100 Art Journal Materials.

1) Pressed flowers
2) Coloured Sand
3) Thin buttons
4) Embroidery thread
5) Second hand postcards
6) magazine clippings
7) Patches for mending clothes
8) Denim from old jeans
9) Pages of old books
10) Pressed insects
11) Newspaper articles
12) Calligraphy inks (more vibrant and transparent than water-color)
13) Paper bags
14) Envelops
15) Washi tape
16) Spray paint
17) Scrapbook paper
18) House paint (paint stores give away mistinted paint for extremely low prices, can confirm: I work at a paint store and get free paint every day.)
19) Colour chips (get these while you’re at the paint store :p)
20) Tin foil
21) Candle wax
22) Nail polish (if you pour it on the page and let it dry its beautifully shiny and textured. I use it to make eyes that glisten).
23) Oil pastels
24) Locks of your hair
25) Perfume samples
26) Resaraunt coasters
27) Gold leaf pen ( found at art stores)
28) Chalk
29) Black coffee
30) Postage stamps
31) Junk mail
32) Leaves
33) Dead butterflies and moths
34) Food lables
35) Coffee sleeves
36) Ribbon
37) Unused pages from previous journals/ notebooks.
38) Duct tape, patterned or otherwise.
39) Watercolor
40) Sharpie
41) Makeup (lipstick especially)
42) Lino Stamps (art stores sell ones you can carve yourself.)
43) Door numbers and letters (home depot has a whole wall of them).
44) Lables from a lable maker
45) Ticket stubs
46) Receipts
47) Resaraunt menus
48) Other people’s drawings
49) Baggage tags
50) Recipe cards
51) Pencil crayon
52) Regular crayon
53) Acrylic paint
54) Pressed mushrooms
55) Little plastic bags
56) Felt pen
57) Charcoal
58) Straw and dried grasses
59) Old school notes and assignments
60) Printed photographs
61) Business cards
62) Parcel packaging
63) Yarn or wool
64) Book marks
65) Stickers from Starbucks coffee bags (you can ask for these without buying the coffee)
66) Tea and tea bags
67) Spider webs
68) Snake skin (pet stores)
69) Scraps of fabric
70) Pet fur
71) Hair dye
72) Berry juice
73) Wood stain
74) Sawdust
75) Masking tape
76) Glitter
77) Notes from family members and loved ones
78) Beer and wine lables
79) Cellophane
80) Cardstock
81) Birthday cards
82) Oragami paper
83) Shoe laces
84) Dictionary entries
85) Plasticine
86) Melted Crayons
87) Chalk board paint and sidewalk chalk
88) Metallic foil
89) Coin rubbings
90) Wallpaper
91) Thin tile
92) Spray on velvet
93) Cue cards
94) Name tags
95) Invitations
96) Squished bottle caps
97) Paper doilies
98) Stencils
99) Dried herbs
100) The inside of correlated cardboard.

High for This

High for This by evansrogerskitten

Dean x Reader x Sam, John x Reader

A witch’s curse hexes the three Winchester men and reader, leading to a night of desire that would change things forever.

Warnings: Explicit, Smut, Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Threesome (NO Wincest), Fingering, Language, Dom!John, discussion of being high, dirty talk, orgasm denial, squirting, spanking, mention of a panic attack, Feels, A lil fluff, lack of protection, canon divergence. To be clear- the characters have all consented to all sexual acts in this story. 

Word Count: 8408 | On AO3 | This is inspired by the song High for This by The Weeknd, and my first song for @mrs-squirrel-chester Album Fanficfion Challenge. 

This fic had a mind of its own but I love it. I hope you do too :)

The Impala rolled into a parking space on the street and Sam killed the engine. I straightened the sleeves of my navy fed suit, and looked over at him.

“You really think she’s going to know anything?” Sam pestered, looking through the window.

“Witnesses said two of the victims had been here to see her for readings.” I responded, climbing out of the car. I patted my jacket pocket to make sure I still had my fake FBI badge. “She does readings on love and relationships.”

Sam rolled his eyes as we walked up the sidewalk to the old house.

“What if she’s really psychic then? She’ll know we’re hunters.” Sam suggested sarcastically as he looked over his shoulder to the street.

“Then we’ll improvise. It’ll be fine, Sam.” I responded, looking around the front porch. A bright Psychic Reader sign lit up the front window.

Keep reading

cryptidsanonymous  asked:

I just read everything in your gods and monsters series and wow I am in awe. I am absolutely blown away by your writing it's beautiful the Icarus one had me staring at a wall for ten minutes afterwards absorbing what I'd just read. anywhoozle, I love everything you've written and not to rush or pressure you or anything but I was wondering if perhaps we could get more of the greek mythology stories?

a continuation of this

Caeneus has only ever had two loves in his life.

First is the sea. He’s loved her his whole life, heard her siren song from the time he had long curly hair and still tolerated being put in dresses and called a girl. He loves the sea like his parents go to temple, in an unmovable and inexplicable way that he no longer questions.

Second is Poseidon. Foolish, but so achingly kind. He’s a man who professes his wish to master the sea without ever really understanding it, and Caeneus smiles and kisses the stress lines from his brow but does not worry.

The sea has never loved him back, and it never will. She is power and coldness and loss, and her beauty is in her tragedy. Poseidon is warmth and thoughtfulness and strong hands on his hips. He is nothing like the sea, and he will never rule it.

Caeneus knows this, and he’s relieved by it. Poseidon loves him back. Poseidon is not the sea.

Then he wakes up to his lover’s lips on his neck, cold enough that flinches away from the sensation, and for a terrifying moment he doesn’t recognize the person touching him as the man he loves.

“I can do it now,” he whispers, and cool fingers splay against his waist, “I can make you the man you want to be.”

Caeneus wants the body that men usually have, wants people to stop looking at him and seeing a woman. But if Poseidon had asked, he would have told him – Caeneus would choose his lover over a new body, would rather live as he does now than have Poseidon harm himself for his benefit.

But he did not ask, so Caeneus closes his eyes and accepts the gift his lover is so eager to give him.


Amphitrite has never had a heart before.

She was the sea, and what she desired, she took. Men, women – she wanted, and she had, and then she moved on.

But the heart in her chest is softer, warmer. It turns her pearl hued skin pink and makes her swim to the surface to watch the sun set, makes something like empathy stir inside her when before all she had was selfishness.

The heart in her chest is in love, and she thought it was something she could control, something she could stop. It’s not. It will be one day, when she masters this heart in her chest, but not yet. She spends hours following Caeneus as he sails her seas, guides fish into his net and feels her borrowed heart beat that much faster whenever he pears into the ocean and she catches sigh of his gorgeous amber eyes.

So she says to Poseidon, “You spend too much time on the shore for a god of the sea.”

He glances at her, and his eyes are green just like hers, are cold and uncaring just like hers used to be. She wonders what her eyes look like now. “Caeneus is on the shore.”

“Bring him here if you’re so concerned with your mortal,” she says, focusing on weaving shells into her hair and giving the impression that she couldn’t care less what he does with his mortal plaything. “The palace is big enough.”

He stops and turns to her, eyebrow raised. “You do not mind me bringing him here?”

“Do with your mortal as you wish,” she repeats, and stamps down on the trembling joy in her chest, “It’s no concern of mine.”


Caeneus doesn’t know how to love a god of the sea. He knew how to love Poseidon – take him onto the water to watch the sunrise, feed him warm, sweet drinks, and let him curl around him at night and listen to his stories of his siblings, of impossible gods who do impossible things.

But now he sits in a palace under water, with his own room and the freedom to see the other side of the ocean he loves so dearly. There are no sunsets here, no cocoa to barter for, and Poseidon doesn’t tell him stories any more.

Poseidon still loves him. He kisses him and holds his hips when they sleep together and keeps him by his side while he crosses the sea and gains more and more control over this domain that he now commands. Poseidon still loves him, he tells himself when he itches to return to the surface and the home Poseidon build for him, and the life he built for himself.

He didn’t want to be a consort of the king of sea. He just wanted to be Caeneus, a man who loved a man and was loved in return, a man who loved the sea even though it would never love him back.

The sea will never love him back. He’s known that since he was a child, so the real question is – how much of the Poseidon he knew is left, and how much of him the depths of the ocean?


There’s a hurricane that requires her husband’s attention, and even he is not so foolish as to bring his lover to a place as dangerous as that. Which means it’s the perfect time for her to run into him in the interior gardens, as he stares up through the iridescent seaweed to the rays of sunlight that just manage to penetrate the water. “Do you miss it?” she asks him, and he startles, swinging around to face her and stumbling away.

“My lady!” he says, and falls to his knees before her, bowing his head. It’s what she expects of all mortals, but not from him, never from him. The heart in her chest loves him, and if it’s not her heart, well – the rest of her doesn’t know the difference. “A thousand apologies.”

“You are welcome here,” she says, and smiles. She’s never smiled quite like this before, she’s never felt quite like this before, fond and fluttery and so painfully eager that it would be embarrassing if she ever dared articulate it. It’s a wonder Poseidon managed to get anything done at all if this is what he had in his chest.

He looks up, hesitant, and she holds out her hand. He takes it, and she pulls him to his feet, pulls him closer until they’re nearly touching and he’s forced to look up into her eyes or be stuck staring at her chin. He’s warmer than her, she can feel the heat pouring off him in waves, and she wants him to hold her in his arms so she can languish against him like she would a sun-warmed rock.

Before she had a heart, she took who and what she wanted, when she wanted it.

Now she has a heart, and she takes his hands in both of hers and says, “Would you like to visit the surface? I can take you, and bring you back before my husband returns.”

He’s hesitant because he’s afraid of her. Caeneus will never love her, because although she holds the heart he loves she is not the person the heart belongs to. Not that he knows any of that, not that anyone will ever know the details of her and Poseidon’s arrangement. But she doesn’t want Caeneus to be afraid of her. She wants him to smile at her like she is a sunrise. “Yes, please,” he decides on finally.

She stands and watches as he walks through his home, as he touches the hearth and looks longingly at the bed, as he stands in the small cottage that he clearly prefers over her palace, over all the riches and adoration that comes with being consort to the sea.

Caeneus is a simple man, whose heart loves with a simple love.

He is a man whose heart loves someone who now has no heart, and Amphitrite can’t bring herself to tell him. She’s the one who took it away, and she won’t give it back.

She likes having a heart, and one day she will need to return it, but not now, not yet, not for a long time.


Caeneus lies besides Poseidon, curled up so his head rests on the god’s outflung arm and he can watch his chest rise and fall as he sleeps. There are bruises on Caeneus’s hips and down his chest, bite marks on his shoulder and up his neck. It’s not the first time his lover has been rough with him, and he doesn’t mind, like that Poseidon doesn’t touch him like he’s afraid he’ll break, likes that whenever he’s rough he’s careful enough with his strength not to ever cross the line from bruising to breaking.

It’s different than it used to be. It’s been different for a long time, ever since Poseidon somehow convinced the Lady to hand over her title as monarch, to share her power with him for no reason that Caeneus can see. It’s not love between them, because the sea does not love. But she got something out of it, something valuable enough to bargain away part of her power, and as soon as she did the man Caeneus loves ceased to exist.

He slides out of bed and angrily rubs at his eyes. He can’t do this anymore, can’t sleep and live with this man who has his lover’s face and memories and nothing else.

He knows this palace well, and everyone else knowns him too. The servants don’t question him, only offer shallow bows before hurrying on his way. He’s a fisherman who lives on the outskirts of society. He’s not any sort of person that people were meant to bow to. He stands in front of an ornate set of carved doors, the beautiful shimmering inside of a muscle shell of impossible size. Two guards stand at each door, but neither move to stop him as he pushes it open and slips inside.

“Lady?” he whispers. Large, bioluminescent carvings flare to life all across the room, bathing them in soft golden-green light. Amphitrite pulls herself out of bed, green hair loose around her and the rest of her on display, pale and flawless, as perfect an example of a beautiful woman as Caeneus has ever seen, and he averts his gaze. “Lady!”

“So modest,” she teases, and when he glances over she’s in a simple white robe and pulling her hair up behind her. She looks vulnerable like this, almost like his mother did when she would rouse him and his father from sleep in the darkness of early morning so they could catch the fish while they were still sleeping. “What’s going on Caeneus? I thought my husband had exclusive rights to your nights,” she winks, and he forces a smile.

He walks over to her, takes her hands in his because he knows she likes how warm he runs compared to her, and her smile slips off her face. “Please,” he whispers, “Poseidon is different than he once was, and I want to know why. Please.”


She shouldn’t tell him, but the heart in her chest loves him, and she loves him too, thinks she would even without Poseidon’s heart influencing her.

So she tells him, and when he starts crying she brushes away his tears and he doesn’t stop her. “He’ll never love you like he once did,” she tells him, “It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he just can’t.”

“The sea doesn’t love you back,” he says, because he knows, because he’s a skilled sailor, because he’s one of the people who has worshipped her his whole life without ever expecting anything back, because that’s what an ocean gives back – nothing at all. “Can – can I give you my heart?”

She stares. “Excuse me?”

“Let me give you my heart,” he pleads, “so that I may hold Poseidon’s in my chest. You can have mine, I know I’m only a mortal–”

“You’re all mortal to me,” she says, because a hundred years, a thousand, ten thousand, what does it matter – she and Gaia were around long before gods and humans, and they’ll be around long after them. “If I give you Poseidon’s heart, you will become a god.”

He pales and flinches away from her. He’s not in this for power, this was never about power to him. It was always about love. “Lady, I’m not trying to – I don’t want that.”

“If you become a god,” she continues, because she loves him and that means she wants him to be happy, even at her own expense, “you will be alive when the time comes for me to reclaim my title of monarch. One day I will take back my heart from Poseidon, will reclaim the cold, black thing in his chest as my own, and when I do he will no longer be master of the sea. When I do, you can give him back his heart, and he will love you as he loved you before, as he will always love you.”

Caeneus has a hand over his chest and there’s so much hope shining in his eyes that it’s almost painful to look at. “Please, Lady. Please. I love him, let me carry his heart, let me have him back once you are done. I will wait.”

“It will be a long time,” she answers honestly, “Empires will rise and fall before I’m willing to give this up, before Poseidon will be willing to give up his power over the sea.”

“I will wait,” Caeneus repeats, “I love him. If you have my heart, maybe you will grow to love him too. If you have my heart, you will protect him, you will keep him safe.”

Amphitrite loves Caeneus, and Caeneus loves Poseidon, and Poseidon is incapable of loving anyone at all. “Very well,” she whispers, because a heart is a heart, and just like Poseidon she’s unable to deny Caeneus anything.

She breaks open her chest and takes out the warm, beating heart of Poseidon. She slits open Caeneus’s chest for him, and holds him upright while struggles to take out his heart and clumsily places in into her chest. She heals over instantly, and nestles Poseidon’s heart in Caeneus’s ribcage. He too heals over, and his eyes flash with power as the heart settles inside of him.

Caeneus becomes so much more than a mortal man in that moment.

This heart doesn’t feel too different, she still loves Caeneus because she’s capable of loving and he is worthy of it. “Go,” she says, “Say your goodbyes, and leave. If you stay, he’ll just continue hurting you, and in a few thousand years he’ll hate himself for it. Leave now, and spare both of you that pain.”

He leans forward and cups her face in his hands, kissing her on each cheek. “Thank you,” he breathes, and then he’s gone.


Caeneus can feel the power of a god flowing into him, but he doesn’t care about that, the only reason he’s glad he’s a god now is so he’ll live long enough to get Poseidon back, to get the Poseidon who loves him back.

He goes back to where Poseidon is sleeping, and takes a long, careful look. It will be a long time before he sees this man again. He kisses him on the lips, softly and carefully, the way Poseidon first kissed him when he thought he was sleeping.

Then he leaves, stepping outside the palace and using his newly gained powers to bring himself to the shore.


Poseidon is furious, bur Amphitrite won’t budge, says only that Caeneus left. He throws a temper, and half the palace is lost in the aftermath, but she does not care.

She doesn’t tell him that she no longer carries his heart. It doesn’t matter. Caeneus’s heart beats in her chest, and she sits on her throne amongst the rubble and does nothing more than sigh at the way he threatens to tear the world apart looking for his lover. It will pass. The depth and coldness of the sea is unable to sustain such fits of wild passion.

Years pass. Rumors reach them of a sea god, one who is known for rescuing sailors and fisherman from storms, one who they say used to be a mortal fisherman himself.

They call him Glaucus, and say that he swallowed a magical herb to become a god.

She smiles when she hears these rumors, and thankfully Poseidon has long given up trying to get her to explain herself. The rumors are only half right, but she likes hearing them none the less.

It comforts her to hear that Caeneus is well.

gods and monster series, part xiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Too Late

Plot: You never really knew that it was too late, until you saw him standing in the end of the aisle, smiling at his fiancé. 

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

Genre: Angst, non-idol au!

Note: I took quite a while with this, considering it’s exam week(s). Writing is pretty much my escape/break. Namjoon deserves so much more appreciation, so I gave this my all~ I hope you like it. 1,387 Words

Originally posted by fyeahbangtaned

How did you manage to fuck up this bad?

“Kim Namjoon, do you take Park Mari to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

You had 15 whole years to admit your feelings to him; 15 whole years to tell him that the only thing on your mind, no matter where you were, was your best friend. Yet, you told yourself you never got the time. You always said that you would do it tomorrow, but you just couldn’t. You would always leave him with other girls, because you had no self worth – or maybe you were just too much of a coward to ruin what you already shared with him.

“I do.”

Keep reading

12 August 2017

Baz is gone when Simon wakes. He knows this even without opening his eyes, feeling the absence of arms around him, and that uneasy feeling of needing to know where Baz is that Simon still hasn’t quite managed to shake off, after all this time. He sighs and rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. It’s Saturday, and if Baz were still in his bed, Simon would see absolutely no reason to get up at all today, but now he stumbles to his feet, throws on a t-shirt and walks out into the kitchen.

‘Morning,’ says Penny, seated at the counter with a newspaper and a bowl of cereal.

‘Morning,’ says Simon, through a yawn. ‘Where’s Baz?’

She shrugs with one shoulder, turning the page with her other hand. ‘He went out.’

Simon grumbles to himself and goes to join her for breakfast.


An hour later, Simon comes back with milk and cereal and paper towels. (‘Make yourself useful instead of sulking while you wait for your boyfriend,’ Penny said.

‘What if he’s already gone to get milk?’

‘Doubtful. Funny how he spends almost as much time here as I do and doesn’t do half as much of the chores.’)

Penny is on the couch furiously typing on her laptop, and Baz is still nowhere to be seen. Simon flops down on the other end of the couch, his feet tucked up next to Penny, and sighs.

‘You need friends,’ Penny says, without looking up or slowing down her typing. ‘People to hang out with before uni starts.’

‘You don’t have friends,’ Simon says.

‘I have things to do.’

I have things to do,’ he insists.

‘Like what?’

‘He’s not here,’ Simon says, smirking.

Penny groans. ‘You need friends,’ she repeats.

Simon grabs his phone off the coffee table and leans back against the arm of the couch. Penny’s probably right. As always.


‘Have you texted Baz?’ Penny asks, after a long silence.

‘Yeah. Nothing.’

‘Hm,’ she says, narrowing her eyes. Then – ‘Oh.’

‘What?’ Simon sits up, alarmed.

‘Do you know what the date is?’

‘No,’ Simon says. (He never keeps track.)

‘August twelfth.’

His mouth drops open. ‘Oh.’

‘And you know what else?’ Penny says. ‘It’s fifteen years, today.’

Simon is on his feet and on his way out the door before she’s even managed to shut off her laptop.

‘We have to be there,’ Simon calls over his shoulder.

‘I know.’


Penny has to let Simon through the gate. He’s been back a few times, for the Leavers Ball, and a few conversations he had to have after the whole trial with the Mage and the mess with the Humdrum was resolved, and it’s less painful now. He still misses it – fiercely – but today isn’t about Watford, or magic, or Simon.

Today is about Natasha Pitch.

They run down to the Catacombs and find Baz sitting in front of his mother’s tomb, in the same spot where Simon found him and confronted him countless times before. Baz hears them coming and lets them sit on either side of him, saying nothing.

Simon reaches out to take Baz’s hand, not sure if he wants comfort, but Baz lets him and twines their fingers together. The three of them look at the fresh flowers by the tomb, at the carving over the door – Le Tombeau des Enfants – and they lean against each other. Holding each other up.

They say nothing, and Baz cries, and Simon cries for him. Then Baz tells them about how he still remembers the roughness of her hands, and how Fiona says that Natasha used to sing him to sleep and he wishes he remembered the sound of her voice, and that he’ll never forgive himself for not being there when she came to see him.

‘She’d be so proud of you,’ Simon whispers, and for once Baz doesn’t argue. Not today.

ad finem | pt. i

Originally posted by baeksilisk

[ back to masterlist ]

Scenario: Time Travel AU
Pairing: Baekhyun/Reader
Word Count: 2429
Rating: T (violence in later chapters)

Summary: When the Museum of Ancient History reveals its newest exhibit, you’re expecting a blast from the past. You just hadn’t counted on it being literal. 

next part >>

You look down at the brochure that’s clutched tightly in your fists. You’d only just arrived and already the glossy paper is crumpled from your nervous fidgeting, your hands clammy from holding it.



To be unveiled to the public on Saturday, October 8

Keep reading

wonwoo; days in the sun

Originally posted by visual-17

part 1/? of svt!disney au inspired by this thread

feat. beast!Wonwoo x bibliophile!reader (FINALLY WROTE A WONWOO!!)

genre: beauty and the beast au, fluff/romance, slight flangst

word count: 2123

Snow dipped between the crevices of the hand-painted French windowpane, thousands of scintillating diamonds icing against the frosted glass. The snowflakes further out melted instantaneously upon meeting the cobblestone of the castle. She briefly wondered how exactly warm this castle was from the inside, considering from the outside the tower much resembled a memento mori in their iota of a desolate kingdom.

Her nails dragged away with a subconscious slowness from the glass as she backed away from the window, turning her head to her sleeping patient.

Keep reading

Ash (part1)

The campus has always had places of in-between; between our world and theirs, between magic and mundane, Fae and human, and there are those of the Fae that treasure these places of in-between greatly. Their little… projects.

I9 was one such project, all the students were sure. The building had been on campus for as long as anyone could remember, it refused to show up on any map, and had withstood every try at getting it removed. It didn’t really ‘fit’ with the rest of the campus, although somehow, sometimes, it seemed to fit far too well. Sitting just beyond the dense tree line of the forest, I9 was a small, old, cottage with thatched roof, and a happily running stream the only thing between it and the trees.

No one had lived there since… well, no one could quite agree on the last person who had lived there, some remembered it being a girl from an arts major. Others argued it had been a boy from chemistry. Some others put in that maybe it hadn’t been a student at all. Whoever they were, they hadn’t lasted long, hardly a month before being taken.

The Fae were all unusual, unpredictable, unsettling, but the one that took an interest in this place had something most others did not, patience and persistence.

The girl had applied late, to only do one unit a term, and to live on campus. Her high school marks were nothing special, hardly enough to graduate let alone to be considered for somewhere as prestigious as Elsewhere University. The admin staff placed her immediately in the rejected pile, but every morning they would find the application back on their desk. After a week, one member of staff decided to just shred the damn thing, but sure enough, the next day there it was again. After that, they all agreed that the choice had been made for them. When the paperwork came through though, and I9 came out no matter what room anyone typed or even wrote on the forms, that’s when they started to worry. Someone had been chosen again.

Maybe some members of staff (those who knew the history of I9) tried to warn the girl, tried to change fate, but in the end the acceptance letter still went out, and the room number was still unchanged.

Ash was all anxiety, and depression, and layer upon layer of shaky coping mechanisms that she’d built up over the years. She didn’t know anyone at Elsewhere, and didn’t have any friends from anywhere else either. Her parents had moved away to start new lives, and after two painful years of self-doubt and second-guessing, she had finally decided to try for uni. It wasn’t that she wasn’t intelligent, just that she was… different. She never kept friends, always talked to herself or to animals rather than other people, she never seemed to fit in with anyone, and often got on teachers nerves for being too reserved, and so her schooling had suffered. She knew she could do well she just needed time.

Things were strange when Ash got to campus. She wasn’t in one of the communal dorms like she had expected, instead she found her room number carved on the door of an old cottage by the forest edge. She watched the other students for a while, all of them avoiding the path down to the little cottage, all of them taking care not to walk on the little flowers that grew out the front. It took her a good twenty minutes to convince herself to go knock on the door, after all it wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to mess with the new kid.

She could hear other students whispering as they passed, their eyes boring into her back as she walked to the door. It made her skin crawl and her hairs stand on end, like something was about to attack. She fumbled for her keys and found they were no longer the generic store cut keys she had collected, but one heavy, black, old iron key, it fit the lock though and she took respite within the tiny cottage.

Inside it was small, dark, and smelled of old books and dust. Beyond the entrance was a small sitting room, its walls lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books. A little kitchen with old-fashioned fittings was to the left, a brightly lit study nook to the right, its windows large and filled with overgrown potted herbs and plants. Just past the sitting room was a cosy bedroom with a little bathroom hidden behind one of the wardrobe doors, Ash wondered what else was hidden in here.

The trees outside rustled and birds began to caw as she set down her things and took in her new home. It was strange, and eerie, and her cheeks still burned with the students whispers, but it felt oddly safe within these walls, as if she truly had come home.

Students in class were nicer than she had experienced in high school, though some of them refused to meet her eyes. Others insisted on giving her handfuls of little diner salt packets, which was odd at first. It took some time for her to believe this wasn’t some kind of cruel joke at her expense, but after a while she recognised it as something good. One guy even came up to her and shoved a little hand full of nuts and bolts strung together on a thin chain into her hand and muttered a brief ‘hang in there’ before strolling off.

Well she had heard rumours about people at Elsewhere being superstitious, she just hadn’t quite expected it to be this full on. Some students even had their own small rituals they performed before entering certain classes. Even with all the odd around her though, she still felt that she wasn’t exactly part of it all, she was still an outsider, as she had always been, never quite fitting in anywhere.

The first week passed uneventfully. Though the students in class weren’t cruel, they didn’t sit with her if at all possible, politely making their excuses before moving away if she sat at their table. By the end of the week she felt as alone as she had ever been, something she had grown quite used to.

The weekend came quickly and soon enough second week began. Ash sat at the back of the lecture theatre expecting to again be surrounded by empty seats, but this time a boy sat beside her. He had the most amazing eyes all glitter and angles. He didn’t say a word to her but watched like a hawk when she scratched out a few lines of a small poem before the lecture began. He was… odd, but the company was comfortable.

After that lecture the whispering became worse. She would catch snippets of ‘did you see their eyes?’, ‘definitely one of them’, ‘she didn’t even notice’ as she walked passed. Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she quickly headed back towards I9. Just outside I9 though she was stopped  by the yowling of an animal in terrible pain. In the bushes was a small white cat tangled in some wires, everyone else was hurrying passed without even a glance its way. The thing was making such an awful noise she had half expected the bite of razorwire as she freed the creature, but it was just plain old wire. She could have sworn though, as the cat scampered off across the stream and into the forest, that as it turned away it suddenly had too many eyes, all glitter and angles, but she couldn’t be sure.

After that, things were… stranger. The shadows around the cottage felt deeper than was possible, wind chimes that had been taken down long before Ash had gotten there chimed happily in the dead still air, and there was a lingering smell of honey and wet fur.

She knew something was wrong when she woke the next morning. The feeling stole over her in cold waves of panic, something was different, something was wrong, something had happened. When she looked in the mirror she saw that the eyes staring back at her were wrong, they seemed to stare much much farther than a reflection should be able, and glinted with the colours of the aurora borealis. She heard the purring of a cat as tears welled in her beautiful, wrong, eyes.

It was late afternoon when she finally left I9 again, and slowly she realised her eyes weren’t the only things that had changed. She could see… things… playing in the trees just passed the stream. Things covered in fur and claws, and feathers, and bone. There was a lady at the other end of the path watching her closely, a small cat curled around her legs. Her eyes drifted past Ash, and Ash turned to see what had caught her gaze. It was a basket filled with… things. There was a bunch of rotten bananas, some plants that looked rather a lot like weeds still with their roots attached covered in dirt, a couple of lengths of string, a frayed bit of cloth, and a handful of stones and little bones. In a voice like dripping blood, and splintering bones the lady spoke to Ash ‘A small gift for my Girl Between. A basket of favours yet made, promises yet to come, use my gift well little one, I’ll know if you waste it’. When Ash blinked the lady was gone, and she was left alone with the basket of things, and a cat that definitely had too many eyes.



Sorry for the delay guys, I have been working like crazy to get this turned out in such a short amount of time! Enjoy :)

Originally posted by relacion-goals

Nessian Part Thirteen by L.J. LaFleur  


Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

Unearthly whispers chanted in my ear. They were singing to me in the darkness—through the massive cloud of pain and discomfort.  

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

Gods-damn it. I opened my eyes, staring at the intricately painted ceiling, hoping it would stop.  

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

“For cauldron’s sake,” I groaned, pushing myself to a seated position on the edge of the bed. Strands of black hair fell into view as my head bobbed down. My eyelids fluttered shut, unwillingly drifting back to sleep.  

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Mistaken Identity

Words: 2453

Request:  Anon said: “Could you do a Thranduil x reader, where they are married, and she is usually always in fancy clothes. One day she tries to get into the throne room in more plain clothing, and the guard doesnt recognize her, so they end up throwing her in the dungeon, and when Thranduil finds out hes enraged, and shes irritated.”

Pairing/Characters: Thranduil x Reader

Notes: This ended differently than how I had originally planned, but it turned out!!

You had the entire day off. For once. No responsibilities were nagging at you to be completed. No handmaidens were knocking the doors down at the break of dawn to have a moment of your time, trying to get you prim and proper for the day’s meetings.

Today was one of those days, you laughed to yourself as you settled lower into the fluffy pillows of the bed you shared with your husband, Thranduil. Raising your arms, you stretched under the thick furs of the bed, relishing in the comfortable mattress.

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Across the Stars, Chapter 5

Prologue   Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8

AN: Here you are! It’s a day late, but I had some things to take care of last night. I’m so glad you all are enjoying it! I realize this one is a bit shorter, but I felt like the last line was such a perfect place to end it! Don’t forget to like/reblog/reply <3

Rhys cursed under his breath as he stepped into the cool, marble tiled elevator of the ritzy apartment building. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket, blinking away the image he’d seen the night before, blinking away the fact that he hadn’t been able to get that girl from the coffee shop out of his mind while he was on top of Amarantha. It was a terrible, terrible thing that such a beautiful image would pervade such an ugly space, such an ugly event. The last thing in the world that he wanted was to link having sex with Amarantha to the thought of Feyre.

At least she’d allowed him to be the one to show up at Tamlin’s door and warn him of the upcoming deadline. He straightened his shoulders, flexing his hands and setting his mouth into a firm, disinterested line. He hadn’t seen that blond bastard in five years, hadn’t seen him since Amarantha plowed into their lives and grabbed them all by the throats. She hadn’t wanted them to come across each other. She knew they’d rip each other to shreds, and so she’d forbidden them from even crossing paths.

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Safe in Your Arms

Read on AO3

Summary: Magnus smiled softly to himself, “Alexander Lightwood, what would the other Shadowhunter’s think if they saw the Head of the Institute carrying the High Warlock of Brooklyn through the hallways like he’s some blushing bride?“

Magnus still has nightmares about his mother’s death. Alec and Magnus cuddle.

Note: I started writing this after episode 2x15 aired but only just got around to finishing it, so….here is my super late fic!


As soon as the portal had shut behind the monster and his guards, Magnus’ face fell from the mask he had put on and he allowed himself to feel again. Feel all the anger and pain that he’d suffered because of that man, the exhaustion and the grief that had been eating away at him for days. That had driven all semblance of happiness from his body, all sense of self love and pride. A sudden, unexpected wave of nausea washed over his body, he closed his eyes to steady himself. He could feel Alec shift behind him, and instinctively leaned toward him, his knees going weak, his feet slipping out from underneath him.

“Woah,” Alec caught Magnus around the waist, holding him tightly against his side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Magnus wasn’t quite certain that he even managed to get the words out. “I’m just going to portal home, get a drink, stop…thinking,”

“No, you’re not,” Alec huffed, not unkindly “You’re exhausted, it’s not safe,”

“Alexander,” Magnus protested.

“Magnus, you are the most powerful warlock alive, I know that creating portals takes about as much of your energy as batting those…adorable eyelashes of yours. And if creating one portal did this to you, I cannot in good conscious let you make another one. What if you pass out going through it and end up in limbo?”

“Alexander, I promise you, I’m okay,”

“You haven’t slept in four days,” Alec replied, bending over to wrap one arm around the back of Magnus’ knees and pick him up “You can get some sleep on the couch in my office while I finish up some paperwork, and then I’ll walk you home, okay, love?”

Magnus smiled softly to himself, “Alexander Lightwood, what would the other Shadowhunter’s think if they saw the Head of the Institute carrying the High Warlock of Brooklyn through the hallways like he’s some blushing bride?”

“They wouldn’t think anything,” Alec replied as he carried Magnus out of the basement, “Because it’s two o’ clock in the morning and everyone is asleep,”

“Put me down, I have a reputation to uphold,” Magnus said as sternly as he could manage while he wrapped his arms around Alec’s neck to secure their embrace, and buried his head in Alec’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, you look like you’re having a terrible time,” Magnus couldn’t see Alec’s face but he knew exactly what those eyebrows were doing, raising crooked, a teasing light in Alec’s eyes, a half smile on his lips.

Magnus drew a stuttering breath against Alec’s chest, pressing gentle kisses to the Deflect rune on Alec’s neck. He could feel the heat climbing up to Alec’s cheeks, Alec’s skin warm against Magnus’ lips. One corner of his mouth upturned in a smile at Alec’s strangled cry.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of this that easy mister. Trying to sway me with those, ugh, those sinful lips of yours,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Alexander,” Magnus slurred, burrowing his head further in Alec’s shoulder, smiling in earnest when Alec pressed a soft kiss into his hair, and let his cheek rest there. They walked together, letting the silence bathe them, letting the sound of their breath calm them.

Magnus had to keep himself from laughing as Alec laid him down gently on the large couch by the fire place, helping him out of his jacket and shoes. It helped that the first peals of his laughter were cut off with a yawn. “Get some sleep, okay, love?” Alec asked, threading a hand through Magnus’ hair.

Magnus could only yawn, heart swelling in his chest as Alec shrugged the jacket off of his shoulders and placed it carefully over Magnus’ body. Magnus gripped the corner of it with his hand, sighing deeply, drinking in the scent of Alexander that permeated the air. Alec’s phone rang, and Magnus could hear his footsteps retreating to a further corner of the office, where the sound of his voice would not disrupt the peace that had settled in Magnus’ chest.

“Izzy, what’s up?” Alec’s voice was low and musical to Magnus’ ears. Magnus stretched for a moment, wiggling himself deeper into the cushions. Magnus frowned, uncomfortable here, with his neck sprawled out over the arm rest, his socked feet wiggling in the exposed air of Alec’s office. He willed all remaining scraps of his energy forward, thinking of Alec’s room, with the rock hard bed, and obscene lack of decoration, pushing the images of every lunch break they had spent, half dressed and kissing lines down each other’s stomachs locked safely away behind Alec’s door, and he snapped his fingers, warmth flooding his body as the down comforter and comfy pillows Magnus had bought him settled into place. He felt sleep tugging in earnest at his mind. Magnus caught the beginning of Alec’s conversation the “Wait, what?” he asked his sister, and the “Magnus, I told you no more magic!” Before he had curled onto his side, tucked the comforter around him, hugged the pillow to his chest, and promptly fell asleep, his gentle snores punctuating the silence in the office.

He drifted in and out of consciousness, registering but not comprehending the distant sound of alarms, the anxiety in Alec’s voice as he all but whispered into his cell phone trying desperately not to disturb Magnus. “Look, Clary, I know you’re going through a lot right now, and Jace is the last person you want to see, but I need people I can trust leading this mission, and you two -“

Everything else was lost to darkness, as exhaustion overtook Magnus’ body once more and plunged him in to sleep.


The air was cool, and damp, like so many nights after a full day of rain, he could feel the panic and the fear in his chest, unsure of the reason. He pressed forward, his bare feet treading quietly, quickly across woven rugs, and hard wood floors. His fingers pressed carefully against the intricately carved door, this hallway was small, but the sheer amount of detail that went in to every hard surface of the place more than made up for it. He tiptoed in to the room, holding his breath, even though it had been catching in his throat for what had seemed like hours. Where was Mama? Where could she have gone? The room was alight, candles scattered throughout, wind toying with the curtains. A woman in bed, lying still. “Mama?” he called out, curious, unsure. The woman’s eyes were closed, her face peaceful, and it looked like his Mama, but there was something there that made her seem like a stranger. Some level of freedom that Magnus had never before seen. “Mama?” she remained still, too still, her eyes did not flicker, she did not reach out to scoop him in to the bed like she had so many nights before, before she had started to become afraid of him, before she had grown quiet whenever he entered the room. He could feel it again, the panic, the fear, it overwhelmed his body. Something was wrong, he knew it, he reached for the sheets, that had covered his mother’s body like a shroud, and he yanked them back, his small fists shaking. No, no, no, no, no this wasn’t right, there was red all over her nightgown, the karis his step-father kept above the hearth buried deep into her stomach. “Mama!” he yelled, and he yelled, and he yelled, but she was already gone.

“MAMA! MAMA,” Magnus gasped, rocketing upward, struggling for breath. His stomach twisted painfully, and before he could think, he had snapped his fingers and pulled a trashcan from thin air. Just in time to expel his dinner, and whatever was left of the whiskey he had tried to drown his sorrows in. Tears stung painfully in his eyes, sweat stuck his hair to his forehead. He could not catch his breath, he was shaking, his body wracked with sobs he couldn’t hold at bay.

“Hey,” Alec slid in to view, grasping Magnus’ hands in his own, resting a hand on Magnus’ cheek “Shhhhh, it’s okay. You’re okay, babe, I’m right here,” Alec brushed Magnus’ hair away, pulled him close to his chest, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Magnus clutched at Alec like a drowning man to a life boat. Sobs muffled into Alec’s shirt. “Okay,” Alec said softly. Magnus reached for Alec’s right hand as he pulled it away from Magnus’ back, though he still traced gentle lines into the back of Magnus’ neck with his left. Magnus could feel Alec shifting, tugging, and pulling, presumably at his boots. “You’re okay, Magnus. It’ll all be okay.” Alec pulled back from Magnus for a moment, their bodies pressing together for the briefest of moments as Alec scrambled over his boyfriend and turned to his side, back pressed up against the couch cushions, arms wrapping around Magnus’ shaking body. Like a moth to flame, like a magnet to iron, Magnus turned so they were face to face. They dissolved into each other’s arms until they were nothing but a tangle of limbs. Alec pulled Magnus close, Magnus curled in to him instinctively, letting his head come to rest underneath Alec’s chin. “I just can’t get her out of my head,” Magnus whispered.

“I know, babe,” Alec whispered in his ear, wiping the tears from his eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “What can I do?”

“Just hold me,” Magnus’ voice was shaky, and held the weight of four centuries within it. “I just-“ whatever he wanted to say was cut off by shaky breaths and eyelids pressed together so tightly, Alec thought Magnus might never open them again.

“Hey,” Alec whispered, sliding an arm around Magnus’ waist and pulling him close. “I’ve got you,”

Alec could see the small, trembling smile that tugged for the briefest of seconds at Magnus’ cheek, before it was wiped away. Magnus nodding curtly, as if to convince himself of the truth of it. He rinsed his mouth out with magic before  pressing a soft kiss to Alec’s lips.

Alec pressed their foreheads together, pulling at Magnus once more so their chests were pressed together, so he could feel the erratic beating of Magnus’ heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, so he could feel the rapid rise and fall of Magnus’ chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” Alec soothed “Get some sleep, love. I’ll be right here when you wake up,”

“Okay,” Magnus wormed his arms around Alec, holding him tight, hugging him close, drinking in the steady sounds of his breathing, letting it wash over him like waves crashing against a shore. Letting it fill his body like white noise, drowning out the voice of Magnus’ step-father, the screams as he died, still as sharp and as clear as the day he had heard them. A tentative calm settled over Magnus’ body, he could feel it tugging at him, wiping away the tension in his shoulders and the furrow in his brow. Feeling Alec’s skin against his own, his hands across his back, their legs entangled so there was no knowing whose were whose, and he finally felt at peace. Felt at home in Alec’s arms. “I love you,” Magnus whispered.

“I love you too,”

It was the last thing he heard as he succumbed to sleep, and it made his heart swell. And when the dreams came, they were not of his mother or of the magic burning away at his step-fathers skin. They were of Alec, bathed in sunlight, the taste of his skin, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he held Magnus, the sound of his voice, erasing the pain in his heart until it was nothing more than a dull ache.