#also i have a lot of like letter beads

[thirdchild-restlesschild]

made this bc the palia hyperfixation be hitting but i just thought i could make other characters

castiel update incoming

update: i made another

update i made another

kinda obsessed actually

[autoneurotic]

my collections might be small but i love them..not pictured: the insane amount of elephant stuffies i have (some dating back circa 1993), all of my dollhouse/miniature furniture.

for reference, too, the van gogh postcards are the size of a thumbnail. i got a pack of normal sized ones when i was in amsterdam and the back had previews of each, so i cut them out and mounted them on cardboard/laminated them. in the very last picture, i have the full new testament (illustrations included?!) and it could fit in a matchbox.

[undercoverpena]

coming under the christmas tree

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: The way he whispers your name should be a sin—it coating the air, making each letter feel important, essential—as your hands find his belt, undoing it, the sound cutting through all else, even burying a whispered expletive that falls from his tongue. “Do you know how hot you look right now, Morales?”

warnings: explicit. 18+. smut. literal porn from me. oral (m recieving), p in v, praise (jo has a thing, run with it), frankie being gorgeous, minor cock worship, christmas themes.

wordcount: 2.8k an: i wrote this little imagine and then the gorgeous, wonderful @wildemaven created this moodboard (which inspired the banner) and then i decided to write more.

Putting up a tree with anyone is a chore, but with him, it’s a blessing.

It isn’t because it’s him, because you’re dating, because he makes you laugh and makes your toes curl at any time of the day. But, rather, because he wants to do it. Because he’s methodical. Always thinking, turning—planning.

Whether it’s routes to get somewhere, timing on when to leave when the two of you have reservations or whether your grand plans for a room rearrangement, Frankie plots it out and makes measurements in his head. He’s always right, not that he ever gloats—just nods as though it’s entirely normal.

It isn’t—it’s fucking hot.

Something you expect, and thankfully do, come face to face with when the branches are all in place on the half-dressed Christmas tree. The clear plastic boxes strewn across the living room, his fingers slowly undoing and unknotting the lights you’d haphazardly thrown in the box last year.

You know the answer, but you ask all the same: “You want me to help with that?”

He doesn’t answer, just gives you a look. A blend of ‘be serious’ and ‘you’re good’ cuts across his features, making his eyes warmer and his smile kinder.

Before he even sets about winding them through the branches, you can tell he’s created a light-path. Already heard him mumbling that they don’t go all the way around, remember earlier. His eyes glancing up at it, making mental notes, calculating a route—brown eyes skating and shifting side to side.

You just remain on the floor, legs crossed—checking over the ornaments for nicks or scratches—admiring. You do it a lot, admire him, take him in—gawk, trace your eyes over him so when you blink you don’t waste a second not seeing him.

“We can always buy another set?” you offer, watching him bend behind the armchair, plugging them in, plunging the room in a soft, white glow.

Grinning, Frankie brushes some loose strands from over his eyes, “No need, baby. I’ve got it.”

He does. You weren’t surprised his devised path makes the base of the tree already look full—no section unlit, each bit of cable hidden from sight, blending perfectly with the tree. You were even sure if you turned it 180, the back currently in the corner would even be lit.

It isn’t that which makes your mouth drool.

It also isn’t the way the twinkle of the lights has hit the brown of his eyes when he lets his gaze fall to you, making it appear like a galaxy has burst in them—a sky full of stars, all staring at you.

No. It’s the way the entirety of him is lit up. Practically glowing. It enhances how stretched out he is, practically in a straight line. His arms above his head, fingers delicately wrapping the lights around the tip of the tree. It shines light over the slither of skin exposed from his shirt rising; it makes it more evident that his tongue is poking out, resting on his bottom lip, eyes trained on the job at hand, his priority, his task.

You flutter around nothing.

Feel your heart stammer in your chest as you devour the sight of him whole.

Placing the ornament in the good-to-hang pile, you don’t even pretend to glance at it. Too busy drinking in the sight of the lines on his arms from flexing—those strong, arms which carried the tree down from the attic. Little beads of sweat had clung to his forehead then, having needed to shift things around, move them—move baby, don’t want you to get hurt.

You were something akin to pain now. Desperate, needy and fucking feral. Your throat all dry while your tongue felt heavy, eyes sliding down his frame, focusing on the hairs on his stomach, all exposed, beckoning to be touched, to have your tongue slide down over it.

You only blink when he clears his throat, looking up, finding his eyes on you—tracing over your face, slightly narrowed, attempting to read you.

Another day, you might shy away from it. Look away first, wait until he calls your name and pleads for you to look at him. Today, you don’t. Slowly rising onto your knees, holding his stare, commanding him to blink as little as possible:

Watch me, Morales. Keep your eyes on me.

Sliding your tongue across your bottom lip, your teeth finding a resting place on it—fingers sliding to his hips, watching his hand release the lights, forehead smoothing, any and all confusing lines fading away.

The way he whispers your name should be a sin—it coating the air, making each letter feel important, essential—as your hands find his belt, undoing it, the sound cutting through all else, even burying a whispered expletive that falls from his tongue.

“Do you know how hot you look right now, Morales?”

Your fingers undo the button, tracing your tongue again over your lip—hungry, practically salivating—as you slide the zip through the teeth. His gaze is still on you, unwavering, a shadow of surprise in the back of his eyes that this is even happening—as though he is still taken back by the fact he deserves this, deserves you.

“You want me to suck your cock, baby?”

His swallow fills the room—loud, vociferous. Your palm brushes over the hardened bulge, tracing the outline over the thin cotton which remained a barrier between his velvet skin and your tongue.

“I really wanna suck your cock,” you add, purring, practically drooling as you notice the wet stain appearing—blooming, stretching out—as one hand falls from the tree, cupping the side of your mouth.

You like him like this, quiet, taken off guard. So often it is him doing it to you, saying all the right things, whispering all the words which make your skin feel like fire.

When you finally let his cock spring free, you waste no time licking a stripe up the side, tongue flat, brushing over veins as your hands tease the fabric down to the tops of his knees, resting on the jeans that remain there, pointless, likely mildly annoying for him. Not that he’ll care in a second. Less so for now when your fingers wrap around him, take his girth in your palm, warmth spreading over your palm as you slowly pump him up and down, collecting your first few hisses, and a little groan.

You marvel at him—at his cock. How thick it is, how long. How you know it feels between your thighs, how it makes your toes curl. Pressing kissing to the leaking tip, wrapping your lips around the head, hand working the length of him as you make your lips slick, coat them in desire, before you take as much of him as you can. Your tongue pressed to the underside, mouth basked in the taste of salt and just him, as your jaw stretched to accommodate him, to willfully take more, and more.

“Don’t know—fuck, baby—what I did to deserve you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, burning under the praise, under his praise. Your head bobbing, wanting to show gratitude by taking more of him. Cheeks hollowing, his fingers sliding around the back of your head, a comforting hold, a calming one as you relax your throat, wanting to be full of him. Fiercely so.

Tears even prick at your eyes, and your fingers dig into the back of his thighs, lifting off, swirling your tongue around him, running your teeth lightly over him, before swallowing as much of him as you can. Willing for him to smear your throat in him, leave you tasting him with each swallow for the rest of the afternoon.

“Wanna fin—fuck—ish inside you,” he grunts, curls plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed—neck stained in pink.

You moan in response, closing your lips around him as you’re sure your underwear is clinging to you, drenched in want.

You’re half-tempted to slide your fingers inside the band of your shorts, passed the red lace you chose this morning, not even sure if you’d be unwrapped before or after the erection of the tree. Midway through hadn’t crossed your mind. Had never counted on this, never would have made a bet.

But, then he drags himself out, tip hovering at your lips giving you a look—sharp, uncharacteristic of him. “I want to fuck you, baby. Make you feel good.”

Tongue swirling over, he appears to shudder, eyes fluttering, before he pulls the rest free from your mouth. Spit smearing your lip, snapped in the space between where the two of you had been connected.

“You always make me feel good, Frankie.”

Smirking, his arm flexes briefly as he takes hold of his cock. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

And you don’t miss the reference. Not so drunk on him that you don’t remember your own words from before—but you just nod. A retort growing and dying, as you do.

“Spread your legs and show me.”

And you do. Leaning back, sliding onto your rear, your fingers slide your clothing down your legs, kicking it off past your ankles, passed the fluffy socks you’d stolen from him. Bare from the waist down, just for him—always for him. Letting your arms support you from behind, you tilt your head. In awe of him once again as he wraps his hand around his cock, the size even more impressive when you know how big his hands are—your own nails digging into the rug under your palms and ass.

“C’mon, show me you want me.”

You whimper, spreading your knees, letting them part until they’re hovering just above the floor on either side.

The cool air kissing over you, a gasp desperate to emerge but dies somewhere in your throat—swallowed up by a moan at the way he views you. The way his eyes rake up and down you like this is the first time he’s seen you, and not the billionth.

Like all the things he does, it’s with precision the way he rids himself of being contained by his jeans and underwear. Lowering himself to his knees between yours, you lean forward, lips finding his—messy, needy. Need you, they kiss, fuck me, they plead.

His mouth remains on you, only letting enough words escape to tell you to keep his jumper on when your fingers slide his t-shirt up and over his head. He rewards your obedience by letting his hand fall from himself to you—tracing, languid circles on your swollen clit, until he pushes two fingers in. You shift your hips into him, hearing him moan distantly at the feel of how wet you are, whispered praises given that are too far away as your mind rendered nothing (emptied, lost)—

Because he’s electric, you swear. Not even sure the lights need plugging in, you swear he could touch them and they’d illuminate—at least from the way he sparks enough in you to light the whole house up. Making it run, dart, a heavy current that dashes through your veins.

It’s why you whimper at the loss of him—only stopping yourself from whining when you feel him trace his cock through your folds, teasing, tracing up and down as the head of him nudges your clit, watching you, focused on the way your mouth must be parted and the likely sheen on your face.

And, you’re about to say his name—more in warning, in hunger. His body presses you down flush to the floor, the back of your hips meeting the fluff of the rug, as his mouth slides over your jaw, fingers dancing along your thigh, writing words, with the pads of them—leaving teasing verses against your skin.

“Stop teasing,” you say sharply.

Watching your words have their desired effect—that shy smile that grows into a confident smirk. The one you witness more than anyone else, the one you think of when you’re alone in the bed you share and it’s only his voice you have down the phone when your mind tries to pretend your fingers are his.

It’s slow, gentle, the way he begins to line up, pausing at your entrance—keeping you hanging, delicately placed there, held up by string as his breath paints what he wants to do to you against your neck. But you don’t hear it, can’t untangle the tale, least of all when he begins pressing in, sliding in inch by inch—

He’s big. And it makes you breathe deeply as you stretch around him. It makes you shiver. Makes you moan as he buries himself to the hilt, hips flush with yours.

“So good for me,” he praises before his lips slope over yours.

His hips begin to move, and each drag of his cock in and out makes you moan. The sound of you swallowing him, taking every inch of him he’ll give, is the soundtrack; the backdrop being the halo of lights above the two of you. It lights him, kisses along the varying shades that make up his curls, the browns, the beginning greys.

And you’re soaked, drenched—can feel it around where the two of you are joined, each slow drag in and out making it more apparent as you capture his lips. Breathlessly doing so, looping fingers around his neck, tugging lightly on his hair, curling into him, needing him deeper as your legs wrap around him.

It’s then the tip of him hits that spot, all unhurried. A motion he seeks, centres in on as he thrusts again, abutting it, making your eyes close and your mouth stretch each syllable of his name out in a whine. It makes you forget how to speak, and which language to utter. Barely a word for each finger can even come to mind, it’s mostly just his name. Frankie. Frankie. Please, Frankie as the air crackles around you.

He answers—he always does. His hand slides between your sweaty bodies, and finds the bundle of nerves calling out to him, the place which yearns. Doing so with accuracy, and exactness, as he draws shapes, lines and the fucking alphabet until you’re seeing stars, until it’s so hot you swear the jumper will peel from your skin and your head is nothing but a dizzying mess of him, just him. It makes you frantic to see him, outline his face, all cast in shadows because he’s turned away from the lights which made him look ethereal only moments ago.

His cock throbs inside of you, everything else curling inside your stomach, walls twitching around him as you tighten, vice-like, making him hiss. A sound which makes molten spread through you, more so when his mouth slides to your ear, breath laboured, along your skin, begging for you to come, needing you to, please, baby, please.

“S’close, Frankie.”

“I know—doing so well, so perfect for me.”

The words unlock something as a new pace is set, it more unforgiving, one that’ll likely leave marks on his knees from the friction on the rug, as you writhe and cling, half-moons left on his neck, digging in, marking him in the same way he’ll mark your walls in a moment or two.

Then, it floods over you. Drowns you. Coats you from head to toe as though you’ve been plunged in pleasure, left gasping, breath struggling to be located. Your mouth latched to his, burning your thanks into his mouth, your entire body tingling as he fucks you through it, until he’s thrusting aimlessly, so damn close until your name leaves the back of his throat in a sob, a blend of pleasure and relief strewn across his face as he comes deep inside of you. Hips slowing to a stammer, lowering himself down till he’s flush with you, before they come to a stop.

Then, it’s just his pants that meet your strained breaths, until a little hiss as he pulls himself out of you. Leaving you empty, sore in a way you’re grateful for, as his fingers trace over your chin, along your jaw, words being thought in slow bubbles as he stares at you.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Narrowing your eyes, you slide a hand to his hip, pinching.

“Just love that puttin’ lights up made you wanna suck my cock, is all.”

Smiling, you run your knuckles along his cheek, and brush past the wiry hair that makes up his patchy beard. “Wait till you see me hand the baubles, bet you’ll wanna be on your knees for me.”

“Good,” he replies. “I’m really hoping to taste how good we are together once we’re done.”

an: i freaking loved writing this, oh my.

i don't usually do taglists, but just tagging a few people who seemed interested in the longer version (sorry if this is annoying): @thetriumphantpanda @swiftispunk @5oh5 @morallyinept @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @reddedmiller @yorksgirl @missredherring @tvversionperson @secretelephanttattoo

[hjparisian]

birthdays through the ages- harry j potter x reader

p: harry j potter x gn!reader w: none just fluff summary: (y/n) helps harry celebrate his birthday throughout the years a/n: disappeared for a hot min and tumblr changes its layout?? anyways dont mind that this is late and long. decided to try second pov again for this story to see how i feel but idk. what do you guys prefer? (y/f/c)= your favorite color

You've been friends with Harry ever since your guys first year at Hogwarts. One day in first year, you, Ron and Harry were talking about birthdays since Ron's twelfth birthday was coming up. Harry had mentioned that he never really received anything, counting that the Dursley's hated his guts.

From that moment on, you decided to make Harry's birthdays the best.

second year

This would be your first year getting something for Harry. You weren't sure what exactly to get him, considering you didn't have much saved from your allowance, also because he was trapped with the Dursley's.

You had decided to make you and Harry matching friendship bracelets with some beads left from an early interest of crafting. You made both bracelets using red and (y/f/c) beads. It was simple, not wanting anything too flashy for Harry incase he actually wears it.

You had also made a card for him and added some candy from a previous trip to Honeydukes. You packed everything off in one bag before sending your owl to deliver the gift.

When you finally met up with Harry at King's Cross Station, your eyes light up as you see the bracelet on the green eyed boy's arm. Harry came up and gave you a hug.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

third year

This year, you had actually saved up and set aside money to be able to afford a present for Harry. During a trip to Diagon Alley with your parents, you had wandered into a little shop that carried jewelry and charms. As you were ready to give up, something caught your eye.

It was a golden snitch charm.

It was a little on the pricy side for the charm, but you'd still have a bit of money left over. So you bought it. The store owners had given you the option to put an engraving on it, so you did, opting to put Harry's initials on it.

Once you returned home, you decided to bake treacle tarts for him, with the help from your mother. While the treacle tarts were baking, you had gone to your room to make Harry's birthday card, signing it with a heart by your name.

The next morning you had sent your owl to deliver the gifts. When the owl had returned later in the evening, it had a letter in its beak from Harry. It was him thanking you for the presents and making his birthday better, and that he loved the charm and had attached it to his school bag right away.

fourth year

The summer of Harry's fourteenth birthday was a bit wild in your opinion. You would be spending a couple weeks in America with your parents. Unfortunately, this was during Harry's birthday so you couldn't send his presents on his actual birthday.

Fortunately for you though, Ron had invited you to join him and his family to watch the Quidditch World cup. He mentioned that Hermione and Harry would be there as well. You had decided to give Harry his present in person. Your owl is probably thanking you for this genius decision.

While on your trip, you had stopped by a clothing store and spotted a red jumper. You had remembered that Harry didn't really have a lot of clothes of his own, most, if not all, were hand me downs from his cousin Dudley. You had decided to buy it along with a shirt for him.

The night before you had to go to the Weasley's, you were getting Harry's gifts together. But it felt like there was something missing. It need more of a personal touch.

You search your room for something until you came upon a little heart charm with your initial on it. Should you make another bracelet you wonder? A different idea pops into your head though. You grab the red jumper and find thread a similar color to it. Turning the jumper inside out, you take the left sleeve and place the tiny charm under the cuff and sew it in.

You wrapped the gift and set it aside your luggage so you would remember to take it with you. As you finally head to bed, you felt a little giddy about giving Harry his present, hoping he'll love it.

Thankfully, he did.

Harry was in his shared room with Ron, who was asleep. He was looking at gift you gave him and decided to try the jumper on. He felt something in the left sleeve and rolled it up to find the small heart shaped charm with your initial on it.

The boy couldn't help but smile.

fifth year

This was the first year you'd actually be with Harry for his birthday, though this was due to unfortunate circumstances from Harry's side as well as the Order coming back together.

You were brought to 12 Grimmauld Place around the same time as Ron, due to your parents being invited to the Order. Though because of this, you didn't have an opportunity to find a present for Harry, which resorted you to your baking skills you started developing in third year.

After asking Sirius for permission to use the kitchen, you get started on working on Harry's favorite, treacle tart. Things were going pretty well, but then the boy you were making the treat for had entered the kitchen, which you should've been expecting.

"(Y/N)?"

"Oh, hey Harry," you said to him.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Just baking, what are you doing here?"

"Oh uh, I was looking for you actually," Harry said. "I was just wondering where you were."

You smiled a bit, enjoying the fact that Harry was looking for you.

Harry cleared his throat before speaking. "So, what are you baking?"

Now, should you be honest with him and tell him that you were making something for him? Or lie and push him out?

"Well, I'm making treacle tarts, for you."

"For me?"

"Yes, for you. I was gonna surprise you with them after dinner," you told him.

"Oh," he said. "Guess I ruined the surprise, I'm sorry."

"I suppose you did, but I don't think it matters anyways. You'd still eat them won't you?"

"Of course I will," Harry said. "They're delicious. I still remember when you made them for me for my thirteenth birthday."

You were a little surprised that he remembered that.

"My mom helped me with them," you said. "I've gotten better though. Been able to do it myself." Harry just nods.

"So," You began. "Wanna learn how I make them?"

Harry smiles and gives a nod as you start getting another batch ready so the rest of the occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place could enjoy some. The outcome was a bit messy, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Harry likes to think this was one of his better birthdays thanks to you.

sixth year

For Harry's sixteenth birthday, you managed to convince your parents to let you go to the Dursley's house to attempt to take Harry out for his birthday. You side apparated with them to the house and was being given a lecture on being careful and sticking by Harry before they left.

It was a bit awkward when Harry's uncle Vernon had opened the door. You can feel his piercing eyes judging you once you asked for Harry. Lucky for you Harry had appeared right behind Vernon once you asked. It didn't take much convincing to take Harry out, Vernon seeming delighted to be rid of the boy for most of the day.

You and Harry arrived at a cafe for lunch, since both of you hadn't eaten yet. The both of you had ordered your desired meal and chatted about the summer, Harry telling you all about the terribleness of the Dursley's. When it came time to pay, Harry was about to take his wallet until you took the check and handed the money to the waiter.

"You didn't have to pay for me you know?" Harry told you as you exited the cafe.

"Of course I have to!" You said. "It is your birthday after all. So, what do you want to do now?"

The two of you spent the day doing whatever Harry wanted, which felt odd to him considering the Dursley's would always ignore him but he felt some sense of happiness. There was a small arcade in town that you and Harry went to. Harry won most of games but sometimes he'd let you win.

Your guys next stop was to the movies to watch one of the new movies Harry was interested in seeing, but of course, the Dursleys would never take him, especially since their little Duddy-kins hated it. You guys decided to just share a popcorn together. Everytime your guys hand touch, you'd feel your cheeks heat up but you were enjoying the little touches. Little did you know, Harry was feeling the same way.

Your guys final two destinations were the dinner and the park, deciding to kill two birds with one stone by bringing take out to the park and watching the sunset.

"Thank you for everything (Y/N)," Harry said to you.

"Of course Harry. It's your birthday and I wanted you to be able to have the most of it."

"I appreciate it, I really do."

You smiled at him. "I'd do anything for you, Harry."

seventh year

This would be the year Harry would be of age in the Wizarding World. Mrs. Weasley had been planning a party for Harry, considering everyone would be residing in the house for Bill and Fleur's wedding the following day.

Earlier in the summer you had gone to a jewelry store in Diagon Alley. You remember Harry saying he had been wanting some more rings, as he's been wearing a ring Sirius gave him prior to his death.

As you were browsing, one of the clerks had approached you and showed you a special ring, with a twin. It was one that would warm up based on how fast the heart beat of the other ring holder is. You were sold on it, planning to keep the second ring to yourself.

After breakfast the morning of Harry's birthday, you asked him to meet in the room he was staying in privately. Hermione, knowing what was going on, helped by keeping Ron away from the room.

"So what did you brought me up here for?" Harry asked as he closed the door behind you.

You pulled out the small box with the ring from your pocket, handing it to Harry.

"I wanted to give you your present privately. Happy birthday Harry."

Harry took the present from your hands and began to open it. He pulled the ring from the box and examined it. It was a silver band with a small heart engraving on the inside of it. Harry put it on his left middle finger and started to feel a slight warmth from it.

"It's a magical ring. It gets warm based on how fast the other person who has the second ring is." You told him, bringing your hand out showing a similar ring to him. "I have the other one."

"I love it. I really do." Harry told you.

You felt your cheeks heat up. "I'm glad you do."

Whether it be some spurt of confidence or you not thinking, you decided to do something a bit bold and kiss Harry's cheek.

"Let's head back down. Don't want them to wonder why we were taking long," You told him as you grab his hand to pull him out the door.

As you guys head downstairs, the both of you could feel the rings warm up again.

post war

Harry's birthday came too soon to him. Having successfully defeating Voldemort what felt like not too long ago, he had no interest celebrating. Why celebrate when so many of his loved ones died because of him?

You had no intention of pushing Harry to do anything for his birthday, but you still wanted to remind him that it is a special day. You woke up before Harry to prepare him breakfast. As you were finishing up, you heard some foot steps entering the kitchen.

"Love?" a voice said.

"Morning Harry."

"What are you doing up so early? Usually I'd be the one that wakes up first," he says as he comes over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I was preparing breakfast," you told him as you plate the eggs you made.

"You woke up early for that? I'm always fine with waiting for you to wake up to start making breakfast."

You chuckled a bit. "I did this because it's your birthday Harry. Just wanted to surprise you." A small oh leaves Harry's mouth.

You brought the plates to the table and started pushing Harry to sit down and start eating. Once you finished your plate, you stood up and placed your dishes in the sink.

"Give me a second, I'll be back," you told Harry.

When you entered the room, you went straight to look under the bed, grabbing the box that contained Harry's present. How he didn't find it? Only Merlin knows how. Grabbing it, you went back to table the table and handed it to Harry.

"Happy birthday Harry. Open it."

The boy unwrapped the present, revealing a book with a plain black book. He grabbed it and opened to the first page which had a photo of you and him together back in first year and another with eleven year old Harry and Ron. As Harry turned the pages, he saw that all of them contained memories from their years at Hogwarts. From him catching his first snitch, to the Yule Ball, to one of the Quidditch parties in sixth year. As he got toward the end, he realized there were still empty pages left.

"I know Hogwarts might be the last thing you wanna think about right now. But I thought this would remind you all the good stuff that happened," you said to him. "I left some pages empty so we could continue it together."

"(Y/N), this is wonderful. And you did this yourself? Where did you even get these photos?"

"That's a secret I'll never tell," you winked at him.

Harry stood up to give you a hug, your arms wrapping around his well toned body. Being in his arms felt like home.

"I love you so much," Harry told you.

"I love you too." You said to him. "Now, my dear Harry. What do you think we should do today?"

"In all honesty," he began saying. "I just wanna spend the day with you and cuddle. Maybe make treacle tarts."

"As you wish love," you said, as you play with the two rings on Harry's hand. One was the ring you gave him on his seventeenth birthday, and the other was his engagement ring.

[mayhemories]

please please please do a part two of best friend’s brother with some intense toe curling smut!! 🤭🤭

Best Friend's Brother (pt. 2 Smut)

My first time publishing smut - got nervous! if people like this I will do a pt. 3 in which will be p in v. Also, some tags just are not working so if it doesn't work I'm sorry it was not purposeful.

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: smut, !!!!minors dni!!!!!! Smut. Heteronormative sex, swearing, virgin reader, oral - female receiving etc. smut smut smut. Maybe a lil angsty at the start? Reader is still insecure as was requested in the original request. 

Words: 2.6k

Author’s Notes: 

Aged up, obviously. Direct continuation of Best Friend’s Brother <- which you can find here.

Permanent Taglist: @lilprettypetite @nyotamalfoy @weasleytwinwheezes @aonungs-tsahik @rainbowsocks @glitterandgoldfinds @bluealiensimp @melsunshine @ussoppl @wondxrgurll @luvlykrispy @myheartfollower @gloryavila

Fic Taglist: @n1ght5h4d3-24 @kirapeach11 @mochiqueen16-blog @buttercake2234 @darksxder @anficblogs @ashrocker123 @strawberri-blonde @snakequeen13

Read under the cut:

You and Neteyam had been together for six months. And, undoubtedly, they were the best six months of your life. He was so affectionate, something that took you a little while to get used to, especially in front of others. 

But recently you’ve wanted to take it that one step further, but you just didn’t know how. And it was really, really bothering you. Neteyam wasn’t pushy, but he wasn’t shy the same way you were shy. The two of you spoke about anything and everything. He’s helped you explore a lot of intimacy that you felt like you were missing out on. Heated kisses, open talks, and sometimes Neteyam would write you filthy letters about how he thought about you, how he dreamed about you. And you wished you could return the favour. 

You sighed deeply, pricking yourself with your beading needle again. You were so frustrated. In every sense of the word. 

“What’s on your mind? C’mon spit it out.” Kiri said sharply, still busy with her own beading. You were grateful for Kiri, always. She always stood by you, no matter what. And, where others may drift apart in the situation you two were in, your relationship with Neteyam did nothing but bring you and Kiri closer together. She was practically your sister now. 

But you didn’t know if talking about this, about your sexual frustration with Neteyam, was apropriate conversation to have with your best friend. 

“Nothing, I am just lost in my thoughts today.” You tried to dismiss it, and swallow it down. Though you could feel the blush spreading across your body, and the fire of embarrassment spread between the valley of your breasts. 

Kiri spat out a sarcastic laugh. “Uh huh, you’ve been lost in your thoughts for days then.” Kiri tossed her beading to the ground. The two of you sat outside, in the grass soaking up the sunlight. 

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” You said, more focused on your beading now than ever. You were beading a new bodice for a clan dance in a few eclipses time. 

“Okay, so its obviously about Neteyam then.” Kiri started, you threw your beading at her while a small smirk graced her lips. 

She was still your best friend, you just didn’t want to burden her with uncomfortable knowledge. 

“(y/n) you can tell me anything, I won’t be mad, even if its gross.” Kiri assured you, you felt her eyes burning into the side of your head as you covered your face with your hands. Eywa, you were so embarrassing and naive and stupid. 

You knew Neteyam loved you, and in turn, he is an incredible man. He would never think less of your innocence or your shyness. 

But your own brain enjoyed the act of self-sabotage, and you often could not help but to think the lack of sex life was due to your lack of appeal. 

“You have to promise me not to get grossed out!” You say, pulling your hands away from your face, holding Kiri’s eyeline. You knew you were a blushing mess, riddled with anxiety and nausea. 

“I promise! I’m not a child, and I’m not Lo’ak.” She quipped. You chuckled and you tried to put your heart back down in your chest from where it had risen to your throat. 

“Well, Neteyam and I have been together for awhile…” You started playing with your long braids, nervously. Kiri urged you on. “We have been together for awhile, and I love him, you know I do-” 

“Trust me, everyone knows you do.” You ignored Kiri’s interjection, soldiering on. 

“-And I don’t expect us to form a bond anytime soon, of course but…” You felt the burning sensation under your skin, your blood was too loud and the day too bright, everything was causing a sensory malfunction. 

“But what?” Kiri was kind, and she never pushed you further than necessary. 

“Well, I would like to mate with him but I’m so scared and I don’t know how to ask, let alone do anything remotely sexual and I’m afraid Neteyam knows this and that’s why we haven’t done anything yet and I’m just stupid so I would get his hesitancy-” 

Kiri cut your rambling off, laughing. Throwing her head back in the sun, you could see all the stripes that ran across her neck, hiding under necklaces and her com. 

“Have you just asked him?” She asked plainly, once she collected herself. 

You were shocked - just ask him, was she crazy? 

“Well, no I haven’t.” You mumbled, fetching your beadwork from Kiri’s lap, and finding solace in the distraction. 

“That’s where you start, (y/n). There’s no shame in not knowing.” Kiri said softly, sensing your unease. She went back to her own beadwork and did not bring it up again. 

You knew Neteyam would be back any minute. You sat, still working on the fine beading in your new tent given to you as a step into your adulthood. You enjoyed living away from your parents, the solace and independence. But, Neteyam knew you got lonley and stayed with you most nights. 

Tonight was one of those nights. And, Neteyam always comes to you as soon as he finishes his duties. 

You were just going to ask him, like Kiri said. 

That was no big deal, right? You did not know what you were going to say, you were going to ‘go with the flow’ like Jake says sometimes. 

This ‘flow’ made you feel like you were drowning.

Soft lips on your forehead snapped you out of your whirlpool thoughts. 

“My love are you alright? I’ve been talking to you for a minute or two now.” Neteyam said softly, holding both your cheeks in his hands. His eyes scanned your face to find a trace of what was bothering you, your face flushed under his intense stare. 

“I’m sorry Neteyam, there’s been a lot on my mind recently.” You said, smiling. Neteyam took the bait, removing his hands from your face, sitting across from you on the floor, legs crossed. 

“Tell me about it my lovely girl.” Neteyam said, reaching out for one of your hands. Partially because he craved your touch, and partially to distract you from your beading. He had missed you all day, and did not want to share your attention with some beads. 

You sighed softly, taking his hand. Everytime you looked at Neteyam his stomach flipped, he felt butterflies and fell in love all over again, everytime. He did not miss the bright blush that burned across your high cheekbones and nose, and that dipped down into the valley of your breasts. He knew his eyes lingered there for a beat too long, but you did not notice. 

“Neteyam I am embarrassed to ask you this,” His heart dropped into the field of butterflies in his stomach. “But, do you want to have sex with me?” 

He must’ve heard you wrong. His head snapped to yours, finding you looking up at him through your thick lashes, innocently. 

“What?” The word fell from his mouth before he could reel it back in. And, you were quick to jump to the defensive, afraid of upsetting him, of offending him. 

“We do not have to obviously, as I know I am not experienced and maybe that is not what you’re after but-” 

The low growl came from Neteyam’s chest. ‘No experience’ was just a polite term for ‘no one else's’. As far as Neteyam was concerned, if another male looked at you for too long it was reasonable grounds for a fight. 

“You want to have sex with me?” Neteyam asked, he felt all the blood rush in-between his legs. The conversation alone was enough for him. He has wanted you for so long, for too long. But he would never, ever make you operate outside your own terms. 

You smiled, the fleeting confidence that he provided you swelling in your chest. 

“I would want nothing more, my Neteyam.” 

The kiss was hot, and striking. His hands cupped your face, like they had done not all that long ago, but this time, he laid you down, your back to the floor. His strong, muscular frame leaning over you, your chests touching, and one of his knees had found his way between your legs. His tongue wiped your lips, a gentle way to ask for permission. You gave it to him, his tongue fought yours for dominance, briefly, until you submitted to him, like you always did. 

You were still fully clothed, Neteyam too, but the heat was insurmountable. His knee was far from your clothed cunt, but the anticipation caused slick to gather there all the same. 

He pulled away from the kiss, you were thankful for the air but you craved the feeling of him so close. 

“My love you have to tell me if you don’t like something, or if you don’t feel comfortable or if you change your mind, ok?” He whispered into your ear, you nodded, words failing you. “No, use your words babygirl, let me hear you.” Neteyam left paperlight kisses under your ear, and moved to your jaw. 

“Okay.” You said, breathless, barely above a whisper. 

“Good girl.” Neteyam kissed down the column of your neck, sucking and biting. His cainines taking your sweet flesh and leaving dark, purple marks in his wake. Everyone would know who you belonged to now. If there was any doubt before, there would never be again. 

Neteyam’s left hand was still cradling the side of your face, while his right played with the skin at your waist, rubbing up and down, teasing the skin underneath the hem of your beaded top. As he continued the assault on your neck, down to your chest and the straps of your coverings laid, you felt the tip of his tail caress your thigh, his own knee moving up to find your wet core. 

You couldn’t help but moan at all the stimulus. You felt Neteyam stop for a microsecond, but it was enough for you to feel embarrassed, you quickly covered your mouth with your hand, stifling anything else that may humiliate you. 

He pulled away from your chest, leaning over you to look you in the eye, his free hand that had been playing with the hem of your shirt came up to pull your hand away. He placed your hand on his toned, flexing chest. 

“No. No, I want to hear you, don’t be embarrassed.” His thumb swiped across your lip and in an act of lust-induced insanity you opened your mouth and sucked on it. “Never hide from me, my love.” Neteyam smiled lightly, his eyes fluttering closed, he pressed his hips against your own. 

You felt how hard he was against you, your internal walls clenched against nothing, but you felt how soaked your loincloth had become. Neteyam let out his own deep moan. 

“Do you feel me, babygirl? Do you feel what you do to me?” His voice had changed, deep and commanding and alluring. 

It was all too much. You felt the coil in the base of your stomach tightening. 

“Answer me, sweetheart.” Neteyam whispered as he ground into you, his lips attaching themselves to your already bruised neck. Both his hands making quick work of removing your top, discarding it with no care. 

“Yes, yes, I-” Your breath hitched as his mouth found your nipple, rolling the sensitive bud around in his mouth. “I want to feel you inside, Neteyam.” You said bravely, shutting your eyes, you could not control the nonsense that fell from your mouth. You were too fucked out and barely anything had happened yet. It was embarrassing. 

He wanted you nonetheless. 

Neteyam could not help but growl when the sweet words fell from your plush, beautiful lips. He removed himself from your swollen nipple. He took you in, looking at all of you. Your body had a light sheen of sweat, your head was rolled back, lips parted- mewling. You were everything to him. 

Netyam did not hesitate in removing your loincloth as quick as his nimble fingers would allow, sliding the fabric down your legs he took the time to squeeze your thighs and calves. He wanted to consume you, every part. Mind, body and soul, Neteyam would never stop wanting you. He supposed that made him selfish. But, Neteyam had never asked for anything in his whole life, save for you. And, he would be completely satisfied in his existence in this life if all he had was you. 

“Can I taste you my love?” Neteyam asked, using one of his hands to part your legs, wider, his other was massaging the flesh of your thigh. He saw your sopping cunt for the first time and fuck, Neteyam felt wasted. Absolutely toatled. His dick strained against his own covering, twitching at the sight. 

Stunning. 

You nodded, giving him permission. Neteyam pinched your inner thigh, making you squeal in surprise, raising your head slightly you squinted at him. “Words, babygirl. I know you know how to use ‘em.” 

“Taste me, honey. I want whatever you want me to want.” You laid your head back down of the floor of your home, desperate for friction your bare hips bucked upward, and you could’ve sworn you heard Neteyam’s breath hitch. 

He wasted no time in exploring your most private heat. Neteyam ate you like a man starved, your moans doing nothing but spurring him on. 

You wanted to save your first orgasm for his dick, but Neteyam licked and sucked, one of his hands had found your clitoris, and you felt that tight coil in your stomach begin to snap. Instinctively, your hand flew to his hair, nestling in his braids as he hit a certain spot. Back arching, you began to unravel, and unravel quickly. 

“Neteyam, I can’t, I’m going to-” You began to apologise about your approaching orgasam, embarrassed that you could not save it for when he was inside. His fingers worked quickly on your clit, as he pulled his mouth away briefly. 

“Cum for me, my darling girl.” His husky voice sent a shock through your body, his fingers never stalling, his tongue found your heat again, licking, stroking, tasting. His words were enough for you. 

You felt your walls clench, squirting around his sucking mouth, he drew it from you, swallowing it down. You felt him smiling against you, against your shaking, heavily breathing frame. 

Neteyam came up, his arms extended on either side of your head, your felt his hard-on ground into your naked form, his loincloth would be stained from your wetness. You began to come down from your high, Neteyam captured your eyeline. You stared at him, and his smirk, a bead of your own cum on the side of his mouth. You threw your hands over your eyes and face in embarrassment, you couldn’t help it. You felt like you should’ve lasted longer than you did. 

Neteyam loosed a breathy chuckle watching you hide behind your hands, while your shatteringly-beautiful and so very naked form laid under him. 

“Don’t hide sweetheart, I need to see your face baby.” You shook your head in reply, keeping your hands firmly placed against your face. “I see you. I see you despite the fact that you’re too embarrassed to look at me.” Neteyam’s voice was hoarse, his words raw, and you could do nothing but look at him then. 

See him. 

Feel him. 

Love him, 

Entirely.

He smiled when he saw your warm eyes again. And, you knew you were done. Totaled, even.

“I see you.” You spoke softly, worried that if you were any louder this would all fade into nothingness.

He captured you in a strong, burning kiss. And you giggled at the face that you could taste yourself on his lips. 

You decided that you would not be embarrassed around Neteyam anymore. 

[twistedkans]

Yours - Part Two

→ A Glorious Masquerade Malleus x Reader x Rollo commission for my bestie

Warnings: mild Rollo-typical psuedoreligious content Characters: Yuu (Reader), Rollo Flamme, Malleus Draconia Word Count: 1.7k

Part One | Part Three

(Also available on Ao3)

༻ My Soul ༺

“You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love.” ― Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena

────────────────────────────────────────────

Malleus had a penchant for disappearing from the watchful gazes of others, to secret spots only he knew of, where he could be alone for whatever reason he desired. In only a day since arriving in Fleur City, Malleus already had a few spots to whisk away to. In this particular instance, he chose the underground tunnel systems.

You were brought along with him, never destined to meet up with the others as you had intended to. It was easy enough not to mind this impromptu escape and forget about all the reasons you shouldn’t be doing this. That in of itself was a reason, anyhow, to do something that felt wrong.

Something forbidden.

With Malleus’ hand on your back, he guided you through the labyrinthine of tunnels with confidence and ease.

“Have you been here before?”

“Only today,” was Malleus’ response.

His answer left you wondering. “How do you know where to go? I already feel lost.”

Malleus paused in his tracks and you were brought to a stop with him. He put a finger to his chin in thought. “I know not where we are headed.”

Your face dropped, and you almost felt like laughing. “Hornton, are you joking.”

To that, Malleus shook his head. “I would never lie to you, child of man.” His words made your heart flutter, as if he meant so much more than just this one instance.

When you didn’t give him a response, Malleus took that as his queue to pull you along once more. You didn’t mind the comfortable silence that fell over the two of you. Just as it was easy to speak with the fae, it was so, so easy to enjoy the tranquility with him. There was no pressure to fill the void for it was already with the other’s presence alone. What more could you ever ask for?

Nothing, that is what Malleus hoped your answer would be.

You were the only person who understood him, who could peer into his eyes and see him as more than the Crowned Prince of Briar Valley, or one of the five most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland, or some to be both feared and revered, for you did none of that—rather, he yearned to worship you, but that was a conversation for much, much later. You didn’t treat him like something different. Through you, he could learn what it meant to be wanted.

Just as he wanted you.

You pulled your hand away from his, snapping him out of his thoughts. Once more, he stopped, and all too many emotions twisted his expression to something solemn.

“Sorry Hornton,” you spoke as you wiped your hand on your clothes. “My hand is really sweaty.”

Malleus frowned. “You have my apologies, child of man.” He took your hand between both of his, and you quickly caught on to what he was doing as tingles of cold licked your skin and dispersed the remaining sweat from your skin into nothingness.

“There, now our hands may remain entwined with one another.”

You had not the words to respond, and without realizing it, you were walking side by side with Malleus once more, hands clasped together, cooled by his magic so not even a single bead of sweat formed on your hand. It took minutes, many minutes to fully process Malleus’ kind and intimate gesture.

Although it was a bit of a dumb comment, you said, “Hornton, you don’t need to use your magic on me. I just get sweaty a lot.”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “I wish to hold your hand.”

And how could you say no to that?

“Okay.” Your cheeks were flushed pink, as were your ears, both from the cold and your own embarrassment.

As the two of you traversed the various tunnels, occasionally breaking the silence with short conversation, your heart beat fast in your heart like an overworked machine, pounding in your ear like a blaring siren, yet you felt this “siren” could only be good.

Malleus stopped you both after turning a corner and stood in front of you. He took your other hand in his and leaned close to your ear, muttering in a pleasantly spine chilling voice something so sacred to him, something taken for granted or spoken frivolously, something he knew you would not treat the same way.

With his given permission, you too handed over what to you was much the same, something so precious to the man before you, something that stirred the feelings in his heart and blossomed into something he’d never felt before.

This was true love.

────────────────────────────────────────────

The ornate halls of Noble Bell College were near-barren and almost eerily quiet. Only the sound of your footsteps echoing against a wooden floor shiny enough to be mistaken for glass or marble. You weren’t sure where you were in the school, despite having assured Malleus you knew exactly how to get to the others when he dropped you off. One could only imagine where he might be going so close to the social’s grandiose opening as most of the other guests and students prepared for the night’s spectacle that awaited them.

And what a spectacle it would be, but you didn’t know that.

”Good evening, Yuu.”

The sudden—and rather unpleasant—familiar voice that breathed into your ear nearly caused you to jump. You whipped your head around with a frown you couldn’t quite conceal when you were greeted with the sight of Rollo, who should have had plenty of other places to be in preparation for the event that was to come.

You swallowed your nerves and gave him a cordial response. “Good evening to you too, Rollo. Shouldn’t you be helping prepare for the social?”

Something in Rollo’s eyes seemed to jump out at you, trying to lunge forward and grab you, but his figure remained still. “Naturally I have many duties as the host of this masquerade.” He spoke with more venom than his greeting to you, but it was subdued as quickly as it appeared. “However, your absence from Night Raven College’s group upon their return did not go unnoticed. That familiar of yours was quite distraught, even to tears, if I may add.”

A pang of guilt hit your chest at the thought of Grim crying over your “disappearance”, especially so soon after the incident on the Island of Woe.

However, you replied with the one thing that had persistently been on your mind for much longer than you would openly admit. “What about Hornton? Did he go back with them?”

Rollo’s expression shriveled up like a raisin, and that was enough to brighten your spirits. You held back a laugh as he cleared his throat, letting his eyes fall shut momentarily in an effort to compose himself.

Funny, you seemed to catch him off-guard quite often.

Although Rollo knew who exactly this “Hornton” was, he feigned ignorance to preserve himself, or whatever other excuse he could conjure up to not acknowledge his enemy. ”Who do you refer to?”

”Malleus, I mean.”

Curse you for speaking his name, but bless you for not elaborating, even if you only didn’t to keep this conversation as brief as possible.

Curse those flames that raged in his heart, curse the fires of hell that licked at his feet, curse that malicious gleam in his eye that brought shame upon him.

Curse Malleus Draconia, yet another careless mage who found pleasure in the sin of magic.

Curse you, Yuu, for tempting a pious man into aphrodisia.

And curse Malleus Draconia once more, for threatening to take what was rightfully his.

Yet these curses were not spoken aloud. Rollo could not allow them to be more than fleeting thoughts, the ends of threads that painted his mind like a rainbow, chains that chastised his mind and left bruises in their wake. This was his own punishment, he needn’t act further.

”No, I have not seen him.”

Your shoulders dropped. It never crossed your mind to worry for Malleus’ safety before now. You didn’t want him to be alone, to miss the social (though you knew he wouldn’t be late after receiving a formal invitation), and you certainly didn’t want him to be in any danger.

Rollo could see the thoughts swarming your mind like a dark plague. This was his chance to be the light and show you the way.

”Surely you do not worry for the safety of the great Malleus Draconia? One could presume certain…feelings to be involved in such ways of thinking.” His voice shook as he spoke, which he masked with an expression of disgust as he fetched his handkerchief from his pocket.

Your cheeks flushed red before you could reply. The fiery pits of hell opened up for their next feast.

”Or, one might conclude such irrationality to be the work of magic.”

Everything was still in an instant, like  a photograph ingrained in your mind, but Rollo composed himself once more and replied in a softer tone. “Go to the bell tower. I shall not ask you to climb all of those steps, so please wait at the bottom. I have an important favor to ask of you.”

Just like a lonesome ghost, Rollo left with not a single sound.

────────────────────────────────────────────

Had he been any other man or woman, Rollo could have feigned flattery at the prospect of being stalked by what most considered ethereal beauty.

All he felt was disgust at the monster who refused to leave him alone with his vice for just a single moment.

”Malleus Draconia.” His voice rang through the empty hall.

The man in question could only give him half a proper reply. “Flamme.” He strode towards the shorter man with fear-invoking confidence, but it was Rollo’s intention to stand his ground. “I see you’ve made special plans tonight, hm?”

”Surely you jest. We only wish to show the very best to Night Raven College’s esteemed students, but I am afraid I am unfamiliar with what may be a proper way to display my gratitude to such a unique group of people.”

Malleus chuckled. “Gratitude? For what, Flamme?”

Silence washed over them as Malleus awaited a response with genuine curiosity behind those sharp eyes. Rollo’s lack of a response only fueled Malleus’ irritation. He couldn’t be up to any good, certainly not with the way he had been acting. Malleus wanted to see the best in him after receiving that invitation, but how could he not doubt his intentions or ignore the way the boy looked at what was his.

Without a response, Rollo turned and left, and Malleus let him leave, because he knew the answer he dreaded was soon to come.

Tag List: @girl-nahh-two

[jukipptx]

omg thank u so much for doing my request i loved ittttt!!! <3333 AND YES U SHOULD SOOO DO IT FOR THE OTHER MEMBERS

I’m sorry I disappeared. I have zero reasons about it, I just felt a little bit down in general 😪 but I’m feeling better and I’m still as delulu as ever 🥰🩷

Following the series, next is Jisung 😭 you’re both idols figuring it out I guess 👩🏻‍🦯 this one is so long omg I love jisung so much what do I do 😭😭😭😭😭 🩷 Requests are being written! And they’re still open 🎀🩷

- You both met backstage. It was merely a coincidence, an embarrassing one for Jisung who gets embarrassed about everything, but this one almost killed him literally. You crossed ways on the corridor, both your group and his. You didn’t know, but he already had an eye 👁️ on you. He thought you were cute omg 😭😭😭 but he would never ever EVER admit it. So when you crossed paths for the first time he was soooo nervous, wearing his embarrassing Candy fluffy outfit (embarrassing for him, because you thought he looked so cute). First of all he was so sweaty because they’ve just come back from stage, he was also so red just from realizing you were both about to cross paths. He thought maybe it was the perfect time for him to act cool and impress you, but it went the other way. Both your group and his group exchanged bows as it normally goes, but when it was Jisung’s turn to bow, his big fluffy hat went flying straight to your face because of how hard he bowed. You started cackling, you couldn’t help it, making your member hit you in your arm. Clearing your throat you picked his hat and gave it back to him who was all red and holding his laugh as well. “Nice hat” You said trying not to laugh again. “Nice laugh” He said, then he ran. And that was it, that’s when you knew you loved him hahahahahahaha it wasn’t that hard.

- The start of your relationship was full of what you thought were coincidental encounters, but little did you know they were carefully planned by Jisung. All of them mostly backstage at music shows. Finding him on the corridor constantly, not knowing he was coooonstantly looking at the performance schedule, systematically studying at what time you would perform and at what time you would go in and out of the waiting room. “Hi” “Hi Ji” “Jisung!” turned to “Baby” “Andy” in about 4 months time.

- Your first date was backstage as well. He didn’t want it to be, but it was what you both could manage. You basically had a picnic on your waiting room during your solo promotions where no one could see you. You both brought food from home and made yourselves comfortable with pillows and blankets and music with shared earphones 😭😭😭 Eventually you were caught by one of your members who came by to visit by surprise. Jisung went 😳, but when he was about to leave you held onto his hand and made him sit back down 😡 “This is Andy. He’s my boyfriend.” Is what you told your member. Jisung was speechless, he could only stutter a “hi”, but that’s how it happened.

- After meeting all of your members, he started chilling down. He started visiting your dorm from time to time, until it became an everyday occurrence, and then an every night occurrence 😅 He’s so quiet that no one ever caught him, until he met your manager at the door instead of you 🥶 He froze and then ran the other way. It took him two weeks to come back.

- Everytime he sees you, he brings a totally different and unexpected gift for you. Could be anything really!!! Chocolates, a beaded ring, a gallon of ice cream, anything with the letter J, a single flower or a 50 flower bouquet, a new puffer jacket, one of his hoodies, he’s very lowkey like that.

- Even though he was shy, he was so eager to reveal himself as your boyfriend to his and your fans. You doubted him a lot, but you accepted his idea of carrying each others photocard on your phone case. He said it was such a cute way to reveal it and that it would take some time for the fans to figure it out (it took a day or two…)

Ok it wasn’t as long as I thought… hope you enjoyed 🩷 I may or may not continue these series 🥶

[menhera-info-archieve]

how would you coordinate sunglasses into menhera? there's a great need for sunglasses where I live but not really many that fit with the aesthetic.

I would say the easiest approach would be to find sunglasses with a more subtle frame so they don’t clash with the outfit too much. Unless you can find something in a color you wear a lot so pink/white for yumekawaii, black for yamikawaii, etc. Most of the coords with sunglasses I could find had thin/wire frames but also often had lenses in colors that went with the outfit (which could be hard if you wear a variety of colors)

sources: 1 2 3

It’s been deleted, but at one point I saw someone make menhera glasses chains, so maybe you could diy one of those to make the sunglasses feel more a part of the outfit? They were sort of like these images below but used pills, crosses, hearts, etc as the beads.

sources: 1 2 3

I’ll also link a diy on how to make the chains in general (it’s basically just any method you could use to make a necklace but then you need to add the eye glass chain connectors on the ends)

Lastly, If you’re willing to have a menhera specific pair of sun glasses you can carefully glue things on the frames (especially if they’re ones with thicker frames)

sources: 1/2 3

(For some reason all the bedazzled sunglasses I found were hearts. Though that would be cool it’s definitely not necessary)

Adding letter beads would be an easy way to make them menhera even if you can’t find “on theme” beads.

[stariisoda]

Arcana Themed Kandi Bracelets (PART 1)

The Main Six! (Left: Asra, Julian and Nadia/Right: Muriel, Portia and Lucio

Guess who got into Kandi making? Me. Wanted to make some Arcana inspired singles (cause that's all I can make lol)

So I went with the most obvious characters:the ones you can date in game.... Duhhh....

(I'm gonna make more, maybe the courtiers next???)

(Read for more photos and explanation)

Asra: I chose a heart charm that has a smaller heart inside of it for... Obvious plot reasons. Then the teal and purple because I think teal is their favorite color? I think? And purple because that's what I see when I think about him. Star beads because magic. Also, the little white tri-beads kinda look like bones from the side, so take that as you will.

Nadia: I picked an owl charm for her because it could either represent Chandra or The High Priestess. Her colors are mainly her color palette, and most of the beads are pearlesent.

Julian: There wasn't a raven, but this bird that kinda looks like a hummingbird? Whoops, I just couldn't find anything else that reminded me of him. So the bird is supposed to represent either Malak, The Hanged Man or a plague doctor mask (the beak is long lol) This one is pretty plain, having black beads in the back and two ab finish black beads in the front. And the red.

Muriel: You can't really see it in this angle, but I picked a house charm, because it reminds me of his little hut in the woods. Also Muriel's a home body. Used the tri-beads again for the same purpose as Asra. Chose big blocky letters because it better suits his vibe. And then more earthy tones, with the black ab beads for his cloak.

Portia: A cat charm to represent either Pepi or The Star. Star beads because The Star. Then the rest of it is just her color palette. (Don't know a whole lot about her, sorry)

Lucio: I picked a crown charm because... Because he's the count. Also it's so ugly, I honestly dislike his bracelet, despite him being my favorite character. I chose those awful gold beads because, let's be honest, Lucio would love that. Picked them because they were kinda over the top. (Originally was going to use the same letter beads as Asra and Nadia.) Uses small red beads and two faceted yellow beads at the front (looks like gems). The rest is his color palette, although it's mainly ab, pearl and glitter colors other than the red, which is solid. I made his bracelet ugly on purpose because he would probably have something like that. (Oh, he has his necklace haha)

Them all laid out together

Then all of them on my arm

Anyways, that's it for now! If you stayed to read all of that, thank you! I liked trying to come up with meanings behind them and designing each one.

I'm aiming to do the courtiers next 👀

[mushroommanstan]

Hiiii I really like your writing and I wanted to ask if you could maybe write something about the reader spending mothers day with College Tenko in their dorm. The reader comes back from the bathroom with red puffy eyes, upset because they don’t get to spend Mother’s Day with their mother (Being a college student and all) because they’re to far in distance but also emotionally distant. Tenko hugs them and tries awkwardly comforting them and accidentally lets slip that his mom is bead because of him. Then the reader tries comforting him as well. Idk but it would really mean a lot <3

College AU Tenko cheering you up on Mother’s Day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mom I-“

“Oh fuck off!”

A child should never hear that from their mother, especially when it’s directed at them. But clear as crystal your mom continued to curse you out until you felt your eyes dewing with tears. Dammit, dammit dammit dammit.

You know the state you left her in when you went away for college. Terrified, mad, constantly at war with her addiction and the landlord, dirt poor as she used any income she got to drown her insecurities in liquor. You had used your childhood cleaning up after her for the most part, but to say she was a terrible mom would be a lie. Despite everything in her life she… she always made sure to show her best side to you. She never struck you, never said anything hurtful despite how much she clearly wanted to, a way to make her small, depressed self feel big for just a moment. But she didn’t. Really, under the circumstances she was the best mom she could be.

She had always said college was a scam, and even if it wasn’t it was way too expensive. Just some daycare for spoiled brats so they can hurt themselves for a piece of paper, she’d say. But you always felt different. You’d always felt passionate in (y/p), and a place where you could really hone your skills, even just a little bit felt like heaven on earth. So you studied hard, worked your darnedest and got your scholarships before sending in your college applications. You got in, and it was the best feeling you’ve ever felt.

That was, until your mom found out. To say she was upset was an understatement. In fact, she tried ripping up your approval letters before you shoved her away. Then you two got into a fight where you said you didn’t want to end up like her, and without another word you left and never looked back, until now.

You’d think at-least on Mother’s Day she’d be just a little more forgiving, or at least affectionate. But here she was, cursing you out in her slurred, obviously drunk voice even though it was quite early in the morning. After a while you couldn’t handle it anymore, hanging up without even saying “happy Mother’s Day”.

You weeped, sitting on the toilet with your head in your hands as you cried in the most private place of Tenkos dorm room, his bathroom. (And even then it’s not so private ;) ). Door locked, you were content on riding this out by yourself when you heard the door to his room open.

Tenko walked in, and after previously being introduced to the Heathers musical last night which he absolutely adored, was singing “Candy Store” boisterously with a big ol’ grin on his face.

Why was he so happy? Well, because he got the new switch game of course. His asshole roommate Dabi is out of town, his favorite food place was having a sale, damn, it’s really shaping up to be a perfect weekend.

That was of course, until he just barely heard you sniffling over the sound of his own singing. He slowly stopped, dropping his things and pressing his ear to the door where he heard you sobbing.

Panic struck him, worried about you as he paced a little, calling out “you alright babe?”

You didn’t answer. You were in no frame of mind to be talking to him so you just hugged your knees on the toilet, crying onto your kneecaps.

He scratched his neck, nervously, wondering what he could do to get you out of there before he got an idea that had his lips curving up in amusement.

He pressed his cheek agains the door and sang “~Veronica, open the-open the door now, Verconica open the door!~”

Your head lifted off your knees, and you walked over to the door. Was he really-

“~Veronica can we not fight anymore please? Can we not fight anymore?~”

You giggled. God, what a dork.

He smiled when he heard you laugh, glad his “plan” was working.

“~Veronica I’m sure you’re scared I’ve been there, I can set you freee! Veronica don’t make me come in there! IM GONNA COUNT TO THREE!~”

He inhaled like the guy had in the musical, and you imagined he was holding his hand out in a fist like the guy had too.

“One.”

Your giggling stopped when you realized ‘wait, is he gonna kick down the door?’

“Two-fuck it!”

You backed away from the door as you heard him humming, seemingly moving farther away and when his humming came to a climax you braced yourself only to see a little paper slip under the door.

You walked over, picking it up and saw in his crummy handwriting “what’s wrong” with a little crude frowny face under it. You burst out in giggles, finally opening the door where Tenko was standing, relieved he got you out before his face morphed in worry at the sight of yours. Red puffy eyes, pink cheeks, lips trembling slightly.

He pulled you in for a hug, rubbing your back as he tried to calm you down. “What’s wrong babe?” He repeated, trying to find out so he can fix it for you, no matter what it takes.

You sighed. “Can we sit on the bed? I need’a talk.” He nodded, lowering carefully with you still in his arms which made him almost trip, but after a short moment he was able to sit down without any trouble.

You looked him in the eyes, taking a deep breath before telling him everything. Your love for your mom, your regret for betraying her, your anguish for her reaction, your grief for her situation. All the while he just listened, not saying a word as he gave you his complete focus, nodding and gasping at appropriate times.

“-And now I just-I don’t know what to do…” you finished, looking up at him hopefully, waiting for some insight.

Tenko hummed, patting your shoulder sympathetically, seemingly choosing his next action carefully, then he got up, walking over and picking up a small waste bin before sitting back down with you.

“I’m gonna tell ya some stuff… it’s not gonna be easy-” he looked away from you. “-for a number of reasons, but… I think ya need to hear it.”

He hugged the waste bin in his lap, before getting up and rummaging around under his bed. His back still to you, he began “I told you my parents died, right?”

You sighed at the reminder, putting your head in your hands. “Yes… I’m so sorry.” Damn, you’ve been whining and bitching about your own mom to a guy who doesn’t even have one anymore. You’re such an asshole.

Rising, in his hands he held a medium size cardboard box, which written on it in big bubble letters said “PRIVATE! DO NOT OPEN!”

He sat down on the bed with you again, rummaging around in his hoodie pocket this time and pulling out ‘Father’.

“And you know about this guy? Father?”

You winced at the sight of it, turning away not wanting to look at the mangled, cold severed limb any longer else you puke. “Y-yeah.” If there’s one thing you couldn’t stand about the guy, just one thing, it had to be… that.

“Well… there uh, there’s something you should know.”

You could feel yourself becoming lightheaded when he took the lid off the box, wobbling a little in complete shock and disgust at the number of hands that lied inside. Oh… my… god…… there’s-there’s more of them! So, much, more!

You nearly fainted by the way the lifeless hands flopped on top one another as he rummaged through the box, before he found what he was looking for and presented a seemingly identical grey hand in front of you.

“This… is my mom.” He paused, before smiling. “Say hi mom!” He waved it at you, giggling, and upon seeing your completely horrified face decided “right, not funny, my bad.”

He took a deep breath, and in that moment you asked “w…why…what-Tenko what the hell is…?”

“I’ll tell you.” He replied, placing the severed hand in his lap and stroking it absentmindedly with his thumb.

“When… when I was younger… I did something bad. I was a late bloomer in the quirk department, and when it finally came I didn’t… I didn’t know what was going on.”

His eyes dewed with tears, and your attention was drawn away from the box and towards your emotional boyfriend. You placed your hand on his knee reassuringly, and he placed his on yours, thumb now stroking over your warm skin rather than the cold dead flesh of his late mother.

“I killed my dog first. Then my sister came out to apologize for something earlier and… and I…” he wiped his eyes. “I killed her too. Then my mom came out and just as she tried to hug me I-I” his voice was wavering, and you felt your own tears building from his sad story. Then his stomach gurgled loudly, and he raised a finger to let you know he needed a moment before grabbing the waste bin and hurling in it. You gagged, not being able to handle seeing other people vomit.

His head rose from the rim of the bin, and he panted, wiping his chin with his cuff before continuing. “Long story short… I killed them all. My whole family. And the guilt and shame has never left me since even though it wasn’t my fault.”

Honestly, he could’ve ended there. It was sad enough and you were already crying there along with him. But to your horror, he kept going.

“Then after like a week of, you know, not having a family or house and having to live on the streets like a stray dog, I was adopted by this guy named All For One. Turns out, uh oh, he’s a serial killer, and at the time he convinced me to be one too. Keep in mind I was like 6, real impressionable. He was able to morph my conscience by using my guilt against me, saying it was the heroes fault not mine. And to make sure I never get over it he turned the remaining bits of my family members into these hand mementos and made me wear them.”

You were both sobbing at this point, hugging each other before he pulled you back from him, wanting to look you in the eyes. “I-I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to end up like me. Please, feel bad and allow yourself to heal however you need to but just remember: it’s not your fault. It’ll be ok, you don’t have to go through this alone. Please just, do whatever you need to to move past this. Don’t get caught up in the past.”

Your eyes were tearing up again, this time out of the genuine love you felt for this man. He went through so much and he still has so much care and respect for your feelings, god you fucking love him.

You gave him a big ol’ kiss on the lips, placing your hand on the back of his head and deepening it when you felt your phone vibrate. It was your mom, she was calling you.

You looked at him in a panic but he looked back in such a reassuring, confident way it was able to ground you. Then, you held his hand and took the call, ending up in another fight with your mom but this time, it didn’t hurt so much because he was right there with you, letting you know it’ll be alright.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright so I can’t say I’m 100% happy with the ending, but I wanna get this out before the day ends sooooo

I was also pretty busy today so I couldn’t proofread so be understanding, I command thee.

Hope y’all had a good Mother’s Day, farewell for now.

[venus-haze]

Adam Raised a Cain (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: The Sinclair house is haunted. It always has been and always will be as long as it’s standing. It’s a house you can’t think straight in, always keeping you on edge. The inhabitants are haunted too, and the longer you stay there, the further into the mire you get dragged by a dead woman’s claws and a man who can’t seem to decide whether he hates you or not.

Note: This fic can be considered a companion piece to Howl, though you don’t have to read one to understand what’s going on in the other. The reader is a woman (who gets put through the wringer again) but no other descriptors are used. It should surprise no one that the title comes from a Springsteen song. I’m going with the draft script where Bo killed Trudy, but it’s only mentioned briefly. Also I headcanon the Sinclairs as being Catholic for the drama of it all, so there’s some of that sprinkled throughout, though I want to explore that more at some point. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Murder. Descriptions of violence involving weapons (guns and knives). Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Kidnapping and prolonged captivity which involves physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome, distorted sense of self. Unrequited crush (reader on Vincent). Threats of harm to one’s self. Descriptions of body horror on a victim and also parental abuse. Mentions of sexual content but nothing explicit. Do not interact if you are under 18. 

You didn’t have to meet Trudy Sinclair to know you hated her. Some place between nowhere and eternity, you hoped her incorporeal being ached every time her name was internally cursed upon by you. Her specter loomed throughout Ambrose, a shadow that somehow had a chokehold on your life, but more so on your—captor? boyfriend? fiance? Whatever Bo was to you, he made Trudy your problem too.

The day after Bo brought you up to the house, he made you go back down to Ambrose with him, giving you no indication of what he had planned except to wear black. When he brought you to the church, an odd building you hadn’t noticed before, you wondered if god could even be present in such a place. Regardless, he led you up the aisle, past the wax congregation and up to the coffin that lay before the altar where the wax priest was giving the funeral mass through a recording that played on loop. As if the scenario wasn’t morbid enough, Bo knelt in front of the open casket, and you followed his example, paying your respects to his wax-preserved, deceased mother. 

You’d gone to funerals before, seen relatives and friends done up in open caskets, one last hurrah before becoming food for worms. Trudy had been dead for at least a decade, you knew as much, but for a 10-years-dead bitch, she didn’t look half bad, all things considered. Her manicured hands, long red acrylic fingernails filed into what you could only call claws, were gripping a glass-bead rosary—you doubted she was a pillar of piety. Though, you could see her blonde wig was somewhat ajar, revealing what looked like an entry or exit wound on her temple. You knew better than to ask who shot her. 

Anything you did around the house was under Bo’s scrutiny, and you were constantly compared to Trudy. For a man who seemed to live on microwave dinners before you started cooking, he sure had a lot to say about every meal you prepared. His most common critique was “Ain’t how mama made it.” Especially for Trudy’s recipes, written in a feminine scrawl on discolored index cards that you painstakingly followed to the letter. Her recipes weren’t good, either. Unseasoned slosh despite living in proximity to the capital of Cajun cuisine in the States. 

Bo had seemed glad when you offered to clean up around the house, how quickly it seemed like you’d learned your place within the Sinclair household dynamic. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was with Bo. When you greeted him as expected when he returned home, with a warm kiss and a cold beer, he flew into a rage upon finding you had, in fact, cleaned. He somehow didn’t consider that cleaning involved you organizing belongings and throwing out garbage, ranting about how you can’t touch his stuff and now he can’t find anything. 

Mornings weren’t too bad. In fact, it was when things were most domestic with Bo, when you could best convince yourself that you were in a normal relationship with him. Morning sex with Bo was far tamer by his standards than any other time he’d have sex with you, and sometimes he’d actually kiss you during it. 

Despite technically not being on a schedule, he liked to be out of the house by 9 to work on whatever he did to keep Ambrose up and running. It didn’t matter whether or not you were an early riser, because he inexplicably was, and expected you to cook breakfast for him each day, a hot plate of whatever was in the fridge and a freshly brewed cup of coffee waiting at his seat by the time he sauntered downstairs. He’d greet you with a grin and a smack on the ass, as if you two were playful newlyweds.

Though you lived in the house, he didn’t entirely trust you, as he’d wait for you to eat your portion of whatever meal you’d cooked first before digging in. Playing house with Bo was far more stressful than you could’ve expected, though you hoped over time you’d get the hang of it. With the glittering ring adorning your finger, it seemed like he expected you to.

This particular morning was a pan of half a dozen scrambled eggs and a few slices of toast. You liked working with the radio on, cooking and cleaning during the day felt far less lonely with another voice around. Only three radio stations got any reception in Ambrose and one of them wasn't even consistent, as you found to your disappointment. Bo’s metal music was a collection of mixtapes made by various victims, which sent a chill down your spine as you briefly considered the implications. With your radio choices being country and oldies, you chose oldies, finding Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday the appropriate soundtrack to your Stepford Wives-esque existence. A lump always formed in your throat whenever Connie Francis came on, no matter the song. She was Trudy’s favorite singer, Bo had informed you one day.

You took your seat next to him, grabbing one of the nearby newspapers. Bo would bring you newspapers or magazines he got from victims. It was how you found out you’d been in Ambrose for nearly three months by the time he let you out from captivity beneath the gas station. At first, you scanned every one for some mention of your disappearance, but gave up hope after a few weeks. Instead, you resigned yourself to ripping recipes out of women’s magazines and preoccupying yourself with crossword puzzles and comic strips.

Still, you found the astrology sections interesting and read yours and Bo’s horoscopes over breakfast each morning. He hated when his was negative, even though he claimed “I don’t believe in that garbage,” so sometimes you’d have to improvise. The news of the world was increasingly foreign to you, and you found the trends and gossip in magazines vapid. 

“Whatcha got today?” he asked through a mouthful of eggs. 

Though the paper was from two days prior, your eyes drifted to your sign. “Luck in love.”

“Damn right, darlin’.”

“Yours says an unexpected stranger will help you.”

He made a noncommittal grunt, shrugging before downing the rest of his coffee. “I’ll try to make it back here for lunch, but I probably won’t be home till late tonight. You give Vincent a holler if you need somethin’.”

“Okay, I love you,” you said, as was expected.

He didn’t always say it back, but for some reason, he made you tell him you loved him before he left in the mornings. You wouldn’t fight it, not if it made his mood even remotely better than the mildly-pissed-off to furious states that he seemed to operate under. In that instance, he returned the sentiment with an unknown amount of sincerity, giving you a kiss before leaving his dirty plate and empty coffee mug behind for you to clean. 

You liked taking your time with your chores for the day. It was easier to cope with everything if you kept yourself too busy to start thinking too much. You flipped to the next page of the newspaper, reading some of the letters to the editor. 

Creaking stairs caught your attention, and you looked up from the paper, surprised to see Vincent making an appearance so early. He was more of a night owl and seemed to avoid Bo when he could. The first time you met him was awkward as hell, and you still found it difficult to make eye contact with him over it. Bo had been in the middle of fucking you on the kitchen counter when his twin emerged from his basement ‘studio.’ You were mortified, and Vincent seemed to be as well, since he began backtracking until Bo shot him a grin, “Good ‘a time as ever to make introductions.” At least Vincent had the decency to mostly leave you alone since then.

“Morning Vincent,” you said, petting Jonesy as she ran up to your side. “Breakfast’s scrambled eggs.”

He nodded in response, piling the cold eggs on a plate and sticking it in the microwave. You looked down at Jonesy. She was a sweet dog, but you saw her just about as often as you saw Vincent, since she seemed to be his shadow.

“Do you want coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

He looked at the coffee pot, considering it for a few moments before shaking his head. Unlike Bo, who drank half a pot of coffee every morning, Vincent would switch between coffee and tea in the mornings, at least the mornings you actually saw him. It wasn’t uncommon for Vincent to disappear for days at a time, though you always cooked enough for him, leaving a plate for him in the fridge.

Bo was a creature of habit, as you’d observed his strange and sometimes disturbing rituals living in the house with him, from drinking a beer as soon as he got home each evening to spending at least an hour visiting Trudy’s casket in church every Sunday at noon. Vincent seemed to do things sporadically, getting so involved in his work that you weren’t sure if he consistently ate let alone showered like he should. You knew they were twins, but even when you first met Vincent, you were aware of how different he was from Bo.

Of course, meeting Lester was nothing short of a shock to the system. You had felt like you were going crazy when you saw the man from the highway who’d directed you and your friends to Ambrose in the first place walk into the house with a friendly smile on his face while you were preparing lunch. Then Bo introduced him as his “kid brother” and Lester congratulated you for “shacking up” with Bo. The experience was dizzying and confusing, especially since you ended up getting along with Lester surprisingly well, having the closest thing to a regular, mundane conversation in months. He didn’t come up to the house very often, though.

Compared to Bo and Vincent, Lester seemed normal enough, though he was still complicit in your suffering and that of everyone else who came through Ambrose. You could barely piece together how it all started, when had their mother’s career warped into the surreal hell you found yourself in? Was it inevitable or avoidable? 

From the news clippings you’d seen throughout the house, Trudy was undoubtedly talented when it came to wax art, but you couldn’t tell whether the grainy, black and white photos of the wax figures she posed with were real, like how your friends ended up. Then again, Ambrose had been a small, bustling town with real people to notice if tourists went missing. Once the highway was built and the sugar mill shut down, everyone left but the Sinclairs. Not that there was anywhere else for them to go, since Dr. Sinclair was practicing medicine unlicensed in Ambrose and Trudy’s skills didn’t have much of a practical application outside of being an eccentric and volatile small town celebrity. 

You noticed that Bo rarely mentioned his father, and when he did, it was only in the context of his mother. There were no stories about playing catch with his old man or going to car shows together. If the myriad of rusted surgical tools laying around the house were any indication, you had a good guess as to how Bo bonded with his father, since Vincent seemed to get most of his mother’s attention. You could practically see Bo–young, devious, and starving for some kind of positive parental attention–kissing up to his father with claims that he wanted to be a doctor just like him someday. He probably ended up with a front row seat to the illegal and risky procedures that Dr. Sinclair performed in the family home. The one time you had to go into the dusty room that was the late Dr. Sinclair’s office, you almost passed out at the sight of the surgical bed that looked far too much like the one you had been strapped to for months beneath the gas station. 

By the time you looked up from the newspaper, not having read a word of the letters to the editor, Vincent was gone, and Jonsey along with him. You sighed, figuring it was about time to start cleaning up from breakfast and get to the laundry list of tasks for around the house. As a result of none of the Sinclair brothers keeping up very good care of the place, there was a lot that had to be done in the way of cleaning. You hated it when you had to point out yet another part of the house that needed repairs to Bo. It was necessary, but you sure as hell didn’t want to push your luck by seeming like you were nagging him. Some days you really thought he was going to call it and either bring you back to the basement or kill you. You weren’t sure which option scared you more. 

After cleaning up from breakfast, you began the task of cleaning out Lester’s old bedroom. He’d assured you that he had taken everything he needed when he moved into his own place and gave you the okay to throw away whatever you found in there. It would be a long undertaking, as you discovered when you first looked in the room, full of junk and smelling rancid. You had a bucket of cleaning supplies that you kept under the kitchen sink, all of which Bo had bought for you under the pretense that if you tried something smart with the cocktail of chemicals, he’d pour bleach down your throat himself. 

Equipped with yellow rubber gloves and a dozen trash bags, you began cleaning your way through the room. It seemed Lester had developed his knack for taxidermy in his childhood bedroom before moving out, as you found roadkill in various states of preservation in a cardboard box. You shoved it all in a garbage bag, resisting the urge to gag at the smell. 

Despite the monumental cleaning job before you, you were confident in your ability to make the room habitable–for whom, you weren’t exactly sure, but it’d be better than the state it was in. It had gotten to be a little past noon when you decided to go through one more box before taking a break for lunch. You’d set aside some things you found that Bo might want, figuring it best to check with him after the fit he threw when you cleaned his room.

When you opened a small, dusty box in the closet, your eyes widened upon seeing a pistol laying amongst other junk. You weren’t sure if it was even real, let alone usable, but holding it in your hands sent a shockwave through you. Dropping everything, you sprinted into your and Bo’s room, finding a shoebox with a pair of heels you never wore shoved toward the back corner of the closet. Your breath caught in your throat when you heard the front door open, Bo calling for you. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to be home. Haphazardly, you threw the gun in the box, pushing it back in place before rushing downstairs.

“What’s kept you so busy?” he asked, regarding you with suspicion.

“Lester’s old room. I lost track of time,” you explained, sweat beading at your forehead.

To your relief, he laughed. “Shit, I don’t even wanna think about what’s in there. If you still got an appetite, I picked up somethin’ to eat while I was in town.”

“That sounds great. Let me wash up,” you said, giving him a kiss before heading into the bathroom.

You turned on the sink, holding your hands under the running water until it was too hot to touch, pulling your stinging hands away and staring at them. Less than five minutes ago, you had a gun in your hands, a get out of jail free card, and now you were going to eat lunch with a man who made your life miserable. 

Bo had already helped himself to one of the burgers he’d bought from McDonald’s the next town over. You sat down in your seat, munching on the cold french fries that had spilled onto the table. The food wasn’t necessarily good, but it gave you some comfort with its familiarity. He was in an unusually good mood, which you were sure wouldn’t last, so you relished in it, allowing yourself the luxury of pretending you were having a normal lunch with your normal boyfriend. He told you a funny story about a woman falling over in a hardware store he’d stopped in for supplies. Sure, it was mean-spirited, but the way Bo told the story had you nearly doubled over.

“You got a great laugh,” he said with a smile. 

“Thank you,” you said, shocked and flattered by the compliment.

His eyes were bright as he looked at you, but it didn’t last. His expression became serious, and he picked up his hat from where he’d placed it on the table. “I better head back out. I’ll see ya later, darlin’.”

“Okay, I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said, kissing your cheek before leaving.

After cleaning up the mess from lunch, long enough to be sure you were in the clear, you raced back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind you as you retrieved the shoe box from its hiding spot. Adrenaline rushed through you as you picked up the gun, staring at it in awe.

You bit your lip, silently praying to whatever deity may have been out there that if they could give you one thing, it’d be to not accidentally set off the gun while you tried to figure out whether or not it even had any bullets in it. Of course, as soon as it made some kind of clicking noise, you shoved it back in the box. Vincent was more than likely in his studio, but with how he’d spontaneously make appearances in the house, you didn’t want to take a chance.

As you went back to cleaning Lester’s old room, you tried not to let your discovery burn through your mind. It was so hard not to, though, not when for the first time in months you actually had a chance. You had to plan, knowing better than to be sloppy and impulsive when it came to Bo and Vincent. 

While Bo liked to have his routine, his schedule could be unpredictable, especially if tourists came into town. You avoided Vincent’s studio, but knew it connected to other parts of town through a tunnel system. Both brothers were capable of ending you in an instant. They knew Ambrose’s layout by heart whereas you’d only actually seen the town on a handful of occasions, and very briefly at that.

Noticing the sky getting dark through the window, you set your racing thoughts aside to focus on cleaning. Easier said than done since you dreaded nighttime, the sunset marking the end of the day, when you’d have Bo’s undivided attention. The evening was routine, as he expected you to wait by the door for him with a cold beer and a warm kiss when you heard his truck pull up outside. The two of you would eat while he talked about his day, but from there, it was a crapshoot. It didn’t matter whether his mood was good or bad, you inevitably ended up manhandled into bed at some point in the night to scratch whatever itch he had. 

Bo wouldn’t be back until late, but you weren’t sure what to make for dinner. Sometimes he’d request certain dishes, and others you’d just have to hope he liked whatever you cooked. Even if he complained, he still ate what you served him. 

You headed downstairs, dragging the garbage bags filled with junk behind you. While you still had a ways to go before you’d consider Lester’s old room clean, it was nice seeing evidence of your hard work. Calling out to Vincent, you let him know that you were going to bring the trash out. He’d hear you go out there anyway, but you quickly learned it was a lot less trouble if you let him know beforehand.

The night air was cool as you threw bag after bag into the garbage cans outside the house. You weren’t sure where Bo took everything when he’d load up the back of his truck every week. Out of sight, out of mind, you supposed. 

Rushing back into the house and out of the cold, you quickly decided to make some kind of soup, hoping there’d be adequate ingredients for it in the fridge. A major downfall of not being able to get your own groceries meant having to rely on Bo to grab the food you requested and not whatever he felt like throwing into the cart.

Just about everything you needed was in the kitchen, and oddly enough, you felt excited for Bo to come home for dinner, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding that loomed over you as you chopped and sautéed vegetables. Things always seemed to balance in Ambrose. Bo’s unusually good mood earlier in the afternoon would be matched with a horrific one when he got home.

You unfortunately experienced such in your stint in the basement dungeon below the gas station, the fresh scars on your body evidence of this. As much as you used to pray for predictability, you hated knowing something horrible was about to happen next. 

The soup was almost to your taste when you heard Bo’s truck pull up outside. Grabbing a can of beer from the fridge, you tried to hold out hope, you’d go crazy if you didn’t. 

As soon as you heard the way he stomped up the front steps, you could feel all of the butterflies in your stomach die one by one. The door swung open to reveal Bo, covered in blood and sweat. Whatever victims had come into Ambrose put up a fight he clearly wasn't expecting.

He grabbed the can of beer from you, throwing it across the room, leaving a fresh hole in the drywall. You ran into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and rushed back into the living room, only to find him sitting at the kitchen table.

You pulled up a chair close to him, setting out the first aid kit on the table. At a glance, it seemed like his wounds were mostly superficial, so you assumed most of the blood wasn’t his. Still, there was a decent looking cut on his forehead above his left eye.

“I swear to god this shit’s more trouble than it’s worth sometimes,” he mumbled. 

You didn’t respond, trying to carefully pour peroxide onto a cotton ball, only for some of it to spill onto the kitchen floor. 

He grabbed the cotton ball from your hand, pressing it against his forehead as he hissed out, “You sure are too, when all you’re good for is gettin’ fucked. Mama would be rollin’ if she knew a slut like you was in her house.”

Your jaw clenched. You wouldn’t even be in the damn house if it weren’t for him. It wasn’t like you’d invited yourself. He was trying to get a rise out of you, make you feel as awful as he was feeling. That was his M.O. when he was feeling down, drag everyone down with him.

“What? You got somethin’ to say?”

The clock read 13:77 when you reached for the gun you hid in your pocket. Since when did this dress have pockets? Wordlessly, you stood up, firing three shots into Bo’s chest. His expression was almost cartoonish as the chair tilted back and crashed onto the floor, his head rolling away from his body like a bowling ball.

You awoke with a start. The dream seemed so real up until the end. You almost went upstairs to see if Bo was still alive. You had patched him up, and he had made his cruel comments toward you. In reality, the interaction ended with his demanding you sleep on the couch as he wasn’t in the mood to fuck you, and that was the only reason he let you in his bed in the first place. You were nothing short of humiliated and furious when you laid on the couch with a worn out blanket, crying yourself to sleep into one of the smelly throw pillows.

As you shifted, you noticed another blanket in much better condition was on top of you. It felt like some kind of quilt, not that you could tell in the dark. You hated that your broken ass brain made you love Bo regardless of everything he did to you, when clearly Vincent was considerate enough to cover you with a real blanket.

After about an hour or so of tossing and turning, you fell back asleep. With no alarm around, you could only hope to wake up in time to make breakfast for Bo. There were no dreams of gunshots or decapitated heads this time.

A little after six in the morning, you woke up to the sound of Vincent rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. You sighed in relief. Sure, it was earlier than you were used to getting up, but you could possibly sneak a nap in during the afternoon if Bo was out for the day. You hoped he would be. 

You looked at the thick quilt that was covering you, noticing dried bloodstains on it. Other than that, it was in pretty good condition and appeared to be handmade. You wondered who made it, and when. Right away you knew it wasn’t Trudy’s work, all she seemed to have cared about when she was alive was wax sculptures and terrorizing her children. It probably came from a victim, a family heirloom they had brought along with them when their trip ended prematurely in Ambrose. The thought made you push the quilt off of your body.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you were surprised to see Vincent still there. He always made his trips upstairs short and scarce. 

“Thanks for the blanket,” you said.

He hesitated before nodding. 

“Is there anything special you want for breakfast?” 

You watched as he opened one of the cabinets, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms. 

“I figured you must be the one eating the cereal. Bo got so mad when I tried giving him Froot Loops one morning, I just gave up on it,” you said.

Vincent shrugged as he poured the cereal into a bowl with a worn out Snoopy design on it.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

His head shot up in your direction, so quickly it nearly startled you. You recognized him signing ‘No.’

“Well, let me know if I am, okay?” you said. “I–um–I can go, if you want to eat in here.”

He motioned with his thumb toward the basement. Right. Two new victims needed his attention. Still, you found it odd he even ventured upstairs. Usually he’d have to be torn away from his work by Bo, insisting he needed to take a break. Even then, he’d do so quickly and reluctantly until his sculptures were finished. 

You took your time making breakfast but weren’t sure what to expect when you heard Bo coming down the stairs. You’d been on the receiving end of his wrath plenty of times, from blunt knives to bloody fists, you’d taken it all from him–as if you had a choice. Still, he’d never cast you out like that before.

He stood in the doorway almost awkwardly, and you acknowledged his presence with a slight nod. With this, he closed the distance between the two of you, and you tensed up.

“Missed you last night,” Bo said, leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t banished you to the couch.

Those words were the closest to an apology you were going to get. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted to hear him say ‘I’m sorry’. If he ever uttered that phrase, something would have to be terribly wrong. Everything was your fault anyway. It always was.

You shook your head, giving him a forced smile. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

That was it. Your apology and admission of wrongdoing tied up neat in a bow for him. Unfortunately, his expression fell, and you wracked your brain for what you left out of your statement. Clean, crisp, and concise, there was nothing wrong with it. Why wasn’t he happy with you doing what was expected? 

He didn’t respond after that, and breakfast was mostly silent. You sure as hell weren’t going to initiate conversation with the man who made what he thought about you more than clear the night before, ruining what had been such a good afternoon that you had been looking forward to him getting home. Trying to pretend with Bo was pointless. He always ran his mouth and ruined it. 

You were relieved when he left for the day and didn’t return until late in the evening. Though you did what was expected, as always, there was a coldness to your actions. In your heart, you’d forgiven him for so much despite him not deserving any of it, but the way he treated you the night before stuck with you more than anything else he’d done. 

Your cool attitude toward him thawed over the next few days, getting into the normal routine as he graciously allowed you to share a bed with him again after three nights of roughing it alone, him in his bed and you on the old couch that made your back hurt. Three nights wasn’t even that long, but somehow the separation had made him insatiable, as he practically devoured you as soon as you stepped foot in his room. Hours had passed by the time he finally stopped–your wrists were bruised, lip bleeding profusely, salty tear tracks drying out the delicate skin on your face. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Even though there weren’t as many tourists coming through Ambrose, and even during the “busy season” they were few and far between, Bo almost always had something to do in the wax town or errands to run in the next town over. Lester had come by to visit more often, which lifted your mood. Conversations with him tended to be on the lighter side.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a look at your old room? There’s still a lot of stuff in there,” you said.

“Most of it ain’t mine. I’ve lived on my own for a long time now,” he answered.

“How far is your place from here?”

“Few miles. Maybe you can visit soon.”

What you wouldn’t give to spend a few hours outside Ambrose, even if it was at Lester’s house. You were dying for a change of scenery. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. I’ll have to ask Bo.”

“I can’t see him sayin’ no. He’s got a real soft spot for ya.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you gave Lester a smile before letting him steer the conversation elsewhere. What the fuck about your split lip indicated anything soft was going on with Bo? You didn’t want to begin thinking about how he treated his other partners. You nearly laughed at yourself–as if Bo considered you remotely equal to him. Besides, your affection had shifted toward his twin not long after the blanket incident.

When you weren’t cleaning Lester’s old room or doing routine chores around the house, you’d hang out downstairs with Vincent. You asked him several times if you were bothering him, but as no victims had come through Ambrose in a few weeks, he wasn’t as busy. He worked on projects that had fallen to the wayside in the urgency of creating with his living subjects. 

The studio was silent, save for the opera music, but sometimes you’d have long, rambling, mostly one-sided conversations. After months of giving short answers to Bo in fear of his temper, it was nice to vocalize what you were thinking, mundane observations and surface-level feelings. 

You knew what Vincent had done, what he was capable of, but when you’d watch him work, shaping and molding the wax like it was second nature, you couldn’t help but admire his artistry. His hands were big and strong like Bo’s, but there was a softness to them. You wondered what they’d feel like on your skin, if he’d hold you, caress you with the gentleness that Bo was deeply lacking. 

If Bo was aware you had been spending your free time with Vincent, he didn’t say anything about it. Sometimes you’d look at Bo, trying to imagine his face on Vincent’s body. You’d only ever seen Vincent with his mask on, and there were no photos of him maskless anywhere in the house. You wondered if his expressions would be like Bo’s, if he could channel the same meanness his twin did. In the part of your mind that was still a hopeless romantic, you pictured him looking at you fondly. 

To your dismay, a victim had come to Ambrose, which meant you wouldn’t see Vincent for some time. As much as you allowed yourself the silly fantasies in your head and tried to romanticize him as an artist, you knew you’d never be able to stomach that overwhelming aspect of his craft. He was just as much of a killer as Bo, but you never had to witness such.

It was only a matter of time. You knew that, but you didn’t expect it to happen as soon as it did. 

You decided to make shrimp fried rice for dinner, having a craving for Chinese food and finding a promising recipe in a magazine Bo had given you. The dish was almost done when you heard an unusual noise coming from the basement. Victims usually struggled before Vincent subdued them, but this sounded different. 

As you considered whether or not to investigate, a frantic footfall that definitely wasn’t Vincent’s became louder as they ascended the stairs. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. 

The person before you hardly looked human, and you froze at the sight of him until he uttered a garbled “Help!”

Immobilized by fear, you couldn’t do anything but scream at the sight of the grotesque man before you. Nude and completely hairless, his body was littered with fresh wounds that had been inflicted and stitched up by Vincent. 

You scrambled backward, falling on your ass as you heard Vincent storming up the stairs. He grabbed the pan that was on the stove and followed the man into the living room. You could hear their struggle from your spot on the floor until there was a clang and a disgusting gurgling noise. The sound of the pan crashing to the ground made you jump. 

Vincent grunted, not sparing you so much as a glance while he dragged the man back downstairs. You tried not to throw up at the sight of the raw, burnt skin on the man’s head. 

It took you a few minutes to pull yourself together enough to stand up. Cautiously, you walked over to the door frame, feeling your stomach churn at the mess on the floor. At a loss for how to begin cleaning it up, you grabbed your tub of cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink and hoped they’d do the job. 

Your hands shook as you put on the yellow rubber gloves. You tried to use the broom and dustpan to sweep up the fried rice on the floor, only finding it stuck to the bristles because of the blood it had been mixed with in the scuffle. Gagging, you pulled the clump off and threw it into the dust pan. A combination of cleaning sprays at least masked the rancid smell with bleach and lemon, and you coughed every few minutes as you used sponges and paper towels to clean the floor.

Besides yours and your friends’ victimization in Ambrose, you’d never been directly confronted with what the Sinclair brothers did. Bo rarely allowed you to leave the house, and Vincent’s subjects were brought to his studio through the various trap doors and tunnels beneath the town. You’d certainly heard things, but seeing the worst of it for yourself was harrowing. 

You scrubbed the floor frantically as you heard Bo’s truck pull up, trying to think of how you were going to explain what had happened in his absence, the snafu in the dinner he expected when he’d come home. Your brain seemed to short circuit as you tried to decide whether to keep cleaning or make a run to the fridge and grab him a beer. 

The front door swung open, and Bo’s rare good mood collapsed at the scene before him. You didn’t dare acknowledge his presence, too afraid to speak. You weren’t even sure if you could.

“What the fuck happened here?” Bo asked, observing you cleaning the mess of blood and fried rice on the floor.

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered, your hand shaking as you pointed toward the kitchen. “Vincent—“

“Darlin’, go upstairs,” Bo said. 

You looked at the floor and then back up to him. 

He grabbed your arm and helped you onto your feet. “Y/N, I want you to go upstairs. Now.”

His rare use of your name caught your attention, and something in you snapped. Calling you by your name as if he knew you, as if he hadn’t made sure Y/N was long dead by the time he let you out of that basement. You wrenched yourself from his grasp and ran upstairs, not bothering to shut the door behind you as you curled up on his bed and began sobbing.

Sure, the incident scared you, and you felt guilty for not doing more to help the man. The feeling that most overwhelmed you, however, was heartbreak. It was stupid to have conjured up a romanticized version of Vincent in your mind, yet it was alarmingly easy to do so when you never witnessed any of his brutality firsthand. He was as violent as Bo, cruel too, but it manifested differently. You wailed at the crushing weight of the realization that you wouldn’t have been better off if he found you first. You would have ended up just like the man in the kitchen, your former friends, everyone else in Ambrose. He wouldn’t have saved you. He wouldn’t have given you a second thought. 

As much as Bo made your life hell, at least you were still alive. After years of feeling average and overlooked, he saw something worthwhile in you, worth keeping around—or maybe you were just desperate and weak enough for him to break you so easily. You wanted to claw your insides out for loving him anyway. 

“Doll?” Bo asked tentatively by the doorframe, the first time he ever seemed remotely nervous around you. 

You quickly gave up trying to respond coherently, rolling over and screaming into his pillow until your throat hurt and your head ached. It wasn’t fair. You tried so hard to show him you deserved to be in his house, in his bed, and it never seemed like enough. 

When you looked at him through hazy, tear-filled eyes, you expected to see that all too familiar smug expression on his face whenever you cried. Instead, he was sending next to the bed, his eyebrows furrowed in the closest thing to concern you figured he could manage. 

“You got spooked, huh?” he asked softly.

A pained noise came from your throat in response. No shit. You wished he would take the initiative to hold you, to comfort you. You knew better than to hope he cared about you, but at least he could pretend. Instead, to your further disappointment, you had to be the one to initiate any kind of tenderness.

Feeling pathetic as ever, you uttered, “Will you just hold me?” 

He sighed, his heavy footfall punctuating his reluctant non-answer. The mattress dipped as he got onto it, wrapping his strong arms around you as he gave you an imitation of the comfort you craved. You buried your face in his chest. His emotional constipation wasn’t entirely his fault. The affection and care that most people grew up with in one way or another had almost no presence in Bo’s upbringing, his wrists and ankles were evidence of that. 

Speculation and “what if’s” did you no good, though. No amount of empathizing with him could ever undo a fraction of what he’d done to you, not to mention the dozens of other people who met their end in Ambrose. Suddenly, you felt disgusted by his touch, regretting your request for it in the first place. It was insincere, disingenuous, a way to placate you until next time, and the time after that, and after that, too. Sobs wracked through your body again as you considered going through this song and dance again for the rest of your life, however short or long that would be. To your dismay, he held you closer.

You cried yourself to sleep in his arms. The room was pitch black when Bo shook you awake, claiming you started screaming. You had no reason to doubt him. Despite the darkness and false sense of calm, you had trouble falling back asleep.

The following morning, panic rushed through you when you awoke late in the day, Bo nowhere in sight. All you could think about was how pissed he’d be that you hadn’t started breakfast for him yet. You practically sprinted out the bedroom door and almost fell down the stairs in your rush to the kitchen. 

He was already leaning against the messy counter, eating some concoction he’d made for breakfast directly from the frying pan. It was the first time you’d ever seen him attempt to cook. By the looks of it, you could understand why he left that to you.

“Bo, I’m so sorry. I overslept—“

“Don’t worry about it, darl’,” he said nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t made it clear in the past that this was one of the few tasks your survival hinged on. “Why don’t you take it easy today. I’ll even bring home somethin’ so you don’t have to cook dinner.”

“Thank you,” you uttered in disbelief.

He glanced at the kitchen clock, setting down the frying pan as if he had a boss who’d chew him out if he was late for work. “I gotta get goin’. I’ll check on ya later.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his—chaste, routine, robotic. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said quickly.

Just like that, he left without incident. Reluctantly, you grabbed the frying pan—a different one from the night before, thankfully—he’d just set down, regarding the slop he’d cooked for himself with apprehension. You weren’t sure if it was edible enough for Jonesy to finish. Deciding to spare the dog from Bo’s attempt at cooking, you dumped what was left of the food in the garbage and while washing the pan, considered what to make yourself for breakfast. You ended up making plain toast before trudging your way back upstairs to yours and Bo’s shared bedroom. 

Shutting the door behind you, you dug your shoebox out of the closet and opened it, staring at the pistol that was nestled between your heels. The damn thing had been burning a hole in your conscience for weeks. It kept you on edge, yet was a source of comfort. You knew it wouldn’t last. It’d only be a matter of time before Bo found it, and you tried not to think about what he’d do to you then. 

After all, anyone else in your situation would have acted as soon as they found the gun. Instead you sat on it, telling yourself it wasn’t the right time, that you needed to plan more. It was all lies. Bo’s undivided attention was torture, but it was all yours. 

Besides, going back to a “normal” life after your months in Ambrose would be a struggle in itself. After the pity wore off, people would regard you with frustration for not getting over it fast enough. You’d seen as much with acquaintances who’d gone through traumatic events. The rest of your life would be punctuated with regular therapy sessions and taking a cocktail of medications to curb the nightmares and PTSD from your experiences. It sounded exhausting, and you were already so tired. You’d rather be broken with Bo than broken on your own.

You spent the next few hours lying in bed, considering where to go from there. Having been confronted with the worst of the Sinclair family, brutal and cruel and ruthless, it was only a matter of time before it consumed you too. 

As much as you wanted to sleep, you were afraid to, unsure of what nightmares await if you closed your eyes for too long. Instead, you stared at the wall and thought over everything that happened in the past 24 hours, replaying the incident over in your mind.

Rage filled your chest at the thought of Vincent, who hadn’t paid you any mind since the previous night, not even to check on you. He never did. At least Bo felt bad enough to give you the day off, even though he had no involvement in the incident. You couldn’t believe you had convinced yourself Vincent cared about you. It was always you initiating conversations, making yourself at home in his studio, thinking he might enjoy the company. He was only tolerating you for Bo’s sake.

Your lip trembled as you considered how lonely you felt. If one of them didn’t kill you, loneliness would do it eventually. After all, if you were going to be in such a fucked up situation, couldn’t you have the slightest bit of happiness to make your survival worth it.

Bo returned home not long after the sky became dark. While you went downstairs to meet him, you didn’t rush. You half expected him to be annoyed with you for not having a beer in hand for him, but instead, his expression lit up when he walked back into the living room from the kitchen. 

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bo said with a smile as he put his arm around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He looked at you with a gleam in his eye that you hesitated to identify as adoration. You assumed too much of Vincent and found out the hard way that you were wrong. In your hours of wallowing, you came to the conclusion that if Bo didn’t love you, you’d rather be dead. 

“I wasn’t sure what ya wanted, so I went a little crazy,” he said, gesturing to the three Olive Garden takeout bags on the counter. “Figured you probably haven’t eaten today.”

“I need to get something from upstairs first,” you said. “Is that okay?”

He nodded. “‘Course, just be quick. Food’ll get cold before ya know it.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek before making your ascent upstairs. As soon as you walked back into the bedroom, you exhaled, trying to ground yourself despite your thoughts doing laps around your brain. No more talking yourself out of it. If you were going to stay with Bo, you needed him to know you were serious, that you couldn’t take the hot and cold attitude anymore. Either he wanted you, or he didn’t.

Opening the shoe box, you stared at the gun for what must have been a few minutes too long, because you flinched in shock when you heard Bo calling for you from downstairs. Grabbing the gun, you felt adrenaline rush through you as you went back downstairs with it in your hand. You almost wanted to go ahead and fire it just to see what would happen. 

His eyes widened, jaw clenched upon seeing you holding the gun. “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it while I was cleaning.”

You cocked the gun, and his chair scraped against the linoleum floor as he got up from the table, lip curled in a sneer. When you lifted the gun to your temple, however, determination seemed to leave his body as he froze in place.

“Do you love me?” you asked.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “Put the fuckin’ gun down, and we can talk.”

Your voice was loud and uneven as you demanded an answer. “Do you love me?”

“I—what is this about?”

“I can’t go back to a normal life now. I can’t fucking leave here, but I can’t keep saying ‘I love you’ to a man who doesn’t mean it when he says it back,” you said. 

It was the most you’d spoken to him since he brought you down to that basement all those months ago. Used to brief answers from you, the severity of the situation finally seemed to dawn on him. His hands were half raised as he inched toward you, the handler shit out of luck without a taser or tranquilizer to subdue the lion that had escaped its cage.

“I don’t want you to blow your brains out in our kitchen, doll. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya, just put the gun down,” he said, trying not to raise his voice despite the bulging veins in his neck indicating how bad he wanted to scream at you.

Our kitchen. You were holding a gun to your own head and that was the best he could do. Then again, if he really didn’t give a shit, he could have called Vincent up to help, though you’d be dead by the time his twin reached the kitchen. Perhaps he wanted to do it himself, already having your death elaborately planned out and unwilling for you to take that from him. You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. Our kitchen would do.

He jolted as you slammed the gun down on the table, rattling the silverware. His eyes widened as he looked from it to you. Holding his gaze, you lifted your hand from the weapon and took a step back. 

He wasted no time grabbing it, nostrils flaring as he pushed you back into the counter. The cold barrel of the gun pressed beneath your chin so you held eye contact with him. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he yelled, a scowl on his handsome face, chest heaving as he came down from the adrenaline rush. “Givin’ me half a fuckin’ heart attack while I’m tryin’ to eat my goddamn dinner. I wouldn’t go to none ‘a this trouble if I didn’t love you—“

His rant was muffled by your mouth on his, your hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing his Adam’s apple. He growled into your mouth, setting the gun down on the counter to pull you closer in what was more teeth and tongue to be considered a kiss. 

“You don’t got any other secrets you’re keepin’ from me, do ya?” he asked almost breathlessly as he pulled away from your lips far too soon for your liking.

You shook your head. “That was it.”

“Where’d you hide it?”

“Shoebox in the closet.”

His eyes widened at your response. He hadn’t expected you to have it in the first place, but especially not under his nose the whole time. You were either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, probably a mix of both. Yet the fact that you had plenty of chances to use it and never so much as pointed it at him spoke to the desperate devotion you had for him. God, you might as well have just recited your wedding vows.

He licked his lips, “Maybe I can let ya help me out in town sometimes.”

“You mean it?”

“‘S long as you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

You knew what he meant. Being in the house meant you wouldn’t have to deal with victims directly. He hadn’t brought any up to the house for as long as you’d been there. The last you knew of was your friend who had disappeared with him to pick up a part he claimed was delivered there instead of the gas station. This was always coming, your complicit involvement in the Sinclairs’ disturbing cruelty in the name of art or legacy or something.

“Don’t make me kill anyone, please,” you implored, eyes glassy as you teared up.

“It ain’t as bad as people say. The first time makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.”

“Like when you killed her?”

He grinned, giving you a kiss. “Remember what I said when I first brought you up here? I knew I got lucky with you.”

He knew what you were thinking. It wasn’t the act itself that scared you, but rather the possibility that you would like it, that just like him it would be something you did with no remorse. 

“One day,” he whispered, voice husky as his blue eyes bore deep into yours, “one day you’re gonna do it too. You’re gonna wanna do it.”

Your voice was barely audible as you answered, “I know.”

“It’ll be the best feelin’ you’ve ever had in your life, doll. I promise.”

[pants-magic-pants]

Ahoy, loveys!

I'll be hopping around to what I feel like, so for tonight... Materials for decorating the coat! It's the main, most consistently seen pretty shiny stuff that made the coat look... just right. 👌 But not everything. Click the diagram for a better view. More information and photos of my original findings are under the cut.

This was actually the first thing I did when it was decided I'd make the coat, was scribble out a diagram like you see above and go on multiple scavenger hunts, and search online, and then fail to find stuff and realize I'd have to make it somehow. The cabochons in particular, the ones that look like blue jewels, had to be made from hot glue and nail polish and colored paper, and it was a lot of fun. There will be a separate post about how to do that.

What was also great is there was still room to improvise and find other pretty decorations that matched and looked cool. I enjoyed getting to whip out my bead collection. I also made the little gold circular pieces from scrunched up wrapping paper.

Anyway, hoping these Aria Couture pictures with corresponding letters to different pieces will be helpful in pointing out where they are seen. She has a blog post mentioning that all the tiny stuff was meticulously sewn on, while the large stuff just dropped in with glue, and it's... true. It was hours upon hours, upon days, upon weeks, sewing a pattern of seed beads onto lace pieces, but worth it. The cuff trim also had some small beads sewn in, so I wouldn't have to worry so much about them falling off from me shuffling around.

(It's like a jewel pizza, in'it?)

Everything else was either placed on top of a network of hot glue or weaved between or underneath it. I actually never got around to sewing the strings of black discs. Maybe in the future.

Besides the cabochons, a lot of this is easy to find at craft stores. The sea glass was from a $10 container of larger chunks in different colors. I put it in a pillowcase and slammed it onto the sidewalk like a totally sane person, then ended up using the different sized pieces for multiple projects, including the buttons. (Separate post for that too.)

Uhhh I feel like I'm forgetting something, so if anyone has questions just ask.

[magxit]

Just dropped: https://twitter.com/rollingstone/status/1663660316817780745?s=46&t=Jv7EvC8oVb-dKk_gHc29yQ

I haven’t read the full thing. But kinda sad when the media gets it more so than her own fans…

We Wouldn’t Be Having This Conversation If Taylor Swift Was a Man

Publicity stunt or not, Swift can have a sleazeball summer if she damn well pleases.

ON THE FINAL night of Taylor Swift’s MetLife shows this weekend, 80,000 Swifties screamed in the swamps of New Jersey for over three hours. They wore outfits from every era — tinsel fringe dresses, serpent arm cuffs, and heart-shaped sunglasses. I saw countless faces in cowboy hats similar to the emoji — only these cowboys were sobbing uncontrollably while eating foot-long hotdogs. And the bracelets! They were all wearing beaded bracelets coded in Swiftian lyrics, trading them in the parking lot like Deadheads swapping grilled cheeses. (Take my advice: do not try to pay for the bracelets. They will look at you like you’re from outer space.) 

It’s hard to believe that while this magical Eras tour is happening — and while Swift is somehow reaching previously-unimaginable heights of popularity, surpassing even the ludicrous highs of 2015 — she is also experiencing a backlash from some corners of the Swiftie community over her supposed new boyfriend, the 1975’s Matt Healy. 

Their sentiments were best summed up in an open letter on Twitter using the hashtag #SpeakUpNow (named after Swift’s upcoming re-recording of her 2010 album), which states that Healy’s many controversies “deeply trouble” them. “From engaging in racist remarks, making offensive jokes, and admitting to watching degrading pornography in which people of color are being humiliated and assaulted, his actions contribute to the perpetuation of hate, stereotypes, and objectification, which targets and hurts some people from the Jewish, Black, Chinese, Hawaiian, Inuit, LGBTQ+ communities, as well as women.”

The statement refers to the derogatory comments Healy made about the rapper Ice Spice on The Adam Friedland Show podcast in February and the questionable apology he delivered onstage last month. Fans raised eyebrows when Swift recruited the rapper for her “Karma” remix last week, and on Monday, Healy finally addressed the controversy in a New Yorker profile that only exacerbated the issue. He explained that the whole thing “doesn’t actually matter” and that the backlash he received was merely virtue signaling: “It’s just people going, ‘Oh, there’s a bad thing over there, let me get as close to it as possible so you can see how good I am,’” he said. “And I kind of want them to do that, because they’re demonstrating something so base level.”

If you didn’t catch this quote aggregated on the internet about 137 times (you probably had better things to do than scroll Twitter and hustle children for their handmade bracelets), you aren’t missing much. This is all part of Healy’s artistry: an intricate, tangled web of bits intended to rile you up and piss you off. This is the guy who eats raw meat onstage, gives Nazi salutes, and delivers intelligent observations like, “I’m obsessed with my dick for some reason.” Stupid Shit is his brand. Are we really supposed to take anything he says seriously? 

I’m not here to answer that, but I am here to tell you that none of it is Taylor’s problem. For the last 17 years, we’ve held this woman responsible for the actions of men she chooses to spend time with, and it’s time to stop. It would be fair to criticize her for walking out of Electric Lady with the ghost of Pol Pot or wondering why her dad and Matt Lauer are grooving out to her performance of “22.” But this is just a hot sleazeball who wants Oasis back together (I don’t know about you, but I’ve dated a lot of guys who fit that description), and it’s up to Taylor to spend her time as she pleases.

[thoroughlysaucedsparrow]

AAAAAAAAA ITS DONEEE

I measured it and this thing is fucking 6’6-

(materials and process underneath vv)

Materials used:

-3 pvc pipe segments with the screw adapters

-Eva foam : 2mm, 5mm, 10mm

-Foam clay

-Thermoplastic beads

-Metal wire

-Various superglues

-Spray paint

-Acrylic paint

~~ The Pvc Segments:

I started off with three 2ft pvc segments and glued the cross adaptor on the top, then proceeded to hack off and move around pieces as I saw fit. For the top segment I believe I cut off 5in, then glued 3 to the top of the cross pipe and tossed the remaining 2in. I also cut off 8in on the bottom to make way for the spike which is around 5.5in.

(The original pipes, I didn’t really have any other progress pics of this part)

~~ The Main Blade:

I started by going into FireAlpaca and separating the halberd from Sinclair’s sprite, then broke it up into various pieces and used Rasterbator to size up the blade. After that I printed it out, assembled it, and transferred it to freezer paper to adjust it as I saw fit.

After that I cut out two pieces of 10mm foam and glued them together as the main blade, then added the details with some 2mm foam I got from Walmart I think? I proceeded to hack away chunks of foam with Eva foam with a box cutter (and almost sliced my hand open in the process) before sanding the absolute crap out of it)

Once it was all sanded and I was content with it I took my heat gun and sealed all the foam and got rid of the fluffy texture created by the sanding and filled some of the gaps with foam clay.

After the blade I was done I stuck some wire into it, then shoved that wire through some thermoplastic beads I had melted and put in the pipe, and superglued it. It really wasn’t wanting to stay so I added more thermoplastic around the outside and proceeded to add more superglue (Gorilla and Flex Seal glue if I recall correctly) which has seemed to help it stay on. It’s not 100% stable but as long as I’m careful with it I’m ok.

~~

The Spikes:

Just like the blade, I made the pattern based the sprite itself. Using the line tool in FireAlpaca I traced over the top spike and the side spike and got the pattern from that. I resized and reshaped them in a Google doc before printing them out. After that I traced two of the spike pieces, cut one in half vertically and glued them together. After that I used small triangular pieces of foam to connect the corners and with that the skeleton was done (I added wire into the bottom spike for support as it is going to be bashing the floor a lot). i then filled the skeletons with foam clay, making sure to get all the sides even and filled completely.

(I forgot to add the triangle pieces in the bottom spike until later)

Once I sanded them and attacked them with the same method as the blade the base was done!

~~ Painting:

In order to create a stable base to paint on I shoved three wooden dowels into a fertilizer box and hot glued them down. I then broke the halberd down and put each piece on the spike before spraying it with multiple coats of plastidip.

(Note- I taped off the parts that would be screwed down as I was afraid that the paint would interfere with the threading. I don’t know if it would actually cause any problems but I didn’t feel like risking it)

Once that was completely dry I sprayed it with three coats of Rustolem Black High Gloss paint.

Finally, I dry brushed everything with silver paint and added the lettering, using some black paint to mimic the paint chipping.

Once I added two coats of Rustolem clear sealant it was done!! The overall process took about two weeks and I’m quite happy with how it turned out! I may or may not have injured myself a lot during the process because I’m stupid but it was quite a fun project, and I do have more Project Moon props planned for the future such as Don’s lance and Argalia’s scythe. Once I finish my full cosplay I’ll make a post similar to this one :)

[queenofsimpsblog]

too much - shuri x reader pt2

A/N: y’all already know i wouldn’t leave you guys in the dark like that LMAO i was gonna give this a sad ending but my bb shuri has been through too much already :(

also this was supposed to be done in 2 parts but ehh i dragged it out so pt3 gonna come out soon dw <3

shuri felt as if someone ripped her heart out and tore it to shreds. she saw the love of her life run away from her. she tried to stop the jet but it was too late. you were already airborne.

shuri’s eyes started glossing over as she rapidly blinked trying to get the tears away. something black on the floor caught her attention. your kimoyo beads. which you took off on purpose so that she couldn’t track you down. and then, all of a sudden, it hit her.

everything that happened the past month. shuri avoiding you. shunning you away. forgetting your anniversary. and then hurting you when all you wanted to do was help her. an angel as sweet as you didn’t deserve the treatment shuri gave. feeling dejected, she trudged back to your shared room. the shiny silver box on the armchair caught her attention again, and she slowly walked towards it, picking the box and moving to the bed where she sat down and opened the present, looking at it in awe.

a small message was written in blue ink on the first page: “here lay my favourite moments with my favourite girl. here’s to all the memories we’ve made, and here’s to many more.”

flipping the page, the first picture was taken when you and shuri met for the first time. when you first saw her, your eyes almost bulged out of your head. you couldn’t say anything. you froze. and shuri just looked at you with a mixed expression of amusement and concern. the picture was surrounded with glitter and sequins and you even wrote a few sentences under it: “when i first saw you, i knew you were the one for me. you looked so beautiful, my brain shortwired.” shuri laughed at your antics and found herself looking at each and every picture you stuck. she read the mini commentaries you added below each one, and the tears never stopped flowing. she kept aggressively wiping her face, not wanting the tears to spill on the scrapbook and ruin it. you didn’t need to tell her for her to know that you spent ages perfecting it.

her heart ached when she reached the middle of the book. the pages were empty. another letter was stuck there. shuri slowly peeled off the tape that was sticking it to the book and opened the letter, nervous to read what was inside.

i know you’ve been through a lot lately, and that you feel alone and isolated. but just know that i will always be here for you. you own my heart, shuri udaku. i belong to you and you only. i hope that over time we get to fill the rest of this book with all our previous memories. i love you, sthandwa. don’t ever forget it.

and that’s what sent shuri to her tipping point. she started sobbing like anything. you always loved her, even when she treated you like crap. and because of her, you were gone and bast knows when you’d return. or even if you’d return.

okoye heard the commotion and made a beeline for the room, opening it and seeing shuri in such a devastated state. knowing shuri since she was a child, okoye knew what to do. she slowly walked towards the now-queen and held her as she cried. once she calmed down, she told okoye what happened. okoye’s disappointed face was enough to make shuri want to cry again.

“now, now, crying won’t bring her back. but it’s good to let it out. i know you feel terrible, which is justified as you did a terrible thing, but you have to understand that y/n was just concerned for you. she still cares about you, and she’s just upset at the way you reacted.”

“i want to fix it but i don’t know how,” shuri sobbed.

“talk to her.”

shuri rolled her eyes and responded, “did you not hear me when i said she left?! and she took off her kimoyo beads so i cant even track her.”

“but you can track the jet she went in, right?”

shuri gasped. okoye was right. how did she forget that?!

“but don’t do it instantly. y/n left because she wanted to be away from you. i know it hurts, but it’s the truth. she doesn’t want to see you right now, so maybe wait a few days before you try and find out where she is. although, it shouldn’t be too hard to track her. you don’t even need a tracker.”

shuri looked at okoye curiously. “what do you mean?”

“your highness, you know the girl for 4 years. think about her. where would she hide?” okoye said and left, going back to her general duties, leaving shuri with her thoughts.

there are only 2 places where she would go. haiti, or new york.

****

“plane landing in 20 minutes. it is around 2pm in new york city, with cloudy skies and 60% chance of snowfall. local temperature is around -10 degrees celcius.” the automated voice spoke, waking you up.

damn… i’m already here?

getting up, you change your outfit, knowing that it wouldn’t sustain you in the cold. you wore some thermals, jeans, a sweater, and grabbed your other outer winter wear. thank god you came prepared.

grabbing your phone, you opened the contacts app and dialled a number. after a few rings, the person picked up.

“hey, i know this is sudden and probably unexpected, but i’m gonna be in new york in about 20 minutes and need you to send in a cab to the old avengers compound. i’ll explain everything once i’m home.”

you talked to the person for a few more minutes before you hung up. the plane landed and you made sure the cloaking device was on before grabbing all your stuff and getting down the jet.

you took a deep breath. you missed new york. taking the elevator down to the lobby, you looked around the building. there was dust everywhere. clearly, no one had been in here for a while.

you saw a black audi at the front door and rushed to it, opening the door and smiling at the driver.

“hey, happy, how’s it hanging?”

“all good, y/n. i take it you need a ride to the cabin?”

“yeah, i do, thanks for coming here.”

“of course, anything for a stark.”

how’s a woman of colour the daughter of a white guy? pretty straightforward. tony dated your mama a long time ago. had a couple crazy nights with her and then 9 months later, you came into the world. your mom knew tony wasn’t prepared for a child so she dumped him and moved to chicago. ten years later, she found out she was gonna die soon so before that could happen, she got in touch with tony and told him everything. tony being your closest relative got custody and then you moved to new york and got reunited with your father.

it felt nice to have a father figure after 10 years of lacking a paternal figure in your life. you got to enjoy 10 years with your dad before he sacrificed his life to save the universe. you always looked up to your father, as he taught you that sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the greater good.

you soon reached the cabin and thanked happy for his help. you invited him in but he politely declined the offer, stating that he had an important meeting with nick fury in an hour.

taking your bags, you got out of the car and went to the front door of the cabin, knocking on it.

“y/n! hey!” pepper, your step mom, opened the door and gave you a big hug. she let you come in and set your bags down before morgan came running down the stairs.

“finally you’re back!” your step sister hugged you and you hugged back. you missed them. a lot.

when tony died, he wrote in his will that he wanted you to move to wakanda (with t’challa’s permission) as he knew how much you and shuri loved each other, and he knew that the king would keep you safe. sorry, dad.

you went to your room and put your stuff aside before coming down to drink some hot cocoa with your family.

“so, how’s wakanda doing? we saw the news, can’t believe queen ramonda passed away,” pepper spoke and you gave a slow nod.

“yeah, it’s been quite a lot, but wakanda is building itself back. everyone is grieving but people are slowly moving on. well, not everyone.” you mumbled the last part. pepper looked you up and down before sending morgan upstairs to do her homework. after complaining for a bit, she went upstairs. pepper waited for morgan’s door to close before she looked at you.

“what’s the real reason you’re here?”

“am i not allowed to visit my step sister and step mom?”

“you know that’s not what i meant, y/n. we love having you here. but you usually tell us when you’re coming. this time you didn’t. your eyes are red, your cheeks are puffy. and you look like you haven’t eaten in an entire day. something happened. now tell me what it is.” you looked at pepper with wide eyes. this woman read you like a book.

so you told pepper everything. from shuri neglecting you to the whole fight. pepper didn’t say anything until you said you were done.

“so you just left?”

“what did you expect me to do? i couldn’t stay. i couldn’t bear to look at her. all i wanted to do was help. i get that she’s stressed but she can’t take it out on me. that’s not fair.”

pepper was quiet for a moment before she spoke again, “so are you ever gonna go back to wakanda?”

you didn’t know what to say. i mean, you wanted to. but you felt like shuri didn’t need you anymore and you didn’t wanna go back there if you was just gonna get insulted and used as a punching bag.

“because y/n, your anger is justified. i’m not saying it isn’t. but this was a 4 year relationship. it can’t end like this. you have to at least talk to her one last time. get all your feelings off your chest. then see how she feels, and see whether giving your relationship another shot is worth it or not. and if it isn’t, then you’re more than welcome to live with me and morgan.”

you thanked pepper for all the support.

“okay, homework is done! now let’s go out, i’m bored.” you laughed at your sister and told her to go outside to pepper’s car. tossing her the keys, you grabbed your coat and went outside, getting ready to have an amazing time with your sister.

* one week later *

you’ve been feeling a lot better, but still you missed shuri and were worried about her well-being. you knew she’d detach herself from everybody.

morgan and pepper were in the kitchen making lunch, and you were in the living room scrolling through netflix, deciding what to watch.

“oh can we watch wednesday please?” you asked.

“absolutely not! morgan is too young for that!”

“what about friends?”

“no it’s boring.” morgan answered. you rolled your eyes as you kept looking for something ‘family friendly’.

“okay you know what i’m playing the grinch you guys better get here fast!” you decided, and hit play. a couple minutes later, pepper and morgan came to the living room with some sandwiches and chips.

you ate your food and laughed at the movie. you found the grinch really relatable. it was hard to get into the christmas spirit due to the fight you had with shuri.

i mean, even after all of that, you still loved her. you always loved her. ever since you met her. and it hurt that shuri chose to ignore all of that.

the end credits started rolling and morgan grabbed the remote, looking to play another movie. pepper went to get some hot cocoa for you all, when you heard the doorbell ring.

“not me!” “not me!” you and morgan said at the same time. unfortunately, you said it too late and had to get up from your comfortable position to answer the door.

who could it be? you thought as you grabbed the door knob and swung the door open.

“shuri?!”

[kassies-take]

If You Are The Last Man Standing

<Prev || Part 24 || Next>

~Years Later~

You: *wears a rosewood and silver wedding ring and works the wood shop connected to the Quileute community center*

Sam: *spots of grey hair, leads a tourist group* this is (Y/n), she is also a wildlife conservationist, our youngest tribal leader and she’s good with a wood saw.

You: *head nod towards Sam*

Sam: *leads the group away*

Leah: *walks in from office* I would’ve never thought Sam would lead tourist

You and Leah: *snickers*

You: it’s a good look on him, probably gives him a break from his sons

Leah: if anyone needs the break it’s Paul

You: I do not know how Rachel popped out three kids at the same time. At least Jared and Kim have one.

Leah: they’re trying again

You: I hope it’s a girl… the pack seems so much better without the Cullen’s here

Leah: everyone’s fine. Seth and the others work with Rosalie and Embry says all is well at the Makah tribe. Though Quil and Claire had a huge fight recently.

You: Yeah, he stayed at mine and Rosalie’s place last night. the girl is running him into the ground.

Leah: how is Rosalie?

You: she keeps herself busy. Running her auto-shop and being a nighttime nanny. The Cullens do a collective video call a week, it’s fun seeing those guys try to figure out how technology works. It must be weird for Bella and Edward having an ex lover pine for their daughter

Leah: yeah, but not our problem. Some higher power’s punishment for him, you know Jacob’s always going to love Bella even if he did imprint on Rensesmee.

You: *growls* don’t remind me. I can’t believe my idiot of a brother was about to hurt my wife!

Leah: okay *takes carving knife out of your hand*

You and Leah: *sits in silence*

You: who would’ve known we would be the last man standing

Leah: yeah about that… I. Well with your permission-

You: *sighs* you don’t need my permission to stop phasing Leah, I’m surprised you stayed this long

Leah: we’ll it was mainly for selfish reasons… We are suppose to be old crone buddies… and I know about your worries of seeing the pack, your family, grow older

You: *puts down your wolf carving and hugs her* you don’t have to worry about me. You deserve a life of your own and you know I’ll always be here. Plus this would be a good reason to pull the pack together!

~~~~~

You and Leah: *running Leah’s final patrol together and reaches the path towards Sam and Emily’s house*

The Pack: *stands in their ceremonial shifter capes*

Sue: *holds a ceremonial shifter cape for Leah*

Sam: *holds ceremonial beads*

Leah: ‘Thank you (Y/n)’

You: *nods*

Leah: *shifts back to human facing away from the boys*

Sue: *drapes the cape over her, in Quileute language* the ancestors, the elders, the pack and the spirits above thank you for your service in protecting the tribe

Sam: *puts beads on Leah, in Quileute language* These beads restore your cultural ties and spiritual beliefs, may the great wolf spirit forever guide and protect you.

The Pack: *wolf pack call chirps*

You: *howls and runs the patrol path to the end*

Rosalie: *walks up to you and brushes your fur with her fingers* this one is different isn’t it

You: *shifts back into her arms and cries*

~~~~~

You and Rosalie: *makes it back to Sam and Emily’s

Leah: *hands you an envelope and winks* you’ve done a lot for the tribe

You and Rosalie: *confused*

Paul: and for the pack

Embry: we wanted to make sure you could have anything you could have possibly wanted

Sam: Leah and Carlisle have been in contact

Jared: we were all in agreement

Quil: it’s a thank you gift

Seth: for you and Rosalie

You: *opens it, reads the letter from Carlisle and tears up*

Rosalie: *reads it from behind your shoulder and gasps* this will work?

Leah: you’d have to stop shifting for a bit. And your kid would hold the shifter gene. They’ll stop aging like Rensemee, they won’t be venomous and will have a human diet

Rosalie: *throws her arms around Leah* thank you! Thank you!

Paul: if there’s anyone to deserve this it’s you two. Plus we will spoil them to be like us so you won’t miss us too much

~~~~~

You: Alice, we don’t need a gender reveal!

Alice: I can’t hear you

You: Carlisle tell her we don’t need a gender reveal. Rosalie is a woman, I’m a woman. We only have X chromosomes! I don’t care that we have 24 pairs of chromosomes that doesn’t mean we carry the Y chromosome!

Rosalie: doll you need to calm down.

You: I will calm down when Alice is reined in. *whines* why aren’t you stopping her

Rosalie: sometimes you just let it happen.

Edward: *across the room* Rosalie thinks it’s cute seeing you waddle around after Alice

You: I do not waddle

Leah: you kind of do.

You: *glares*

Sue and Charlie: *enters*

Sue: *hugs you* congratulations

Alice: *skips over to you and hands you a photo*

You: *gasps*

Rosalie: *snaps at Alice* where did you get this!

You: Babe! You’re so cute as a baby!

Alice: I have my ways! I have more of these if you let me do a gender reveal

You: *cooes*

Rosalie: No, we don’t need a gender reveal *pulls you away*

You: but there’s more! You got to see my baby photos!

The Cullens and The Pack: *playing baby shower games*

Rosalie: *looks around for you and walks away from the group* doll?

You: *looks at the Guess who baby board, smiles and caresses your baby belly*

Rosalie: your smile says you’re happy but your eyes tell a different story *hugs you*

You: I love you, and I love the family we are building but

Rosalie: but we will always be like this, frozen.

You: yeah… how did you do it? Live knowing you’re the last to remember your family, your home?

Rosalie: spite… I also have my sister with me

You: *chuckles* sounds like you

Rosalie: someone doesn’t truly die until they are forgotten

You: it feels heavy

Rosalie: *lifts your belly*

You: I was speaking metaphorically but this helps too

Rosalie: *hums* yes but you won’t be carrying those memories on your own*

Billy has been transcribing everything going on with the pack since you guys shifted. I’ve kept a diary since I was old enough to write.

You: and I’m just knowing about it now? Baby we’ve been married 10 years, together for 11… Anything I should know about? Perhaps about a certain female shifter?

Rosalie: hush you. *slowly lets go of your belly*

You: *groans*

Rosalie: I’ll help you remember them. I promise. *leaves multiple kisses on your face*

Quinn: I found them!