#traditional straw coat

[greycaelum]

Scribbles & Doodles— Mafia Gojo: { Summer Heat }

—Mafia Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader

𑁍 Synopsis: Spending the scorching summer with your husband on your private island leads to igniting other embers in your marriage

𑁍 Genre: NSFW: explicit smut, traditional arrange marriage, hints of yandere if you squint

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (3.7k)— tattoos, teasing, breeding kink, impregnation, pregnancy talks, oral sex, unprotected sex, open space sex(—no one in the vicinity), nipple play, biting, praise kink, cockwarming, dirty talk, creampie, cervix fucking, overstimulation, profanity, soft dom satoru, cunnilingus, yakuza/mafia hints if you squint, toxic in-laws, mention of an accident [tell me if i missed something]

𑁍 A/N: Hi everyone~ a lot has been going on but finally I manage to finish the piece I'm working on, here it is. My mind is going brrrr about mafia stuff so I hope you like this one! Sending y'all very tight hug! —Grey,

Growing up, the idea of summer in your mind glows with the open sea with tropical trees lending you shade while sitting in your sun lounger, watching the waves ebb the white sand.

Going home to Amami Oshima every summer is a tradition you have religiously followed before your college years. And now that you're back, you find yourself in the same place you have grown up loving the heat of the sun.

"Too hot don't you think so too Ma'am? It's a shame for your pretty skin. My hands are free to help." A mischievous tone swirl in Satoru's voice. Wearing nothing to cover his sculpted-inked torso, ripped in well-toned muscles traced by his tattoos and few scars, his black swimming trunks hug his Adonis belt almost like a sin. The bulging veins on his biceps leave you tremendously distracted and bothered. He walked barefooted in the sand with hands on the sides of his pocket shamelessly eyeing you.

You resisted the idea of pouncing on the gorgeous man, admiring his menacing tattoos that made your toes curl. The way it hugs his chest like a coat, crawling to his forearms and painting down his back makes you breathless of how much beautiful he could get.

"My husband already promised to put sunscreen on me, I wonder if he forgot." You giggled, looking at him with siren eyes.

Satoru merely smirks, climbing on top of you with his hands on either side of your head, blocking any path for you to escape.

"Fuck Baby, lucky husband you got." His head delved down and you expected a rough kiss from his lips but nothing came, instead, a soft peck landed on the tip of your nose.

You opened your eyes and saw Satoru's grin as if he knew what you were thinking.

"Sit up straight, you're gonna get sunburned." Satoru retracted to sit on the end of your lounger, grabbing the sunscreen on your side table and squirting a good amount of it on his palm.

For a man always wearing a suit when dealing with his business, Satoru is fair toned despite being an albino. Yet that doesn't stop him from being a little too red like an octopus ball during summer, something you've loved watching since childhood, teasing him as much as you could.

Pouting you sit up straight adjusting your bikini before giving your arm to him. There's something about the tattooed man, twice your size and yet buttering you up in sunscreen with full attention that gives you a fuzzy feeling in your tummy.

"My husband would do it rougher and quicker." You bit your lip.

Satoru raised a brow at you but continued doing his job, tapping your knee with the back of his hand, he grabs your ankles to his lap as he lathers you up, not missing a spot.

"Uh-huh? What else would he do?" He rasped.

"He would..." You deliberately drag it longer, watching his brows frowning. "Make me lay on my stomach too."

You tried to fight the smile on your lips as Satoru's face only grew impatient, narrowing his ocean eyes in your direction before pinching your hips, telling you to roll on your tummy.

"Sir, you look like my husband."

And you broke the final straw, a loud spank struck your butt making you yelp. It wasn't that hard but you sure got surprised.

"You really are a minx." Satoru groaned.

"Only for my husband."

"Fuck, I'm your husband. Wife."

You laugh, accepting the heated kiss Satoru punished you until you feel your lips tingle and swollen.

The two of you have been quite busy, barely seeing each other in a day, going as far as seeing each other only at midnight when your husband comes home from work and you're awoken by his shuffling.

It's frustrating how he's your husband but he's the person you get to spend the least amount of time with. And you're sure he feels the same, conveyed by the morning he couldn't bear to let you out of his arms. Hesitant and pouting whenever you walk to the door to leave for work.

So here the both of you are. Leaving busy Tokyo to go home where the two of you spent the blazing heat of summer since childhood. Away from work, away from stress and the constant fear for your husband's safety. It's only on this island that your heart is at peace.

Work is fine, you love your job. But being around too many people drains you. Especially your in-laws and even your father. The idea of having to face them is already strenuous for your mind.

"What's on your mind?" Laying on the lounger with the sun still high atop the sky is so peculiar. But here you are with your body on top of Satoru your fingers tracing his tattooed chest, his legs propped by your sides while raking his hand over your back.

His expression is serious but it softened slightly when he looked at you. The way he looked at you is different from the way he looks at everyone else. Like a cushion to the malevolence, his callous hands could do. A cushion specifically crafted for you. But it's a different matter with the hostility of people around you.

People never failed to keep pointing out if an heir is coming along the way. It's as if not bearing a child after the first few months of getting married is a huge sin for you to be condemned and criticized every time you meet.

And those are getting to you. The anxiousness whenever you try for the test and see it come back negative. The constant worry of your fertility chasing after you. Or will you ever make a good mother?

"Nothing." You close your eyes, flushing out the thoughts.

"Hey, wife. What's wrong? Am I holding you too tight?" Satoru noticed your silence and move over to see the waver of your eyes you're too slow to hide.

Satoru is so soft with you, so tender that it's almost heartbreaking how he holds you so dear without any hesitation. And all you wish is to reciprocate this kind of love to him in the way your body and soul allow.

He once spoke about it, a light talk over your first days of marriage but he never brought it up again. Something you knew, he was being considerate for your part after all the talks from your families every dinner that ends up Satoru being in a foul mood, growing more distant with his family.

And it breaks your heart seeing him fall apart from his parents. It breaks your heart seeing a family drift away. It triggers the fear in your heart after seeing what happened to you parents as well. It scares you seeing that happen to your husband.

You look at him and it seems he always knew what's going on in your mind. A kiss delves on your forehead.

"I want a child 'Toru. I want it so bad."

Not because everyone keeps bothering you. Or you have something to prove to the people talking about you.

But you have always dreamt of a child, a perfect copy of your husband running to clutch your legs to show you the sandcastle Satoru built for fun. A son or a daughter, running through the white sand by the beach sunset.

You want a family with him.

"You wanna be heavy with my child?" A feral glint sparked in your husband's eyes.

Before you could nod Satoru held your face kissing you over and over again, lust-filled eyes staring at you. His strong hand pulled your face closer so that you could feel the air you breathed combining.

"I will put a baby in you," he whispered lifting you in his arms and walking back to your beach house. "Maybe even two." The thought had you hazy and distraught between his words and kisses. "You'd look so good with my kids." Satoru cursed and set you down on the veranda, he pushed your back against the wall, his arms imprisoning you while his hands roam your body. "My wife carrying my child, fuck baby. You're making me crazier for you."

You moaned, trying to keep your eyes closed, saving even a bit of your dignity from doing this in such an open space. But what else is there that Satoru wouldn't notice about you?

His large body drowned you. A ripping sound of fabric tore through the silent beach. Looking down, all you could see is your exposed chest and before you could cover yourself Satoru pinned your arms above your head, attacking your lips into a maddening kiss while his fingers brush your peaks, skin-to-skin, electrifying you to a mess. He softly groped your mounds, kneading and pawing your milky globes with his rough callous palm and your body just respond to his touches before you could allow it.

"T-the people." You half-heartedly struggle, maintaining the last inch of sense in your head.

But Satoru raggedly cursed almost making you faint.

"Bold of you to assume I'll share even a fucking inch of your skin Baby." It's almost a sin how you could forget his possessiveness just because you've been alone for days. "I'll hunt them down one by one."

You can't form an answer and threw your head back when he bent down, inserting your hard peaks into his hot mouth, swirling and suckling you so needily. He could feel the smirk on his lips. Through the slits of your hooded eyes, you could see his glimmering eyes filled with lust. His kiss is so deep that it distracted you from his hands trailing down your thighs. One touch against the thin cloth of your bikini, he chuckled between curses.

"Fuck baby," he whispered, kissing your jaws sporadically. "You're so horny." He brushes your clit through your panties. He rubs it gently with his thumb.

The shame started creeping up on you, you slightly pushed him but it barely had any strength. "Satoru please." You wanted to scold him but it came out as a whine only spurring your husband. The hot blue beach staring at you openly makes your belly tingle, unused to the idea of doing such an intimate act in full view.

But you're sure you want this and you trust Satoru will handle everything to keep your dignity, you arch when he plays with your hair with one hand while he strokes your belly with the other.

A moan escapes you as Satoru starts to kiss your neck, tracing your skin with the tip of his tongue as his hand snaps your bra. You lean your head to the side to give him more access to your neck while he pushes you onto the hard stone wall. You know your arousal is leaving a stain in your panties, and when he starts sucking on your neck your knees threaten to wobble in the sheer pleasure.

Satoru's bulge is hard, brushing against your stomach. His curses thundered when you clung to his neck desperately. Large callous hands caress your body, roaming the fullness of your breast, grabbing the dips of your hips whilst he pushes you against his hard chest kissing you breathlessly.

You're already a mess when he goes down your body.

Satoru kisses your belly, knowing that's where his child will grow inside of you, as he slips his thumbs under the edge of your panties, "Give me permission, wife." He groans, looking into your eyes. When you gasp a faint 'yes' and Satoru pulls off your panties before kissing you in the middle of your thighs. Satoru is careful, testing your mounds open so he could press his tongue in between. Lapping your pussy lips the same way he would make out with you.

The imminent pleasure is jarring as you try to push back the wanton moans from your husband's tongue. As if he heard your suppression of moans, Satoru sunk his tongue deeper inside your walls, feeling your walls pulsate and your breathing more shallow. Your hands tried pushing him away to save face but your body convulsed in the middle of the rapturous sensation.

Satoru wasted no time pulling down his shorts, he pressed a bite on your neck before grabbing your hand to palm his shaft guiding your hand up and down as he groans like a wounded lion, needily gasping at the pleasure your hands stroking his aching member. "I'll get you pregnant," he promised sincerely with passion staring at your blown-out eyes, "Gonna fill you up with my seed until you can't hold it in."

You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he slowly entered your core. Feeling the tip pop into your quivering passage. He slid into you with ease, pushing his cock back and forth while he kissed the corner of your lips, feathering more along your jaw as his thrusts got deeper and faster. Your hot walls caressing him so tightly it's so hard for him to hold back.

Crazy. You are driving him crazy. There was an equal amount of gentleness and roughness to his movements that sated the both of you perfectly. His scent, the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his throaty moans. Even his moans are too much, too sexy making you clench around him, whining and begging in between.

While your legs were tangled around his waist, his mouth latched onto your tit when he gave each bosom a lavish suck making your pert rosebuds tingle and hard. Soon enough this will be the most tender globes that'll keep him preoccupied latching on to you. It was until he began increasing the speed of his thrusts that you could no longer contain your wanton cries, "Satoru! Slow d-down ahm!"

"Cum," he whispered in your ear, knowing full well that your orgasm was building back on your lower abdomen, "Cum for me, Baby."

"'Toru!" Breathless and twitching from your release, your nails dug into his back that you're sure was gonna bleed as you gripped around his girth, milking yourself around his cock followed by your helpless cries. Your chest was rising and falling heavily after your climax, but did you think Satoru was done?

He watches your eyes grow droopy from exhaustion, letting you breathe for a second or two before smirking as he pulls your legs to wrap around his waist, sheathing himself back into your soaking core.

"Ahhh! S-Satoru? W-wait!" You cried.

Grunting at the sopping sound of his shaft slamming inside you while you clung to him in your weariness, moaning and crying his name.

"Don't think so Baby, you're so wet." Satoru drawls at you, his voice dark and teasing, hissing when you suddenly clamp around him.

You loved it when Satoru is a bit rough and wild to an extent. It's when his pleasant mask slip and reveals the raw emotion beneath him. When he losses control, desperate for you. Satoru needed you in those moments. And you are more than willing to accept every inch of it.

Pouring his emotions into you, groaning his anger into your ears before biting the hollow of your neck to mark you with his teeth like tattoos adorning your skin. You loved it when your husband vented his frustrations into you. When he finds the invigorating relief in your tight heat. He never forgets to make sure to fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you to hear your cries and feel you cream around his hard cock.

It was so heady that Satoru could only groan out ruthless profanities as he thrust so hard making sure he was so deep into you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit Baby!" You clenched around him as he spurted thick jets of cum right into your womb. "Baby... You're too good, fuck!" His breathy grunts were released when his hips fell out of rhythm. Hot dollops of his seed were shot straight into your womb, ensuring that every drop of his cum was sitting deep into your cervix. When he pulled out, you could feel his warm semen seeping out of your entrance because you were clenching naturally, twitching from muscle memory of his cock inside you as you gasped for air. He kept thrusting shallow thrust into you until there were no more but faint ropes spilling from his shaft.

Satoru didn't stop until you were a begging mess, shaking from pleasure and exhaustion, pussy twitching from the last one of numerous orgasms, making his thick milky cum trickle out of you while he kept his shaft nestled in your pussy keeping anymore of his seed from escaping as he watches your eyes flutter close with a satisfied smug smirk on his handsome face.

"You look beautiful, Baby." he expressed with a chuckle, adoring the way you nuzzle into his neck, exhausted. He stared at you like you were the most precious thing this dark world has ever given him. And it only took a minute for that sinful lust to fade into tenderness as he sees you slump forward. Satoru was very much proud to see how much cum he had inside of you but he needs to take care of you too.

Stepping into the house, he walk on the stairs leading to your bedroom and slowly pulled out of you to grab a towel but your soft whines halted him making him look back to the bed to see you trying to get up.

"Stay, with me." You breathe, looking at him with pleading tired eyes.

"I have to wipe you." Satoru kissed your forehead, pulling the duvet to hide your naked body or else he'll ravage you mercilessly again. "I'll be quick."

"Nooo, hold me." You frowned sleepily.

Satoru finds it adorable when you become so whiny, so needy. It's one of those days when you need him more than usual. With no words left, he climbs on the bed, joining you, letting your head lay on his chest as he closes his eyes while stroking your head.

Not a minute he could feel something grinding down his half-hard shaft.

"Fucking stop it, minx." He whispered darkly, dragging his words into a deep slur.

But damn that little demon with a pitchfork of yours acting up again. A soft hand grabs his erect shaft, slowly sliding into your soaking pussy making your husband cuss and grab your hips and seize your lips for a sloppy kiss.

"You naughty woman. You're not walking out of here until I'm done."

The soft sun peek through the sheer curtains of your bedroom. It was already dawn when you slept and your head is pounding, your body aching, begging for sleep.

"Awake?" Soft kisses rain on your shoulders, a hand pulled you closer and your back collided with a hard chest.

"Let me sleep, 'm still tired." Bemoaning about your sore body. You determinedly shut your eyes despite Satoru's kisses and caresses.

"Breakfast's ready, c'mon I'll feed you, Baby." Satoru wakes up early, which drags you to join him as well.

"Nooooo~" You faked crocodile tears but it never works on Satoru as he effortlessly pulls you to sit on his lap and move the table laden with food.

Defeated, you opened your eyes and made yourself comfortable on your husband's lap, nuzzling into his neck, leaning unto his bare chest, while watching him sip on his mug of tea. Satoru looks damn fine with his messy bedroom hair, sweatpants being the only thing covering his perfectly sculpted body. His dark vivid tattoos kept you busy, tracing them every time you get to touch him.

"Any plans for today?" Satoru offered you a piece of toasted sourdough with egg, bacon, and cheese on top. It's a meager meal but the effort is so much more than enough. Knowing there's nothing much in the fridge yet your husband still managed to fix you a meal. 

"Nothing much, anything you wanna do 'Toru?"

He shook his head and cradled your back, making you lean on his chest and you listened to his staccato heartbeat while he eats.

"Do you really want a baby?" Satoru started out of nowhere, looking at your expression. 

"Of course, do you not want a baby right now?" Your heartbeat started picking up.

"I want..." He kissed your temples. "I do want a child with you. But if the words of people are bothering you don't even mind them."

Satoru knows, how your eyes are cast down when someone mentions the matter of a child. He never mentioned it again to keep you from worrying too much about it. And those who try to challenge him by hurting you with words are swiftly and quietly dealt with. He has never had you for himself only after so long because you left for college and there's so much to catch up with you. He's never in a rush to have a child, as long as he has you.

He would love an heir for his legacy. And for the clan too. But if that's what will tear you away from him, then it's not even an option, to begin with. A child pales in comparison to you in his eyes. Without you, it'll all be meaningless.

"It's not about them, I do want a baby Satoru, I want a family." You bit your lips, a habit you've never grown out of. Fingers starting to fidget with panic in your eyes. But Satoru held your hand, bringing the back of your hands to his lips before your doubt spirals.

"I want it to." Satoru lifted your chin with his finger and kissed you softly. "So don't worry too much about it Baby, I promised you. We'll do this slowly, together." He knows how badly you wish for a family. "This lifetime belongs only to you wife." He whispered like a prayer.

"As I to you." You nod, feeling his arms tighten around you. As long as your husband is here, it's enough to set your heart at ease.

The comfortable silence is interrupted by a phone call. Satoru reaches for his phone and the sudden frown adorning his temples forebodes an ominous feeling in your heart. The call was followed shortly by your husband's gruff replies. It was brief and the call ended.

Satoru looks at you and breathes as he held you closer in his strong arms.

"Pack your bags, we need to go home Baby, your father is ambushed."

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

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All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned image(s) and song(s) used belongs to their respective owner(s)

General Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @lexiene @tender-rosiey

#[—coast & altitudes] #mafia gojo x reader #jjk mafia au #jjk mafia gojo #jjk married gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #greycaelum #gojo satoru x wife #gojo x y/n #mafia gojo smut #mafia gojo yandere #mafia gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk gojo smut #gojo smut #husband gojo x wife reader

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Berthe the Green Witch

Summary: Traditional witches and green witches don't always see eye to eye. With a life on the line, Berthe is very persuasive.

The egg timer in the window over the sink ticks busily. Berthe watches it from the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of fresh basil tea. She made the mug a few months ago with clay she refined from the creek running through the backside of her property and the basil is from her garden. 

She sighs into her tea, eyes closing. The wind rattles her kitchen window, the oncoming storm announcing itself  by throwing the first dropped leaves of fall against her house. The air is sweet and spiced - apples in her creaking oven covered in sugar and cinnamon. 

She’s meant to answer letters today. They’re sitting on the other side of her crème table, the pile teetering. Notes asking for advice, missives from Councils she doesn’t remember joining, well wishes from former coven sisters who’ve gone on to build their own covens far away.

Her eyes open a moment before her besom - made from the twigs of her oldest apple tree - chatters against the wall and flings itself across the foyer.

“Oh,” she sighs, setting her mug aside, “there’s no reason to be so dramatic about it.”

The besom rolls over until it can tuck itself under her shoe bench.

Her doorbell chimes and, with a sigh, Berthe rises. She dislikes company on storm days, though she shouldn’t have expected any different. If Clayman visits her, he visits her on storm days. No exceptions.

Ring ring ring

Berthe falters, looking between the shadow behind her stained-glass door and the egg timer. Clayman hates being kept waiting, but her apples can be very delicate…

“One moment!” Berthe calls over her shoulder. She turns off the timer and bustles over to the oven. “I just need to pull something out of the oven!”

“Seriously?” Clayman���s voice is muffled by the door, but no less incredulous. “Berthe!” He knocks again.

Carefully, Berthe pulls the sheet pan from the oven. Red apples cut thin, laid in a spiral, with spices and sugar dusted over the top. A thin layer of puff pastry shows golden at the edges and she hums in pleasure. She loves when she gets the timing right.

Knock knock. “Berthe!”

She transfers the tart to her cooling rack and, after some consideration, moves her breadbox in front of it. Clayman’s gaze can be rather cold. She wouldn’t want all the warmth and care she’s put into her treat to go to waste.

Clayman is knocking constantly now, and muttering. Her wards don’t react so she knows it’s not a spell, but she frowns anyway. There he goes again. On someone else’s threshold no less!

She wipes her hands on her apron, dusting off  flour and cinnamon, and opens the door.

Clayman is a scarecrow. She doesn’t think so because he’s tall and thin, though he’s both. It’s not because of his straw-colored hair, neatly combed away from his face and held in place with rosemary oil. It’s not even because of his coat, a long duster-like affair done in softened leather. 

It’s because, as soon as she opens the door, the man is smiling. He is always smiling, his eyes mellow and shoulders loose, no matter his tone of voice. It’s as if the expression is painted on his face, forever fixed. She thinks that he’d cry smiling.

Unsettling.

“Berthe,” Clayman says. He takes off his wide-brimmed hat and holds it to his chest. “May I come in?”

“Be welcome in my home,” Berthe says, stepping aside to let him in. He has to duck a little to avoid the dried rosemary she has hanging over her doorway. A full head shoulder, Berthe doesn’t need to show such consideration. “I have coffee brewing.”

Clayman hangs his hat on the hooks above her shoe bench. He knows she doesn’t drink coffee. Smiling, he asks, “And you still couldn’t come to the door any faster?”

The cuckoo clock upstairs crows in protest. Berthe shrugs. “I suppose not.”

“Hm,” Clayman says and follows her into the kitchen.

He’s able to keep any further needling to himself as Berthe clears him a spot at the table. She sets her daisy coaster down - to lighten his mood - before she places a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. His mug isn’t handmade. SHe got it on sale at the grocery store. It says Bright and Early on one side. On the other it reads Unfortunately.

Clayman drinks so the Unfortunately is pointed at Berthe. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

“My pleasure,” Berthe says. And it is. Under normal circumstances. Despite his prickliness, Clayman is a friend to her even when he denies it. But these are not normal circumstances. “There hasn’t been any improvement?”

“No.” Clayman accepts the sugar Berthe slides to him. He always insists on taking one sip without any sweetness. Then he dumps nearly half of the sugar in the tin into it. “Ms. Rayne is dying.”

Berthe presses a hand over her heart as if to soothe the sting. The Rayne family may not favor her magic, but they have always been kind to her. “I am so sad to hear that, Clayman.”

Clayman smiles, like always. But his aura is distinctly sluggish and tinged a faint blue. Rachel Rayne is his student. “As am I.” He breathes in deeply. “I got permission to have you see her.”

“Oh,” Berthe says. Then, when it sinks in, “Oh.”

The Raynes are a traditional witch family, despite having not produced one in two hundred years. They proudly trace their roots back to 16th century Italy. All of their beliefs and teachings come from grimoires older than their name and alchemical texts that have to be translated by scholars to be read.

Clayman, a traditional witch, is the man they go to for spells. They tolerate Berthe’s practice so long as she keeps her actual workings to her house and her orchard.

“I’ll get my bag,” Berthe says, standing. She feels like her eyes are spinning. She never thought she’d be invited. There are poultices and salves to make, herbs and petals to collect, wands and crystals to choose. She dives for the drawer closest to her and pulls out her favorite wooden spoon. “Do they have pine incense? Should I bring some pine incense?”

“You’re going?” Clayman asks. When she turns, he’s not smiling. His mouth is dropped open in shock. “After what they’ve said about your practice, I expected to have to convince you.”

This is why she doesn’t like traditional witchcraft. So many grudges! So many perceived debts! She’s never called Clayman her friend to his face. She thinks he’d combust.

“Of course I am,” she says waspishly. She dumps her spoon and several jars onto the table in front of him. “Check these to see if they’ll clash with the Rayne estate’s wards, will you? I need to run upstairs.”

Clayman is smiling. “Are you asking me to cast magic in your house? I always knew you were crazy, I didn’t think you were stupid.”

Berthe dashes upstairs without answering him. He may think her stupid for her trust in him, but she knows he’lol follow her orders anyway.

“Ouch!” 

Berthe grins. Of course Clayman’s mug didn’t take kindly to his snide words. It has a tendency to heat up something awful whenever Berthe is insulted.

————.

The Rayne Family Estate is massive. Situated on top of the only hill in town, the driveway winds through wild oaks and pines for a good half of a mile before reaching the house. The house looms over the town like a castle, white walls and slate roof and black curtains over the windows.

The woman waiting on the front steps is like the house. Severe and colorless with gray hair pinned securely under a white handkerchief, black blouse tucked into a long, black skirt. Her weathered hands are folded neatly in front of her and her dark eyes track Clayman’s car as he pulls up and parks.

“Hello!” Berthe hops out of the car, waving with one hand. The other is full of the apple tart she’d grabbed at the last minute. “I brought a tart!”

“Berthe,” Clayman says out of the side of his mouth. “Shut up.”

“It’s apple,” Berthe says.

“Berthe Steighart,” Mrs. Rayne says through thin lips. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“Yes,” Berthe says. Mrs. Rayne makes no move to accept the apple tart. Berthe shoves it on Clayman and bustles around to get her bag out of the trunk. “I suppose you’d like to get straight to the point then? Clayman’s already checked my things. Is Ms. Rayne upstairs?”

“There are rules in this house,” Mrs. Rayne says as if Berthe hadn’t spoken. “We believe in the pure magics, those that come from study and self-reflection. There will be no calling on - on beings while within these four walls.”

Berthe throws her bag over her shoulder. It’s an old carpetbag she forgot she had and she sneezes when a plume of dust puffs off of it. It’d been the only bag big enough for her things. “Beings? You mean gods? Or other? I don’t have a patron god currently, so that won’t be a problem!”

“Currently?” Clayman asks.

“Never close off future possibilities,” Berthe says. She weaves past him and squints up at the house. “Is that Ms. Rayne peering out the window up there? Hello, Ms. Rayne!” The young girl with hair as black as a raven’s wing ducks back behind the curtain. Berthe frowns. “She looks very pale.”

She is dying, Clayman said. It looks like he wasn’t exaggerating.

“What I am about to tell you is a Rayne family secret,” Mrs. Rayne says. She turns on her heel and, lifting her skirt slightly, climbs the stairs to the house. “It must never leave the walls of this home without our permission.”

Berthe follows the older woman into the house. It’s as austere as its owner. The foyer is minimalist, a dully patterned carpet running the length of the hall to the grand staircase. There are paintings of ancient witches and confusing landscapes of places that can’t possibly exist on earth.

“I will not intentionally reveal your secrets,” Berthe says. Mrs. Rayne is moving quickly without looking behind her. Berthe huffs and focuses on keeping her heavy bag from dragging along the carpet. She eyes the main staircase with some trepidation, but says nothing. She already gave Clayman the tart. She can’t give him her bag too. “I swear.”

With a sigh, Clayman plucks her bag from her hands. “I vouch for her, Madame.”

Madame? Berthe has to work very hard not to laugh at that. It’s 2022 and he’s calling his employer madame.

“Rachel has magic,” Mrs. Rayne says. She stops in the middle of the stairs to glance at Berthe pointedly. “Significant magic.”

“Oh,” Berthe says. That’s it? She knew that much since Clayman is Rachel’s teacher. Clayman told her so himself - oh. He wasn’t supposed to tell her. Something warms in Berthe’s chest. Maybe Clayman does see her as a friend after all if he’s sharing secrets with her. “Congratulations, Madame.” She shoots Clayman a warm look.

Clayman hisses. When Mrs. Rayne isn’t looking, he darts up the stairs so he can whisper in her ear. “It’s not what you think.”

Berthe grins and winks.

Clayman’s eye twitches. “It’s not—“

“We are very proud of Rachel,” Mrs. Rayne continues.  She takes them down the right hall and past several busts of important looking ancestors. “Perhaps we were too zealous with her power. She’s been training since she was young in the ways of witchcraft.”

Berthe sobers. “How young?”

“I first became Rachel’s teacher when she was ten,” Clayman says. His voice is even more mild than usual when he says, “I am her third teacher.”

Ouch. Alchemists probably. Witches like Clayman at least know enough about magical cores to wait until they develop before testing them. Alchemists are always so barbaric about it.

Berthe can’t show her disapproval here. She hums. “She must be very accomplished then.”

“She is,” Mrs. Rayne says. There’s no pride in her voice. It’s a statement of fact. She stops in front of the door at the end of the hall, the one that overlooks the driveway. She looks down her nose at Berthe. “Or was. Two weeks ago, Rachel’s magic began to fail. Her core drained and never recovered. I am told that, when it empties completely, my daughter will die.”

Berthe looks at Clayman.

“I made the diagnosis,” Clayman says, smiling. His aura beats with guilt. “I have tried every healing spell I know, every restoration charm, every ward to catch her magic before it fades. Nothing has worked.”

“Several attempts slowed the progression,” Mrs. Rayne says. To Berthe’s surprise, she sounds like she’s consoling Clayman. She reaches around Berthe to pat him on the arm. “And we are thankful, Clayman. She’s been so happy since you became her teacher.”

Clayman nods stiffly. “I appreciate your words, Madame. And I am grateful you’re allowing me to bring in…unorthodox assistance.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Rayne says, eyeing Berthe’s apron and the flour that still stains it. “Well. Hardly any harm now, I think.”

She opens the door.

The smell of fading hits Berthe full force. Her eyes widen and she steps back into Clayman without meaning to, nearly knocking the apple tart from his hands. The room, like the rest of the house, is bare. A white carpet, black bookshelves, sheer white curtains around the bed and heavy black ones over the window.

The girl sitting in bed - Rachel Rayne - is too weak to sit up on her own. She leans back against a mountain of pillows. She has to be fourteen. Fifteen, maybe. Her gaunt cheeks make her look much, much older.

Rachel stares. 

Berthe regains her footing. Blindly, she reaches out to grab Clayman’s forearm, eyes never leaving Rachel’s. “The apple tart.”

“Yes, and I have your bag,” Clayman says. 

“Leave the bag,” Berthe says.

“What?”

But Berthe is already slipping past Mrs. Rayne and towards Rachel. “Oh, my dear. How tangled you are!” She keeps her voice as soft as the breeze through the orchard. “You must be having dreadful dreams.”

Rachel’s black eyes widen. She doesn’t protest when Berthe takes one of her thin hands in both of hers. “I am. How did you…?”

“You must tell me all about them,” Berthe says. “Clayman, cut the tart, would you? We can talk and eat.”

“With what?” Clayman asks from behind her. There’s a thud as he sets her bag down.

“There’s a knife in my bag.”

Clayman chokes. “You want me to cut a tart with your athame ?!”

“Traditional witches,” Berthe tells Rachel, rolling her eyes. “Always so formal.”

“You know what’s wrong with my daughter?” Mrs. Rayne demands. She comes up beside Berthe, looming with her hands a knot in front of her. “You can fix her?”

“I can untangle her,” Berthe corrects. She smiles at Rachel and pets the back of her hand. She doesn’t think she imagined Rachel’s flinch when her mother used the word fix. “Now, your dreams. I’m sure you can tell me one while Clayman struggles with a very basic task.”

“It’s a ritual dagger, how am I—“

But his words are interrupted by Rachel. 

Rachel’s eyes are glued to Berthe. Her voice is small and shaking and she speaks as if caught in a trance. “I dream I am underground. I am trapped there. I can hear Mom walking on the earth above me. She is calling for me. I try to call back, but there’s dirt in my mouth. I think I’m suffocating but it doesn’t hurt. But the more I try to call out, the colder I get. It’s a cold dream.”

Berthe feels the other two adults go still behind her. They’ve never heard about Rachel’s dreams. Why would they? Traditional witches like Clayman don’t divine in dreams. They have mirrors and flames and pools of water for that. She hums. “That must have been frightening.”

“Sometimes,” Rachel says, “I am in the sky. I think I must be a bird, but I don’t have any wings. I fly above the house and I can see it like a heart. When it beats, the streets in town glow an awful red.”

“Awful?” Berthe asks. She accepts the slice of tart from Clayman. The underside is crispy and still a little warm. She holds the tart to Rachel’s lips. “Try it! It has cinnamon.”

Rachel’s eyes are foggy. She’s still seeing her dreams and, like a doll, she follows Berthe’s command. When the taste of sugar and spice touches her tongue, she blinks. “That’s apple.”

“From my orchard,” Berthe says, chest swelling with pride. “It’s nice, yes? Seven apples from my seventh tree.”

Rachel’s gaze drifts from Berthe to the tart Clayman’s still cutting on her bedside table. She frowns. “There aren’t seven apples in that.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Berthe says. It’s technically made with three apples, both of which she picked seventh at some point or another. She’s not bothered by technicalities, though she can see why Rachel is. Imagine having Clayman as a teacher! Or, worse, an alchemist. “Now, tell me. Why is the red awful?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel says. She furrows her brow and chews another bite of tart. Warmth is coming back to her face already. “I guess because it’s alive.”

Berthe hums. “Why is being alive awful?”

“Because it’s a town. It’s not supposed to be alive.”

“Why?”

“It—it just shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Our town is laid out into a magical grid. Workings can’t be made with living things. So it can’t be alive.”

“Why not?”

“Because— because it just can’t!” Rachel cries. “That’s not how magic works. There is no spell that can twist something living and if the town is alive then how is it a magical grid? So it’s awful because it’s not true.”

“But it is true,” Berthe says. She can feel Mrs. Rayne ready to protest so she speaks quickly. “What is life? We do not say that a dead bird is alive, do we? It’s dead.”

Rachel stutters. “Necromancy is taboo—“

“I’m not talking about necromancy,” Berthe says. She squeezes Rachel’s hand. “Every living thing has a body. When it is no long living, it is a body. So what is the living part of it?”

“The soul, but that’s—“

“There is an inert part of all of us,” Berthe says. “We do not know it because we are alive. We claim our bodies and our souls so completely that they become one. The town, however, is not alive in the same way. It has a soul but does not claim its body the way we do. It can’t. It exists simultaneously as a soul and also inert. So why can’t there be magic on its body? It is alive and it has working on it at the same time. Why can’t both be true?”

The silence in the room is loud. Berthe takes the opportunity to eat some of her slice of tart. She got the amount of clove just right.

“What does this have to do with my daughter being sick?” Mrs. Rayne is the first to break the silence. “Dreams and life and bodies— what does this nonsense mean to Rachel?”

“It’s not nonsense,” Berthe says. She sighs and sits back on her heels, not relinquishing her hold on Rachel’s hand. The girl’s skin is only just starting to feel warmer. “It’s magic. A different sort of magic to Clayman. Or, rather, the same but through another perspective.”

“Please,” Clayman says when Mrs. Rayne goes to protest again. “Madame, I understand your opinions on Berthe’s practice. I even share some of them. But she is a witch that I respect regardless and I would like to give her the chance to explain.”

He respects me?, Berthe thinks. But it makes sense in a way. He wouldn’t have come to her if he didn’t.

Mrs. Rayne thinks for a long moment, staring at her daughter. Her lips thin and her dark eyes flash as color comes back to Rachel’s cheeks. Finally she says, “Then explain.”

“Rachel,” Berthe says, “is a green witch.”

“No,” Clayman says immediately, before Mrs. Rayne can do more than scowl. He stands abruptly, his hands fisting at her sides. “No, her core is structured traditionally. I checked when I first came on as her teacher—“

“She was trained by alchemists,” Berthe says simply. Mildly. She smiles at Rachel. “They’re a little rigid, aren’t they?”

Rigid is an understatement. Berthe can imagine the torment Rachel went through, trying to force her young magic to conform to archaic arrays and clumsy runes. Her growing power has been stifled and gnarled by the crucible her studies forced it into.

Berthe herself has never been fond of traditional spellwork. She finds the ritual chants and offerings uncomfortable with the way they bend her magic. And Rachel’s been going through that before her core even fully developed.

No longer, Berthe thinks. 

Rachel’s lip trembles. She darts a glance at her mom and then back to where Berthe’s hands are wrapped around hers. “Yes,” she whispers. “I—“

“There’s no such thing as green witchcraft,” Mrs. Rayne snaps. She looks like she wants to tear Berthe away from her daughter but, after a moment of hovering, paces away instead. She stalks from one side of the room to the other. “See, Clayman? This is why I didn’t want to call in this— this charlatan. Our family follows the sacred texts for a reason and I don’t want—“

“Charlatan,” Berthe repeats. She lets Rachel’s hand slide from hers so she can stand and face Mrs. Rayne. Berthe is patient. Berthe is not that patient. “Who are you to call me charlatan? It must be easy considering you have no power of your own to sense me with.”

Mrs. Rayne turns red with rage. “You insolent, horrible charlatan—“

Clayman slides between her and Mrs. Rayne, one hand up and warding. “Berthe, you can’t hold her to her words. Traditional witchcraft is rigid in nature. She means no harm—“

Berthe barks a humorless laugh. “No harm? Her daughter is dying from the strength of her beliefs! Why, no one would blame me if I were to spirit her away here and now.”

“Dying?” Rachel asks.

Berthe sucks in a breath, backing away so she can see everyone in the room. Rachel is already fading without Berthe’s magic, sinking back into her pillows. Mrs. Rayne’s lips are pressed into a thin line and Clayman’s smile looks robotic. “You didn’t tell her?” Berthe asks. She looks at the other witch in the room, the one who knows what a crime it is to withhold such information. “Clayman.”

“I didn’t think it was her core,” Clayman defends. He rubs a hand over his straw-colored hair. “I would have if I’d known. I thought it was a curse. Maybe a sickness I didn’t know of.”

He means he thought it was something irrecoverable. He thought it kinder to leave Rachel in the dark as her magic drained, her soul emptied, her body withered.

Traditional witches, Berthe thinks with carefully disguised disgust. Always seem to need an essay to know what’s in front of their face.

“You’re not going to die,” Berthe tells Rachel. She dusts her hands against her apron reflexively, the way she does when she’s finished kneading bread. She lifts her chin, daring Mrs. Rayne to contradict her. “You’re coming into your magic. All we need to do is untangle you before the new moon and you’ll be right as rain by the next full.”

“The new moon is tonight,” Rachel says.

Berthe blinks and then grins. “Oh! And there’s a storm tonight, how perfectly lovely. We can go to my orchard, it’s far enough from the city that the light pollution--”

“No!” Mrs. Rayne thrusts herself between Berthe and Rachel, holding out her hands as if about to throw a spell at Berthe. Her black eyes burn. “No, there will be no going anywhere! My daughter is sick. She needs rest not to go gallivanting about your orchard chanting made up spells and- and eating grass!”

“With all due respect,” Berthe says, “that’s exactly what’s going to happen.” She pauses. “Except for the eating grass part. Where on earth do you traditional witches get things like that?”

“Berthe,” Clayman says. He’s hovering beside Mrs. Rayne now, eyes nervously flicking from Berthe to Rachel and back. As always, he’s smiling. It is particularly ill fitting now. “You were invited here to help. Maybe if you explained a little more, we could come to an agreement on Rachel’s treatment.”

“No,” Mrs. Rayne says. “Clayman, that’s enough--”

“Madame,” Clayman says. His eyes don’t leave Berthe but he addresses Mrs. Rayne. “I beg you for a bit more of your understanding.”

Mrs. Rayne must trust Clayman an awful lot. She settles back on her heels with a huff, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Very well.”

Berthe studies Clayman. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his upper lip. He’s saying the right things for Mrs. Rayne. He doesn’t want her to panic and do something silly like attack Berthe. But he knows that there aren’t any other options. Rachel is a green witch.

They both know who has jurisdiction here.

Berthe sighs and props her chin in her hand. She cocks her head to one side and clicks her tongue. “What part of my explanation did you not understand, Mrs. Rayne? Perhaps it would be better to start there.”

Clayman covers his eyes with his hands. “Berthe…”

“The part where my daughter is anything but a Rayne,” Mrs. Rayne says. She gestures to Rachel. “She is a pureblooded Rayne! Her powers manifested in the traditional manner.”

“Which is?”

“Telekinesis,” Mrs. Rayne says proudly. “She was two and lifted one of her toys into her crib.”

Of course the woman thinks the most common way to manifest is traditional. “That may be so,” Berthe says, “but the power of a child is pure. It doesn’t have a preference or a shape. That comes later or, in Rachel’s case, now. She is a Rayne, but her magic is green.”

“Green witchcraft isn’t--”

“Your daughter dreams,” Berthe interrupts, losing patience. Truthfully, she isn’t as kind as Clayman. She doesn’t understand why she needs to explain herself to a human. “She dreams she is in the soil, like a seed. Well, it’s time to sprout. She must sprout before the winter chill freezes the ground and she suffocates.”

Clayman’s smile is pinned in place. “Berthe--”

“Mrs. Rayne,” Berthe says, propping her fists on her hips. She glares at the older woman. “The matter is very simple. Your daughter is dying because of the teachings you enforced on her. That’s fine. You’re magicless and you thought you were making the right choice.”

“I may be magicless but my family’s power runs through--”

“BUT.” Berthe stomps her foot and Mrs. Rayne’s mouth slams shut. The older woman doesn’t have time to panic at the silencing spell before Berthe is continuing. “But, it’s not too late to undo what has been done. I will help your daughter untangle herself. It must be today. It must be tonight. Once we do, she will recover her strength and her magic will bloom fuller and deeper than it was before.”

Mrs. Rayne rubs at her throat frantically.

Clayman mutters under his breath, pulling and swishing his oak wand in one motion. With the sound of a bell, he breaks Berthe’s spell. He is not smiling now. “Berthe. I must ask you not to lay workings on my employer.”

Mrs. Rayne is shaking with rage. “You--you dare? I am Elizabeth Rayne, matriarch of the Rayne Family and Coven--”

“And I am Berthe Steighart,” Berthe snaps. “Arbitrator of the Light Council, mediator of the Dark and North American Representative of the Green Witches.” She glares at Clayman from her peripherals. “I do not need permission to silence a human, Clayman.”

Mrs. Rayne squawks. “Human--”

“Berthe,” Clayman says, “I invited you here. She is under my protection.”

Berthe breathes out through her nose. Clayman is brandishing his wand like he’ll actually fight her. What he’s saying makes sense though. Along with being rigid, traditional witches tend to be awfully noble. “She may be under your protection, Clayman, but her daughter is now under mine. I won’t allow a green witch to wilt in front of me.”

“I know,” Clayman says. He lowers his wand and rubs a hand over his face. “I know. No one is trying to stop you, Berthe. I am asking you to have sympathy. The Raynes are an established and well-respected family. Their magic has been dormant for so long that no one would’ve been able to anticipate it would resurface, much less as a green witch. Can you understand Mrs. Rayne’s denial? Admitting Rachel is a green witch is like admitting the Rayne Family’s traditional magic is dead.”

“Nobody,” Berthe says, throwing her hands into the air, “nobody is saying that Rachel can’t practice traditional magic anymore!”

“What?” Clayman asks.

Mrs. Rayne gapes. “Yes, you are! You’re saying my daughter is like you--”

“Her core is, yes,” Berthe says. She pinches the bridge of her nose. Her head is beginning to throb. “The death of a family’s magic, Clayman? Really?”

“Well,” Clayman says. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “...isn’t it?”

Berthe wants to scream. Sometimes she forgets that Clayman, for all his power, is so young. Berthe was born onto her path. Clayman’s only been practicing for a decade. “Very, very few grimoires are specific to a certain magical core. The Rayne family’s grimoire is advanced, yes, but it’s broad. It’s not that the Rayne family has never had a green witch before. It’s that they’ve never had a witch with a strong enough affinity for it to matter.”

“Ah,” Clayman says. He clears his throat. “I may have misunderstood something.”

Berthe forces herself to calm down. “You’re a very powerful witch, Clayman. Your core is traditional, but that’s unusual. Traditional is usually a practice, not a state of being. Most witches tend towards green, light, dark, or deity magicks. I understand how you made a mistake when evaluating Rachel’s core - she had an unusual upbringing - but now you have the correct information. It’s time to help Rachel now.”

Clayman rubs the back of his neck. His smile creeps across his face. “You think I’m powerful?”

Berthe swats at him.

“Ms. Steighart?”

Berthe turns to Rachel. Oh dear, she nearly forgot the young lady was there. “Yes?”

Rachel grimaces as she adjusts herself against her pillows. “This untangling…will it cure me?”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll be able to use my family’s grimoire after?”

Berthe pouts. “If you want to. But you have such a lovely green soul. I think you should--”

Rachel is already shaking her head. “I am a Rayne. I want to use my ancestor’s spells.”

Mrs. Rayne presses a hand to her chest. “Rachel.”

“Mom,” Rachel says. She reaches out a hand and sighs when her mother grabs hold. “I know it’s against what you believe. What I believe. But if it can help me, I want to do it.” She tries for a smile and ends up with another grimace. “If I’m going to rebuild our family’s coven, I need to be alive to do it.”

Berthe sucks her teeth. “Oh, that’s a good argument. I should have led with that.”

“Plant for brains,” Clayman mutters out of the side of his mouth.

Berthe slaps his shoulder.

--------------------.

Thunder rolls through the sky. There isn’t any rain - yet. Berthe stands between two of her oldest trees and tips back her head. She smells power in the air, lightning and rain and magic. She grins up into the night.

New moon.

“Ms. Steighart?”

Berthe turns. Rachel wrings her hands together, eyes darting nervously from the shivering treetops to the stormclouds to Berthe. Behind her, Berthe’s house is well lit. There are two figures in the kitchen window peering anxiously out to them.

Rachel is dressed in a simple, linen gown. Her long, black hair is loose down her back and, in the dark, the stress of the past few weeks fades away. She looks young (as she should) and alive (as she should). Magic sparks in her aura as the thunder rumbles around them.

“The ground,” Rachel says. She looks down at her bare feet and wiggles her toes in the soil. There’s awe in her eyes when she looks back at Berthe. “The ground is breathing.”

Berthe grins. There is nothing better than a new witch learning to see. She holds out her hand. “Come on, Rachel. It’s starting.”

Lightning cracks the sky and Rachel takes Berthe’s hand.

-----

Thanks for reading! It’s Halloween season which means there will be witches and horror on this blog for the foreseeable future!

Next week’s short story: Marigold Fletcher is a good witch. However, when her dark past comes knocking, her reputation is on the line.

You can read the story now on my Patreon (X) where I post all of my stories a week early! 

Also thank you everyone who bought my anthology, Being Heroes, Being Villains (X) and to those who reviewed it! I’ll be making a post this weekend about the reviews which have been so kind :) Thank you!

#my writing #short story #third person #witches #my witchcraft #writeblr #long post

[moonydustx]

AHSHEUWOHDOEHEJDOEJEHD----

LAW IS SO CUTE WHEN HE PROPOSEEEDDD LIKE PLEASEEE I WANT HIM😭😭😭😭

I wonder, does he do the wedding stuff? Like don't sleep with each other before your wedding stuff like that? Old sayings?? Does he even believe them at all?

A/N: Hello! First, thank you for the request ❤️ Sorry for the delay in responding, weekends end up being a busy time for me.

About our beautiful lovebirds: I believe maybe it would be a great mix. Some old sayings like don't see the bride in white I think they would follow (for me, Law would be willing to do whatever his s/o dreamed of for the wedding). Despite this, I also think they would create their own traditions based on what they see as important. I hope you like it!

*I also decided to name this series of requests about marriage, I love the fact that in the fanfic you can travel with the idea of ​​a super romantic Law. Soon I will be responding to another request received about the honeymoon/what they would do afterwards.

The proposal - the special day (part 2)

Part 1 - Part 3

You considered yourself an anxious person. Are you, or not?

Even though you were tired after helping to clean up the scattered pieces after dinner - Law had been told that it was a tradition in his country to break dishes after dinner to ensure good luck and then for the bride and groom to clean up - sleep didn't seem to reach you. You still didn't understand if the insomnia was the result of being in a different bed, in the Thousand Sunny, if it was the fact that you had eaten almost nothing even with the banquet or if it was because the big day started the next morning.

Dress, makeup, hair, flowers, Law. The last item on your little mental list ran in a loop in your mind. You were sleeping separately that night, but it was impossible for you to close your eyes.

You put on your shoes and threw the sheet over your body, trying to hide your pajamas. Ikkaku, Nami, Robin and Chopper piled into the room. The straw hats were two of the few friends you collected throughout your time at sea and you couldn't help but have them at your wedding and with that, the whole crew came along. Despite some of Law's grumbles - which you knew was just silly jealousy - you invited Kid, after all, you got along very well and of all the trouble you got into, many of them involved him. Unfortunately he couldn't make it, but he sent lots and lots of bottles of sake.

The pier where the Sunny was moored seemed calm and a few meters away was the Polar Tang. A little peek at how Law was doing wouldn't hurt, would it? It only took a few steps before a voice reached you.

"I don't think it's safe for a lady to be walking around here at night." Law's voice scared you, eliciting a small scream from you.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same, my little ghost." he pointed to the sheet around you. "I mean, they say it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding."

"And you believe that, sweetheart?" You sat on the edge of the dock, knocking on the wood and indicating that he should sit next to you.

"For you, I would believe." he sat up, taking your hand and letting his fingers tangle with yours. "And I have you, no amount of bad luck in the world would take that away from me."

"Can I ask you something?" he immediately nodded to your question. "I know I've always dreamed of this, weddings and parties and that kind of thing. What about you? You're not doing this just to please me, are you?"

"I think it's too late for this question." a shy smile appeared on his lips. "I never expected to meet anyone, have a relationship like the two of us have and then, it happened. From then on, seeing you make your dreams come true is like seeing my own come true."

Instead of using words, you just took his lips to you, small kisses along with "thank you" smiles and "I love you" vows were said. When he moved away from your lips, you saw him take off the coat he was wearing and place it over your shoulders.

"You're freezing but anyway, what were you doing here for yourself?"

"I couldn't sleep, I needed to see you, to know that all this was really happening." You leaned on his shoulder, feeling Law's scent invade your senses. It was discreet, but it was still your favorite scent. "And you?"

"I wanted to spy on my fiancée." He spoke directly, making you smile.

"And your groomsmen let you get away?"

"Shachi and Penguin got drunk before the third bottle and fell asleep. Bepo was even now rereading the speech."

"Poor Bepo, I hope we didn't give him too difficult a mission." you laughed, feeling Law laugh along with you. A rare moment, which usually happened when it was just the two of you. Before you could continue speaking, you heard your voice being called in the distance.

"We broke a thousand plates for nothing to keep the bad things away from the wedding and you two ran away to see each other before the ceremony!" Nami's voice echoed from Sunny. "You can come back here and Law, I think it's good to go back to your place too."

"I'm on my way." you shouted back and accepted the hand that Law extended to you to put you on your feet. Before you could try to return it, Law removed the sheet still hanging from your body and adjusted his coat, so that it covered you almost completely.

"So, see you tomorrow?" He said, rolling the fabric in his hand and handing it to you.

"Yes, oh and of course, I'll be the one in white." You smiled, feeling his lips touch your forehead. "Hey!" you groaned as you watched him walk away without a real goodbye kiss.

"I'll kiss you again when you become Mrs. Trafalgar."

When you returned to Sunny, sleep came much easier than you expected, lulled by the comfort of the fabric around your body.

The day went by much faster than you expected. You spent a few hours in the shower, others getting ready and a few more rambling alone in your thoughts, anxious about what was going to happen.

With the long white dress already adorning your body and everyone already waiting for you, you and Ikkaku began to prepare the last details. For something borrowed, you "borrowed" flowers that stood ready to become medicine in Law's laboratory: chamomile, lavender, fennel, and jasmine flowers. For something old, you wore a small golden clip in your hair, one of the few things you still brought from your home island and the small stones that adorned the piece would serve for something blue.

"I believe everything is ready." You said in a sigh, feeling your hands sweat with nervousness.

"Sure you're not missing something?" Ikkaku asked, in mock distraction. "Something new perhaps?"

"The dress doesn't count? It's the first time I'm officially wearing it." you countered, seeing her deny it through a laugh.

"Close your eyes, please." As soon as you did, you felt Ikkaku put something around your neck. The cold touch of the jewel contrasted with your skin.

When you open your eyes, you can see a thin, golden chain hanging with a pendant with the Heart Pirates' jolly roger made in gold as well.

"The boys and I decided to do this. You can marry the captain, but that doesn't mean you'll stop being our best friend." your eyes immediately flooded with the statement, just as your arms wrapped around her in a strong hug. "Okay, okay, don't cry. Nami will kill us if we ruin her work and of course, the captain must be freaking out about the delay."

"You're not making this an easy task." you dried your tears with the small piece of paper she handed you.

"Good, now is the time." she walked towards the door and opened it wide enough for only her to get through. "Remember, 3 knocks on the door."

You nodded and took a deep breath, it was now or never and the second option would never be available to the two of you. The three knocks on the door felt like an eternity.

The doors to the deck opened and you could see the small space packed with your friends. The decoration was simple, flowers scattered all over the floor and some candles. You could have paid attention to the surprised faces of your fellow sailors, the huge skeleton playing the violin or how Sanji's eyes practically turned into two hearts. You could have paid attention to everything around you, if it weren't for the eyes that you loved so much and that crossed your path.

With each step you took towards the small - and improvised - altar with a huge sunset in the background, it was as if the brightness of the orange sun couldn't compare to the way Law looked at you. You had never seen him like that, so beautiful, so happy. You could bet that some of the emotional looks were more related to surprise at the expression of your soon-to-be husband than at your own entrance.

"Sorry I'm late." you whispered, standing in front of him.

"Worth every second." He took one of your hands, giving it a chaste kiss.

It could be hours, it could be just seconds, you would spend a lifetime under the way Law looked at you that almost night. The first moments of the speech were like distant words echoed amidst a blur of image from your flooded eyes, that was when a sniffle took your attention away.

"I'm sorry." Bepo asked, wiping away a tear and getting a few laughs. "I'm very happy that they chose me for this. Law was my only friend for a long time and of course, the person who brought me to this family. And you…" Bepo turned to you, laughing. "I think that since I convinced him to let you join the pack, we've been chasing too much trouble. I mean, these are two of the most special people in the world to me who have decided to stay together. And before I conclude, I need you to say your vows."

"But the votes…" Law began, being interrupted by the polar bear. By agreement, you would keep the vows just for the two of you.

"Promise that even if you get married, you two will continue to be our friends and our companions at sea. You, my dear captain and you, my dear friend, will not forget the Heart Pirates."

"We promise." you both said in unison and your laughter came out loud when you saw Bepo's cute face practically light up at the answer.

"We would never leave you big guy." you quickly let go of Law to hug him.

"We still have a lot of sea to explore." Law placed a hand on Bepo's shoulder, who broke away from you and hugged him. "Okay, Bepo… Ok, now the focus is different."

"Ah yes, of course…" he adjusted his clothes and waited for you to adjust your dress. "About the trust you two placed in me to celebrate this moment, about the presence of all our friends and of course, the sea that brought us together. I declare you husband and wife."

The "you can kiss the bride" became a distant sound as soon as you felt Law pull you by the waist. His lips captured yours with tenderness and delicacy and yet, his hands said something different, holding you firmly against his body. His lips moved away from yours and placed another chaste kiss on your forehead. Applause and whistles filled the small deck, as well as some tears too - Bepo, Shachi and Penguin were responsible for most of them.

"Now…" you began, gaining everyone's attention. "I invite you all to go to Sunny, where Luffy has kindly proposed a banquet for us to celebrate."

"Finally, food!" you only saw Luffy throw himself from one ship to another, being followed by Sanji who was already desperate with all the embezzlement he would cause at dinner.

"We'll be waiting for you." Nami walked out arm in arm with Robin.

"I think we should all go. The bride and groom deserve some time." Robin suggested.

Little by little, the deck emptied. In the end, there were only you, Law, some petals on the ground and the end of the sunset.

"I…" Law's voice started to say, but soon stopped. You were standing, leaning on the edge of Polar Tang, enjoying the few minutes of sun that remained that day. "I think this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Don't overdo it, my husband." you said in a provocative tone and a laugh escaped your lips when you saw Law close his eyes and appreciate something that seemed to be invisible to you.

"I don't think I heard you right." your arms circled the back of his head, placing a chaste kiss on the tip of Law's chin.

"My darling, amazing, strong, beautiful husband. I'm happy that you are now officially mine."

"That's where you're wrong, Mrs. Trafalgar. I always have been and always will be yours." He held you in his arms again and contrary to what he had done in the ceremony, he took your lips without any hesitation.

One of his hands, which were firmly attached to your waist, began to cup your face in counterpoint, as if it were the most precious treasure he had found.

"Till death do Us part?"

"Not even that will be able to separate us." He took your lips again and you tangled your fingers in the dark strands of his hair.

"I love your hat, but you look so beautiful like this."

"It doesn't compare to you." He moved away enough so he could spin you around, analyzing every inch of your body. "The most beautiful girl in the entire Grand Line. My beautiful wife."

#reader insert #fiction #no use of y/n #one piece #requests open #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x you #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar law #law x reader

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖎𝖙 [Like A Secret] Short

Where have you gone? Why did you go? And most importantly- why didn't you take him with you, when you promised to always stay together?

Tags/Warnings: Werewolf AU, Alpha!Yoongi, Omega!Reader, Spin-Off, Angst, hurt no comfort sorry

!!! This is set prior to the main story !!!

Length: 1.5k words

There is no taglist for this fic!

A/N: Kids wake up it's time to cry. Basically I've gotten a lot of asks what Yoongi's problem is in Moonlit- maybe this clears it up a bit.

-> Masterlist

🌘.━━━━━━━━━━.🌕.━━━━━━━━━━━.🌒

"It's cold." Yoongi says, watching your wolf curled up, sleeping, waiting, just like him. Sometimes, in these dreams, it snows. Other times, it raind- just like this time, water drenching the soft coat of the animal laying in the grass. You don't answer, and he doesn't even expect you to anymore. You never do. Or at least- you haven't done that in a long time.

That's how his fated dreams always go, after all. That's what they look like, when your chosen mate isn't there any longer.

He sighs as he walks closer, even though he knows you won't move. It's still better than nothing, your sleeping wolf is much more comfort than what others might get. And yet, it's also a curse- confusing him to no ends, because if your wolf is still there, you can't be dead. So where are you?

Where have you gone?

And why didn't you take him with you?

You promised him, after all. You promised to always stay together. And maybe, in a way, you're keeping that by at least letting him keep those dreams, even if they're empty.

He'll wait for you.

And even if he waits for the rest of his life-

he'll wait.

🌘.━━━━━━━━━━.🌕.━━━━━━━━━━━.🌒

The pale blue moonlight looked beautiful on your skin.

You're from the mountains, where snow is typical and sun is rare. Maybe because you'd outshine it- maybe the sun simply won't show itself because it knows it would not stand a chance against your smile.

He knows he will forever be haunted by it.

"Now you're stuck with me." you'd grinned at him. He'd smiled down at you.

"what a cruel fate." he'd joked, forced a laugh out of you at his typical attitude even despite the clear happiness shown. He'd never admit to anyone how hard he'd fallen for you- your simple presence enough to brighten his day, and offer him comfort like nothing else ever would.

He remembers the traditional festival held during full moon.

He was young, not even leader back then. He didn't know that only two years later, his father would leave the pack entirely alone to work in the cities, no alpha in the pack ready to take on the leading role- leaving it to him, with the support of you, to somehow work it out.

And work out it did- until you left.

Vanished.

He should've been more attentive. He should've listened to you more- but god, there was so much going on around him, so many things changing and happening and weighing him down, that he just couldn't concentrate on your worries as much as he really should have.

He feels horrible for it. He remembers you waking up so many nights, terrified, basically panicking, unable to quite describe the dreams you were forced to live through night after night.

Maybe he never asked either. Why did he never ask?

Omegas aren't that common. Betas make up the majority of werewolves.

There's so many legends and rumors about omegas that it's hard to keep track of what's true and what's not. Some things are clearly fictional- but with others, it's not quite as clear. He remembers how some say omegas can dream in a way that might predict certain future events- and at this point, he grabs after any straw he can.

Maybe you dreamed of something. Of your own demise, maybe?

The night before you left is still heavy in his mind. It weighs him down, has turned into his own nightmare these days, replaying again and again and again and he wishes he could change just a single thing about the event. But he can't.

You had woken up, yet again. But this time, he didn't stir. Didn't move. He knew you were crying-

but he left you alone.

And when he woke up, you weren't there anymore.

Leaving him alone instead.

🌘.━━━━━━━━━━.🌕.━━━━━━━━━━━.🌒

"You're so cool, you know that?" you'd said, giggling at him as he'd pulled a shirt over his head to cover himself, having just returned from a playful hunt with other members of the pack present at the new moon festivities.

It's the second one he's spending with you. This year he'll take you with him.

"And you're a creep, not even waiting for me to change." he'd growled back, however with no bite in his tone whatsoever. He knows you can take his tone. You're a lot tougher than you look.

"heh, nothing I haven't seen already." you'd shrugged, jumped down from your little rock before you'd kissed his cheek. "Will you give me something pretty tonight?" you'd asked him, and he'd rolled his eyes.

"I don't have to court you." he'd complained, grumpy as always. "we already fucked."

"Yoongi!" you'd gasped scandalized, had hit him playfully- though he'd laughed at your embarrassment.

You were so cute. Bubbly and almost innocent. He hates how that had faded with time.

Was it his fault?

He should've protected your smile.

"...I'll think of something." he'd admitted, and you had grinned brightly, hugged him to kiss his cheek-

But he'd been quicker, had kissed you deeply, uncaring of anyone seeing you both together.

Back then, he was wild. Untamed. Without worries- nothing but a young werewolf, playing around, enjoying his youth.

Not even five years later, he would be sanded down to nothing but an overly serious young adult, leading a pack he never wanted, living a life forced upon him, without any guidance and without anyone at his side. Barely past his mid-twenties, and yet without any youth to enjoy any longer.

What did he do to deserve this?

He can't think of anything, neither can he find anyone to hate for it.

And maybe that's the worst part of it all.

"Yoongi.. you'll never be able to untie that knot." you'd laughed later that night of the festival under the full moon, the music and people moving on in the background while he'd led you out the woods for privacy.

"good." he'd said, had traced his fingers over the bracelet around your wrist, a single sanded bead of wood and simple leather string. "I don't plan on it." he'd told you- his own wrist wearing the same bracelet.

A symbol of your partnership. Bound to one another, for now and forever.

He wears it to this day, seven years later.

it was meant to last forever, after all.

🌘.━━━━━━━━━━.🌕.━━━━━━━━━━━.🌒

His first decision as an alpha had been, to grant an unfamiliar runaway omega from the woods a home in his pack, despite what everyone else told him.

He saw you in her. He still does, sometimes.

Now she's leaving.

Just like you did.

History repeats itself over and over it seems like, everyone he somehow cares about leaving him alone for one reason or another. It doesn't sting as much this time- mainly because jungkook is a capable young alpha, able to do what he himself couldn't for his own mate back then. This one will listen, this one will stay, protect, and fight.

He didn't.

He would, now.

But he knows himself that there's nothing to forgive when in the end, he would probably do it again anyways.

You're like a phantom limb at this point- gone, but still hurting, mind not comprehending that it can't even hurt without your presence there, three years not enough to heal him. But it does, the remnants of you around him constantly pushing salt into his wounds, never to scar over and at least let him rest.

No.

Because he's dreaming of your wolf again- and again, she's simply sleeping. Waiting.

Just like he does.

This time he's silent as he sits close to her, let's the rain hit his own body as well. he doesn't mind it. You liked the smell of it- before it would rain, and after it did. He himself didn't understand it. Not until you'd explained that it reminded you of him.

'Something that seems like a bad thing- but actually isn't.' you'd said.

if only you knew.

And in this dream too, no one moves. No one returns. No one talks to him.

And maybe that's fine, too. Or is it?

Suddenly, the rain starts to fall stronger than before. The wind stills, but the night darkens- just as the head of your wolf rises, the omega watching something in the distance he can't see. He wants to ask, but he's scared to-

he's terrified.

Especially when your wolf stands up, stretches, forces him to get up too as he walks with her- but she doesn't wait for him.

"no-" he breathes out, realizing what she's doing. She's leaving him.

She's leaving him.

And as he watches the wolf walk through the trees, slowly getting swallowed by the forest surrounding the meadow he dreams of every night, he's left alone. This time, truly so.

You're gone.

And all he can do is fall to his knees, forced to accept that.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #hybrid imagine #yoongi imagine #werewolf yoongi #alpha yoongi #bts yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagines #min yoongi imagine #yoongi imagines #yoongi fanfic

[phrynefishersfrocks]

The fourth costume of "Death Defying Feats" (Season 3, Episode 1) is a lovely kimono style coat with red fasteners, worn over a simple silver camisole and accessorized with a red hood and grey silk scarf.

Phryne's theme of light blue with accents of red can be seen in her eggshell blue Chinoise coat with red frog closures (a traditional Chinese method of using thread in loops and knots to fasten clothing) and embroidered with yellow and red butterflies. The coat has a mandarin style collar and lapped cuffs in the same style, decorated with matching blue buttons on the cuffs and back coat tie and self-covered buttons along the pocket hems.

Underneath Miss Fisher wears a silver camisole with a straight neckline, her classic white silk faille pants, and grey suede lace up heels. She accessorizes with a silver silk scarf with glimpses of embroidery, hinting that this is the same scarf she wears in "Unnatural Habits" (2x12), a pair of spherical red bead earrings, and a large white stone set into a ring with a red base.

Her hat is a red velvet hood with a straw brim and decorated with small feathers dyed a matching eggshell blue, larger feathers in an accent red, and a guinea fowl polka dot feather in front of a larger fluffy feather held to the hat with a red hat pin.

Season 3, Episode 1 - "Death Defying Feats"

Screencaps from here, Costume Exhibition photos from Marion Boyce's website, Laura-Emily's Flickr, and Dayna's Blog.

#phryne fisher #miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #phryne fisher's frocks #death defying feats #3x01 #s3e01 #1920s fashion #vintage fashion #costume design #costume breakdown #costume study #phryne costumes #1920's fashion #white pants

[ratwithhands]

Made these designs very late at night, but I figured I'd try designing the clan leaders as Sapioflores.

Adaman is based on the Japanese iris (Iris laevigata), since it's a flower that grows in water/wet soil and the Diamond Clan lives in a marsh. The ornament he wears on his face is not only a traditional accessory (for Sapioflores), it also acts as a glorified hairclip to hold his long face leaves together. He wears a tasuki if he isn't wearing his coat both so he can get more sunlight and also to hold his sleeves out of the way when working. Speaking of, similar to Ingo, he prefers thick dark clothes to retain heat/moisture (and to mimic the muddy water he spends much of his time in).

Irida is based on the winter peony (Kan-botan), since it blooms in freezing cold winters like the Pearl Clan would see in the icelands. Her face ornament was originally a larger set of accessories, but the stones were removed and put together into one piece instead. The mino and hat she wears are based on the straw tents used to protect winter peonies from snow. Since it's the snow and ice bothering her rather than the temperature, she still dresses pretty light underneath. Her obi is tied to have multiple bows on either side, as a way to mimic the appearance of the actual peony (like a sort of way to say she's constantly in bloom/at her best). Her clothes are cropped at the sleeves and bottom to leave more access for light.

uhhhh other design notes:

I was trying to figure out how to get Adaman's hair to be more blue because without any colour it looks like the left image and I wasn't sure how to feel about it. The current running joke with the writing team is that he drinks dyed water/dyes his hair to be prettier/cooler. Anyways dyed water looks like the right image

The cover on Irida felt like armour when I was sketching it and honestly I kinda want to see her beat someone into the ground with it on (particularly cause while I was trying to look up Kan-botan, I stumbled on Hanakotoba and peonies are supposed to represent bravery according to that)

I ditched Irida's bracelets and anklet in favour of the ornament sorry. They felt a bit clunky and I couldn't figure out how to reasonably fit them on the design so for now they're just not present. If I make a proper battle outfit for her then I might bring them back as limb guards

Adaman is probably soggy a lot of the time since he'll just go chill in the water. Likely just quickly scrubs off any major clumps of silt/mud and heads out if someone calls him during swamp time

Fun fact Volo was gonna be in this design set but I'm too tired. He's likely going to be white spider lily (Lycoris albiflora) mostly because of the whole "death to the universe" plot and also cause he's allies with Giratina. He's probably not gonna be too interesting anyways so it's fine.

Hope you like the art, let me know if you have any thoughts. Have a good night and see you guys later.

#pokemon legends arceus #clan leader adaman #pokemon adaman #diamond clan #clan leader irida #pokemon irida #pearl clan #pokemon au #au #fanart #digital art #Adaman probably used to blow his leaves out of the way when he was younger since he didn't have them clipped #and you're not supposed to cut them‚ but his leaves are long as fuck so it's like having foot long bangs #finally being allowed to wear the ornament was probably a massive relief for him #Also Irida probably sleeps in the snow/outside in the cold #I haven't fully outlined/posted how Sapioflores do daily activities but she seems like she'd be chill with it #anyways that's as much as I can write with what energy I have left #have a good night :)

[imarvelatthestars]

III - Vencuyanir

masterlist

Series Pairings: f!reader x Tai, Commander Appo, Captain Vaughn, Sergeant Fox, & Sterling [no cl*necest!]

Chapter Pairing: f!reader x Captain Vaughn

Content: 1st date shenanigans and awkwardness, fluff, light angst, reference to the presumed death of canon characters; also Aurea is basically space Aotearoa (you can pry this headcanon from my cold, dead fingers)

Notes: I may also have taken this as an opportunity to integrate Māori culture into SW again. It's may way of honoring Tem's heritage and trying to make room for Pasifika fans in the fanfiction world. I'd recommend looking up tukutuku and whakairo artistry, as well as the tangihanga mourning tradition, to get a better visualization of what I mention in this chapter.

vencuyanir [v., ven·koo·yah·neer] - to sustain, keep alive, preserve

The war had taken a lot, not just from Vaughn, but from all of his brothers, the entire diaspora of clones. Too many had been lost in a fruitless battle, too many left damaged beyond repair once the fighting was done. He thinks on it every day. It fuels the ache beneath the pitted scar on his chest, the one piece of him that’s never fully healed. Even now, on a day that should be a happy one, he feels the possibility of what could have happened, what his fate might have been had the galaxy chosen to revel in its cruelty – at least, more than it already had.

These are the ruminations that take him to the alley he knows better than any other in the city. He runs his fingers over the paint-caked bricks, checking for patches that need touching up and noting them in the back of his mind. The whites and grays look the worst, being both sun-bleached and dirt-stained with the grime of the city, although there are some blues that might need his attention.

He pats his palm flat against the wall. “I’ll see you later, Commander. I’ve got a surprise for you.” His face burns with the effort of smiling, or maybe that’s just the sting of his tears. “You’ll like her. Promise.”

They’d drawn straws and Vaughn had been the one to draw the longest. That makes today his alone, unhindered by previous outings or expectations. While you still can’t help devolving into giggles at the prospect of a date with you being left to the chance of the draw, more than anything you find that you’re grateful they hadn’t asked you to choose for them. In no galaxy would that have ended well. And doing so would only have felt like picking a favorite, which you refused to do not only because those were the ground rules Appo had laid out, but because you never wanted to make any of them feel like they were less than. It’s been tricky, though, navigating that fear in a relationship with five brothers all keen on spending time with you.

In the span of a week, you’ve discovered that Fox isn’t the only one eager to bask in your presence, or to steal a kiss when the others aren’t looking. It had started with Vaughn the morning after the agreement had been made. He was preparing to leave for work, pulling on his boots and settling his coat over his shoulders, when he saw you shuffling out of the bathroom post-early morning pee break and came down the hall to ask if he could kiss you. (He had done so with such care, so intently and tenderly that the mere memory of it still makes your knees weak.) Next had been Sterling, pressing his own farewell kiss to the side of your temple before then tilting your chin up and stealing another from your lips in the moments before he stumbled out the door. And though he hadn’t yet bridged the gap between friend and partner just yet, Appo had begun... hovering, watching, not daring to take what you hoped he wanted, but still allowing himself tiny moments of almost somethings – his palm flat in the small of your back when he passed by, the stirring of his breath on your skin when you turned to pass him his dinner plate and your hand caught in his, and of course, the intermittent fielding of Fox’s eager attentions when Appo considered him overly zealous, which had only led to more playful bickering between the two and a noted increase in mischievous Fox behavior, including the frantic flurry of kisses and whispers in the hours after he returned from work and before the commander could finish his shift, which you hate to admit continues to warm you from your belly up even now.

Tai, on the other hand, has remained distant. His brothers have privately encouraged you not to take it personally. There are battles he’s still fighting, ones that can only be fought in the recesses of his mind and are only ever won with a streak of hope. Apparently, that streak of hope is you. You offer your companionship when you can, a hand to hold in the darkness and uneasy quiet, and to his credit, Tai allows it. You only hope he’ll find his way in the war he’s waging now, back to you or his brothers, it matters not, so long as he comes home at the end of the day.

“Hey,” comes the gentle rumble of Vaughn’s voice as he seeks out your hand. His fingers squeeze around yours as you come tumbling into the present. “Think I lost you for a second there.”

You maneuver your hand around to return the squeeze, finally blinking out of the unintentional trance you’d fallen into to properly focus on him instead. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“Anything important?”

Rather than pass it off as nothing, you decide to indulge in a moment of vulnerability, to enjoy the fact that Vaughn is no longer a friend kept at a polite distance. He’s someone you can open up to now, who you can confide your more private thoughts to. You hum thoughtfully. “A lot’s happened this week.”

“That bad?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He returns the smile you flash him, and you soon find yourself tugged closer by your joined hands. So far, you have the exact opposite of an idea of what this date is going to contain. You’re dressed for a day out in the Aurean winter, more mild this year than it has been in years past and so only requiring a double layering of clothes to keep warm, but you have no foundation for what to expect.

The first clue comes when your initial walk from the flat takes you to a small food court area, one you’ve not visited before. “Hungry?” Vaughn asks, though it’s more of a nicety than a true confirmation considering he had told you to bring your appetite with you today.

You stuff your hands into your coat pockets as you peruse the menu projected from the side of the food cart. Some of it you recognize, but the majority of the dishes listed are ones you’ve never even heard of, let alone tried.

“What’s good?” you ask after expressing your confusion on the listings.

“Fried nyork’s pretty good, or the silverfish sourfry. Depends what you’re in the mood for.”

It hits you in an instant, seemingly out of nowhere. One minute you’re debating on your lunch options, and the next you find yourself gazing at Vaughn as if he were the one the put the stars in the sky himself. It’s so casual, this moment, so ordinary, but to see him standing beside you, knowing this is only happening because this is a date, because he wants to be with you, because he’s chosen you above everyone else he might have had, it suddenly strikes you just how much you already love him.

You barely make it through your order (which he insists on paying for no matter how you needle him) before you all but throw yourself at him, curling your fingers around the lapel of his leather jacket to tug him down to your level and kiss him properly. It isn’t shy or restrained, there’s no shame or uncertainty now. All the things your heart feels but cannot say just yet are poured into this kiss. And you tremble at the touch of his hand on your cheek, your waist, tugging you in, seeking, grasping, wanting.

“What, what was that for?” he asks once you finally pull back, though he doesn’t let you go far. He keeps his hand at the back of your neck, and it anchors you into place.

Your teeth worry at the inside of your cheek. “Was that alright?”

He laughs and his smile is dazzling. “Fuck, are you kidding? Of course it was,” and then he’s kissing you again, smiling too broadly for it to work right but refusing to quell his excitement. “Just wanna know what I did so I remember t’ do it again.”

Hands smoothe over wrinkled clothing and noses rub together as you both attempt to regain some decorum.

“Vaughn, you can kiss me whenever you want to.”

That lights something impish in his eyes that prompts him to lower his mouth to yours a second time, this one much less chaste and much more lingering. “I can do that.” A peck this time, short and sweet. “Kar’ta.”

Something in your chest flutters. “What’s that mean?”

“Mm, ‘s Mando’a,” he mumbles as he leans in and kisses the bottom corner of your jaw. “You like it?”

Flutter-bys are starting to rustle about in your stomach now. It’s not that he’s touching you in any way that could be considered inappropriate, or being particularly lewd in the type of kisses he grants you, but after a year of pining and two years of noticing, after all that time of knowing only your own touch in quiet of the evening or the chill or your shower, it’s enough to make your entire body come alive.

A shiver runs through you when he stops, though he doesn’t drift too far away. The scar on his cheek wrinkles when he grins at you.

“I do. I don’t understand it, though.”

“That’s alright, love. You’ll learn it soon enough.”

Hm. Curious. “Will I, now?”

The Pantoran minding the stand calls out the number of your order by that point, which takes Vaughn from you before he can answer, though you’re not entirely certain he had intended to give you a real answer in the first place. He’s suddenly very coy. It’s cute, if not intriguing, so you decide to play along for now. Maybe you’ll download a Mando’a application to your comm and find out for yourself.

Lunch is a simple affair, interspersed with fumbling, awkwardly confident attempts at finding a rhythm between you. He cracks a joke, you crack another, both are absolutely terrible, and both send you into a fit of giggles.

“So, I was thinking.”

“Oh, that’s never a good idea.”

Vaughn narrows his eyes at you in a poor imitation of a scolding expression. Its effect is completely upended by the settling of his hand upon your knee where his thumb rubs softly into your thigh. “I was thinking,” and when you don’t interrupt him again, he continues, “I’d like t’ show you something.”

You flick the leftover wad of foil from your meal until it smacks harmlessly against his chest and tumbles back onto the table. “What is it? Or is that a secret, too?”

He shakes his head. “No secret, just… I’ve never shown you my work before.”

“Your work?” You think at first he means his job at the mechanic shop, which you have indeed never seen before, but that seems like such an odd choice to make for a date. Then you notice the bag he brought with him, his paint bag. You hadn’t thought much of it when you left the flat, but now you’re realizing he’s brought it for a reason. “You mean your art.”

“Thought it was time I finally showed you. Except, there’s a catch.” His mouth wrinkles into a smile that looks rather embarrassed, followed by the dipping of his eyes to a spot somewhere on your shoulder. “I want you t’ guess which one’s mine.”

Now this is something you hadn’t anticipated. Vaughn isn’t exactly the type to keep to himself, nor is he so loudly outgoing that he’s overeager to share anything and everything that he pleases. He’s always fit somewhere snugly in the middle, sharing what he chooses while keeping most thoughts to himself. You’ve known for some time that he has a proclivity for street art, mostly by picking up on the unintentional context clues he leaves behind in brotherly chatter and smudges of paint on his clothes and hands, but not once have you ever pushed him for it. You wanted him to be the one to take that first step in sharing.

The understanding that he finally feels ready to do so urges you to kiss him. With a hand still cupping his cheek, you smile. “I’d love to. In fact, I’d be honored.” His head tilts in your hand as he pecks the inside of your palm. “But what if I get it wrong?”

“You won’t,” he assures you.

His faith in you is encouraging, but you can’t help worrying that you may inadvertently offend him if you do guess wrong.

The first spot he takes you is no more than a block from the food court, still in the main hub of the city. The side of a business building has been painted in the typical Aurean style, a style so ancient that no one quite knows when and where it first originated other than the particular archipelago your island is a part of. A patchwork of red, black, and white tiling has been sprayed onto the building, meant to replicate the tukutuku pattern of the ancient ones. Atop the finished pattern is a crude rendition of a stormtrooper helmet that’s been painted over with a red slash – a wordless declaration of the planet’s hatred for the Empire and its lackeys.

“What do you think?” he asks.

Your fingers trace over some of the paint as you tilt your head back and admire the highest reaches of the piece, a good dozen meters tall. Someone put a lot of time and effort into this. It wouldn’t surprise you if Vaughn had crafted this one, but the choice to use tukutuku tells you it likely isn’t his.

“It’s very beautiful. And big.”

He chuckles. “But?”

“My vote’s on a native Aurean artist, if I’m being honest.”

Vaughn seems pleased by this, and nods to affirm your theory. “Told ya you’d be fine.”

You smile as his arm comes to settle upon your shoulders. “There’s not going to be a trick mural, is there?”

“No.”

“Am I being graded?”

Vaughn’s mouth curls into something smug and teasing as he side-eyes you for a moment. “D’you wanna be?”

“Oh, I dunno,” you shrug as casually as you can, pretending that your heart isn’t about to beat right out of your chest just from teasing him. “I’ve always wanted to be a teacher’s pet.”

“Really?”

It happens in an instant – the sudden touch of a hand on your chin, fingers grasping, tugging just enough to make you turn into him, the dropping of his eyes in the instant before his mouth lands upon yours and a flurry of fireworks and flutter-bys erupts in your belly. It’s quick, this kiss, but dank farrik, it’s enough to make your knees weak. And Vaughn is grinning when he retreats, eyes heavy-lidded and his lips damp.

“Cheeky.”

Your eyelashes flutter rather prettily in his direction. “Who, me?”

He squeezes his arm about you before withdrawing it, choosing instead to reach for your hand and hold it firmly in his. “Just what am I gonna do with you, huh?”

You grin. “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.”

The second mural is a few blocks away. It’s mostly stylized aurebesh with a couple of local flowers painted around the edges and corners. There’s nothing particularly compelling about this piece. It’s simple, although still impressive, but ultimately lacks personality; it looks like every other mural in Pā City. You really hope this one isn’t his.

“Well?” he asks after a minute, nudging you with his elbow to prompt you further.

“It’s nice,” you start, but your voice wavers a bit and you know it’s written all over your face how unimpressed you are.

Vaughn snorts. “Liar. Good thing this one isn’t mine, love, or I might be offended.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Yeah, well your sabacc face is shit.”

It’s true. At least he’s not offended, which was your sole concern, so he can tease you about it all he wants. Especially when he smiles like that, all teeth and dimples.

You kiss him again. You could kiss him for a lifetime, and it would never be enough. “You’ll have to help me work on it, then,” you say as you rub your nose against his.

“Mine’s shit, too.” And he presses you up against the wall and presses his lips to yours until you’re breathless.

You’re not entirely sure what you had anticipated when this arrangement first began, but you hadn’t thought that any of the men (apart, perhaps, from Fox) would be too keen on extended boughts of physical touch. They’re often touching each other with a clap on the shoulder or other casual shows of brotherly affection, but it never lingers. And with two years of mostly chaste behavior from the entire flat, you’d simply assumed touch and public displays of affection would be off the table. Restrained, at the very least.

You certainly don’t think that now. Even when he’s not kissing you within an inch of your life, Vaughn’s hands are everywhere. He can never seem to stop touching you. He’s always eager to hold your hand, to squeeze his fingers around yours or intertwine them and then flash you his signature grin when you spare him a glance after, but he’s just as enthusiastic about tucking your arm through the loop that his makes, or to rest his hand on your cheek, your waist, the curve of your shoulder blade.

Now that he’s got you right where he wants you, it seems his hands are wandering even more. His lips still and hover above yours, but Maker above, his hands! They press firmly into the dips of your waist, not enough to hurt in any way, but enough that the weight of his presence is undeniable.

“I’m not kissing you too much, am I?” he huffs as he eyes you warily.

A breathy “uh-uh” and a quick shake of your head is all you can manage.

“You’re sure?” His fingers curl into the fabric of your blouse, then unfurl and smooth out and down over your hips. Vaughn’s gaze flickers all over you and his breath clouds the air between you. “I don’t wanna overwhelm you. You’re just so kriffin’ beautiful, I don’t wanna stop.”

One of your hands shifts to cup the back of his neck. His hair is cropped close to his scalp in a high and tight cut, but you rub your fingers over the tiny strands anyway. It’s a shame there’s nothing there to grab onto to. You fix him with your flirtiest smile. “Then don’t.”

“Fuck.” His forehead drops against yours and suddenly, there’s a whole body pressing into yours, a knee slipping between both your thighs. “You’re dangerous.”

“I try.”

“You succeed.” He’s trying to laugh, but it’s stilted and unsure, hesitant. “A little too well. Are you trying to make me jump you in a filthy alley?”

It hadn’t been the plan, but you wouldn’t say no. Not to him. “I dunno, is it working?”

“Kar’ta,” he hisses. “Playin’ with fire, mesh’la. We still have half a date to finish and I’m already-.”

He cuts himself off so quickly that you worry for a second there’s something wrong, especially when he suddenly starts to remove himself from you and readjust his shoulders, his jacket, his entire stance. The words are nearly out of your mouth when you happen to look down and you see- well, you see a lot. Just one thing, really, but there’s a lot of it. The source of his sudden awkwardness.

“I’m sorry.” But only a little.

Vaughn just shakes his head. “’s alright. I, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“I liked it,” you blurt before you can think better of it. A hand settles upon his arm. “I like you, silly. And I’m flattered.” You turn your hand over so it’s palm up, then wiggle your fingers as a silent offering. “I feel the same.”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

“Very much so.”

There’s only so many ways you can say “please please please, never stop kissing me like that ever again, that was so hot, I want you in so many ways that it’s embarrassing” without actually verbalizing it like that. You’re not sure you’re ready to admit all that yet. But you think he understands you, and that’s enough.

“Date?”

You nod. “Date.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Always.”

This street is no different from any other. The buildings are dirty, and a few have sprouted ferns and moss from the constant wet of rain and ocean winds battering the city. It’s the mural sprawled across the brick wall of an old finance building that makes this street stand out.

A burst of black color dotted with stars and blaster fire serves as the background. At least a dozen men in personalized plastoid armor have been painted in a semi-realistic style, each one sporting a blue design on their bodies and a vibrant orange and white on their helms. One helmet looks remarkably familiar, not because the paint job is any different from the others, but because of the visor and attached antennae that his fellow soldiers lack. It looks identical to Vaughn’s.

Standing in the center and twice as tall as the others is a young Togruta woman. Her skin is the same orange color that marks the clone’s helmets, and the markings on her forehead match the patterns on the armor. It’s hard to tell just how old she is, but she looks fierce and brave. Her eyes somehow manage to gleam as if she were alive. You get the feeling that she may not be.

At the very top of the mural is a phrase written in Mando’a.

Perhaps he’s woven magic into his mural. All you know for sure is that it inexplicably draws you in until fingerprints touch paint-layered brick, and your eyes are stinging with unshed tears, and your heart aches.

Oh, Vaughn. You make an effort not to speak it aloud. You don’t want him to mistake your grief for pity, though it would be a lie to say you didn’t pity him and his brothers to some extent. Not when they’ve lost so much.

“Who is she?” you ask instead.

“Ahsoka Tano.” There’s so much reverence in those two tiny words, it nearly knocks you off your feet. “She was our commander. Got us through quite a few battles that wouldn’t have been won without her.”

“She’s beautiful.” And she is. Her eyes are a brilliant blue and her montrals are gorgeous. You can only imagine how remarkable she would have been in life.

“She saved my life,” he says after a moment. You turn then and see him rubbing a spot on his chest, just to the left of his sternum. It’s a spot he’s worried at a million times before when the weather’s too harsh or he pushes himself too far. All this time and you never knew.

You’re not sure what to say. Should you say anything at all? This moment feels too vulnerable to let it pass by without a more concrete sign of your recognition and respect, but you worry that opening your mouth now will end up being the equivalent of tripping over yourself at a wake.

Dark eyes meet yours. They’re red-rimmed and wet.

“Hey.” There’s a lot communicated in those three letters: “are you okay?”, “can I help?”, “I’m so sorry”, “it’s gonna be okay”.

Vaughn attempts a smile, but it’s so fragile that it crumbles under its own weight. “Hey,” he quivers.

Hands find each other as you draw him as close as he’ll allow, then your lips find his cheek, and his heart finds yours. “Thank you. For showing me. I know this means a lot to you.”

“Yeah. Figured it was time to, uh, introduce you two now that things are official.”

“I’m honored.” Your head finds the crook where his shoulder meets his neck while his arm finds your waist. “I wish I could’ve met her.”

“She would’ve loved you,” he says, and there isn’t a single second of hesitation before he does. It comes out of him as quickly as any other truth might. “She was smart and strong. Cheeky, too. Bravest Jedi I ever met.”

Two years isn’t a long time, but it had felt so long when you were living it. The chaos of inviting a group of men into your home, then rewiring your life to fit around theirs had made the days fly by fast but the weeks tick by painfully slow. And then you’d gotten to know each of them, they started laughing at your jokes and relaxing in your company, and you started to believe that you truly knew them. In some ways, you do. You know their moods and their favorite drinks, you know what makes them smile and what makes them hurt, but you forget sometimes that you don’t know them nearly as well as you think you do, as well as you would like. They’d been fighting in your war for years before they ever met you.

You want to know more. You want each brother to know that they can find their new homes in you whenever they grow weary, that they’re always welcome to drop their burdens with you.

“What does the Mando’a say?”

You think you see a glimmer of the soldier he once was in the way he stands now, the upward tilt of his chin, the stern set of his jaw. “Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. ‘Not gone, merely marching far away.’ We say that for all our lost vode. Brothers,” he adds when he sees you frowning in confusion. “Siblings. The commander was as much a part of us as any clone.”

“Then she was very lucky.” You rub the palm of your hand over one of his pecs in what you hope he finds to be a comforting gesture. “Will you tell me more about her? It, It doesn’t have to be now if you don’t want to, but I thought. If you wanted to… I’d love to hear more about your brothers, you, anything.”

“It’s not all good,” he says, and there’s a warning in his eyes that looks terribly haunted. It’s not something you often see from him.

Regret prompts you to backtrack as delicately as you possibly can. “I understand. I didn’t mean to push you-”

“No. No, I know.” He sighs, and his attention finally refocuses on the mural, on the commander. “War’s never easy. Some of us wear our scars better than others, but the pain still lingers.”

There’s another heartbeat of that pain as it permeates the air around you both, seeps through his clothing and into your skin, and it tastes the way you imagine blaster fire would. And then he blinks, and Vaughn is his usual chipper self. His smile slides into place and the corners of his eyes crinkle, and you realize that you may indeed know much about him, but you might be more familiar with the mask he wears than the man beneath it.

“Well, I didn’t bring you here just t’ mope at you. I had somethin’ else in mind.”

Before you have a chance to ask, Vaughn slings his paint bag off his shoulders and starts pulling out cans. One is extended to you. It’s tall and silver on the outside, no labels or brand names except for a hastily written color name in permanent ink. Yours is white, though you could have discovered that for yourself just by glancing at the dried paint dribbling down the sides.

Spray art is an underappreciated talent. So often, it’s considered as something easily learned and easily performed, a quick tossing together of shapes and colors that anyone can make on their own. It doesn’t help that it’s often looked down upon by those clinging to their ideals at the high end of the social ladder. You’ve misjudged it yourself many times and only started broadening your opinions on the matter once Vaughn came around. With him, though, you learn that it’s so much more.

Before you even begin your piece, you have to know how to paint. You can’t simply point and spray. The way you hold the can, the angle you point the nozzle in, the amount of pressure used, all of it affects the finished piece. Then comes the art itself. Do you know how to stylize your letters? Are you creative enough to work around your mistakes? Do you know how colors complement each other?

However artistically inclined you thought you might have been beforehand, it pales in comparison to Vaughn’s talents. He is, of course, infinitely patient with you and encouraging whenever you get flustered or upset. He shows you all the beginner’s tips and tricks he knows, and after an hour you’ve found that you’ve improved, though your patchwork touch-ups look more like childish scribbles when compared with his. Still, you’re happy he wanted to teach you, that he chose to share something so important to him and his brothers with you, to even let you add your own paint to the memorial.

It's a big show of both trust and respect, and you take neither lightly.

Dinner is a picnic at the top of the nearest hill that shapes the valley of the city, made up of sandwiches and drinks bought at the tram station. You settle on a park bench at the base of the reserve water tower, whose walls have also been sprayed, though not by Vaughn’s hand. This mural is a lovely display of ancient Aurean carving motifs and the imagery of an indigenous Aurean man overlooking the area. The sun is starting to set and has cast the city, the hills, and the lake into shades of orange, yellowish-white, and blue; a sherbet sky in the colors of the 332nd company.

“Thank you,” you tell him, “for sharing that with me. I loved every minute of it.”

“So did I.” There you stay until the first stars begin to peek out from behind the clouds. And even then, you stay out far later than you should, watching the sky transform. Vaughn presses the cold tip of his nose into your neck and your equally cold fingers find comfort in the warmth beneath his arms, and you laugh, and kiss, and are the happiest you’ve been in a long, long time.

He returns to the mural later in the week, unable to shake the sudden onslaught of memories that have overwhelmed him the past few rotations and hoping that if he can just look at the commander for a minute, remember her how she was rather than lose himself in what she’s ceased to be, he can find some peace. What he doesn’t expect is to see an e-lantern propped against the wall, flickering softly in the fading light of the early evening. A green kawakawa leaf and a white flower have been pinned beneath the lantern.

He forgets how to breathe. Aurean tradition dictates the use of such plants for mourning rituals, most often in the form of wreaths worn by the deceased. In a flurry of tears and fumbling fingers, Vaughn whips out his comm and sends you a message.

You reply a few heartbeats later: yes, i hope that’s okay?

Vaughn inhales so sharply that it hurts deep in his throat. It hits him all at once. He loves you. Kriff the Empire, kriff the galaxy, kriff anyone and anything that isn’t you (or his brothers), because literally nothing else in this life will ever compare to the wonder that is you.

His comm chirps about a minute later: i love you too 💕

It’s the first time either of you have said it aloud, though he’s certainly thought it before. Vaughn rushes home soon after. He wants to actually say it to you. He wants to see your face when he does. He wants you to know just how much it means to him that you remembered his sister, his brothers, and honored them the way you would honor your own dead.

#captain vaughn x reader #captain vaughn x you #captain vaughn #tcw #star wars #x reader #clone trooper x reader #labyrinth of my mind

[monsterfloofs]

Sil and Vessa (A x F Aliens) x Female Reader (Sfw)

Part I ♡ Part II

(This story has sat on the back burner for a very long time, if you still remember these two, you deserve a digital cookie 🍪)

You ate quietly while Sil fiddled with the straw in their fingers, their smooth face plate edging back just enough so that they could fit the straw into the crevice. From what you glimpsed the edging around the faceplate was dark colored and slick, similar to a human’s gums. You do you best not to let your curiosity get the better of you, catching yourself staring and turning your gaze away. Letting your companion drink in peace.

You didn’t know that much about Kestron anatomy. Some alien species had to wear full-bodied sealed tech suits to exist in multi-racial spaces. The few facts you could remember knew that Kestron’s plating served as an exoskeleton. Even the dark visior looking part around their face was evolved to protect their delicate eyes from the harmful rays from their homeworlds twin suns. You liked to do reading of the different species in your spare time, but it had been a while since you had read much about your chitinous companion. It was more of a tradition to research other beings as you run into them. So to not accidentally create any social faux pas. . . Like. . . yesturday.

You inwardly wince, but you also let yourself feel grateful for being able to clear the air from the previous day. You truly hoped that things were looking up from here. Even if the two of you didn't get along enough to be on speaking terms a comfortable silence was better than walking on eggshells.

You chose to let your hearing wander, picking up the other bits and bobs of conversation that floated around the room. Spacers talking about this and that. The price of supplies and equipment. The things that they had been watching or viewing. There was a pair to your right excitedly conversing about the great drifting galactic Amphitheater, where it was stationed and who was entertaining there.

“Esh you! You came to lunsch! May I sit here?” You turn your head up at the familiar voice, a smile already jumping to the corners of your mouth. The white Spidery creature shuffled their long legs back and forth with excitement.

“Hey, hey,” You beam, drawing their cheerfulness around you like a huge fluffy blanket. “Sure, there’s room, I don’t mind!” Vessa didn’t need prompting twice, the fluffy creature shuffled beside you and gave a more respectful distance to your other companion sitting at the other side of the table.

“Oh great,” Sil quips as Vessa folds in their legs to rest at the seatless opening at the table. “You brought the giant furrball over here.”

You shoot them a cross look before Vessa pipes up cheerfully, “Don’t lishten to them! They are jusht grumpy! I’ve been trying to get them to socializh forever! Sil normally eatsh in their room.”

You flash the arachnoid a smile as Sil shakes their head, “Is your communicator broken? Why are you talking like that?” Sil’s elbows resting on the table as their posture relaxes, becoming teasing. “Oh I think I get it now, trying to impress the newbie huh?”

Vessa fluffs up, eyes widening. “W-w-wha?! Me? No!” The fumble with the little communicator clipped to their doctor's coat.

“I jusht forgot to turn it on— There we go!” They raise their paw like hands, “It’s probably easier to understand me, now huh?”

You blink as the slow endearing way of Vessa’s learned English turns into rapid fire speaking.

“Whoa. That’s certainly different.” You laugh and shake your head, “But I don’t really mind, I thought it was sweet. I rarely hear others try to learn other languages now. Technology is so progressive it’s almost unnecessary.”

“It’s fun!” Vessa chatters, “Hydrax brains need a lot of stimulus to keep functioning at a commendable rate. Language is a good way to keep those neurons firing. I’ve learned about five languages thus far, but I do enjoy Earthian English. I have a soft spot for it! It was one of the first ones I began to study.”

“Easy now chatterbox,” Sil huffs, “I can barely listen to myself think, let alone follow what you’re saying,”

Vessa wiggles playfully, “Perhaps I should turn the communicator off after all,”

You put a hand to your mouth and stifle a giggle, perking up as you watch Sil rise and stretch. “Eh, do you what you want,” The Kestron sighs, “I have to get set up at my dig site.”

Vessa tilts their head, “Ohh, outside of the space craft today? Please do be careful.”

Sil waves their hand dismissively, crunching up the nutrient pack in their hand and tossing it into a recycling bin. "Sparky," They tap the com. clipped to their clothes and gave a small gesture before moving away.

You were unfamiliar with the meaning, so you raised an awkward hand for a goodbye. Turning back you see Vessa with their pincers held wide. You look down at the sharp mouthpiece, not sure what to take the expression as. Was Vessa angry?

"W-what?" You reply nervously, taken aback by the alien expression. She squeals and hugs your arm, jostling you back and forth.

"EEEEEEEEE little peacekeeper! I am so proud of you!" Your hands scramble out to grip the table holding on for dear life so you don't tumble out of your seat.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Vessa chirrups, patting you down, their paws gently straightening your clothes. "I got too excited, but I am so happy! I have been trying to befriend them ever since I began working as a ship's doctor! Imagine my surprise to see the two of you together at the mess hall! They never come here! Let alone sit with anyone. I can't believe they stayed this long!"

"Oh," You say, quickly realizing the intimidating expression had been a smile. A quick flash of guilt slunk through you before you admit. "I was assigned to share a room together, and we ah. . . had a bit of a miscommunication issue, I think they were just being kind and letting me have some time to myself in the room. . ."

You trail off, noticing Vessa have been moving closer and closer. You lean back and the arachnoid realizes they have been encroaching on your space.

"Ah! Ahaha, sorry!" Their arms hide their face for a moment. "Forgive me! But I am both in awe and pleased!" Their fur ruffles and they sigh, "I have been keeping an eye on the Kestron. I was afraid I would have to intervene at some point or another. I feel that Sil is unhappy, but they do not come and ask for help, they do not speak out about how they feel, only speaking with others when necessary. I have expected them to leave this ship and join another crew, yet they do not. They self-isolate, which I would not be bothered about, except that I feel it is because they are not being treated well.

The beady eyes scrunch up, "I do not have proof, and the only way I can get proof is through the person who refuses to talk to anyone."

You sit chewing on that information. Biting your lip as you stare into space.

"I. . . From how I've seen them act, I think you're right. They told me that well. . . most people who get assigned to bunk with them are moved because of some rumor about their species."

Vessa twitches eyes blinking, "Oh dear, oh dear, it wouldn't be that rumor would it?" They make a distressed sound. "That is cruel. Very cruel. . . Would you do a favor for me, little one? If you could?"

"I. . . That depends," You began wearily.

"Nothing bad! I just erm. . ." Vessa stands and shuffles, "I must go back to the medbay, and this may be asking a lot but please, don't let your bunk station get reassigned."

"Oh, don't worry Vessa, I wasn't planning on it." You gave a small nervous smile.

"Thank you, thank you, I must away now, good day little melon! Good day!"

Your ears perked up at the odd translation watching Vessa scuttle away. "Little melon? . . huh. . ."

Every once in a while there were things said in languages that could not be properly translated, the words would either filter out as they were said in the home language, or be given a strange placeholder derived from the closest common word the translator could find. You hoped that melon signified something good in any case. You packed up your tray, tossing the leftover wrappers in the bin to get recycled and reused. Following the groups of workers leaving to get assigned to their posts for the day.

When dinner rolled around you found that Sil was not present in the mess hall. Sil was also not in your room when you returned for bed. You changed into your night clothes a little hurriedly, not sure whether their delayed arrival was good fortune, or something to be worried about. You had just gotten comfortable in bed when you heard the thick metal doors slide open.

"Are you alright?" You turned over in your bed to face the doorway. Finding Sil's figure standing in the threshhold. The plated visor tilts and you hear a string of sounds and inflections rather than words. Your hand goes to where your communicator is normally clipped, patting the empty space.

"Oh right I took it off, sorry give me a second."

You sit up, grabbing it off the nightstand and clipping it onto the front of your shirt. Sil silently enters the room, slithering out of the black and orange mechanic jumpsuit they had been wearing. They let it drop to the floor.

You raise your head, "I was just asking if you were o-" You blink and look down abashed. "If you were okay."

Sil tilts their head again, and you give an amused huff. "Well I can't talk to you when you take yours off– geeze. Nevermind." You wave your hand dismissively, mimicking the gesture you've seen them use.

Sil makes a huffing sound crouching to pick the device off of their jumpsuit.

"What was it?" The words filter to your ear and you give a huff of your own in a small laugh. Rolling your eyes.

"I asked if you were okay. You were gone for a long time."

"Oh." They sat on the edge of their cot. "Yes, things went well, there was one problem that arose, which is why we ended up working late. A tunnel broke apart and we had to find a work around."

Your eyebrows raise and your lips part. "Is everyone okay?"

Sil nodded, "Thankfully, yes. No one was occupying that sector. . . Are humans always so expressive?"

"Hm?"

Sil gestures with a finger at their own face. "Just a curious question. Your face seems to be constantly. . . changing."

You wince and give an awkward smile. "Ah yeah. . . Some humans have a lot of facial expressions. Others don't though, it just depends on the person."

"Hmph," Sil bounces their knee, and you remember that they aren't clothed. Your eyes darting away to look elsewhere.

"I don't know how you can be comfortable like that myself," You say with a shy laugh. "Though I was always the type of person who likes to hide in my clothes."

"Does. . . this make you uncomfortable?" They ask slowly, and you shake your head.

"I don't think so? . . . No, not really,"

Sil gives an amused sound, "There isn't much to see in any case. All of that intimate junk is internal." You rub the back of your neck, catching your eyes traveling down the length of their thigh. You couldn't seem to get your eyes to be decent enough to stop staring.

"Welp! Goodnight!" You squeak in embarrassment, rolling over and throwing the blankets over your head. You fumble, unclipping your communicator and unceremoniously shoving it onto the bedside table.

You hear whatever Sil was going to say cut out to an indistinguishable language. But you can hear the tone of their voice. A light playful tone to it that has blood thrumming in your ears.

You wake up the next morning to find the Kestron sitting on their bed unclothed. In their hands was a tablet that they had angled towards their face, reading. You blink, taken aback as Sil looks up at you.

"Oh haha," You quip sarcastically as the Kestron makes the same swirling motion with their finger pointed at their face. The one they had used last night to indicate your expression. You scrunch up your face, wrinkling your nose at them, as you gather up your work clothes. You sit back down onto the bed, throwing your blankets over your head. Changing your clothes underneath the canopy of fabric.

You throw off the blanket with a rush of fresh air. Finding Sil had also taken that moment to change as well. They stood with their back to you, zipping up their jumpsuit. Turning back around while affixing their communicator to their clothes.

"Good morning," You shoot them a dubious expression,

"Morning," They reply, their tone sounding thoroughly amused.

Sil doesn't mention what they said the night before, or comment on the makeshift changing room, thankfully. The two of you leave for the mess hall together. You pause in surprise as you turn to see Sil, following behind you.

"Are you coming to have breakfast?"

They shrug offhandedly. "For a little while."

You take a breath, pondering on whether or not to add what you had planned to say next. You take the jump, and tease them.

"I bet I know who's going to be excited about that!"

Sil groans, but not in a way that sounds serious. It sounds playful and relief washes over you.

"Don't remind me."

You let yourself snicker mischievously.

"You'll hide me. . . right?" Sil falls into step beside you, shoving their hands into their pockets.

"No way!" You chirp cheerfully, "I am way too short!"

"My hero."

You purse your lips trying not to grin. To your surprise you find Vessa already sitting by one of the table's waving both of you over. Sil gives a resigned sigh. You sit down next to Vessa while Sil again takes a seat that is a polite distance away from both of you.

"Esh messhed up," The Hydrax looks at you with a guilty expression. Pushing over their communication device. "Esh acchidentally broke et. Can you fixsh et?"

"Oh, yeah, I should be able to. What happened?"

Vessa looks away and hums, sounding embarrassed. "Et fell off, and Esh didn't know. Esh– err, shtepped on et?"

You smile gently, picking the device off the counter and turning it over in your hands.

"Don't worry, stuff like that happens, I'll go grab my tools and see what I can do. . . uh. . . mind you, you'll probably want to get a new one, the outer shell is broken, but I think I can jury-rig it for you, for at least a little while.

"Jury-rig?" Vessa echoed, her expression blank.

"Oh, it means uh, well. . ." You rub the back of your neck and smile sheepishly, "I may not be able to fix the outer frame perfectly, with what I have on hand. But I can make something that will hold it together good enough?"

Vessa bobs their head enthusiastically. "Good enough!" They echo.

"Do you want me to take a look at it?" Sil asks.

"Oh no! I got this, I have had to do this before, I'll be back, don't wait up." You stand up from the table, "Oh, and in the meantime," You unclip your own com. setting it on the table. "Take mine just in case something happens while I'm gone." You pocket the broken device as you head back to your room.

You sit with your tools laid out on top of your bedspread. Tinkering with the little box that lay on your lap. The backing was taken off to reveal a criss-cross of delicate wires and motherboard. With a delicate hand you poked and prodded at the contents with a small pair of tweezers looking for loose wires or broken pieces.

You hadn't heard Sil come in, and you jump when a tray is set on your bed.

"Ho- My-" You bring a hand to your heart, eyes closing for a moment "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," Then you pause watching them tap at their face plate. You quirk an eyebrow, looking down at the tray of food.

"Thanks Sil, I got busy working on this and lost track of time. . . You can still understand me right?"

Sil nods in response

"H'okay, well that's good, at least."

The Kestron crouches next to you, as you pick up the small gadget and continue to poke around.

"I haven't found the problem yet– oh? Maybe I have." You gently tugged at one of the wires watching it wriggle around from where it should be stationed. A quick smile crosses your face as you pick through your tools, sautering it back into place with a quick spark. You click on the device and replace the back.

"Say something," You prompt hopefully. Your eyes go wide as Sil's voice filters in, in yet another language. You sputter then laugh, "Duh, Vessa's home language isn't English, hold on," You tap the screen, saying a few commands to the communicator until the screen switches to English.

"Okay, try again?"

"Something."

You nod and laugh, "There we go." You take tape from your kit, careful to sandwich the sides together and tape the instrument shut.

"Maybe I should just let Vess keep mine until I get a replacement, she does seem to like her acrobatics."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," Sil mumbles. Their hands reach for your tools and help put them back into the box then they straighten. "I would let her know at least. Oh, since you have been helping the doctor, I also wanted to tell you, you've been assigned to check up on machine diagnostics. You did a good job installing the new wares, and they want another eye to check over a couple of the drills before they are relaunched into the dig site."

You pause at that, cocking your head curiously. "Do you think. . . it was a calibration error that caused the tunnel to collapse yesterday?"

"Mm," Sil hesitated, "It could have been a number of things."

You frown at the comment, "This mining ground hasn't been leased to anyone else right? We should have maps of where all the tunnels are. . ."

Sil crosses their arms and nods. "Vibrations can cause enough disturbance that it could break apart the rock in other places. But protocol usually has us digging in targeted areas."

Their voice didn't sound convinced, or perhaps it was more like Sil was trying to convince themselves that this is what happened.

"Are you. . . working out there again today?"

". . . Thankfully no. I'm going to be rerunning our maps and updating them, now that those tunnels aren't safe."

You close your tacklebox with a snap and flick the metal latches over. Then the two of you part ways. Sil moving towards the opposite end of the ship while you travel towards the infirmary to update Vessa.

#monster x reader #monster x human #exophilia #alien x reader #alien x human #me lately like : I can't write my brain eon't story #I am unfunctionable I cannot type things #uselessness is me #me today: writes 3000 words #¿¿¿??? #I don't know what I am anymore

[ginandoldlace]

Harrow School 1962

In the image boys from the Harrow School going to lessons in their day uniform. Located in a wide area of Harrow on the Hill in north-west of London, Harrow School was founded in 1572 under a Royal Charter granted by Queen Elizabeth and actually serves as full-boarding schools for boys aged 13 to 18. Respect of tradition permeates all the educational aspects at Harrow. Indeed, the school has many long standing traditions, including the one of wearing the school uniform.The boys have a day uniform from Monday to Saturday consisting of a solid blue blazer - known as a “bluer” - dark blue sweater, white shirt, black tie, grey trousers and black shoes. The bluer has no emblem of any kind on the breast pocket, even though the school crest and motto (“stet fortuna domus”) are ancient and well respected, and has a rough texture. The tie is pure black in mourning for Queen Victoria, a tradition that is unlikely to change! All of this is topped off by a low crowned straw Harrow Hat with a wide brim and a blue band , that for the above characteristic cannot be considered a true boater. On Sundays the school attends chapel, and the students wear a more formal uniform represented by a cut-away tailcoat (similar to those worn in the mid 19th Century) black waistcoat, black tie, white shirt, and striped formal trousers held up by braces - plus the ubiquitous hat. Boys under 5ft have to wear a ‘Harrow Short-coat’ (a tailcoat without tails, similar to an Eaton-jacket but cut straight at the back) but otherwise the outfit is the same. Being initiated to dressing with appropriateness since the adolescence and becoming familiar with proper clothes are the right ways to reach subsequently style and elegance.

[captainkurosolaire]

Gold x Silver

 Waves clashed and sundered before a heaving vessel sailing forth aimlessly, tide’s rippled into swirls against the titanic might of the ship. Uneasiness creaking, relentless winds, a tumultuous storm approached. “Let’s end this, matey.” A scoundrel affirmed his eyes glowered in advance and illuminating gold, activating his heritage Truesight, saw a precognition of brief seconds prior, of what will happen or has. – If he hadn’t then, knowing his advisory, he would’ve died right there seeing his future-self fetch a bullet to the skull. Soon as he worded his peace his blood-brother pulled his trigger remorseless. During their intense conversation Captain brought his boot’s loose pulling out ankle first. WIth a formidable accuracy and force in his traditional tactic he threw it at the pinpoint moment that barrel was going off. It wasted a bullet to the air changing the trajectory and going into the skull of their crest on their flag they shared. He launched his other boot at Sol, who leapt away predicting it knowing Captain’s ploys. But that was only a diversion that deviant rogue, enacted the legendary unbeatable secret technique passed on generation to generation among all fighters against an immovable wall… RUN~! The Seeker launched himself in pace off his own ship. Hearing overhead, “Nice try Cap’n! BUT.. bullet wins against even that!” Revealing a second-pistol that his tail had prepared, Captain was against a foe that was equally cunning as him. A shot, barreled out and clocked Kuro through his shoulder as he descended off the ship.  Strangely, no splash... Confused Sol expected to pick-up the sound. He leaned over the ship’s rail, not a speck of blood, or anything… 

No. ...That accursed pirate leapt off and climbed down, crawling through a window-gap between the cannon’s in the Gunport! Kuro's adrenaline, blood swelled high with all this tension. He surveyed left to right the room he was in, knowing his advisory equally as well… Captain couldn’t hope to win against Sol who had all that ammunition on him, or six extra firearms on his holstered coat. He needed to disarm them all in one fell swoop. His items to use were a crate of fireworks the crew wanted to celebrate Captain’s victory at the Budokai but came-up short, there was gunpowder, rigging tools and contraptions, a training dummy and of course cannons that would’ve taken too long. Shortly after, the Captain laid out his plan if he had any… Sol arrived rushing down below taking shortcuts to arrive quicker, he built the Worldly Finder after-all. What a terrifying enemy to go against! Not only a pirate brethren, but shipwright. Captain against a Shipwright the two knew-each other thoroughly, from sea-vessel to personal. In the pitch-shadows of the gun-port, he saw the silhouette of a figure and that infamous Tricorne Hat stood – unbeknownst his hat was propped on the straw-dummy, and a trail of blood-droplets to give it belief, without any hesitation, on impulse alone, he pulled out his gun, and shot a round that was designated to end this chase, an explosive round, there was no fear, only a maniac set to destroy and erase, the recipe for a great ruler of the sea. …But Solaire knew his enemy lacked patience. When that shot connected, of course it led to a chain-reaction, but not like any; Sol accounted for, nor the ship they drifted on the ocean with. Internally a massive combustion came forth, then sparked the fireworks, to spiral everywhere, catching further pyro to everything, leading into gunpowder that led directly up the staircase. Sol’s eyes with lunacy in surprise but also, praise… The Purveyor of Ingenuity showing himself with honor and dishonorably, once again. Again though; this shipwright believed he knew all the tricks against Captain and threw out a contraption, a device that gave a ward, that protected him from the initial impact. It subsided after a ilm, Sol’s foot that back-stepped, hit a snag, a singular rope that was burning from a sparked firework, led directly to his bottom coat. A ember ablaze drew upward; how ironic, this betrayal started with Sol’s attempt to extinguish Captain in cinder. “SHIT!” Came from the Raen, who screamed throughout the ship’s corridors. Forcing him to throw off his chest ware and his arsenal included, now led into using the – secret unbeatable technique: run!

Once that ammunition was given enough heat and fire, that amount Sol carried, a rocketing explosion carried throughout the gunport, denoting and making a huge crater in the room, the ceiling showed the outdoors. The weather’s rain trying its hardest to sizzle out fire but the storm had yet, approached with a devastating downpour. The ship wobbled and forced both of them into launching and losing balance and smashing against wherever they were, everything shook like they received cannonfire from their enemies. Kuro wasn’t in the clear either. That shot that he received, had frighteningly been revealed, among pirates, you should expect foul play. Sol was the Innovator of Disaster, the bulky Seeker felt a dizziness and coldness, sickness in him before vomiting forth. He had been poisoned with an agent that worked against his tolerance. His body often could handle any biological, plant based since his body was not only conditioned in consuming from his Black Shroud visits… But this was a Garlemald force, with hands-on industrial chemical poison. It worked faster than expected. Now Captain was on a clock, to get to his cabin room. The hallway he was in, held a safe-back door way there, with a secret ladder connecting the left and right wing of his closest Crewmates by a ladder and hatch to his cabin. Amongst his pace forth, a turret deployed in ambush came out, detecting Kuro’s heat signature. Thinking quickly on his feet the feline jumped off his feet and grabbed a rope to a lighting source to evade the first shots. He swung himself with rapid-movement channeling Huton between and yanking the fixture with him, swinging off the appliance with force he destroyed both the chandelier and the small-turret bot. All that movement did was quicken the poison, he could feel his breathing congested, his lungs getting infected in distress, not having long before it eventually traveled to his heart or brain, he was against time. Sol was discombobulated and knocked into a barely conscious state from the whiplash of landing so harshly and close to that devised sonic impact, although showing signs of life, his scales had damage. Meanwhile the Blackguard reached the ladder but now, knowing things were booby trapped ahead, going forth, Captain had to be even more careful. The moment he lifted up, a laser flashed across, if it wasn't for his instinct and tail sticking up, would’ve lost his digit. Instead he recoiled, another droid-node was spinning around, searching for further heat signature. Kuro began panicking, heart racing from cold-sweats, he was seeing double-vision at this point. The pirate leapt off the ladder and with the poison’s noticeable effects in his steps, he was stumbling to reach the galley. From there he brainstormed and looked for a fast solution. With survival in mind, he reached into his own flesh-wound and pried finger first with a pain-jerking reaction his bullet still lodged in him. Taking the Crew’s stove and burning a pan he made a make-shift tool to cauterize his protruding crimson ichor that wanted to spurt out into a blood pool. Unable to dally, Captain turned off the stove’s flame and grabbed a match box of lighter, fuse, and a high alcoholic bottle of brew. He returned to that troublesome ladder and concocted a molotov cocktail throwing the contained incendiary with hatch open and overhead, the laser-turret picked up and shot its heat and caught glass-break, which the flames ignited and melted the metal. Kuro, following right behind in pursuit, put out the fire before it grew impossible to quell. Stumbling his skin, noticeably more pale. A thick-dry vomit of blood came ushering out of his design. Taking further strain, the energy of Kuro was fading, it had taken over his entire lungs now. He saw the collection of potions that were neatly in the display case of antidotes, alchemy purposes in his room, he just needed to reach… So tired… Eye’s struggled to stay open, drowsiness was swelling up.

Captain finally clasped palms over the sliding glass to his stash of salvation, upon his knees with little to any coherence left, a tripwire sprung, and every concoction inside was shattered with a rope and cannonball attached from above his ceiling if he had the muster to stand earlier, it would’ve smashed into him breaking his spine from the impact, but instead with Sol’s own dangerous creativity, it still served to be disastrous for a frantic, panicking Captain. “N-n-no….!” Salvation nearly at hand was broken into shrapnel of shattered glass, pools of various liquids were all over the place. Captain somehow had to identify and recognize the right one at this point, from his smell, texture and memory alone. He deteriorated further. Sprawling forth to his only chance. The palpitations in his heart began their last sequences, slowing noticeably, almost instantaneously. Captain lapped against wood, splintering tongue against a green murky pool with his last ditch-effort. However, a stillness came over. Pupils dilated, devoid of life, raspy breathing wheezed, before unfortunately… silence.

🌊 ♫Doomsday♫ - Reference - Last Chapter 🌊

#Fool's Gold? #High-drama #-Captain Kuro Solaire #Creative Writing #Tales of the Goldbrand #Pirate #FFXIV #FF14 #Final Fantasy XIV #Seeker of the Sun #Sol Akami #Silverbrand #Goldbrand #Traitor Arc

[nanivinsmoke]

haven’t posted one piece in a while, so here’s some random head canons i did about two years ago

My One Piece Head- canons!

Straw Hat’s Days Off

Zoro and Sanji

• they both shop with each other, although they complain about each other’s company, they secretly enjoy each other being there.

• although, zoro’s either getting lost or sanji’s flirting with random women, while they shop.

• sanji shop’s for cutlery and other cookware, along with suits for his daily attire. he also picks up something both nami and robin would like.

• zoro’s about poor as hell, but thanks to the allowance nami put the whole crew on; he was able to afford some sword cleaner. he doesn’t shop clothes…cause he barely washes his ass

Robin and Franky

• of course the mom and dad of the crew are going with each other. it’s like their mini date. they get matching outfits and jewelry. when franky decides to get tools for the Sunny, robin slightly gets bored, but she still helps him pick things out.

• While they shop, Robin stops at food stands and picks out something sweet they could both snack on. She’d get them both the same items and drinks, they’re so cute walking down the side walk with their matching t-shirts in and drinks in hand.

• When Robin’s trying on outfits, Franky’s always hyping her up, no matter how ugly it may be; he’s going to uplift his woman and always make her feel beautiful.

•. Since franky’s a big ass cyborg, all of his clothing has to be tailored to fit his mechanical ass body. Robin knows all of his measurements, so she helps order his clothes for him. Mom and dad fr!

Usopp, Chopped and Nami

• Usopp’s shopping for hair care products, since he just can’t use any shampoo that’s on the ship because his hair isn’t as thin as his crewmates. He needs something that’s good for his hair texture. However, if he can’t find any at the islands, he’ll write down the ingredients from his last used one and have chopper help him make it from scratch. Don’t worry, Zoro’s his test dummy.

• Nami’s going to all the best designers the grand line has to offer. She’s running up her tab and making the two boys, carrying her things. Although they complain about her shopping load, they’re always happy to help her. Even though they don’t have a choice.

• Chopper’s just getting some new doctor tools and books. He’s also getting some fur wash for his next bath. He likes to keep his reindeer coat nice and shiny!

Brook and Jinbei

• Brook’s an easy man, he goes to the music store to see what instruments they got in stock, he also refills up his tea collection, before heading to the women’s underwear store to take a look at the variety of panties. (but he would much rather see them on a lady).

• Jinbei’s getting his traditional fishman attire, he’s able to find a shop that has a bunch of different things for fishmen and other races and species.

Luffy

• Luffy’s not allowed to go shopping, the last time he did the straw hats were nearly banned from the island. Nami beat him down and forbid him to go with them. He’s forever tied up on the ship until they get back.

#one piece #nami #nico robin #one piece strawhats #monkey d. luffy #mugiwarapirates #sanjionepiece #one piece brook #one piece franky #one piece usopp #straw hat crew #straw hat pirates #one piece headcanons

[pix4japan]

Sunken Hearth at Teahouse (Hakone, Kanagawa Prefecture, Japan)

The Amazake-chaya Teahouse has retained its charm dating back to the early 1600s. The entrance still has the hard earthen floor where wooden tables and chairs are made available for guests.

Farther back are the more traditional woven straw tatami mats where guests sit on the mats and enjoy their drinks and food on knee-high tables.

The centerpiece of the interior is the irori (open sunken hearth), which has a unique figure-8 shape (typical irori are square or rectangular) surrounded by beautiful hardwood flooring.

In this shot, you can also see the jizaikagi—a contraption that includes a pothook attached to a rope that runs through a bamboo pole and extends up to the ceiling timber directly over the irori. The height of the pothook can be changed to adjust the temperature of the food or liquid in the pot.

Irori were common in the main living room of traditional Japanese homes where wood, charcoal, or even coal was burned. Upper-class homes would have had an additional irori in the tea ceremony room where smokeless charcoal was used.

Irori also provided homes with some lighting at night, heat for the main room, and could be used to dry wet laundry, cook food, boil water, and to dry fish and fruit.

Smoke from the irori, specifically the tar in the smoke, was also an essential component for preserving the structural integrity of thatched-roof buildings. While the heat from the irori drew moisture from the building’s timbers and thatched roof to prevent rot and mold, the tar from the smoke would coat and permeate the wooden beams and underside of the thatched roof helping to further prevent mold and rot, and was especially effective at repelling pests, and added an extra layer of waterproofing against rain and snow.

Fujifilm X100V (23 mm) with 5% diffusion filter ISO 3200 for 1/4 sec. at ƒ/2.0 Astia/Soft film simulation

#風景写真 #神奈川県 #旧東海道 #箱根 #甘酒茶屋 #囲炉裏 #pix4japan #Fujifilm #Fujifilm X100V #Astia Soft film simulation #Japan #Amazake-chaya #Hakone #Tokaido #irori #teahouse #travel photography

[acnhitems]

Traditional Straw Coat

#clothes #tops #long sleeves #no variants #no event #acnh #animal crossing

[smalltowngnoll]

Altadorian Pastistio

A delicious combination of pasta and meat in a milk and flour sauce.

Ingredients

1 lb tubular pasta

3 tomatoes, cubed

1 carrot, diced

1 onion, diced

3 garlic cloves

1 tsp + 1tsp salt

1 tsp pepper

1/4 tsp ground cloves

1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp ground allspice

1 bayleaf (I toasted all my spices whole then ground it in a spice mill)

2 lbs meat (beef or lamb)

2 eggs (SEPARATE YOLKS, WHITES)

1/3 c flour

1/3 c + 2 TBS olive oil or butter

1 c milk

1+ c shredded cheese (parm works, I used a smoked sheep’s milk)

Recipe

Cook pasta to near al dente. Drain and rinse.

Coat with egg whites and 1/2 c cheese. Fill the bottom of a 9x13 in casserole dish.

In a large pot, sauté carrots, and onion with 1 TBS olive oil. As the soften, add garlic cloves and tomatoes. Add spices.

Put into a blender and reduce mixture to a smooth sauce.

In the pot, brown meat with remaining olive oil with 1 tsp salt.

Once meat is browned, pour in sauce and reduce to a simmer.

Pour meat mixture over pasta in casserole dish.

In a sauce pan, melt 1/3 c butter (or heat olive oil). Add flour and mix until a roux is created. Add milk, 1 tsp salt, and pepper. As béchamel thickens, add cheese. Once the cheese melts, pour over meat mixture.

Cook at 350*F for 40 minutes.

Let cool for about 20 minutes before cutting so slices retain shape.

Shitty Picture:

This made good leftovers! Doing penne made this dish easier than using the traditional straw-like pasta.

#neopets #neopia #nostalgia #recipe #regular ass food

[zvetenze]

Traditional Wooden Dwelling in Dolenjci, Slovenia

This wooden plank building with a straw roof is located in Dolenjci in the Bela Krajina region near the town of Črnomelj. The building was built in the second half of the 19th century using planks that are interlocked together at crossing joints and doweled connections along the lengths of the planks for stability. The joints are packed and coated to provide more protection from the infiltration of air and precipitation. (photo 1988)

source

#Slovenia #architecture #vernacular #house #wooden house

[phrynefishersfrocks]

Hats & Hairpieces Recap

Season Two

Phryne wears a total of 36 hats and hairpieces throughout the second season, nine more than the 27 items in the first season. Her headwear ranges jeweled hair slides to elegant cloches to feathered headbands. The clear favorite of both this season and overall is her breaking and entering cat burglar beret with sixteen uses - ten of which are in season two alone. Coming in second is her linen detective hat, with seven uses this season and fourteen appearances overall.

1.Spanish Hat - A traditional Spanish hat in black felt with a wide brim and black ribbon hatband - 2x01, 2x01

2. Hello Jack - Blue straw hat with a curved brim, and antique ash-brown, blue, and black feathers attached to the black hatband - 2x01

3. Burlesque Headpiece - Spiral headpiece adorned with strands of glass beads - 2x01

4. Sequined Headpiece - Headpiece made in-house by the costume team stringing sequins onto very fine pieces of wire - 2x01, 2x01

5. Cemetery Hat - Black straw with green and white feather detail - 2x01, 2x02, 2x06 (base seen in 1x13)

6. Cat Burglar Beret - Classic black French beret made in a circular fashion - 2x01, 2x03, 2x04, 2x05, 2x05, 2x06, 2x07, 2x11, 2x12, 2x12 (also 1x05, 1x05, 1x06, 1x09, 1x10, 1x10)

7. Tan Straw Hat -  Finely woven straw hat with a modest brim and brown ribbon trim with a matching wide hatband - 2x01

8. Grey Summer Hat - Grey straw hat with blue overtones, organza petal detail and pearl decoration - 2x02

9. Beaded Headband - Black headband with black beaded detail - 2x02

10. Detective Hat - Tan linen wide-brimmed hat dyed to match her car coat - 2x02, 2x03, 2x04, 2x06, 2x07, 2x10, 2x12 (also 1x02, 1x02, 1x04, 1x06, 1x08, 1x09, 1x13)

11. Spiral Hair Slides - Jeweled spiral hair combs - 2x03 (also 1x12)

12. Beach Holiday Hat - Cream straw hat with pink and white silk organza band and button - 2x03

13. Beach Sunhat - Cream wide brim summer hat with raffia embroidery detail - 2x03, 2x03

14. Harlequin Hat - White felt with original Victorian twisted raw silk trim, osprey feathers, silkworm thread, and velvet bind with crystal buttons that match the coat - 2x04

15. White Felt with Bronze Motif Hat - Cream felt hat with bronze period flower motifs and hand-painted ‘pearlized’ beads - 2x04, 2x07 (also 1x05, 1x07, 1x12)

16. Pearl Headdress - Silver headdress made with glass beads and pearls - 2x04

17. Pom-Pom Hat - Plum felt hat with a 1920's silk pom-pom, navy vintage feathers, and antique navy ribbon - 2x05, 2x08

18. French Navy Hat - Antique silk moire band with buttons on a French Navy felt hat - 2x05

19. Showstopper Headband - Yellow feather pom-pom attached to a black headband - 2x05

20. Navy Velvet Hood with Tassel - Lucious navy velvet with silk satin insert and tassel - 2x06 (also 1x03, 1x07)

21. Red Flower Cloche - Burgundy red felt with cut out flowers and feather detailing - 2x07 (also 1x01, 1x01, 1x02, 1x04, 1x04, 1x05, 1x06, 1x09)

22. Red Felt Circle Hat - Red felt hat with black, red, and cream felt interlocking circles set on matching ribbons - 2x07 (also 1x05)

23. Racing Cap - Tan leather driving cap with metal guides at the sides to hold googles in place - 2x07

24. Leopard Print Cloche - Cream cloche with leopard spots, thin black ribbons holding cream and black feathers - 2x08

25. Maroon Day Hat - Deep pink felt hat with a pom-pom decoration of colorful modern and antique feathers - 2x08

26. Hollywood Felt - Chartreuse felt hat with pink velvet hat band, pink and black feather detail and bronze leaf - 2x09

27. Golden Girl Headpiece - Antique metal leaf with diamantes and black feathers - 2x09

28. Blue Feather Cloche - 1960's navy felt hat modified into a cloche, with 1920's feather band added - 2x09

29. Director's Hat - Green felt fedora with a matching hatband - 2x09

30. Vineyard Hat - Hat quality felt with green and black antique feathers with a black hatband and crystal button - 2x10

31. Radio Station Hat - Pink felt hat with brown hatband and a variety of colored feathers - 2x11

32. Green Velvet Hood - Green velvet hat with green silk organza insert - 2x11

33. Butterfly Hair Slide - Jeweled hair slide with a butterfly shape in the center and two loops extending to either side - 2x11

34. White Cloche with Grey Swirl - White felt cloche with icy grey velvet swirls - 2x12

35. Dr. Zhivago Fur Hat - White faux fur circular hat with felt insert - 2x13, 2x13

36. Christmas Party Headband - Dyed orange and black feathers with a 'nest' and small egg-like bead inside - 2x13

Hat and headpiece photos from the official Pinterest, official Facebook, Screencapped.net, Alekino Plus (now defunct) and various sources (x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x).

#hat recap #season two #miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #phryne fisher #phryne fisher's frocks #hat photos