

It still said ‘specimon.’

No way.

It had to be him.

It had to be him, right?

Zelda never made spelling mistakes.

He looked again.

And again.

Then he skimmed the previous page just in case he’d read the other instance of that word wrong the first time.

He hadn’t. On the other page, she’d written ‘specimen.’

Of course, he could easily be wrong. Maybe ‘specimon’ was right and ‘specimen’ was just him being a dumbass. Like a cross between ‘special’ and ‘men.’ But these weren’t men, these were baby-moth-worms. Special moths? From specimoths to specimonth to specimon? Did she think the life cycle was a month long? Or two months?! Did this have meaning and he was just too thick to tell?!?! And once again he’d forgotten he could easily be mistaken and specimon was in fact the correct spelling and specimen was NOT but if so why did she write it that way the first time?!?!?!

“Link?”

Zelda’s confused voice mingled with her wide-eyed stare and snapped him from his spiral toward a spelling-induced existential crisis. “Um. Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m great!” he said far too brightly, his breath fluttering her notebook’s pages.

“You appear to be horrified by my synthesis of larval growth rates.”

“No! No, not at all, I…” he stared into her eyes as they flicked between his. “I just… well… how do you spell ‘specimen?’”

Zelda blinked. Then she blinked some more, those corners of her mouth raising a hair more with each of her eyelids’ closures. “Link. I’d thought you in a panic.”

I kind of was.

“This is about the ‘O’ right here?”

“…Yeah.”

She grinned. “You have your vocalized vowel-replacements to thank for that.”

“…My….oh!” Link sat up straight. “Lonk donnnnks the fooood- that?!”

“I believe it was ‘Chef Lonk donnnnks the fooood,’ correct?”

“Ahhaha, yep—that was it. I—wait.” Link eyed the page, his face brightening with each passing instant. “I distracted you… Princess Zelda… so much… that you spelled something wrong?”

Link made sure his eyes took the slowest, most pointed, most torturous journey he could possibly make it from the journal to Zelda’s face, and the effort proved worth it. By the time their eyes locked, Zelda’s otherwise composed features had turned a shade a whole lot like Sayge’s beetroot dye.

They burst out laughing at the same instant.

“Mission accomplished!” “Mission?! What mission?!” “The quest for Zelda’s attention!” “You HAVE my attention!” “Not like THIS I didn’t!” “Of course, you did!” “Really?! Can I see the others?” “The other what?” “The other mistakes!” “Wh- n- there aren’t any!” “Aww. Yeah, that’s what I thought.” “Link, my work being correct doesn’t mean I’m not listening-“

“There’s a difference between just hearing me and being totally distracted, Zelda, and today, at that moment, when you were writing that word, that gap was breached!”

“Link, for goodness- it’s simply what you were saying was so absurd-“

“Now I know. Absurd is the way to go. Got it!”

“Link, you needn’t be ridiculous in order to get my attention.”

A sudden inspiration finds his hands at her waist and lifting her to sit on the countertop, followed by him falling to one knee. “OhhhhhhhhHHhhhhhhh Chef Lonk LONNNNKS for youuuuuuuuu-”

Zelda’s impact with his chest cut his serenade short, but he couldn’t complain. He’d been waiting for after-dinner-time, after all.

------

Six days later, a box appeared atop Link’s (cool) grill. He pulled the twine, tore the brown paper, and removed a rugged, white fold of fabric which he opened with his customary curiosity.

The apron’s collar, ties, and border boasted bright green lettuce leaves, red tomatoes, and purple wood pigeons in bold embroidery. A spectacular likeness of his grill and firepit adorned its center along with a few puffs of embroidered smoke, and rising above it, in an exquisite imitation of Hylian cursive wrought in thread, were the words “Chef Lonk.”

He sputtered a laugh before the words fully registered and put the loop over his head, tying it around his midriff with a deft bow. Still chuckling, he was about to set the box aside in favor of getting his fire going when he saw a folded card in the bottom. He snatched it up.

O love you, Lonk.

~Zolda

P.S.: I thought perhaps after dinner you could give me a spelling quiz. You earn points whenever I misspell something. I earn points whenever I don’t. I’m uncertain what precisely we earn with these points. Perhaps you have some ideas?

The tips of Link’s ears got real hot.

He had lots of ideas.

Lots and lots.

He had time. She’d be in town for the next hour or so, and by then he’d have finished cooking—and he’d have a long, long list of words waiting for her.

-----

Epilogue:

“Safflina.”

“Link, that’s hardly difficult-“

“Still asking it!”

“Hehhh. S-A-F-F-L- oh!”

“Hehe, nope!”

“Link, you cheated!”

“All part of the game.”

“But you- oh- oh!“

“Wow, a U and two more Os? That’s not even close!”

“You’re insufferable.”

“That’s a great word—spell that one!”

-------

[Note: This is very silly.]

[Note: I had far too many ideas for Linktober for the same prompts.]

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