#Vino Li

[comagaeze]

Vino Li

#Vino Li #lua #moon #sky #céu #natureza #nature #clouds #nuvens #photography #fotografia

[arinewman7]

Photography by Vino Li

#Photography by Vino Li

[natalievoncatte]

“We should play truth or dare.”

Kara nearly choked on her wine when she realized what Lena had said. That sounded like an amazingly terrible and yet incredibly intriguing idea. She turned to say something when she caught Alex giving her a look that could shatter diamonds. Kara downed the last of her wine and said,

“It’s getting pretty late, Lena.”

“You’re no fun,” Lena said, poking Kara in the center of her chest for emphasis.

Kara was glad she was sober. It wasn’t entirely true that she was immune to alcohol- it just took about a gallon of grain alcohol for her to feel a mild buzz for a few minutes, then have to run to the bathroom as her superhuman metabolism almost instantly forced it out of her system. Alex had “helped” her discover that once back in high school, and they both ended up grounded for a month.

“Come on, Kara. This way I can find out where you’re always running off to. In vino, veritas.”

Kara looked around and saw her own mirrored panic rising in the others. Kelly looked on from the kitchen, the only other member of their little group who was oblivious to the sheer weight of what Lena just said. Nia looked even more green than she had a moment earlier, and Alex was giving Kara a warning look, shaking her head behind Lena.

Brainy, for his part, remained mellow, sipping his grape soda. He was the designated driver for the night.

“Yeah, we need to go,” Nia threw in. “It’s been fun but I have an early day tomorrow.”

“It’s Saturday,” Lena protested, but it came out shaturday.

“I have to get up for yoga,” said Nia.

“We’re all in the same class on Thursday,” said Lena.

“Um, I’m getting ready for the yoga championships. Extra classes.”

Lena raised an arched brow.

Alex cut in, suddenly. “Kelly babe, you ready?”

“If you are. I was going to see if Kara needs help with the dishes.”

“I’m fine,” Kara called out, hearing the alarm in her own voice.

“Lena, are you riding with us?”

“Nah,” said Lena. “I’ll stay.”

Alex cleared her throat.

“How will you get home? You’re sauced, Miss Luthor.”

Lena grinned and looked over at Kara. “I’ll just stay over. I do it all the time.”

Alex’s brows climbed up and she turned to Kara with an incredulous expression.

“When did that start?”

“It’s no big deal. I live on the other side of town and Kara has a nice couch.”

Alex seemed to relax a little. Kara’s heart was trying to slam through her ribs.

“Okay.”

They all bundled out of the apartment, with Alex promising to text and Brainy swearing to let Kara know they were all home safe.

Kara closed the door behind them and turned around. Lena was still curled up on the couch, swirling the last of her wine in the bottom of the glass. She was in leggings and a big, baggy sweater that had been pulled to one side so hard that it almost bared her shoulder. Her hair was down and had gone wavy, falling over one half of her face, making her mysterious and distant. She downed the last swig of wine and put the glass down.

“We could still play truth or dare.”

“Lena,” said Kara. “You’re really drunk.”

“So are you.”

Kara swallowed, hard, feeling the bitter bile of her lies at the back of her throat. She wasn’t drunk at all. She was barely even tired; the city had been miraculously calm all summer.

“Which is it, Kara? Truth or dare.”

“Neither,” said Kara. “I think what you need is some sleep.”

Lena rested her glass on the coffee table, in the middle of a game of Monopoly that they’d all been too drunk to finish.

(Except Kara. Lena would have won, because Kara always agreed to whatever trade Lena offered, because saying no to Lena was harder than lifting a submarine over her head)

Kara leaned back against the kitchen counter coolly, trying not to betray her emotions. That turned into a job for Supergirl as Lena rose from the sofa with seductive grace, stalking across the loft with feline intensity. She was at once cuddly and soft in her sweater and a seductive vamp with her long inky locks pulled over one shoulder and the other bare.

Kara’s eyes locked on the bared skin, soft and creamy and crying out for a warm touch, then pulled away sharply as she willed herself not to ogle her best friend. It was a losing battle. Every step brought Kara back to the sway of her hips or the way her leggings gripped her thighs or the soft promise of her curves beneath that sweater.

Kara was starting to think she might be gay.

Lena stepped into her space. With both of them barefoot, Kara had a notable height advantage. Lena reduced it by rising on her tiptoes and threw her arms around Kara’s neck.

Kara had few weaknesses. Kryptonite. Magic. If kept up long enough, oxygen deprivation.

Lena Luthor.

She was so close that Kara could taste her breath, the fruity tang of the wine and the soft, inviting scent of Lena beneath her perfume. She was wearing a soft pink lip gloss that drew Kara to stare at her lips. She could almost feel them without touching. Her blue-green eyes were dark and sultry, and she leaned in on Kara, pressing the soft weight of her breasts against her chest.

Kara’s pulse went like a hummingbird and her knees went wobbly, but she simply ignored gravity.

Kara had other advantages. She could see the heat bloom on her skin and feel the change in he skin conductivity, and hear her heart racing. Lena’s pulse nearly matched her own.

Before she knew what she was doing, Kara had her hands resting on Lena’s sides just above her hips, moving on pure instinct. All she’d have to do was dip her head a fraction and she’d be kissing her. She was so close.

“Please pick dare,” Lena whispered.

It too every fiber of her being not to say “dare,” but she held her tongue. She also held Lena.

“I can’t. You’re drunk and I’m not.”

“Hi drunk, I’m dad.”

“Lena! This is serious!”

“Oh, you’re serious. I thought you were daddy.”

“Lena!”

“I dare you to…”

Kara pressed her finger to Lena’s lips.

“Lena, please listen. You’re drunk. I’m not. If you still want to do… whatever this is… in the morning, I… I want that. But not like this.”

Lena frowned and Kara thought she might die of sheer sorrow right there.

“Okay. Should I go home?”

“No, absolutely not. Just… do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll explain in the morning. I promise I’ll,” she swallowed hard, choking down the fear. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Okay.”

Kara sighed and scooped Lena up, easily taking her weight in her arms. Lena yelped and hugged tight around her, clinging close and pressing cheek to cheek. Kara wanted to kiss her so bad that it ached in her chest, throbbed in her veins, but she didn’t. She carried her to the couch.

“Wait,” Lena said. “Can’t I sleep in the bed with you? I promise I won’t try anything.”

Kara nodded, mentally wincing. She carried Lena around to the bed and laid her down, drawing the blankets over her and settling her head on the pillow.

She had a choice to make her. The right thing to do, the honorable and chivalrous thing, would be to go sleep on the couch. She knew that, but the very idea of it was anathema to her.

To her credit, she stepped out of the bedroom to change and she put on pajama bottoms.

Kara took the far side of the bed, staring straight up. She didn’t expect to sleep a wink, but somehow she drifted off.

When she woke up, there was a weight on her. She looked down and found Lena pillowed on her chest. With a sigh, Kara rolled onto her side and drew Lena close, sheltering the other woman in her arms. In sleep she looked peaceful, so free of the worries and fears and anxieties that dogged her when she was awake.

Kara knew she should stop stroking Lena’s hair, knew she should let go of her, but the soft, hypnotic beat of Lena’s heart was nothing she could escape. She held Lena a little tighter, her own heart fluttering when Lena murmured her name on her sleep and hugged her back.

They woke up like that, Lena tucked in close under Kara’s chin. Lena was already awake when Kara woke up.

“Hi,” said Lena.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

“Head hurts.”

“I’ll get you something,” Kara said, starting to rise.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Lena, tugging her back down. “You said you were going to tell me everything.”

Kara froze.

“How much of last night do you remember?”

“I remember the part where I tried to climb you like a tree and you bridal-carried me to bed and tucked me in,” said Lena. “And the part where you started hugging me like a teddy bear.”

“You started that.”

Lena snorted. “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

“Like I said, you were drunk, and I can’t… not until I… you don’t know everything.”

Lena sighed, looking away, and then looked up.

“So, truth then. Are you Supergirl?”

Kara flinched back, momentarily struck numb. If she was asking that, it meant she knew the answer.

Lena stared at her hopefully, almost pleadingly, her big pretty eyes sparkling with unshed tears. She bit her lip and Kara melted, feeling herself turn to goo.

“Yes.”

Lena let out a long sigh of blessed relief, closing her eyes.

“Lena?”

“It’s my turn. I pick truth.”

“Okay, um,” said Kara, “why did you ask me why I didn’t kiss you?”

Lena rolled her eyes. “Because you’ve been staring at me like I’m a bowl of potstickers for years, and I was wondering if you were ever going to make a move.”

“Why would I look at you like you’re food?”

“I meant you were looking at me like I’m something you want to eat, Kara.”

“I’m not that kind of alien.”

Lena tensed, breathing sharply as she looked stunned and a little hurt.

“Wait,” Kara blurted, “oh Rao that was a joke, I didn’t mean I don’t want to… I really do want… I just , I’m… I don’t know what to say now.”

“I’m in love with you,” Lena sighed.

Kara froze. “You… you’re… with me… IIloveyoutoo.”

The mashed-together declaration had barely escaped her lips when Lena lunged closer and kissed her. From there it was pure chaos. Lena pulled and Kara followed, rapidly ending up on top of her as she shimmied out of last night’s outfit.

Kara pulled back from a soul-burning kiss as she felt the heat of Lena’s bare skin under her hands.

“Wait,” she said. “If I picked truth last night, what would you have asked?”

Lena smirked.

“Why do you stare at my chest all the time?”

Kara laughed, snorting a little.

“I’ll show you.”

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #love confessions #identity reveal #softcorp #drunk Lena #chivalrous Kara #Kara Danvers is a knight in shining armor #Kara respects consent #Lena has a naughty side #cuddlecorp

[maureen2musings]

Vino Li

#spooky #moon and clouds #dark was the night #howl #curators on tumblr

[famousinuniverse]

Cafayate, Salta province, Argentina: Cafayate is a town in Salta province, in northwest Argentina. It lies in the Calchaquí Valleys, an area known for its reddish rock formations. Many vineyards dot the land, and in town the Museo de la Vid y el Vino explains the process of winemaking. Near the town square are the Rodolfo Bravo Regional and Archaeological Museum, with objects from local excavations, and the 19th-century Our Lady of the Rosary cathedral. Wikipedia

#Cafayate #Salta province #Argentina

[hueynomure]

"I just call them as I see them, Adrien dear," the saccharine girl giggled as she hooked her arm around his. "Pane al pane, vino al vino, as we Italians say - bread to bread, wine to wine."

Felix had to employ all his self-restraint not to grab the arm wrapped around his and snap it in three, not to mention keeping up his cousin's trademark Golden Retriever smile. "Russians have a similar saying," he lied, letting a few drops of venom color his tone. "Their version goes "bread to bread, blood to blood"."

This Lila harpy instinctively took a step back, eyes wide in alarmed surprise.

Felix tilted his head, schooling his expression in a textbook Stepford smile, and she took another cautious step back. Good. Stay the hell away from "me". "Isn't language fascinating?"

#felix fathom #lila rossi #miraculous ladybug #random snippet #feel free to use any part of this #i just ask for a shoutout if you do #my writing #itd be so fun to see lila stumble into felix #“you'd never get away with hurting me” BET

[hotwifemia]

Da li vaši momci/muževi gledaju sport?

Moj gleda, kada mu dozvolim... Nekad ga pustim da počne, a onda pošaljem po vino i na sve četiri... 😊😊😊

#dominated slave #husbandandwife

[ilpianistasultetto]

Come sapete, in questi giorni l'Italia e' alle prese con un solo tema: le proteste degli agricoltori. Piu' ascolto i politici e piu'mi convinco che abbiamo una classe dirigente di quaquaraqua', di miserabili che stanno li solo per gonfiarsi le tasche di soldi e favori , pronti a mentire spudoratamente, a dire bugie o a tacere quello che invece andrebbe detto. Il tema piu' importante per gli agricoltori e' la differenza tra le regole che devono rispettare loro e quelle che "non hanno" chi "esporta" prodotti agricoli da altri paesi stranieri in Italia. Nessun politico ha le palle per dire che certe importazioni sono frutto di accordi commerciali, buoni o cattivi che siano. Lo dico perche' non possiamo pensare che noi siamo i piu' furbi del mondo e il resto e' una massa di idioti pronti a gettarsi ai nostri piedi..quando noi chiediamo all'Algeria di venderci il loro gas, loro ti rispondono si, ma tu prendi i nostri datteri e le nostre olive. Quando chiediamo alla Cina componentistica elettronica e ottica, loro ti rispondono "e tu ti prendi il nostro riso e i nostri pomodori". Questo succede quando si fanno i trattati commerciali e non le cavolate che il politico racconta alle genti sciocche del proprio Paese. Gli mettiamo i dazi, come propone qualche leghista o fratello d'Italia per evitare certe competizioni inique? Bene, e gli altri faranno altrettanto con il nostro vino, il parmiggiano, l'olio, la pasta. Come potrebbero mettere tasse su chi va in vacanza all'estero o tanti altri mille balzelli. Qualcuno pensa che ne guadagneremmo? Eh, cari agricoltori, vi consiglio di trovare interlocutori politici seri, anche se a volte dicono cose difficili e complesse da digerire, altrimenti seguitate ad ascoltare le vostre sirene di riferimento fin quando non andrete a rotoli e io portero' qualche crisantemo sulle tombe delle vostre aziende. E questo vale per tutti i cittadini italiani che pensano che l'Italia ha sempre ragione e solo gli altri sono tutti cattivi e nemici. @ilpianistasultetto

[donaruz]

SETTE FRATELLI - Modena City Ramblers

La pianura dei sette fratelli

E terra, e acqua, e vento

Non c'era tempo per la paura,

Nati sotto la stella,

Quella più bella della pianura.

Avevano una falce

E mani grandi da contadini,

E prima di dormire

Un padrenostro, come da bambini.

Sette figlioli, sette,

Di pane e miele, a chi li do?

Sette come le note,

Una canzone gli canterò.

E pioggia, e neve e gelo

E vola il fuoco insieme al vino,

E vanno via i pensieri

Insieme al fumo su per il camino.

Avevano un granaio

E il passo a tempo di chi sa ballare,

Di chi per la vita

Prende il suo amore, e lo sa portare.

Sette fratelli, sette,

Di pane e miele, a chi li do?

Non li darò alla guerra,

All'uomo nero non li darò.

Nuvola, lampo e tuono,

Non c'e perdono per quella notte

Che gli squadristi vennero

E via li portarono coi calci e le botte.

Avevano un saluto

E, degli abbracci, quello più forte,

Avevano lo sguardo,

Quello di chi va incontro alla sorte.

Sette figlioli, sette,

Sette fratelli, a chi li do?

Ci disse la pianura:

Questi miei figli mai li scorderò.

Sette uomini, sette,

Sette ferite e sette solchi.

Ci disse la pianura:

I figli di Alcide non sono mai morti.

E in quella pianura

Da Valle Re ai Campi Rossi

Noi ci passammo un giorno

E in mezzo alla nebbia

Ci scoprimmo commossi.

#antifasistisempre #Youtube

[kon-igi]

Figlia grande mi ha fatto apprezzare di riflesso I cartoni Morti (nel senso che li spara sul megaschermo di casa e ci costringe ad assorbirli per osmosi) e viste le promozioni istituzionali di italici prodotti che curano il cancro e l’aids (cit. @firewalker​) mi pare giusto ribadire che la quantità salutare di alcol per il nostro organismo è pari a:

ZERO

Con buona pace della Mussolini che si attacca alla bottiglia durante un’intervista a reti unificate in mondovisione perché il vino italiano fa bene e traina l’economia

Brava l’Irlanda che renderà obbligatoria l’etichetta di rischio per la salute... mica le avvertenze da microscopio elettronico come noi

E per chiudere l’angolo della polemica, quando grazie alla Spezia diventerò imperatore di questa parte di universo conosciuto:

BOLLO DI CANCEROGENICITA’ SU CARNI ROSSE E INSACCATI

BOLLO DI DIABETE SU ALIMENTI E BEVANDE ZUCCHERATE

MESSA AL BANDO DI PRODOTTI CON ACIDI GRASSI TRANS

DIVIETO DI VENDITA DI ACQUA MINERALE IN BOTTIGLIA

E già che ci siamo

BLOCCO A 130KM/h SU QUALSIASI TIPO DI MOTORE DI AUTO

Grazie dell’attenzione.

[sciatu]

MARZAMEMI

Abbiamo lasciato il Gelsomineto per andare a mangiare. La Figlia mi chiede se conosco qualche trattoria li vicino. Le sorrido e le dico di chiamare un ristorante a Marzamemi. A Marzamemi, dopo le casette e le strade simili a tanti paesini sulla costa, ci abbraccia serena e luminosa la grande piazza che nasconde il mare, con la piccola chiesa, gli edifici dell’antica tonnara trasformati in ristoranti e negozi. È tornare indietro nel tempo, quando il mare era color corallo per il sangue dei tonni e le case accoglievano i pescatori , gli attrezzi per le gabbie in cui intrappolare i tonni e le nere Parascalmi, le barche su di cui ai lati della camera della morte, si eseguiva la rituale, drammatica mattanza (“sangu pi sangu”, sangue per avere sangue, come diceva mia nonna quando uccideva gli animali da cortile per nutrire tutti noi). La chiesa in piazza, non è un ornamento, ma il nodo tra la vita e la morte per cui Marzamemi è nata, l’incrocio tra il dolore e la vita, l’ultima certezza prima degli incerti giorni di un tempo. Ora invece il tempo sembra fermarsi nella solare serenità della piazza e che questa serenità contagia ogni persona che l’attraversa. I tavoli sulla piazza del ristorante prenotato sono vuoti. La Figlia, mi guarda preoccupata. “Vieni” le dico e la porto sul di dietro del ristorante dove, dopo un vicolo pieno di fiori, c’è una grande terrazza sopra gli scogli del mare. La terrazza è coperta da canne e la luce filtrando tra loro, assume una luminosità dorata. Intorno scuri scogli usurati dalle onde, bianca schiuma, il blù del mare, l’azzurro perfetto del cielo. I piccoli tavoli sono coperti da antiche tovaglie siciliane ricamate o fatte all’uncinetto mentre forchette e coltelli sono di quelli grandi e pesanti delle grandi occasioni. I bicchieri colorati ed i vecchi piatti siciliani, rendono quel luogo familiare alla memoria e unico tra tutti quei locali, che seguono temporanee mode e tendenze. Alla destra abbiamo una famiglia olandese con la madre che non starà zitta per tutto il pranzo mentre il marito, dirà solo due parole, “Pane prego” per fare la scarpetta nel salmorigghiu del pesce. Alla sinistra abbiamo una coppia francese, non più giovane che si guardano da innamorati e che parlano sottovoce dicendosi frasi che li fanno sorridere e riempiono i loro occhi di complicità e malizia. Scrivono nell’aria versi che nessun poeta potrà mai copiare e che restano intrappolare tra le canne del tetto e trai petali dei fiori. Arriva il responsabile di sala, in realtà un ragazzo con i capelli ricci e i baffetti alla Domenico Modugno che ci porta un menù colorato. Ordiniamo poche cose tra cui un calice di Grillo perché per raggiungere Marzamemi ho attraversato le terre dove nascono il Grillo e l’Inzolia. Terre bianche, secche, aride, bruciate dalla calura e mi stupisce come i vini di quella terra possano essere così profumati, sapendo di fiori e di vento. Forse nell’uva la vite mette i suoi sogni, quel suo voler essere nell’arida terra, fiori e bellezza e sono questi sogni che sentiamo nel vino e che alla fine donano ebrezza. Mangiamo ascoltando il mare, la brezza che attraversa le canne, osservando l’andare e venire di invisibili camerieri che percepisci solo per le gustose emozioni che lasciano sui tavoli. Lentamente mangiamo guardando i colori dei fiori, gli sguardi amorevoli degli innamorati, la gioia delle famiglie, il soffice silenzio in cui tutto si perde tra il profumo dei fiori del bianco Catarrato e la dolcezza assoluta della cassata. La lentezza con cui viviamo una necessità come nutrirsi diventa piacere, ci libera da ogni ansia donata dal correre dei minuti, ci da un senso di libertà che le grandi città ci hanno rubato. Così ci riprendiamo lo spazio e il tempo per essere felici, per dimenticare affanni, credere nella serenità e inventare nuovi sogni. In fondo, è questo Marzamemi. ( andando via l’olandese si ferma a guardare il mare che urta gli scogli. La moglie lo raggiunge e lo abbraccia osservando il mare con la sua testa appoggiata alla spalla del marito. Sono già ammalati di nostalgia).

#sciatu #sicilia #nature #sicilian food #marzamemi #sicily #il viaggio

[elperegrinodedios]

Se non curi il tuo giardino non nasceranno fiori e se non li annaffi la loro bellezza sfiorirà presto e si seccheranno. Sai quel famoso pollice verde altro non è che l'amore che riversi, che tu riesci a trasmettere e a trasferire, a tutto ciò che vuoi curare, piante, animali, persone. So quello che dico, posso sostenere con certezza queste mie affermazioni e convinzioni. Ci fu un tempo, nel quale la mia compagna ricchezza, mi lasciò per fare spazio ad una meno desiderata povertà. E cosi, non potevo permettermi neanche più una bottiglia di vino buono, bevevo il "Tavernello" in cartone, e acqua del rubinetto di casa. Passavo tutto il tempo libero, a curare la mia mini serra di bonsai. Si bonsai, che però io non potevo più neanche comprare per poterli curare e dunque estirpavo le radici di alberi a Castelfusano o nei vari luoghi, tuttintorno il mio centro sportivo, la "taverna del pellegrino". Erano piccoli arbusti di alberi appena nati ed erano umili e poveri come me cosi che li sentivo miei compagni di viaggio.

E li amavo li curavo li controllavo giorno e notte e come ci insegnano e ci tramandano i maestri giapponesi, incredibilmente li accarezzavo e, ci parlavo e loro mi rispondevano crescendo. E fu cosi che piano piano mi resi conto che tutto mi cresceva rigogliosamente (una volta piantai per prova pochi semi di marijuana che mi regalò un amico senza neanche trattarli prima, beh, dopo pochi mesi, mi è toccato chiamare il mio amico per regalargli a mia volta quattro, cinque piante di cannabis quasi pronte per la raccolta).

Erano belli quei bonsai ed io li amavo sempre di più. Li annaffiavo il dovuto e li potavo a seconda della forma che volevo dare loro e li cambiavo di posto ed ogni volta che germogliava una nuova fogliolina io mi appassionavo sempre di più. Già, proprio come l'amore, che più ne dai più ti viene voglia di darne, più ne bevi, e più arsura ti viene.

Per raccogliere, devi seminare, il pollice verde è niente altro che amore e per essere amato, devi amare, curare, annaffiare, accarezzare e parlare.

Si, funziona per le piante, gli animali, le persone.

lan ✍️

[renmackree]

Could you do nr. 5 with sterek please? I love these!

I absolutely can :3

Prompt me up!: Open

5. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

Stiles took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he toed his shoes and socks off. The fresh packed dirt was still loose from this afternoon, barely hours cold. For a moment, Stiles wondered if this was the right place, but the spiral of aconite was enough for him to confirm that this was the grave of a wolf. A stupid, self sacrificing, people pleasing wolf. He grabbed the items he needed, putting each one on the packed dirt in it's place - Urn of Osiris, Vino de Madre, black candles, and a strip of bark from the Nemeton. Slowly he placed each item in the urn and lit the black candle before setting the spiral of flowers ablaze. 

Stiles buried his toes in the dirt and began chanting the spell:

"Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, hear us. Before time and after, before knowing and nothing. Accept our of--"

"Is this really going to work?" A voice interrupted him, Stiles blinking as he turned to see Eli standing holding another candle. 

"Did Lydia scream?" Stiles asked, cocking a brow at the teenager. Eli thought for a minute and shook his head, pressing the candle a little closer to him. "Then we have a good chance if I can actually get the spell off."

Stiles cleared his throat again and lifted his hand.

"Osiris--"

"Who taught you this spell?" Eli interrupted and then closed his mouth again. Stiles could tell the boy was nervous. He had just watched his father burn to death only a night ago and no one had thought to call Stiles until Eli had tearfully called in his one favor Stiles had promised him. He really should cut the kid some slack. 

"I found it in a book a while back in the Hale Vault, apparently they had gotten it after a Hellmouth collapsed in Sunnydale." Stiles offered another weary smile. "Now, kindly shut up so I can kick your dad's ass ok?"

Eli smiled a little, nodding. 

Stiles, satisfied that the teenager wasn't going to interrupt again, began to murmur the spell.

"Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, hear us. Before time and after, before knowing and nothing Accept our offering, know our prayer. Osiris, here lies the warrior of the people, Let him cross over. Osiris, let him cross over Release him!"

Thunder boomed across the sky, the candles light flickered and were snuffed out. For a moment, nothing happened. Stiles glanced into the urn and saw the bark had been charred to a crisp, the remnants of the Nemeton were unidentifiable among the other ingredients. They waited for a minute. Two minutes. Ten minutes. Still, nothing. It should have worked! He had given everything the damn spell had asked for!

"Are you fucking happy?!" Stiles cried at the sky. "Big cosmic joke, huh? You give me stupid--" he kicked the dirt with his bare feet. "--sparks of --" he kicked again, knocking the candle over, "--magic and for what? Party tricks? Stupid mountain ash circles?" 

Stiles let out a roar of frustration, slamming his fist again into the headstone right over the words beloved Father. "You. Fucking. Asshole. Wolf. Come. Back." Stiles began to slam his fists over the words. Derek. Hale. Derek. Hale. Derek. Hale. Blood dripped from his knuckles as he shook his hands into the dirt itself, shaking his head. He grabbed the urn, picking it up and smashing it to the ground in frustration, watching as it shattered into a thousand pieces. The dirt now covered in ash, blood, and pottery.

Lightning cracked across the sky and the sound of a howl broke through in the distance as loud as the thunder. Stiles knew that howl, he'd heard that howl in his dreams. Eli and Stiles' heads whipped around, both of them scrambling towards the sound of the beast. Stiles hadn't even put his shoes back on, running through the trees towards the Preserve. Towards the Nemeton. Eli was faster, the teenager racing ahead of Stiles with earnest. Stiles pushed himself a little more until he almost ran into Eli. 

Standing on the stump was a black wolf, head pulled back as it continued to howl into the night. Stiles took a step forward, holding his hand up as the wolf's eyes met his. Bright red flashed and the wolf stepped forward. Slowly the fur melted and each step became more and more human until Derek Hale was standing in front of Stiles. Eli ran forward, almost knocking Stiles off balance and wrapped his arms tightly against Derek's waist. The wolf winced, still clearly sensitive from his departure from this world, but he wrapped his arms around Eli tightly.

"Stiles." Derek's voice sounded rough, tense like he hadn't used it for a while. Like he had swallowed ash.

Stiles took a deep breath, walking forward. Eli broke his hug, taking a step back as he watched the two. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Stiles pulled his hand back and slammed it into Derek's face. He then grabbed the man and pressed their lips together as hard as he could, not even caring that he could taste Derek's blood on his lips from the broken nose.

"“Don’t you ever do that again!” Stiles growled loudly. 

"Die?" Derek asked in clarification, though his voice seemed bemused.

"Die, sacrifice yourself, be a martyr, burn alive -- what ever. Never again. Not without my permission. You have to ask me now. 'Stiles please can I be a fucking idiot and die for no reason?'"

Derek swallowed hard, Stiles feeling it in the hands still tightly holding the wolf's face. "Nothing without your permission."

Stiles nodded, taking another deep breath. "That's better. Now. Let's find you pants."

#welcome to the hale mouth #sterek #inbox fanfiction #did ren actually do a movie canon thing? #yes yes they did

[tarjapearce]

Crimson Crown updateee, let's gooo

A little headcanon of mine, así chiquitito nomás, is that our little queenie can sing, so imagine how bad miguel would feel if he hears her singing a sad love tuneeee

Okso i lied it's two hcs, the second one is when they finally get together together our grumpy king could call her "Mirreina" (ya sé que no esta bien escrito pero siento que así se siente más el sentimiento(? )

Anyways, amo todas tus historias, mis favoritas son crimson crown e iridescent jiji, y como si se siente que Miguel sería así 💕💕💕

Grumpy King Miguel he'd definitely would call her that 🤭.

jsksj Y no sé porqué "Como un G" de Rosalía se me vino a la mente jsksj

Gracias por tus palabras y apoyo 😊❤️

#talking with t✨ #Crimson Crown

[piovascosimo]

In questa onesta tomba, giace serena Glyconis: era dolce nel nome, ma ancor più dolce nell'anima. Non si curò mai degli onori della vita per lei (troppo) austeri, ma (fu) piuttosto (incline a quanto ci fosse di) sfrenato e piacevole, (preferi) essere inebriata dal vino (Bacchus) ed eseguire canti con semplicità. Spesso come divertimento lei stessa intrecciava con dolce amore morbide corone (di fiori) per sé e per i suoi figli che lasciò nella pubertà, (figli) che generò fratelli ad immagine dei Castori. Degna sì di godere una beata vita eterna, si affretta però dove i fati benigni chiamano. Publius Mattius Chariton fece (fare il sepolcro) per la benemerita moglie.

In this respectable tomb Glyconis lies serenely: sweet in name, but even sweeter in her soul. She never cared for splendid honors for her (too) austere, but rather she preferred to be wild and pleasant, to be inebriated by wine (Bacchus) and to perform songs with simplicity. She often amused herself by weaving beautiful wreaths of flowers with sweet love for herself and for her children, who she left in puberty; (the sons) she created were brothers in the likeness of Castor and Pollux. Worthy to enjoy a blessed and eternal life (lux), she hurried to where the good fates call. Publius Mattius Chariton saw to (the making of this tomb) for his well-deserving wife.

#roma #musei capitolini #tomba #tomb #ancient rome #history #archaeology #glyconis what a life #italia #anch'io preferisco essere inebriata dal vino e cantare che curarmi degli onori della vita