« Du froid et des brouillards, de la grêle et des vents, Par les chemins du ciel, nous avons tout à craindre. Paix à nos morts… l'espoir reste au cœur des vivants, Et nous ne perdons pas notre temps à nous plaindre. »
“the five senses” of simple, pleasant moments that capture each sign.
ARIES IS // Fast legs and faster hearts just as dawn breaks. Numbness from scraped kneecaps and bloodied palms and the dizzying blur of quick sidewalks. Clattering of a chain link fence; dry laughter from desert throats – the kind that rises up from your lungs into your mouth, leaving the rusty taste of adrenaline on the tongue. Smoke lingering in your hair and on your clothes.
TAURUS IS // Standing in the dim light of a warm oven at 2am, messy hair and satin pajamas. Night air dancing in the curtains of an open window. A spoonful of peanut butter thick in your mouth – the sweet of baking cookies fills the room, mixing with the white noise of hushed radio. A gentle hand against the small of your back – an involuntary tugging at the edges of your lips.
GEMINI IS // Bright blue skies and big white clouds. Birds nests tucked in branches, and linens clipped on lines, hanging in an afternoon sun that will plant fresh freckles in ruddy cheeks. The whistle of laughter through gapped teeth. The smell of fresh cut grass from between bare toes, and the stickiness of thumbs wiping the pink and yellow of cotton candy from corners of crooked smiles.
CANCER IS // Early Sunday morning – soft eyes with heavy lids open slow to a familiar room, the walls bathed in shadows and faded lighting. The quiet patter of rain drops against the roof, and the deep rolling thunder. Being surrounded by the soothing scent of home and down feather pillows. The overwhelming comforting weight of blankets draped over tired bones, wrapped tight in the warmth of sleep and rumbling of storms.
LEO IS // Summer kissed skin, big sunglasses and floppy hats. Bright skies over dry fields laced with endless rows of sunflowers – the floral perfume mingling with thick July air. The hot breeze fluttering under a loose tank top, frayed cuffs of denim shorts with holes in the pockets, against your legs. Ripe strawberries in open mouths, the smiling voices of friends singing loud and off key.
VIRGO IS // Crisp, white sheets on a freshly made bed, the corners creased and smoothed down with precision and care. The smell of morning mist and steam rising from the brim of freshly steeped peppermint tea. Ticking analog clocks, rustling papers and the echo of hurried footsteps on wet pavement. The cool glass of a foggy window against your cheek. The quiet hum of waiting.
LIBRA IS // The pink of sunrise filtering through half-open blinds, cast over silk sheets. Opening windows and being greeted by the wafting scents of breakfast and pastries. Tucking hands into the pockets of a new sundress. Sidewalk sounds of birds and bicycle bells and cafe conversations. A thick, creamy smoothie with chunks of fruit stuck in the straw.
SCORPIO IS // The harvest moon, full and round and golden, peaking out from behind clouds that wisp around her like ghosts. The hollowed hooting of owls and sudden rustle of dry leaves. A breeze that raises goosebumps under sweater sleeves. Rich, dark chocolate on your teeth, and lungs full of crisp autumn air – the eerie peaceful of nighttime.
SAGITTARIUS IS // Speeding down an empty road, windows down, wind in your hair and squinting eyes. Crackling bonfires on a river bank, embers dancing as the sun slips behind the horizon. Marshmallows melted to the roofs of mouths – smell of fireworks, and mud on damp skin. The chirping of crickets and boisterous conversations of close friends.
CAPRICORN IS // Midnight all alone – soaking in the almost silence of fresh snowfall. Glowing street lamps illuminating crystallized puffs of breath and streets coated in sparkling, powder white. The burn of hot, black coffee on your tongue and warmth of the cup through knitted mittens on your hands. The still, winter air full of aged evergreen.
AQUARIUS IS // A little shop in your hometown you never noticed before. Dusty books in foreign letters and saturated fabrics, old typewriters and odd lamps. The unique vibration of a phonograph drifts through air that smells like ginger, and something that can’t quite be placed. It leaves spice on the tongue. Tingling of curiosity buzzing under the skin.
PISCES IS // A midday picnic on the beach. Sunshine glittering on the sea, its shore decorated by delicate shells and colored umbrellas. Toes sinking slowly into wet sand as waves wash over them, the rhythmic ebbing and flowing of tides. Distinct scents of sunscreen and sea foam – the sweetness in a juicy mouthful watermelon. The haze of a dreamy day.
Another flash of lightning filled the room, and it was soon followed by a deep roar of thunder a few seconds later; the sounds fell to deaf ears, however, for the couple was consumed with one another, their lips parting and smacking rhythmically. Their lower limbs were entwined beneath a thin, nearly translucent, duvet, and his body covered hers entirely, as if he were protecting her from the outside world. He pulled away for breath after a moment and hummed contently, nuzzling his nose into her neck, “I love kissin’ you; I never get tired of it.” He pressed his lips quickly to a pre-existing love mark, and she gave him a close lipped smile. She tucked rumpled patch of hair behind his ear while he gazed down fondly at her, memorizing every freckle and blemish she had.
Date the shadow creature that saved your life. His stature towers over yours, long dark fingers and a cloak of thick black hair, he has no mouth but still his voice rumbles like thunder deep in his chest, soothing you to sleep as he murmurs ancient hymns to you. His hands are gentle and warm as they trace patterns on your skin.
Teen Wolf-Scooby Doo, as in, the
Teen Wolf crew driving around in the Jeep solving supernatural mysteries. Just
So I don’t know what this is, but this fic turned
out to be my ARCH NEMESIS, so, you know, make of that what you will. It’s even
alternating POVs, which I haven’t written in years upon years. So please
appreciate how much this story wanted to kill me, and how we’re still eyeing
each other with open hostility from different corners of the room.
The groundskeeper has gnarled, knotted fingers and
rheumy eyes, and it takes five hundred years for him to turn the key in the
rusted padlock. The gate creaks almost
as loud as his bones, and Derek flicks an ear in irritation.
“That’s a big dog you’ve got there,” he says, only
Stiles buries one hand in the scruff around Derek’s
neck. “Not sure he is one,” Stiles says, and Derek cocks his head up at him.
Scott has the van idling behind them.
Derek takes a deep breath and sneezes. Decay, old
blood, and sulfur flood his senses—he whines softly. He doesn’t have a good
feeling about this.
The old house looms in front of them, stone and
spires, ominous, cloaked in shadows thrown by the nearly full moon. His skin
ripples under his fur, uneasy, and he tucks his tail between his legs.
“Relax,” Stiles murmurs to him. “This is easy money,
right? A simple salt and burn.”
Derek huffs, knocks into Stiles’ side as he hastily turns
around, and then slinks back to the van. He doesn’t like this place. He never likes haunted places, too much lingering
despair that stirs up old guilt, but this house feels like it’s made out of
skeleton bones, dread sits like a stone in his belly.
Lydia already has the side of the van open. He hops
in, slides past Kira, and then digs into Stiles’ open duffle, buries his snout
in an old t-shirt that smells a little bit like Scott, too.
“Dude,” Stiles says when he climbs in after him.
Derek growls, low in his throat, and Stiles backs
off with a huffy, “Fine, be that way.”
The van grinds into gear and rolls forward slowly,
tires bumping over the cobblestone drive, and Derek feels like his chest is
A jar spell to be performed during a thunder/lightning storm to increase one’s energy, motivation, and focus! This can be used for energy at work, school, during magick, or just in general.
⚡ Written by Rainy-Day-Witchcraft ⚡
Carnelian and/or Quartz
Cayenne (either pepper or spice is fine)
Setting up ⚡
During a thunder/lightning storm, collect all of your materials together and plan to head outside. In addition to your magickal ‘ingredients’, also be sure to dress in rain gear or bring a poncho!
A jar/bottle to contain your materials and the spell; this may also be a smaller jar, such as the ones that people use for necklaces or keychains, so that you may carry it with you whenever you need a little energy. Carnelian/Quartz, Bay leaf(s), Sunflower (dried seeds or petals), and Cayenne pepper will be the items you are putting into this jar ~
Once outside with your items: choose a spot that you will be able to see the lightning or hear the thunder, feel the strong winds, and be open to rainfall. The best option is most likely a backyard, butDO NOTwork underneath a tree or near a large portion of water, such as a spa or pool, as a safety procaution against the lightning!
Performing the Spell ⚡
Before continuing, take some time to sit in that spot and feel your surroundings. Listen to the rain and the deep rumble of thunder, and feel the electricity in the air. Channel your magickal energies down from the power of the storm and allow them to fill your body, creating a visualized glow or static effect around your aura. When you feel ready, go on to the beginning of the spell:
Placing each ingredient individually into the jar, chant aloud:
“Carnelian/Quartz (whichever you’ve used) for motivation, energy, and success in my endeavors, and to constantly charge the magickal contents of this jar -
Bay leaf for focus, and to grant me what I wish for -
Sunflower, to give me the energy I call for -
and Cayenne, to manifest my magickal intent speedily and enhance it’s effects with a kick!”
Of course, you may also improvise or write your own words for this, if you’d like to personalize the chant.
Transfer a bit of energy into the jar. This may be done through mediation/visualization or physically, such as breathing into it, before quickly sealing the cork or lid. When I had performed this spell, I visualized small sparks of lightning coming from my fingertips to charge the entirety of the jar before I sealed the lid ~ so you can definitely get creative!
Now, magickally seal the jar. This may be done with a kiss, with a few final words (such as: “it is done” or “so mote it be!”) and if you feel content with the physical sealing of the jar, that’s fine too ~
And you are done! With the rhythm of the thunder and the storm, shake the jar; mix up those ingredients, enhance their power, and urge them to begin working your magick! You can dance around in the rain while doing this, stomp around on the wet earth, or perhaps sing a bit ~ This would also serve as a grounding exercise, so I do recommend something along these lines!
Now whenever you need a little boost of energy, motivation, or focus, shake up your jar and let the spell once again enhance these things. Littler jars may be held with you and shaking throughout the day, and bigger jars should be shaken in the morning and left in your room or windowsill for the day’s effects ~ With my smaller jar, I find it useful to visualize sparks forming inside while I shake it
Please let me know if you have any questions or comments about the spell here, and I hope you enjoy and find it useful!
Reylo prompt-First kiss, possibly initiated by Kylo (to surprise of both Rey AND Kylo)?
The impulse seizes Kylo Ren when he’s knee-deep in brackish Ahch-To water. Rain is streaming down both of their bodies and causing their sabers to fizzle and Rey is, impossibly, even more alluring than usual amidst the crashing waves and the occasional bursts of illumination from the lightning. They highlight the sharpness of her bared teeth and the inward curve of her waist with white winning out over the blue.
It is during one of the moments unlit by anything but lightsabers, deep into the thunder, that he kisses her. Where he got the guts to do it, he does not know, but he could no doubt promptly lose them from one quick jerk of her weapon to his abdomen. It will have been worth it.
Rey’s mouth isn’t soft. Her lips are chapped and cracked from years under Jakku’s sun. The torn skin bites into the plump plushness of his lips, slightly moistened from the rain and where he’d licked them before he leaned down between their crossed lightsabers and kissed her. In that moment, the possibility of her slamming her saber up and lopping his head cleanly off is not as big of a concern to him as worry over the way his cold, wet nose bumps up against her colder, wetter cheek and whether or not it bothers her.
Rey freezes when their lips meet even as her mind goes awhirl with confusion and shock and something else far more heated and potent. Her saber slips down until the blade is almost cradled in the crux between the vent and the main blade’s emitter in his saber. Her hand is rough but not unkind when it tangles in his sopping hair. She forces his head to turn so their mouths are slotted against each other more before he feels her tongue slip from one corner of his mouth to the other.
Their crossed lightsabers are half buried in the roiling waves by now.
“We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop to feel the rain?”
Fred Weasley, rougish grin settled effortlessly upon his face, stood holding an over large umbrella over himself and the bushy-haired friend of his youngest brother protecting them from the downpour that had erupted from the sky a few moments earlier. He was pleased with himself for having the forsight to bring the raggedy thing, especially since the young with at his side had neglected to check the weather for the day, leaving her bright pink from embarrassment.
Fred found he rather liked that color on her.
The girl in question softly cleared her throat, wringing her fingers together and peeking out from behind her curls. “How…Far is it back to the Burrow, again?” She asked, a flash of lightning causing a slight tremble to crawl across her skin.
Fred’s grin widened as he chuckled. “Just a few minutes and we’ll see it out past those trees, there. You almost made it back before you got lost.”
This resulted in a frustrated sigh as Hermione reached up a hand to bury her fingers in her hair, pushing the brown locks back away from her face with a huff. “I’m sorry you had to come look for me. Ronald just makes me so angry, sometimes! I mean, does he have to be so obtuse!?”
This resulted in a loud bark of laughter from the tall red-head. “Ah, Ronniekins. Poor, sweet, not-all-that-bright brother o’ mine!” He lowered his eyes again just in time for a roll of thunder to send another shudder across Hermione’s shoulders. He tilted his head to one side, his smile fading slightly into a ponderous expression. “Are you cold, Granger?”
The witch let out a soft laugh herself before shaking her head. “No, the chill is nice. Besides, I came out to cool my head.” She stopped moving, then, peeking out from under the umbrella as Fred stopped as well, turning to look back at the girl he had been charged to find and bring back home safely.
“Granger?” he started to ask before she rather suddenly darted out from under the umbrella with the sound of thunder rumbling over head. He jerked as though he meant to follow her, to try to get her back under their shield from the rain, but he paused, staring at her in surprise.
Hermione hand thrown her hands out to either side and tilted her head back so she could face the sky as she slowly spun in place. She took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, a smile crossing her features as raindrops left trails across her skin. She was, very quickly, becoming soaked in rainwater.
“Granger, what are you doing?” Fred asked, laughter surrounding the words as he stood with his free hand in his pocket, watching the witch with amusement.
Hermione let out her own laugh, bending forward a bit before continuing her slow rotation. “I’m feeling the rain!”
Fred tilted his head to one side, considering her again, eyes sparkling. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain ?!” he asked.
“Yes!” the younger teen replied, pausing her spin to face Fred with a smile.
“I thought you hated the rain. You always run when it rains.” Fred said, taking a few, slow steps toward her.
Hermione shook her head, her curls drenched and beginning to dangle along the side of her face. Fred’s eyes focused onto one lock of hair that had plastered itself along her cheek. “That’s only when I have books. The rain could ruin them.”
“Ah!” Fred breathed as he reached Hermione. “Of course, silly me. Your ever present books! Must protect them.” He reached up to tug the brown strands of hair away from his companion’s cheek before tucking his hand back into his pocket.
Hermione blinked at the unexpected contact, her eyes flitting around as her brain processed it before returning to his face. She cleared her throat once again as Fred’s grin widened, becoming more mischievous at her reaction. The girl took a few steps back from him, returning to the rain. “What’s the matter, Fred? Scared of the rain? Water won’t actually melt witches, you know.”
Fred scoffed a bit at that, his grin giving way to some confusion. “Whoever said water would melt witches?”
Hermione shrugged, a smirk on her face. “Read it in a book.”
Fred shook his head. “Well, that’s a ridiculous book, if you ask me. And besides…” He continued. “I have a perfectly valid and logical fear of returning to the Burrow soaking wet just to drip water all over Mum’s clean floors.”
Another bolt of lightning and the roar of thunder shook the air around them again, much closer now. Fred turned his attention back to Hermione, knowing that tremble would be there again. And it was, shaking her whole body. She tilted her head back and took a deep breath as the thunder rolled across the clouds and she released the same breath only after it stopped. “I love thunderstorms. Come feel the rain with me, Fred.” She peeked at him from one half-closed eye as a smirk slid across her lips. “I promise to dry you off before Mrs. Weasley finds you dripping puddles in her floor.”
Fred shot her a grin back and shrugged, snapping the umbrella shut and tossing it aside. “Ah, why the hell not?” And his hands came out to his sides to, as he watched Hermione, his fingers brushing lightly against her own as he raised them to the sky, welcoming the rain. The bright flush spread across Hermione’s cheeks again, but she didn’t pull away. Fred decided he rather liked the rain, too.
My need for resolution and communication resulted in this little reunion one shot. 1.5k, totally not spec fic because we’d never see Emma and Killian actually in bed together lol
The night doesn’t seem so still
during a thunderstorm, the rain cascading down and thudding against the roof as
the wind blows the trees in the front yard. Emma watches the storm from the
window seat in the bedroom, eyes widening every so often at the flash of lightening
before the deep crack of thunder rumbles seconds later. She looks over at
Killian sleeping in their bed, undisturbed by the storm. He’s probably slept
through a lot worse on the Jolly, the ship jostled violently by the stormy
seas. She had been caught in a storm many times in her life too, mostly during
the days when she didn’t have a safe and decent place to dry off and stay warm.
Despite the chill of the night
that sends a shiver through her, something burns in her chest and settles low
in her belly, a heat that can only be stoked by desire. Emma smiles to herself,
sucking in her bottom lip as she recalls the way Killian kissed her goodnight,
his lips lingering by hers a moment after to whisper his words of love before
settling down to sleep beside her.
hey sweetie!! :D i just love your stories so much!! they're are my favs!! keep doing a great job! always looking forward to read more of you hehe :D Could I request a scenario of toshinori, bakugou and aizawa with their s/o (separately pls) which is very scared of lightning (thunder noises)? >3< thank u!!
Hello lovely! =D Thank you so very much for your kind words, I will keep doing my utmost best! And of course you can! I very much hope I could write this well enough and that you’re going to like it!
clouds hang ominously over the city, largely swallowing the last sunlight of
the evening and Toshinori closes the window when he sees the first flash of
is sitting on the couch, with their back to the window and with the TV volume
raised. Not high enough to drown out loud noises, but just enough so they can
ignore the quiet rumble that draws closer.
“Can I do
something for you?” Toshinori asks when he draws the curtains closed and steps
to their side, stretching out a hand.
his with a small and slightly tense smile and shrug. “It depends. Some storms
are better than others.”
zips across the sky again and despite the closed curtains, it’s still visible.
His partner tenses and stares resolutely at the TV again.
sits down beside them and when they lean into his side, he wraps his arms
around them and kisses the top of their head, squeezing them gently.
if you need me.” He says quietly and leans his cheek against their temple. “If
you need anything, you only need to say so.”
wakes at the first crash of thunder and lightning and Bakugou opens one eye to
stare at the window and at the rain that heavily drums against it. At the next
flash of lightning, he feels his partner flinch.
movement and the way they press their head against his chest, causes him to
wake fully with a start. Glancing down, he realizes they have their hands
pressed over their ears.
frowns and taps the back of their hand, which causes them to look up.
wrong?” He asks, his voice rough from sleep.
lightning.” His love answers quietly and the deep, rumbling roll of thunder
causes them to duck their head back down.
wraps both arms tightly around them, scowling at the dark window. Fucking shit,
he doesn’t know how to help them with that. It’s not like the thunder is a bug
he can just simply crush and then dispose.
alone.” He says and feels their tense shoulders and back under his hands. “I’m
here and I won’t fucking leave you alone.” He pulls them closer so they can tug
their head under his chin. “It’s okay; we’ll wait this shit weather out.”
knows that his partner hates storms, especially thunder storms, Aizawa makes a
couple of preparations once he sees the dark clouds looming over them,
promising thunder and rain.
all curtains and raises the volume of either the TV or the music his partner
loves to listen to. He digs out the comfiest blankets and looks for new movies,
in case his love stays awake the whole night, even if Aizawa can’t promise that
he won’t sleep, they can try and distract themselves.
partner is home, they’re sharing a rather quick meal and then curl up on the
bed, a laptop beside them so his partner can keep listening to something. They
brought their favorite headphones for that and Aizawa hugs them close, when the
first flash of lightning zips across the sky.
need anything, don’t hesitate to tell me, even if I’m asleep.” He tells them. “I’m
here for you.”
His love nods
and closes their eyes, before they raise the volume of the music, their headphones
drowning out the worst of the beginning storm.
gently rubs a hand up and down their back and kneads a little into their
favorite spots to help them relax a little, before he kisses their forehead and
listens to the patter of rain that starts to hit the windows.
It was so damn hard to not write Lorcan instead of Lory and vice versa. You know you’re tired when you write cock instead of cook.
“Just like our eyes, our hearts have a way of adjusting to the dark”
Elorcan Werewolf Part 6
Lory didn’t come back. No matter how many times she left raw meat out in the woods or called his name. No one responded to the have-you-seen-this-dog posters she dutifully taped on tree trunks, listing rewards she’d scour from her trust funds. The animal control couldn’t find him, and found no traces of a large-sized dog or wolf in the woods. There was no sighting in the inner cities either.
Lory was gone without a trace, as if he were a ghostly whisper whose secret existence only Elide knew.
Elide mourned him, and even held a funeral for him, placing all his collars in formation around a patch of grass he often frequented, moodily staring into the forest as if cursing the restraints on his body.
Only the pink collar was gone, leaving a foul aftertaste in her mouth: never had before Elain so despised a color, and demonstrated her pettiness by refusing to wear anything of that hue.
On her third night of eating rocky road ice cream and staring blearily at her papers, Manon and Aelin burst through her door without warning. Elide popped off the the chair, hand snaking out to reach for a spare dagger. Seeing it was only her Alpha and Beta, she placed a hand over her heart and managed a glare at them.
The frown had easily been swept away as she took in her friends’ appearances. In Manon’s arms, a grocery bag of chocolate covered strawberries winked at her. In Aelin’s own hands, shopping bags of dresses and short skirts filled the very top to bottom.
“I can’t have my favorite healer down.” Aelin breezed through her living room, pulling aside her curtains and tossing all her tissues into the waste bin. After a heartbeat and cocking her head, she amended, “Well maybe Sorscha as well.”
“We have this day all to ourselves,” added Manon. “The Thirteen are in command for twenty four hours.” She stalked through the threshold, inspecting her cottage, and noting the lack of pictures adorning her tables and walls.
Elide reached for a strawberry, but Manon slapped her wrist and ushered her to her bedroom. Her friends tutted in distaste at the simple designs; Aelin nearly threw a fit when she saw her gray-lined bedroom.
“How can you live like this?” Aelin tugged her fire-gold strands of hair, surveying Elide’s simplistic room. Elide watched as Aelin tear through her dresser, clucking her tongue with an almost revulsion reserved for her utmost disappointment. Manon, however, sniffed the air, and flocked to the window, her spine stiff.
Elide played with the hem of her shirt. She’d also stared out that window, wondering where Lory had gone, and why he decided to not return, to abandon her. She had offered him a steady hearth and affection, pieces of her heart, and glimpses into her past.
Emptiness tugged at the corner of her heart. She didn’t need glamour when she had Lory’s presence. There was a soothing quality to his presence that didn’t need to speak volumes from the human tongue. The mere steady and silent exposure to an animal with no ill intent towards her, in which he’d lick her palm and twitch those ears, stare at her, as if she were the only human in the world—
Aelin flopped onto Elide’s bed in defeat. “The only option I see is getting laid.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Shopping and eating won’t cut it. You need physical contact.”
Elide shook her head, and stood next to Manon. The Beta’s eyes fixed on the path of grass where the collars sat in heart formation, mocking Lory’s absence. She imagined Lory curled up on the grassy plains, his hind legs bent in restlessness, and those dark, dark eyes following her shape as she did her yoga exercises, watching the Sun gallantly spiral into the vast sky.
Her heart warmed as she studied the two females in her room. One herself blazed with fierce mortality and sheer determination, the other a honed icicle and ironstone. They were two sides of the same coin, and if Elide wished, she could flip them into the air at her command.
Manon surreptitiously sniffed the air again. “Dog,” she hissed.
Elide nodded in confirmation. She’d always thought herself a cat lady, but there was something different about Lory other than his moodiness and his steely demeanor that seemed to simply see more than she did. The way his eyes would flicker with deeper intellect, and the powerful muscles rippling across his back as he stalked around her house as if he owned every inch. The way that nose would twitch in aversion when another male neared her, and a deep growl would thunder from the base of his throat—
It was almost as if her were her guardian angel. Her watchdog.
Elide pinched her arm. Dear Hellas, she really was hung over a dog, an animal that most likely found another warm home with another owner who would treat him with care every second—
Why was she so damned jealous?
Aelin joined them at the windowpane, and laid a hand against Manon. “Speak,” she ordered, and Elide recognized the Alpha command, one she rarely used.
“If my senses aren’t deceiving me, just a mere dog wasn’t here.”
“Your senses don’t lie.” Aelin crossed her arms. “What is it?”
“I detect a Lycan. Not a full-blooded one, mind you, but a wisp of a male that has Lycan blood running through his veins.”
Elide’s veins turned to ash. “No,” she said.
Wolf, Nox had said, and she’d dismissed him. What did a human know about dogs and wolves?
“Lory’s just a wolf. Or a large dog,” she blurted, and leaned back as Manon towered over her.
Aelin dragged Elide to her bed as Manon flipped her white-ash hair over a shoulder. “Tell us about this Lory,” she hummed.
Elide decided she did not like the glint in Manon’s eyes.
Lorcan was in deep shit. Deep, unrelenting shit. He had returned to the cadre, his bones cracking in protest, hair tousled and grim coating the exposed inches of skin, and sweat running down his neck in rivulets. He could feel his wolf thrashing inside of him, craving any type of release that didn’t involve a dead body, but utter dominance.
His wolf needed to claim his lovely, sweet, vixen of a mate, and Lorcan had forbade that.
His wolf needed to at least dominate a female, a poor attempt to loosen the edge of feralness that chipped away at him. Only his mate could fully quell him, but his mate did not want anything to do with him. A part of him disagreed, that the rules of nature and raw hand of fate had paired them together, but if his pure mate did not want him, then he would not object.
Because he was bound by blood and the fallen. Could his mate look past the hands that had snapped the necks of even the children? Could his mate accept his dark-woven future and calling for bleak death? Could his mate tolerate his penchant for starkness, the life of a spartan?
Fenrhys let out a low chuckle as Lorcan stalked through the entrance, his body shuddering in pain. His wolf was a monster inside of him, and it took his entire willpower to turn away the demands of intimacy. He would not touch another female unless his mate permitted him.
His wolf cursed Lorcan’s decision, roaring in protest. Both savage and pathetic, every Lycan’s wolf side needed a gentle hand in their life, and over the years, that softness expressed itself in watching submission, and Lycans resorting to casual sex.
It was another reason for his mate to hate him, he supposed. He could sense the innocence radiating from his mate, and while that made him and his wolf beyond ecstatic, a small part of him had wished that mate wouldn’t be so pure—so that he could also have a reason to hate her.
And in the hatred, they could find themselves back to each other, easier. Pain was the easiest emotion to deal with, the easiest feeling to manipulate. Words and the heart intertwined so deeply, all he could do is lie and break a strong psychological mindset.
But disgust had to be earned. Something had to go a little wrong, a little awry. A stone had to be overturned to reveal the dirt underneath rather than the smooth, cool surface. His history was no secret, his path as a warrior, as the cadre’s gamma, or first general. The tales of his executions and interrogations were no sight for his mate, a young girl who delighted in clean, savory truths. His rock had been tossed into the swamps to rot and he had emerged as the victor. Unscathed, but internally scarred.
He was not the male for her, and he cursed the Moon Goddess for this pairing. He had waited eons for the notion of love, and had waited for another broken soul who had wrecked havoc upon others—so they could share this pain in empathy. But the hand of nature had given him someone who could mend him, and that was something Lorcan knew he didn’t deserve. He could break his mate’s neck without so much as a blink, and ruin that soft skin and fill it with scars and blemishes. He could crush her with a single blow, and this precious, delicate creature that was Elide Lochan deserved more in life than a murderer.
Fenrhys laughed under his breath, watching Lorcan make way to his room. “She’s got you more whipped than Maeve.”
Maeve, their past Alpha Queen who had haunted his nightmares still.
Now the only nightmare consisted of his mate’s rejection.
He could feel the ebbing of his darkness receding with his wolf’s ferality. Soon his own body would fade away into a weak waste of flesh if he and his wolf did not see eye to eye. If a Lycan’s human and wolf side did not live in harmony, the body would fail, and Lorcan had never once imagined himself in this scenario. The things his mate caused him without knowing—Elide Lochan would be his downfall.
He could only snap his teeth at Fenrhys and stagger towards his room, promising to wring the Fenrhy’s neck later.
His wolf called for Elide; to be simply near her would be enough to quell him for a week—months even.
But Lorcan refused to run the risk of claiming her outright. It was the rare case that his wolf overtook his body completely, pouring his intentions and will into every muscle and tendon. And the mere mention of his mate was enough for him cross the line into where the true feral lurked.
It was dangerous. He was dangerous. His mate made him more dangerous. He had no control of these matters of pure emotion coursing down him, making each step unbearable. His wolf demanded release and claiming and binding, and Lorcan slammed down on his will just as hard.
He had slaughtered armies. He would not allow the picture of his mate be his undoing. But that was her purpose, perhaps. To bring a Lycan to his knees. It would not be the first time in history such scheme had been done, and with all the misery Lorcan had caused, he wouldn’t expect anything less.
But sweet, sweet Elide—he didn’t believe she could harm a fly. She’d guide the insects that dared to breach her house out. She cooed and soothed. She was his angel. She was soft and gentle. She was everything he wasn’t.
“Lorcan,” Gavriel said.
He realized that he’d been leaning against a marble column, his entire posture tense.
“I’ll call Essar,” was all Gavriel said, before he disappeared down the hallway. A tang of gratitude swept down Lorcan that his friend did not help him limp back towards his room full of darkness.
Even Essar, the doe-eyed female, would not bother him there.
No one would bother a killer in his natural habitat.
His wolf was angered, and Lorcan did not bother to acknowledge the walls that were crumbling around him. He did not want Essar. He did not want a female who believed to see more in him, and wanted to change him. He did not want a casual fuck.
He wanted Elide Lochan.
And he would endure this pain of his body wasting away if it meant he could finally stay true to her. It was his penance, and he supposed he should thank the Moon Goddess for this chance.
“Bullshit.” Manon had walked back to the window, staring at the collars. “Although the scent is there, I refuse to believe that a male who is older than me and has killed more than me and seen more betrayals than me—will wear those pieces willing. And pink, much less.”
Aelin flung a hand over her heart. “You know, the names Lory and Lorcan are too similar too ignore. But the fact that a Lycan would willingly degrade himself for his mate—” Her Alpha let out a bitter, low chuckle.
Elide trembled, wrapping a blanket around herself. “Lory’s not Lorcan, Manon. Aelin, please.” She pleaded with them. “My mate doesn’t love me anymore than those girls he’s touched.”
She refused to believe this. Yet it explained so much, of why she was pining over a creature of the forest. It explained the comfort a four-legged creature could provide more than Aelin and Manon combined could bring her. It explained why she could trust him with stories of Morath, and why she needed to be around him constantly, checking up on him as much as he checked up on her. The way Lory looked at her—no animal would carry such tenderness in those eyes that had usually stared at everything in such solemn misery.
“You know, Rowan really has to pick up his game.” Aelin shook her head. “I’ve never seen him in wolf form, much less having a collar wrapped around that pretty neck. And we’re talking about a male who has probably has Death bowing to him. Pink, Elide? What were you thinking? That’s probably what scared him off.”
Elide bit her lip. “Did I mention that he ran off on a full moon?”
Manon’s head whipped around. She cocked her head in a way that was surely predatory, those eyes calculating. “You did not feel him cheating in anyway?”
She shook her head. “None. The mate bond doesn’t lie, and he’s actually kept…it…to himself.”
Aelin nodded to herself with grim certainty. “I really need to find a new mate.”
Manon clapped her hands. “Great. We have a female who doesn’t trust her male, and a male who’s pining after his female with one foot in the grave.” Her head swiveled towards Aelin. “Would Rowan tell you if Lorcan decided to visit Elide on a whim?”
The Alpha tossed her hands up in the air. “I think males blame females for bipolar syndrome because they displayed the traits in the first place. Who knows? One moment he’s sucking up to me, the next he’s the coldest floating piece of ice in Antarctica.”
Manon crossed over the room, her eyes dark. “Enough. I’ve done with you both fawning over your mates—” she dismissed Aelin with a bold flick of her nails, and turned towards Elide “—another reason we have come here is because we are holding a ball, and I think it would do you well to come. Leave your studies and moping for another day. Live one night, and see who you were before you met your mate.” She briefly glanced at Aelin. “And you as well.”
Aelin let out a harsh laugh and fell onto the bed. “Stars above. What have we come to, Elide?”
Elide cradled her pillow, imagining it as Lory. “Love. It does the worst to us. Doesn’t it?”
Aelin chose to move up the ball’s date by a week, so the Pack House was a flurry of commotion, silk and lace flying through the hallways. Perfumes and delicacies crammed in every corner, bouquets of every kind of flower floating in the breeze and fluttering around the curtains, which had been elegantly thrown open to allow the rays of sun and night pour into the sweeping ballroom. The crystal chandelier had been polished, with gold ornaments and statues gleaming at every facet. Soft streams of music swept away the blinding lights, the pleasantries of kisses and hugs exchanged as servants poured in, arms full of arrays of all kinds.
Aelin had called in every favor, demanding an all-out production. Ancient wine and bottles of drinks beyond Elide’s knowledge were brought out and displayed. Trinkling windpipes and glistening harps of all sizes were situated on pedestals, a grand piano arcing the center. Layers of cakes were seized into the kitchen, and a flurry of cooks flooded the hallways, arms full of batter and butter.
Elide watched, captivated by all the commotion. Until she saw a flower girl and a servant boy exchanging a sloppy, but passionate kiss in the gardens. When they pulled away, still in each other’s embraces, their faces were flushed red, but happy nonetheless.
Elide turned away.
The cadre had been invited. To not would have been a public insult and as good as a declaration of war. Aelin had flourished her arms out, declaring that shit was mostly to go down, and ordered an extra shift of guards to loiter in the hallways, and blend among the shadows. Elide had fled to her old room in anticipation, wondering how she’d confront Lorcan.
Thank you for protecting me as a wolf? Not putting up a fuss for wearing the collars? Watching me dress and shower? Did you get tired of my body—is that why you left?
As the sun set, and the moon rose, Elide couldn’t help the trepidation that pumped through every vein. It didn’t matter if Lorcan showed up with another girl or two notched up in his arms. She just had to see him.
The first trickle of guests streamed in, Aelin and Manon greeting each arrival with a curt nod and quick smile in customary tradition. Elide had smoothed the soft fabric of her skirts down, twirling a strand string of black around her finger.
She wanted Lorcan to know that she wasn’t afraid of death. She was a werewolf, and she also had bled from silver, had been held hostage in the Morath pack. She knew death and death knew her. Elide had often found herself on the brink of death, poison and morphine pumping through every vein of her scrawny body. The scars on her ankle was a reminder of the memories, locked up. The lashes of the whip were no stranger to her, and the stinging had always been her silent friend. The cold loneliness that had swept through her as she had crawled because her ankle had failed her, her Uncle—Alpha—Vernon failing her in worse ways. Morath had taught her that family was not blood. Family was trust, and trust was earned. She had learned that the world was not her oyster.
The world was clever and cruel, but it was also colorful, and if she could chose to live it so that she could be content not any seeking revenge, then she could rise above the pain. She would not Morath break her.
Because one day she would bring Morath down.
Elide didn’t believe that monsters were born. Monsters were cultivated and grown from the vices of humanity, something the Were were not exempt from either. And as Elide looked down at the crowds of entering people, she had an inkling of a feeling that Lorcan would not come. And as the clock chimed away minutes that transformed to hours, she knew her suspicions were right.
She didn’t think one individual, much less a male, could affect her this way. Manon had been wrong when she’d said that mates were a bedtime story. A mate was a thorn in her side, and she cursed the mate bond as a shrapnel of pain digging into her mind, a throbbing that beat louder with each breath. Something was off, and the mate bond flared between her, pulsing in her head. She could feel a gentle caressing down her side, and an almost frenzied despair flashing down.
Aelin was instantly at her side, half-carrying and half-guiding her to the infirmary. She pressed a palm against her forehead, and Elide moaned in pain.
“She’s burning up,” Aelin whispered to someone, who slammed a dagger into the table in frustration. Manon.
“Is he cheating on you?” Manon demanded, her voice near guttural. Her tapping of her nails against the steel table drove Elide further to an edge. There was something wrong—not by fault, but by nature. There was a wedge cleaving between her mate, but not between them. A struggle between man and wolf, a fight that always ended in bloodshed.
The Prince Rowan Whitethorn burst through the door, his face ashen. He further paled as Manon whipped out her favorite blade, Wind Cleaver, that promised death. Aelin merely sat at the foot of the bed in which Elide laid, sweat pouring down her forehead. She tried to bow, but Aelin was having none of it, using her Alpha command to order Elide to sit and rest.
“How dare you,” Aelin snarled, turning to her mate with livid anger. “Have the audacity to not show up, and flaunt yourself in now?”
Rowan shook his head, and slowly lifted his palms into the air. Elide could have sworn his Adam’s apple bobbed. “This is beyond me.” His eyes cut to Elide, and Manon loose a low growl. “Your mate is dying. Fading away.”
Elide managed to leap off the bed before her ankle collapsed and gave out on her. Aelin wrapped an arm around her shoulder, Manon pacing around Rowan, shielding her from the first threat that was the Prince of Lycans.
“Explain,” Manon commanded, her voice a thin blade of viciousness.
Rowan sighed, a sound that spoke ancient volumes. “Lorcan’s wolf is not taking Elide’s absence well…and believes she’s rejecting him. The fact that Lorcan refuses to lay with a female even for—” Rowan’s face turned to stare at the wall with shame stitched across his eyes “—a means to satiate his wolf’s side—it’s causing his own wolf to reject him. He won’t survive the night if this keeps up.”
Aelin tucked Elide closer to her chest. “I won’t allow her to go near that monster,” she nearly spat out, and glared daggers at her mate, who lifted a brow. “I won’t put one of my pack members in danger.”
Rowan stared at Aelin, an unfathomable look sketched across his face. Something like cold fury spun in those eyes. “Lycans would rather die than hurt their mate.”
The Alpha of the Fireheart pack looked like she wanted to very much disagree, but surprisingly, it was Manon who said, “I think it’s Elide’s decision.”
Elide thought back to her time with Lory, and how he’d so easily seeped happiness into her life. How he’d press his wet nose against her knees and stare up at her, resting his snout on her lap. The way he had made her laugh and made sure she’d eaten every last bite, and encouraged her to go for runs in the woods. He had made her smile. Made her appreciate life. Made her experience joy.
She thought back to the nights when he’d lick away her tears, and lay closer to her side, snuggling against her.
Elide lifted her head, even as she felt searing pain in her neck, and said, “Take me to my mate.”
“I’m going to hold another ball,” Aelin announced to no one in particular as they piled into a black SUV that screamed wealth. “Maybe a masquerade.”
Manon filled the silence by sharpening her nails.
Rowan pulled the car up to a sprawling mansion with silver gates. As they walked across the pristine, cut lawn, Elide marvelled at the honey droplets of morning dew that still drooped from the leaves, the moonlight illuminating the beauty of the greenery that was contained just in the lawn.
The entrance had no door, and Elide supposed it was fitting when it would be suicide to enter the home of the Lycans. Marbled pillars and glass panels filled her vision.
Rowan stalked down the hallways until he faced a door that was halfway open. The last door in the hallway.
Rowan frowned, slightly sniffing the air. “I think—”
Elide willed herself to hold her head high as she slipped through the door.
She didn’t expect to be engulfed in darkness, save for a burning candle lighting the room into a soft, orange glow. She didn’t think that the room would be immaculate, and no dust nor blood would stain the floor. She somewhat expected the lines of swords and daggers hooked onto the walls.
She didn’t expect the outline of women on top of the large male, sprawled across dark sheets. She didn’t expect the guilt written in the eyes of her mate as his head snapped towards her, and his arm to be wrapped around the other female’s hips. She expected the flicker of surprise in that granite-hewn face. She didn’t expect the tang of arousal that permeated the too-clean room, and the beautiful doe-eyed female on Lorcan’s lap to seem strangely sad, her hair cascading down across Lorcan’s bare chest.
Elide took one look at the embrace of her mate and the other female before she fled the room, her own wolf also turning cold and slamming down a wall not even Aelin or Manon could penetrate.
She ignored the howl that shattered the air as she felt her bones shift and crack. She ignored the image of the other female’s legs locked around her mate’s waist. She ignored the voice telling her to go back, to return to her mate.
She embraced the other voice that told her to seek rejection, revenge. The one that saw that doe-eyed female with soft curves with hands around the corded muscle of the Lycan that should have been hers.
When white paws hit the ground, Elide Lochan felt herself bolt forward, away from her mate. And she did not look back as a series of howls and tearing pierced the dark night.
And that made sense, Hinata thought, that they were as insignificant to the moving mountains as they were to the ice itself.’
The land is dark and cold, child, so brave it with a soul that sees its beauty.
Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio Additional Tags: Inspired by Studio Ghibli, Fantasy, Snow and Ice, Enemies to Friends, Bonding, Long Journey, Developing Feelings
I wrote this fic for the HQ Ghibli Zine as a collaboration with @ainu and we’re super excited to finally post our pieces! You can read it at the link above on AO3, or here on Tumblr below the cut. And Ainu’s awesome cover art is here!
While the original project is no longer happening as planned, we’re compiling works by all participants over on @hq-ghibli-zine! Check it out for more Ghibli Goodness <3 (Seriously, everyone’s stuff is magical.)
If it isn't too much trouble could I get Solider 76's s/o sneaking into his room scared from a thunderstorm? So he comforts them with cuddles?
Jack let out a deep sigh as he examined the various forms sitting before him, even now he still had copious amounts of paperwork to sift through, just like old times. His visor sat on the desk beside him, its red glass reflecting the glint of the occasional bolt of lightning, the deep rumble of thunder the only noise safe for the scribbling of his pen. His ears perked up at the subtle sound of his door sliding open, his free hand slowly lowering to the pistol holstered at his hip while he laid the pen against the desk.
“Oh, you’re awake.” Jack’s s/o’s voice called out to him, bringing his hand from his hip back to the desk, he let out a dry grunt as he grabbed the pen. “I didn’t want to bother you, it’s just I can’t sleep.” Jack continued to write on the forms, letting out another grunt as his s/o approached. “I was wondering if it would be alright if I stayed in here for a bit.” Their voice sounded timid, though Jack attributed it to how tired they were, he could function on only a few hours of sleep.
“I’ve got a lot of work to do.” Jack replied, the distance he used when he wore his visor never truly faded, the words sounded harsher than he had intended, even after all this time together he was still awful at expressing emotion.
“That’s okay, I’ll just head back to-” His s/o’s words were cut off by the roar of thunder, trailed by a whimper. Jack flinched as their arms wrapped across his chest, gently shaking as they were pulled tighter around him. He smiled, letting out a deep sigh as he placed his pen back on the desk, pushing himself up from his seat.
“Work can wait.” Jack chuckled, draping his arm over his s/o as he pulled them towards his bed, propping himself against the headboard to allow them to rest their head on his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” Jack whispered, pulling the covers over the two of them. Another crackle pierced the sky, causing his s/o to push themselves further into his chest. He smiled again, pulling them closer, his steel blue eyes focused on their form. He might not be able to get much sleep tonight, but as long as his s/o did, that was enough.
48.5%! Fic prompt: Malec, lazy day in bed with deep conversation. :)
The rain thundered down, bouncing off the windowpane as Alec sighed gratefully, curling a little deeper under the covers. It was a Sunday, which would usually have absolutely no bearing on his work week whatsoever. Shadowhunters didn’t get days off, or so his mother had said. A day off for Alec was being allowed to stay in the Institute, train and fill in paperwork. It certainly wasn’t lying around in bed, drinking coffee and enjoying the company of his boyfriend.
He supposed he had Jace and Izzy to thank for that. After seizing his leadership of the Institute back from Aldertree - however informally - Alec had felt more pressure than ever to be around and perform. The Institute needed him, and he needed to do his job. Valentine might be in the Clave’s custody, but things weren’t over. The Soul Sword was still in the wind, and the Downworld was in nothing short of disarray.
He’d wanted to stay. But they’d convinced him to go, convinced him he needed a break. Magnus had offered to take the day off too, and they’d had so many grand plans for romantic trips out, wandering the world together through one of Magnus’ portals.
And yet it was 11am, and Alec currently hadn’t moved from Magnus’ very large bed for approximately twelve hours. Neither had Magnus. Apparently, one of the perks of dating a warlock was that he could summon you breakfast without needing to leave the room and let the bed get cold.
A/N: Short sweet drabble about you, an angel, and a thunderstorm. I certainly could have used a Castiel today when I was caught in the rain.
The fresh earthy scent of petrichor drifted in on a gentle breeze, softly rustling the curtains of the open window - an errant gust directing the garden wind chimes in a harmonious chorus, their unique song muffled by the thickly humid late summer air. The familiar omens of the promise of refreshing drought-quenching rain, dreamt of relief from oppressive heat, roused your fitfully slumbering sweat-sheened body, luring you like a magnet from bed to wander into the darkness of the night.
Bare feet scratched and tickled, indenting the dried grass along your path, you plod a careful trail from the porch to join the motionless figure serenely standing sentinel in the yard. Rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your eyes, you hopefully scanned toward the origins of the burgeoning winds. Already you could perceive the alternately yellow-green and purple reflection of lightning illuminating the clouds over the horizon and hear the deep rumble of distant thunder indicating the storm’s swift approach.
Tilting your head, aspect alight with a smile in giddy excitement at the inclement weather, you peered sidelong at the angel beside you. It didn’t surprise you to find him out here in solitude directly in the path of an oncoming storm - after all, the eye of the storm seemed to be where he was most at home.