#it's been over a year and they're not long enough to blend with my hair yet

[catnippackets]

waiting for your bangs to grow out is truly one of the most excruciating things. psychic damage every time you try to do your hair

[familyvideostevie]

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

__

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[hanlimz]

[midnight thoughts: park jongseong + end of beginning]

rando posting on a thursday night bc this has been in my drafts 4ever. no summary you die like men. maybe i'll write a part 2. maybe.

whether the guitar is a meager subject bending to his will or an extension of his very own body, you are unable to decide. enveloped by the dim lighting and clouds of cigarette smoke, the black stained alder wood manages to melt into the obsidian of his leather jacket. the angularity of his face cuts through the darkness; the length of his nose is perfectly straight, the slant of his jaw is sharp enough to cut, and his eyebrows are two, thick lines of focus. he plays with so much precision that it almost makes you overlook the way he still purses his lips when he's concentrating—a habit he was never able to shake. it transports you back to a simpler time in which he wasn't a rockstar. instead, he was a college student studying business management who had a silly band on the side. he was a college student who never planned to make it big, who never planned to leave.

a break in the set forces you from the depths of your memories. he is almost unrecognizable as he works the crowd; a sea of people at this intimate show are screaming for him, begging for his attention, and you can't help but laugh to yourself. years ago, he used to play for you. with a timeworn guitar and a handful of hope, he shared his musings of the future. they were long-shots, pipe dreams, fantasies he entertained when his assignments proved too difficult and his imagination too wild. his voice was sultry as the nimble tips of his fingers waltzed over the fretboard; the melodies he created were happier than the ones he sings now. his stories chronicled a life with you, but now they're bittersweet—tales of olde, reminders of the past.

the show is coming to a close; the throngs of listeners are beginning to thin out. minute by minute, there are less bodies to hide behind, less background to blend into—but, you can't seem to make yourself leave. there's a part of you that wants to be seen, to be noticed by him once more. turning to the bartender, you order an elixir to forget. before you can take the first sip into oblivion, however, a shadow sits down next to you. he smells familiar—amber, sandalwood, a dark thicket. he orders a whiskey sour, and it reminds you of the first time you met. like an aged souvenir, you hold the memory delicately in the palms of your hands.

"what does it feel like, hm?" there's a momentary pause, then you hum into the thick, musky air, "to be a star?"

he takes in a labor-ridden breath. when he lets it out, it seems like more than air escapes him; the heavy exhale is almost painful as he ponders the question. a minute passes, and the quiet is stifling. "it feels good, at first. everything you want, anytime you want. but, it becomes hollow after a while—all the drinks, all the blurry faces, all the memories melting together," he admits. "it's like i'm floating, y'know ... aimless, in space, millions of miles away."

"is it lonely up there?" you ask.

"most of the time, yeah," he answers, stopping for a few seconds to think. "but, it's what i wished for. it's what i wanted."

glancing over at him out of the corner of your eye, you see he's still nursing his drink. the fingers of his left hand trace circles around the rim of the glass while he itches at his wrist with his right. the blonde streaks in his hair are tousled with a mixture of gel and sweat, and the darker parts fall forward to shield his gaze from yours. remnants of the boy you used to know, used to love are resurfacing from the deep recesses of your mind—where you had kept them hidden for years.

"you're still a terrible liar," you say.

his body tenses at the comment. as his muscles remain rigid, he scoffs, disbelieving and defensive, "what do you even know about me, anymore?"

"nothing, really ..." behind your blasé facade, there's a particular ache. his words cut you, a serrated blade shoved between the gaps of your ribs; it hurts because you know he's right. he is no longer yours to know, no longer yours to love. soon, you fear that he may not even be yours to remember—disintegrating, falling, lost to the sands of time. "i knew who you were, though. kind and gentle, the guy who would buy me flowers for no reason. every day, you would call me to tell me you loved me. you would cook dinner, light candles, wash my hair ..."

it grows quiet again; the only sounds filling the air are a symphony of closing ambience. dishes are clattering, glasses are clinking, and chairs are scratching against the floor. this time, however, the silence is not deafening. in a way, it is almost familiar—reminiscent of spring nights spent in the diner close to campus, faces full of pancakes and hearts full of joy. but, this quietude—while being peaceful—also breeds cruelty.

"i'm sorry," his voice pierces through the wisps of smoke and the faint scent of burning incense off in the distance. he leaves the rest unspoken—for leaving, for not saying goodbye, for not giving you an answer. but, you hear it. in spite of it all, you hear it. the words don't penetrate the toughened shell around your heart; instead, they echo in your mind. everything you wanted but nothing you needed.

you hesitate, "i don't know if i can believe you."

"why did you come then?" he asks, voice solemn.

pins and needles prick at the skin of your cheeks as the question makes the tips of your fingers go cold. it's almost unreal. he shouldn’t have the right to question you like this, to interrogate you like you’re the criminal—like you’re the one who left. his words make slow work of you like a bullet to the stomach. as you pour out everything for him, you come to the bitter realization that it ended this way all those years ago. it would always end this way. you, dead on the floor; him, gun in hand. “i wanted to see for myself, i guess—” you spit, “if it was all worth it.”

turning towards him, you break down the wall that time and distance had erected between the two of you. there's a ferocity that shines in your eyes; it makes them glow with a certain conviction. he avoids your pointed stare, instead choosing to swirl his watered down drink. only now do you allow yourself to take a closer look at him. his skin is pallid, a ghost of the deep, tawny beige you used to run your fingers along; the dark circles under his eyes accompany sunken cheeks and slumped shoulders. fatigue seeps down to his very being, and this life the has managed to sap the life from his veins.

"was it worth it, jongseong?"

hearing his name fall from your lips seems to send a bolt of pure lightning down the length of his spine. no one has called him that in years; the thought makes you wonder who else he left behind. the corners of his eyes crinkle as he shuts them tight, trying to be anywhere but squirming under the weight of your gaze. after a few moments, he shakes his head. it starts slowly, a gentle back and forth movement before it becomes violent and erratic. when he stops, the man finally connects with you.

his rich, umber eyes are the one of the only things you still recognize. behind the severity of his face, there is a softness dancing within them; at his waterline, tears twinkle like diamonds under a jeweler's light. jay has never cried, never felt the touch of someone who loves him for who he is—but, jongseong? jongseong misses that feeling. the freedom of being loved unconditionally, the all-encompassing warmth of not just being seen but being known.

"it wasn't worth you."

[shelbgrey]

Just keeping an eye out(Draco Malfoy)

Paring: Draco malfoy X Weasley!Reader

Summary: Ron suspects your going on a date to Hogsmade and the twins deside to keep an eye out to make sure your safe.

A/n: sorry this sucks and its kinda childish or short but I hope you enjoy.

MasterList

Potter MasterList

I only really had two things on my mind. One, get my best friend Harry to Hogsmade and two, avoid my brothers at all costs. Before I stepped out of the castle I peaked my head out to see if the cost was clear. It was the usal, professor McGonagall was collecting permission slips, my brother Percy was Ringling in the 3rd years and everyone else was talking amongst themselves.

Harry came up behind me and continued the one thousand questions he had as we lefted the Gryffindor comroom. “what are you doing?” Harry whispered as walked to McGonagall and the reast of the class that was going to Hogsmade.

“shh” I said hold my hand out.

“but I didn't get-” he started when he saw his and my permission slips in my hand.

“shh” I then smiled and held out the two premonition slips to Professor McGonagall.

“you forged my aunt and uncle's signeters?” Harry asked bafulled. I shrugged. “technically Fred and George forged your aunt and Uncle's signeters.” I said bluntly.

I then sighed and turned to Harry. “I'm hanging out with Draco today... And for keeping it a secret for this long, this is me saying thank you for not telling my brother... Enjoy Hogsmade” I smiled.

Harry raised an eye browse but had a small smile. I knew he didn't approve. Hell, him and Harry can't even be in the same room without bickering. But I think he held mercy because I was his best friend, but I think the real reason is that he saw how much I cared about him. Hell, Harry can even admit Draco has changed. “is it a date?” I shook my head at him.

“what date?” Ron's voice said suddenly. I jumped as Ron stood between us confused.

“it's not a date” Harry quickly said looking at me then Ron with a nervous look. Ron was smarter than most people gave him credit for. He crossed his arms and looked between us.

“who's going on a date?”

“it's not a date” I sated lying to him and myself. I wanted it to be a date but truthfully it was just to friends hanging out... That hurts to say outlowed.

I finally spotted Draco and said my good-byes to Harry and Ron. I carefully blended into the crowd to make sure Ron didn't see who I was with.

--------( ....... )--------

Ron sighed and shook his head. “it's definitely a date... But with who?” he asked Harry. Harry shrugged and looked around.

“I'm worried, she's too young to date!” Ron said dramatically completely ignoring the fact him and y/n were twins.

“Ron she's old enough There's nothing-” Harry was cut off as Ron sighed and looked over to the twins.

“George, Fred, over here” the twins ran over to Harry and Ron with a smile.

“what's up Ronald?” George asks ruffling his younger brother's hair. Ron scoffed and pushed him away

“how you doing?” Fred added looking at Harry.

“good but it's Ron with the problem” Harry said pointing at The red head. George crossed his arms and turned to his brother.

“what's the problem? Do we need to prank anyone?”

“hex? Or we've been working on our puking pestls and-” Fred started but Ron cut him off.

“no and no” Ron sighed.

“then what is is?” the twins said at the same time.

Ron sighed and blew his top like he's been holding it in for a while. “y/n has a boyfriend and she's going on a date!”

“date?!” George said going into over protective big brother mode.

“Boyfriend?!” Fred added as his smile dropped.

“what!” they both said at the same time as they scanned the crowd for their sister.

“he's not her boyfriend and they're just spending the day together” Harry said trying to defuse the problem. George then looked at Ron with his eyebrow raised.

“who's not her boyfriend?” George asked. “and what's the problem?” Fred added.

“I don't know, but I want you to keep an eye on Y/n” Ron said as Harry just shook his head and left to find Hermione. the twins gave Ron a questioning look and looked behind them trying to find their little sister.

“find out if it's actually a date and most importantly who it is” Ron explains. “I just don't want her to get hurt”

“agreed” the twins said at the Same time as they went into 'protection mode'.

“we got it” George said proudly. “good because I'm counting on you guys” Ron said before thanking them and walking away.

George quickly looked around and held his robe up to his nose like batman would. “stealth mode” he whispered and started run forward like a ninja humming the mission impossible them.

“that's not stealthy!” Fred shouted out once George stop and pressed his back up against a tree acting like him and Fred are spys.

“we're spys now Freddie!”

George and Fred both jumped on the bus and put their hoods up and sunk into the seats behind y/n and her date. Fred looked over the seat with caution and his eyes widened when he saw who she was with. It made Fred's blood boil.

Fred slumped back in his seat with anger. “it's Draco Malfoy” he said through his teeth. George sighed looked at his brother with questioning eyes and looked over the seat to see y/n and Draco joking around and looking out window.

“yup.. Malfoy” is all he said. George was the only one besides Harry who knew how Y/n felt about Draco. Out of all her siblings she was closest to George. When she told him she fell in love with Draco he was irritated at first but fully accepted it. George was over protective but he knew everything would be fine.

Fred on the other hand was angry that someone like malfoy was with his little sister. Fred was a 'shot first and ask questions later' kinda guy when it came to his sister. He did have a suspicion about her feelings but never brought it up. As much as she loved Fred she couldn't tell him quite yet.

“what are we gonna tell Ron?”Fred said shaking his head. “... What are we gonna tell Mum?!” he said quickly setting up and a bit louder than nesasary.

--------(1st pov)--------

“so where do you want to go first?” Draco asked lacing his hands behind his back as he walked next to me. I shrugged not exactly knowing where everything is.

“don't know, got any suggestions?” I asked. Before he awnsered I heared a crash I looked behind us and a garbage can was knocked over and Gryffindor scarf was laying on top of the can. I watched a bit longer and saw a long arm reach around the corner blindly reach for the scarf as the owner of the arm hid.

“how about Honey Dukes?” Draco suggested making me look back at him. I smiled and nodded remembering the candy shop Bill would take me and Ginny to all the time. “let's go then” Draco said pointing in the direction to where we were supposed to go.

As we walked it felt weird being with him. Not because I didn't want to be next to him but I could feel eyes judging and staring at us in shock. I sighed and looked down. Draco suddenly stopped in front of me.

“ignore them” he whispered. I looked up and stared at his gray eyes that held a soft expression. “they obviously didn't have anything better to do with their pathetic lives...don't let them judge”

“are you sure you want to be out with a Weasley? I mean our families hate each other” Draco shook his head with a smile. “I don't care what my family thinks... I Want to be here with you” he leaned down and placed a soft but quick kiss on my cheek.

I nodded and looked down as pink tint colored my cheeks. He smirk at my reaction and brushed his hand against mine. “can I hold your hand?” he asked softly.

I chuckled. “Draco malfoy is asking to hold my hand?” his cheeks was suddenly dusted with a light shade of pink as I took his hand. “of course you can” I whispered.

“I just don't want to mess anything up... Or make you uncomfortable” he said as his fingers laced with mine. I smiled softly.

“you have nothing to worry about, your doing great”

Once we got to the shop Draco's hand left mine and he sped up to the door. He quickly opened it and held it for me. “wow, what a gentleman” I said playfully.

“only for you” he said as we walked in the store. I smiled as I looked around, this place never fails to amaze me and every time I come here feels like the first. I'm always amazed by all the colors and the amazing smells in there. The smells of taffy and chocolates surround us.

“it's alright” he said nonshlontly but then showed a smile to show he was joking. I rolled my eyes and pulled him towards a section that had different M&Ms all separated by colors. It was one of those deals where you get what ever color you want. Draco laughed at my enthusiasm and grabbed a jar.

“what colors?” he asked. “umm.. Red of course” he laughed and grabbed pulled the handle and the bottom filled with red. “green” he said and a layer of green fell on the red.

“get some blue too” added. He nodded and as he pulled the lever I heard a crash I looked behind me and a display of all flavor beans fell over. My eye brows knitted together when I saw a certain red head quickly race behind a display of gummy wands trying not to be seen. That certain red had was my big brother George and he was doing a terrible job at not being seen.

“what's next?” Draco's voice said bring me back to reality. I quickly turned back to him and cleared my throat trying to focus on us and not my best friend spying on me.

“umm.. You pick” Draco looked up at all the colors and went to the black ones and smiled. “how about black?” he said and filled it up. There was room for one more color. “alright what's the special color to top it off” Draco asked.

“purple?” I shrugged. He smiled with a nod and pulled the leaver to release the M&Ms. “purple” he smiled and put a lid on after it was filled up.

He handed me the jar with a smile. “we should get some chocolate frogs too” Draco replied as we moved around the crowded room. I arched an eye brow at him.

“didn't know you were the chocolate frog type of guy”

He smirked and grabed four boxes. “there's lots of things you don't know about me Darling” stopped in my tracks and turned a bright red at the nickname. He must of noticed because he simply winked and grabbed my hand to get some more candy.

As we walked by I rolled my eyes because two people were suddenly holding up Quibbler magazines hiding their faces. Not to mention the magazine was upside down. It was of course George and Fred. They must have forgotten they were wearing their one of a kind sweaters with their enital sewed in the middle. I rolled my eyes and pulled Draco towards the shelf that had different gummies.

After awhile we got what we wanted and took it the regester. Before I could get my gallions out Draco payed for everything. I frowned. “you didn't have to do that” he shrugged and carried the bag out.

“Don't worry about it” he smiled. “pluse you don't make a lady pay on a date”

I raised an eye brow. “so it's a date now” I playfully nugged his shoulder with mine. He blushed and stopped. This time he didn't try to hid it.

“well if you don't want it too be-” I stood there with my eye browse raised. Draco malfoy was nervous.

“Draco” I said grabbing his hand.

He stopped rambling and looked at me. “to be honest I would want our first date to be nicer than just a walk through Hogsmade with the rest of the school around”

“this is my type of date if I'm being honest... I'm not into all the overly fancy date stuff”

He smiled softly. “I'll keep that in mind... And thanks for coming with me today... I'm one lucky Bloke to even have a girl like you even look in my direction”

I smiled and wrapped my arms around his neck. His gray-blue eyes stared into mine with nothing but love and affection. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine softly. I quickly responded and laced my fingers through his blond hair as his held my waist.

“Shh!”

“he needs keep his grubby Slytherin hands off our sister”

“shut up Fred”

The arguing made me pull away and I looked around. “what's wrong?” Draco asks. I sighed and looked over at the three broomsticks building. Outside two people were setting at a table and hiding behind two Daily Profet papers.

“we got company” I sighed as I marched over to the twins. I ripped the paper out of Fred's hands and he looked up wearing a pair of sunglasses. “sis! Fancy seeing you here”

I placed my fist on my hip and stared at my older brothers as Draco came up behind us with a nervous look. “why are you guys spying on us?”

George looked up at me playing dumb. “I don't know what your talking about... Just enjoying the trip same as you” I rolled my eyes not believing them. I knew when my brothers all too well.

“boys come on” I said softly. Fred sighed. “we just wanted to make sure you were okay” Fred started.

“it's your first real date, we wanted to me sure you were happy” George added. Draco nodded figuring the twins would rat him out. “we won't tell anyone” George stated making Draco look up surprised.

“we'll come up with some excuse... Like we'll say it some Git from Ravenclaw" Fred said. I smiled thanking the boys.

“if he makes you happy then we're happy” George said hugging me. He then turned to Draco.

“but if you hurt her there will be nothing left of you, but some blond hair and an acadent” George Said pointing at the boy. Draco didn't look scared necessarily but he did look at George with respect I've never seen before.

“she's still our little sister and if she comes to us and your the reason for her tears we'll stick a firework up your-" my eyes widened and I placed my hand over Fred's mouth. “thank you Freddie” his muffled voice stopped and I uncovered his mouth.

“thanks boys” Draco said genuinely which seemed to surprise the twins. He nodded and said their good byes.

“don't worry they're harmless” I said nudging Draco. I then snickered. “actually they aren't but we'll be fine”

He chucked and looked down. “no, it's nice that you have family that have your back like that.... I know none of my family would do that... My mother would" I gave him a soft smile.

“I'm sorry” he stopped in front of me and placed his hand on my cheek and blushed as nuzzled into the warmth of his hand.

“it's not your fault and it's fine really” I looked at him sadly but he should nothing but a huge grin.

“come on Weasley smile, we're having fun right?” I laughed softly and grabed his hand as we continued to walk.

“I did have fun with you today” I said to the blonde Slytherin. He smiled and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “me too”

--------(3rd pov)--------

“so who was it?” Ron asked walking up to the twins with Harry and Hermione. Hermione gave the three a questioning look.

Fred shrugged and glanced over at y/n who was with Draco and Neville. “some Git from Ravenclaw”

“yeah I don't think it's anything to worry about” George added. Hermione then put all the pieces together then suddenly slapped Ron on the back of the head. He wined and rubbed his head.

“you got the your brothers to spy on your sister?"

“I just want her to be safe” Ron said still rubbing his head.

George chuckled and looked back at his sister. She was setting in between Draco and her other best friend Neville. The three were laughing and sharing candy. He wasn't worried anymore. Yeah Draco was a jerk but he was certin he'd never hurt her.

[wolves0nmars]

i loved cal bowman's arc in season 4 of sex education. it was one of the first times i've ever felt seen in any trans rep on television.

SO so much trans rep is so white. and all of it is so passing. when i look at the trans people i see on screen, specifically the trans kids i see on screen, and then i look at the trans people in my life... something does not add up. one of the biggest problems the trans community is facing rn is access to medical transition between crisis in the NHS, and growingly restrictive laws in the US. and it all applies so much more heavily on trans kids. but the trans teens i see on screen are all... um. well, they're played by 24 year old models. they've been on HRT for years, and they'll typically have ffs/top surgery. which is really not the slightest bit relatable to actual trans teens.

but back to cal. because cal is a complete rebellion of all this. cal is not white, cal is not transfemme, and most of all, they are very early in their transition.

throughout season 4, they literally compare themselves to the other transmasc kid on the show. 2? in 1 show? i know right!!! roman has top surgery, and has clearly been on HRT for at least a couple months. this is the trans teen representation that we see all the time!!! something that is so out of reach from most trans kids. but cal is not like roman. cal is on a waiting list for top surgery, and can't afford it if they go private. the private HRT is already expensive enough. they are also literally just starting HRT. that is a lot more relevant to real trans kids, who are probably kind of just starting it or haven't at all. looking at roman makes cal so dysphoric and envious, because it's everything they can't have. that is the reality of a lot of trans kids. that is the precise discrepancy between trans rep and real trans people. and when cal literally runs away, not to get anywhere, not to run to the netherlands or something. but just to sit on a rock and look out at a world which they don't belong in.

i have never felt more fucking seen in my life.

and some even more stuff, 1, cal's mom. she supports cal... but she doesn't really... get it? its giving left leaning centrist. it's giving average joe or josephine. its giving... my mother!!! hahaa ha

and 2, roman. i said roman is kind of a representation of a lot of the trans rep we see but thats not actually completely true. most of the trans rep we see is white, thin, and minimalist. and also transfemme but thats a conversation for another time! what i mean when i say minimalist is that the androgyny and gender noncomformity of it is very... nothing. i guess it's the difference between being enby as in neither gender, and being enby as in both genders. the androgyny we see all the time is very masculine, with short hair, short nails, no boobs, no bulge, no color, no nothing. i think this post describes that pretty well. i would definitely recommend reading it.

but roman on the other hand, is not white, has long hair, and long nails. he isn't performing that kind of masculinity that's... expendable?blends into the background. he's performing a kind of femininity which is loud, which is something to be looked at, something to be admired. and thats the kind of androgyny we need to see more often.

overall, i really really enjoyed the trans storylines in this season, and i would definitely recommend watching it. just skip over all the otis parts cause hes a annoying little bitch

[thebluestbluewords]

hi it’s itsalwaysforyou!!! for the valentines prompts i would loveeee a jal + ‘spending their night walking through the city together’ if you’re up for it!!! <3

❤️ @itsalwaysforyou youuuuu get my initial unedited Jalentine’s thoughts!! They’re meant to be about thirteen here. It’s more bantering through their city than walking, but they’re together and it’s written and that’s the important thing!

*

February 14, fifteen years since imprisonment. 

"You're being stupid." Jay insists, swinging around a chimney. "We can totally take on a bunch of pirates for the after-whatever candy spoils. We don't need to wait for them to grab it all and re-hawk it or whatever." 

"Melt it down into mush," Mal says, around a tongue that feels a little mushy already. "Stew it into pink slop. Cover their potato shit with it." 

"Candied potatoes," Jay echoes back. "That's what we'll do with it. Steal their stuff and make potato bombs with it. Candy outside, wet potato inside." 

"You've been hanging out around that kid too much. That. The one. With the stuff." 

Jay hops over the gap between the roof of the slop shop and the used broom store. "The one with the stuff? Very descriptive, killer."

Mal eyes the gap carefully. If they weren't trapped on the isle, if she had the magic she can feel boiling in her brain sometimes, she'd fly over the gap like a proper dragon. She'd have wings, and horns, and everything she could ever want, if she had magic. 

As it is, stuck on the isle of leftovers, she hops over the gap without magic. If she wasn't on the isle of the lost, she'd probably be trapped in some stuffy castle in the moorlands wirh her mother, learning the ways of evil, instead of out on her streets. So really, who cares if she doesn't have magic. She's got more freedom than any of the Auradon girls they catch on TV sometimes, and she's got Jay. Her partner in crime. 

And they've got a candy heist to plan. 

"Whatever. You know the kid I'm talking about. The one with the--" Mal makes a motion towards her own purple hair, trying to wrack the name of the kid Jay's been obsessed with out of her sluggish brain. "The hair. The. DeVil!" 

Jay lifts an evil eyebrow at her. "It took you that long to come up with DeVil?"

"Shut up, I'm not the one who's been following him around," Mal snaps. "It's not like it's an inconvenience to me or anything, when you're off following him all the time." 

Jay's smile gets bigger. "I'm recruiting. Potato bombs, seriously. He's got the biggest explosions out of anyone in weird science."

"Like you'd know." Mal scoffs. "You haven't been to school in a month." 

"School's for sidekicks." 

Sidekicks, and villains, and any kid without somewhere better to be. It's not like they have options, on an island the size of Mal's pinky finger. "Yeah, and that's what I'll demote you to if we don't get this candy before the pirates get their hands on it. We move in early," Mal suggests. "Jump to the barge from the bridge, before they're docked. We can pretend we're with the pirates." 

Jay laughs around the mouth of his bottle. "Argh, me hearties," he says, with enthusiasm. "Avast. Belay." 

Mal laughs too, because they're alone right now, and it's not like Jay's going to mock her for being weak enough to find humor in something. "Perfect. We'll blend right in, they'll never suspect a thing." 

"Except for how you humiliated the leader of their gang, and they hate our guts, so they'll definitely catch on to us right away." 

Mm. 

"Except for that," Mal agrees, taking a drink from her own bottle of warm, sweet cider. "Fuck the pirates." 

Jay laughs again. It's a low sound, one that makes Mal want to do terrible things to him. "Fuck 'em," Jay says, laughing around the words, like he's not hurting just as much as she is, like they're not just two broken chips off their parent's shoulders. "We could do better." 

The memory of their pirates is too raw for Mal to stop herself. "I'm better. Than them. You're better." 

There's a half-smile slipping onto Jay's face. He looks strange and handsome in the light of the moon, which is the best light they get, up on the rooftops of their city. "You're drunk." 

"Not that drunk." Mal admits. She's had half a bottle, and it's not the cheap stuff that'll fuck you up in a shot. They're drinking tonight because it's fun, and because they're maybe, possibly a little bit lonely together, and because not even the isle of the lost can escape the messaging of the stupid, silly Auradon holidays about love. "I could fuck you. If you want." 

"You mean it?" 

They're closer together than they're supposed to be. Villains don't care about each other, and they don't have relationships, and they don't break up with pirates and rebound with their remaining gang members, and-- 

Jay's mouth is hot and wet, and if this is what she's not supposed to have, than Mal might not be a very wicked villain at all.

[mwolf0epsilon]

Seven Years of Bad Luck

Summary: In which Fox dyes his hair in a silent act of rebellion.

[Over time my headcanons for Fox have slowly shaped up from what they used to be.]

THIS STORY IS NOW ON AO3

---

Everyone knows that seven years of bad luck befall anyone who gazes at their reflection in a broken mirror.

It is a fitting punishment of one's own narcissistic arrogance. To soak up the misfortunes that are carried in the serpentine cracks that taint the purity of a mirror's once pristine surface.

The imperfections permit the incomprehensibly unsightly darkness to leak in through the breaks in the reflective material. Let it bleed into reality through transcendent windows that should never have been opened. Gaze upon the rip in the fabric of reality long enough, the unending void, and you certainly deserved to be cursed for seven harrowingly long years indeed.

Most clones would be lucky if they had a single good day to spare at all, and yet here was proof that natborns wasted years in such frivolous and unapologetic ways.

The mirror in the Coruscant Guard command barracks is shattered. Barely useful at all, considering it was just a couple of shards still clinging to the base of the mirror. The rest had long since been swept into the trash.

There are many Foxes staring back at him. Some bigger and some smaller, depending on the size of the shard they were reflected on. All of them just as equally flawed.

He's a mess. His face is a mess.

The massive carved burn over his left eye socket and most of his cheek, and the jagged cut that had once been a break that bisected his jaws unevenly on the right... They're reminders of failures that are kept under lock and key. Beneath a bucket more recognizable than he'd ever been.

The bucket used to represent something greater than himself, but now it only brings about the sneers of those who look upon him. Look at him and see, not Fox, but something dark and flawed like an old broken mirror.

The faces staring back, half blind and so very tired, only see three things: A face, a pilfered cosmetic kit, a bottle of dye. Nothing more, nothing less.

His hair is still partially bleached. The roots are beginning to show. Tonight he's experimenting with gradients and the blending of colours. This version of Fox will be a new secret being that only he knows about. That the bucket will never betray.

The mirror shards reflect Fox back to CC-1010, or is it the other way around? He doesn't know anymore. Only knows the motions of his silent rebellion. Out of sight out of mind.

If he is to be cursed with seven years of bad luck, at least he'll still be given seven years to keep. A cruel kindness for one who owns nothing else. Not even his own body. Not even his own worth.

[dreaminghour]

Obikin Step-Brothers AU - Mistaken identity

Event: @domaystic Fandom: Star Wars Rating: Mature Audiences Prompt: 09 Mistaken identity Ship: Obi-Wan/Anakin Context: Modern AU. Obi-Wan and Anakin are step-brothers for about ten years before getting together. Obi-Wan just got his own apartment so they're no longer living under the same roof, this is the morning after Anakin helps him move. You can read more of this AU on AO3. Words: 806

"You don't need it," Anakin said, quickly making sure the door was locked before dogging Obi-Wan's steps across the street.

"Jaywalking," he hissed.

"Fuck you," Obi-Wan retorted.

"Wish you would," Anakin sang in a low voice.

Obi-Wan whirled around and caught Anakin by surprise, hands landing on his waist, a zing traveling down his spine as he felt the taut muscles beneath his hands.

"Once not good enough for you?" Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin didn't waste anytime, stepping up on tip toes to wrap his arms around Obi-Wan's neck and peer down at him with a love-sick expression.

"Can you blame me?" Anakin asked in a low, throaty voice.

It made Obi-Wan feel entirely too many things for a bright Saturday morning out in public, so he shoved Anakin's arms off him and turned away.

He walked quickly, but he could hear Anakin running to keep up, so he didn't look back.

It might have been Anakin's idea, but Obi-Wan had snapped it up immediately because he knew that if he didn't he might never go. So here they were, traipsing into the early bustle of the farmer's market. Anakin stuck close, hand light on his elbow, unobtrusive but a weight nonetheless.

They meandered, Anakin dissuading Obi-Wan from all his purchases, even though Anakin was the one who kept sticking his nose into every stall, asking questions, trotting back with samples.

"At last," Obi-Wan said, grabbing Anakin by the hand as though he were twelve, and pulling him toward a stand.

The woman standing behind the red-and-white checkered table wore tinted glasses and her long gray hair was loc'd, white at the roots and nearly black at the tips, bound together behind her back. She was very short.

"Hi, welcome to Ms. Dee's Beehive," she said in a mellifluous voice, "I'm Ms. Dee. Is there anything I can help you boys with today?"

"I'm just looking for a plain honey, actually. To help with my allergies. Do you have your hives locally?"

"Of course, dear," Ms. Dee said. "I live just outside town, and the hives are actually in my front yard. If you ever drive down Old County Road, heading east, just look for a tall purple house with flowers all over. That's me. The insects are buzzing around so long as there isn't snow on the ground."

She winked at Anakin for some reason before turning her gaze back to Obi-Wan.

"That close enough for you, hon?"

Obi-Wan felt oddly chastened.

"Yes, it is, I'm just looking for something to put in my tea…"

"We have several plain blends, though our simple bear is probably best for what you need." She laid a hand on the the crate of clear honey-filled bears with their little red caps. "If you're interested in having it on toast, we also have naturally flavored honey…" And she rattled off several varieties and then showed him the jams which were sweetened with honey.

At some point, Anakin had sidled up beside Obi-Wan and was peering over his shoulder.

"You should get the blueberry," he murmured in Obi-Wan's ear, "you'll like that one."

"Oh, do you like blueberry, hon?" Ms. Dee asked, plucking a small jar from the display. "Are you gonna get one of the bears too? If you're sharing, two might last you longer."

"Just the one, please," Obi-Wan said, pulling out his wallet.

"And the blueberry?" Anakin asked, nudging him.

Obi-Wan hesitated.

"Trust your boyfriend, sweetie. He knows what you like!"

Beside him, Anakin froze, slowly leaning away and Obi-Wan's heart seemed to thud audibly in his chest. Only a few days ago they'd been trying to figure out what to tell strangers, unable to compromise, ultimately settling on continuing to keep it a secret… whatever this was.

What struck Obi-Wan was, were they already behaving like a couple instead of brothers? He was afraid that he'd say the wrong thing and end up hurting Anakin. What he wanted was to smile at Anakin in acknowledgement, but he also wanted Anakin to set the tone.

And it occurred to him that Anakin was possibly waiting for him to do the same.

So he gave Anakin's hand a squeeze, leaning close as though to whisper and saying in a fond voice, "Only if you'll promise to help me eat it."

And to his surprise and joy, Anakin blushed.

It felt different, to know him this way; like even after knowing him for ten years and embarking on this together, he could learn something new.

He paid, got a little bag and a tilted smile from Ms. Dee, and put his hand in Anakin's elbow as they slowly made their way back to the apartment. It wasn't the nicest place, but the benefit of spending as much time with Anakin as he wanted, without anyone interrupting, was worth it.

[pinewoodpipit]

so long, we become the flowers - Chapter 2 Outfit References

Chapter 2 of "we become the flowers", a.k.a. my cowboy au is out and I have some more meta to post about it! Just a short one this time, about their outfits for the town dance.

-

Fade

She didn’t take much off, only an inch or two of the dead ends and enough to clean up the choppy mess Hazal had made of it by herself. By the end of it, though, she looked fresher, and the barber even helped her pomade her hair back behind her ear and tie it up in a loose updo. It looked nice, considerably nice, and Hazal’s heart fluttered at the thought of Tala seeing it.

...

He'd put her in a ruffled blouse and a dark waistcoat. Her blouse, cream and loosely fitting, tucked into high-waisted trousers, with black shoes shining from beneath the hems, and over it all, she wore a wide-collar frockcoat, tight and with a swallowtail sweeping around at the back. The coat was near-black, but with tones of red which were brought out by the light.

It was a little old-fashioned, to be truthful; swallowtails had gone out of fashion some short years ago, but it was what Hazal could afford, and it was significantly nicer than anything she owned currently.

For Fade, I wanted something fancy and kind of gothic looking, but also something formal enough for this kind of dance (I'm reluctant to call it a "ball" as it's got a much less formal fancy-dress vibe and is closer to a country dance just by nature of how small Vennecoate is).

She'd probably struggle to afford the newest decent clothes and Chamber knew she'd be able to pull a look like this off, so he tried it and sure enough, Fade liked it.

As this fic is supposed to be a sort of blend between Austen and western style, I thought it would be fitting to pull some inspiration from Pride and Prejudice into this fic. There are so many iconic dances in P&P, too, it would have been a waste not to include any inspiration from them at all! Darcy does love a long coat...

Her hair isn't meant to be anything special. I pictured a loose ponytail with some loose strands by her fringe. She didn't have the time or spare cash for a full style but the barber helped her style it in a simple updo as a favour, for Neon's sake.

-

Neon

She’d donned a handsome evening dress, with loose, low straps. It was a fairly form-fitting dress, billowing only a little in the skirt, and with a second layer of looser fabric forming a translucent shade around her top hem. Her bust and upper arms were shielded; the sleeves were too low to cover her shoulders.

Her hair, usually loose, was pulled back into an intricate updo. It was a rather stark contrast to Hazal’s simple low ponytail; it was curled in on itself in an ornate pattern and decorated with little lace flowers in the same bright yellow colour as her dress.

The outfit’s colour suited her well. It brought out her eyes and the gleeful flush to her cheeks. Her stormy hair was near-illuminated by the flowers dotted over the updo. She looked stunning.

And Neon! I couldn't find a particularly accurate view of what colour her dress would be, but I essentially figure it would be the same colour of yellow as what is in her hair.

I figure in this fic she probably wouldn't have hair quite so vibrant as she does in canon (they're regular humans in this AU, after all, not Radiants) so I describe her hair as "stormy", kind of like a deep cool-toned grey. I think having yellow accessories entwined in her hair along with a yellow dress would really look nice.

This kind of dress allows for a lot of freedom of movement, too, so she'd have a fine time hurtling around the dance floor during faster songs!

For the hairstyle, I again went with some inspiration from Pride and Prejudice with Lizzie's coiled updo. I'm sure Neon has a different hair type than her so it wouldn't be exactly the same, but something with a lot of care put into it, making sure it was a nice design and weaving flowers throughout was just the exact right vibe.

[intergalacticbaldness]

Tumblr mobile killed the quality, but! Doodled my personal headcanons for ear lengths because I am in LOVE with the idea that they grow with age

Click on the image if you wanna see if without the crunchiest quality ever, also more dumb thoughts about this under the cut

Okay so. The idea of ears growing as they age is already great enough, but what if it was MORE than just that?

If we look at the three oldest vampires we know, the Baron being nearly a thousand years old, Petyr being eight thousand, and the Sire literally being classified as "ancient", there's a clear progression of them becoming more monster-like as time goes by.

And yeah, sure, it's possible that's they only look like that for character design reasons. Like, Baron looking older and less human to give him a sense of higher power and to differentiate him from the main gang, since they all have an approximate 200 year gap between each other and all have the same vamp features (fangs and ashy skin due to being.. dead), despite him being no more than 250 years older than Nandor while looking like THAT.

Petyr is a clear reference to Nosferstu, and the Sire is literally the first vampire ever, BUT it's fun to think about this kind of things! I love vampires for what they are, although the idea of them becoming more and more monster-like throughout the ages is SO funky and can also be read into a lot more, as if they're losing any humanity they have left.

Like. Nandor being the one to have an existential crisis and wanting to be human again while also being the oldest just HITS when you think that, according to this logic, he's changed the most, and is also the closest to hitting an age where physical changes are much more prominent than just ears and fangs, so he's come to that realization and is just... oh fuck.

(Similarly to how some humans view turning 50 as "well I guess this means I'll never be able to feel young again!" due to wrinkles starting to get more pronounced, or hair starting to grey quicker on certain ethnicities)

So with all that being said!! Have some headcanons of physical changes vamps go through and the approximate ages they're at when these things start to happen:

- The quickest changes to occur are obviously during the initial transformation, literally dying and technically coming back to "life" as a vampire, growing fangs and having other transformations of the such. We've seen with Jenna that this is NOT a fun process, and while the actual physical changes don't take long to manifest, it can take months, possibly even years, for the body to get used to everything, depending on if the new vampire has someone to guide them through this process or not.

- At around the age of 100 is where more noticable physical changes start to occur, such as ears filling out to be a more pointy shape and fangs slightly protruding from under the upper lip. Both ears and teeth continuously grow, albeit very slowly.

- At 500, new ear muscles have been fully developed, making emoting with ears second nature, as well as greatly facilitating the process of hiding them, tensing them up to lay closer to your skull while you brush your hair in front of them being no harder than faking a smile. From this point forward, ears will begin a slow process of becoming more bat-like.

- Once a vampire gets to around 750, new physical changes start to manifest, such as teeth beyond just the canines starting to sharpen, as well as nails becoming tougher over time, growing to a natural point, starting to resemble claws after a couple centuries or so.

- By the time they've lived for a thousand years, it's essentially impossible for vampires to blend in with humans.

- As the centuries go by, as new millennia come and pass, they'll continue to slowly change until they can barely even be considered humanoid anymore. Skin going from ashy to grey, going from fangs to a mouthful of deadly sharp teeth, bone structure slowly changing to resemble something completely different than the human they once were.

[pirates-and-posies]

Ask and you shall receive! Lemme explain some reasonings- also this is going to get long so I'll put it under a cut!

Thank you for the asks anon, @sisididis, and @helian-skies! 💙

For 🇵🇹:

He didn't get enough screen time and I am mad about it, same applies to many characters!! But him especially!! Give me MORE PORT!! I quite enjoy his design a lot because more characters need long hair.. but I also need Hima to draw him with his fucking hair down please it's all I ask!!! But also his design is weird (mostly in the anime) because they twinked him up. Hima make up ur mind you drew this man so fucking beefy put more meet on him!! I would marry him if he was real no balls (if he's human.. nationverse is complicated and I would be terrified of an immortal hottie ok)

For 🇪🇸:

He's so fucking stoopid I love him but also I legit don't know how to feel about him yk? Like,, I've been in this fandom for years and he's basically been my fave for so long, but at the end of the day I cannot describe him crystal clear. He's strange and I want more content from Hima of him, tho he has more content than some characters I still wish for more in-depth stuff! Mooore!! I'd marry him if I could but also nationverse strikes again.

For both:

They're extremely complex characters in my mind, not only just from what we know in canon but also from peer and personal interpretation! I think these two can easily be made morally grey, and that's extremely important when exploring their history. Like I don't think they're awful individuals, but fiction is an endless space and people tend to have their own fun. I make them assholes here and little shits there, but I don't think they're downright evil. Humans are complex, and Nationverse is the last situation I would consider them NOT be difficult to pin down. Antonio is mentioned to be two-faced, which is something I enjoy exploring a lot because there is no way with his history his happiness and obliviousness isn't some sort of coping mechanism he chooses to use rather than a natural thing. Also, my views on these two are not superior to anybody else's btw I just thought it would be funny to put that since I do deal with my own interp the most! Other people's interps are so fucking good okay (I am looking at you two!!)

But at the same time, I also hate the majority of fanon's interp over the years. Making Port some weirdo with a victim complex confuses me a lot looking at how absolutely stubborn this poor fucker is in my mind, but I do believe he would have depression issues and some form of imposter syndrome. But he's not weak and he doesn't see himself as a poor sod, he can acknowledge in some situations he's helpless and in others he can solve them. Older nations are stubborn and hate asking for help, I don't doubt he hates it lmao. But yeah kinda over the whole "poor Port" thing he can be a dick when the situation calls for it! This can apply to Antonio too, he's not a pathetic little shit either but they both have their moments obviously

And with Spain.. don't get me started on him. Please. I know his obliviousness is canon, but obliviousness doesn't equate to stupid and they make him so ignorant like there's just no way in hell. I know he may not read social situations well, but he sure as fuck knows how to read people (all except Port from what I'm seeing haha but that's a different situation). Spanish people are relatively blunt, but he wouldn't say something so awfully rude it would hurt somebody unless he intended it to lol. And he seems like the kind of person to be extremely smart with the things he enjoys! Canon kinda supports that as well, but it's a very recent development with the trivia thing being a new strip reveal but hshdjc you get my point hopefully!

Also the idea that they're related gets on my nerves sometimes because over 3/4ths of the people I've seen headcanon that get ignorant with it (as in, they culture blend and don't actually differentiate between Spanish and Portuguese people and are SUPER disrespectful! Also the name Carriedo doesn't exist in Portuguese at least be a little bit accurate if ur giving them the same names lol) Those who do it and aren't wild with it tho? I adore seeing all dynamics between the two. Go ham! Just be more kind and try not to make Spanish and Portuguese people out to be a monolith and also listen to them pls they would know a thing or two!!

On a more personal note, the they're literally me thing is a complete joke because I have hazel green eyes and brown hair lmfao. Depending on when I cut my hair I can make myself resemble them relatively easy with the exception of glasses because I'm blind as fuck hahaha. I also project onto them a lot because I project on all of my characters. I make them both Bi and mentally complex in some sort of way!! They're both impulsive and stubborn like me, and Antonio in my heart has ADHD to the max. Port has my weird affinity with the sea and the color blue while Antonio my obsession with fire and the color red. Just little things, they're obviously not me in the slightest but I give them elements of myself because I am controlling them in a fictional environment, and because it helps me cope knowing they can be liked and have similarities with me (I have,, unfortunate self esteem issues lmao) so yeah I just really adore them and I also replicate their characters as well. I will be honest in saying I project more on Antonio than Port tho hdhrjf- If I'm kind like Antonio and calm like Port, maybe I'll be liked more ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Just like them, I am a complex individual as well. We all are, humans are fucking nuts and it's fun to think about- also as you can see I'm mentally ill as fuck about them so not much explanation needed there LMAOO

Sorry for the long rant but I was really happy to have answered this!! Thank you for the asks dears 💙💙💙

[h0lygh0stlings]

I decided to finally make a big ole, main post on my TWF Oc Jodie since I did some new art of her, and such!

ᴺᵃᵐᵉ: Jodie D. Carpenter .

ᴬᵍᵉ: Forty four; born in 1938 during the late month of April.♈

ᴴᵉⁱᵍʰᵗ: 5'5", sometimes appearing 5'6" .

ᴳᵉⁿᵈᵉʳ: Female; with feminine and gender neutral pronouns

---

ᴬᵖᵖᵉᵃʳᵃⁿᶜᵉ: 

Although being forty four, they appear a bit younger on some days and their bubbly attitude that comes out in front of their friends could make one double look, and double guess if they truly were the age they said they were--. Then, there are the other days that hit them, the roughness, that worn down feeling practically oozing onto their features and making them look older, and oh so tired no matter how much they try to hide it. It's from everything, and everything to come. Years of hard work, and years of t r y i n g .

Jodie is a short, petite female with dark, messy brown hair that's long and goes far past their shoulders, and they have very, extremely pale skin with a hint of freckles scattered across. They're seen wearing very chunky, large and oversized clothing. Jeans, and sweaters most of the time with them preferring muted, and dark toned colors like greys, and darker blue shades. She is also seen often more so in their BunnySmiles INC uniform; consisting of a button up top and a long pencil skirt as well as their I.D. card, pinned neatly to the rightside of their chest . 

The only thing being, they aren't seen much let alone often enough, being a loner of the sorts outside of those they're forced to see because of their job. Jodie is a male-to-female Transgender person and is ever so slightly open about it, with them leaning towards they/them and she/her pronouns, and they are also on the shorter side compared to most. They wear many different styles of shoes, and slip on sandals to hide it, and to give them an extra inch in their step. Overall, it being yet another thing they do in hopes of blending in with everything, everyone .

ᴾᵉʳˢᵒⁿᵃˡⁱᵗʸ: 

A kindhearted person overall--, if meeting properly or ever outside of work, Jodie tends to come off as gentle. They have a very soft, and quiet type of personality with them often keeping to themselves, except for when it comes to them being around their family, and friends. Reserved, and calm. A bit shy, even. A smile, filled with secrets one would think, a lie compared to their reality. False. A mystery, of pain and agony. Someone struggling beyond work, and their desperate need for silence, peace. A moment to themselves. They're a hard worker also, and tend to over work themselves no matter what they seem to be doing, and that has been a trait that had stuck with them ever since they'd been a teen, in college-- and ever since she had started to work for the company in itself . 

After the incident leading up to the disappearances, and everything with The Waltens, and the first round of the restaurant closing down, their kindhearted, go-to attitude had sort of withered off in it's own way, and had been replaced with further silence, more of her quiet side. It had lead her to struggle to find work between the relocation project, and the rotting hopes of a revival ever, e v e r fully happening for the restaurant and it's animatronics, and she had eventually pushed the thoughts of it all, everything back into the farthest crevices of her mind until it had been brought back up-- and she had been brought on board to help design more things for the company. Jodie can come off as a bit gruff, a bit intimidating looking far more than she ever is, and their appearance and attitude nowadays is often deceiving compared to how they used to be, and actually really are.

ᴮⁱᵒᵍʳᵃᵖʰʸ: 

Jodie had been a slight friend of the Walten family, and the Krankens before they had came to be during their college years, and had been a longtime friend of Linda Thompson at the time before anything, and any of the incidents in the later years had taken place.

Born in Minnesota, with their family and their siblings somehow ending up, and moving to Michigan later on-- they had grown up being an aspiring artist, and had eventually fell into studying the arts, and graphic design for their classes during the years they met Linda, Jack Walten and his wife. It had eventually became a no-brainer of a question if they had wanted to aid in their longtime dreams of their business, and become a part of their restaurant franchise. She had been m o r e than excited to. Soon over time, taking on the job as the company's cartoonist, and mascot designer for the showstoppers, and soon being the partial influence to the iconic pops, and hints of bright color sprawled about the restaurant and it's overall design.

With the constant whirlwind of the hype, and the excitement for them surrounding the opening of Bon's Burgers, it was like watching their words, and their ideas spring to life right in front of them no matter the years it had taken them. Except, it had taken time. Lots, and lots of time. More than they had expected, more than Jodie had expected. They had eventually had families, and had gotten married during the process of it all, the Walten's having their own children even, although throughout the time Jodie had remained mostly single during it all. Focusing more so on her work and such more than anything, and more for the restaurant. The business's creations, their constantly growing, changing ideas. They kept her constantly busy, and they were more than the same when it came to themselves. Spending hours, sometimes weekends at the warehouse. She was one to overwork herself, but never was one to complain. Constantly busy,y e t, happy. Content. Little had she known about the never ending tragedies that would follow, and what BunnySmiles INC., and all the hard work put into it all would cause. Their own dream, A living nightmare that everyone would never be able to escape. That she wouldn't be able to escape.

[Jodie's backstory is written before the accident and before Jack Walten's disappearance; I will be adding more and adding a verse to her bio for after the accident/disappearance soon!]

[dalishthunder]

A DUALSCAR/READER AND A GHB/READER IN ONE??? im not a huge black romance reader but for them? combined? yes. i. would. you should drop that first chapter maybe 👀 no pressure though

Yes sorry, I had to find it, it was on me lappy top

Here is a portion of the first chapter:

“Well, look way down the river, what do you think I see?”

You beat out a rhythm in time with the tune of your cellmate’s voice as you watched the guards exchange words in their guttural language; faces shrouded in the dimly lit corridor, helmets hiding their unearthly golden eyes.

Ghoulish grey skin and black hair, clad head to toe in black armor bearing a crimson insignia on their shoulder. Their orange horns the only thing that mismatched the aesthetic. Candy corn gradient, darkest, almost red, at the base fading to saffron at the tip. If it weren’t for the fact that you had seen their wretched, crocodile smiles as they had cut down those fleeing around you could have found the aesthetic just a touch silly.

“I see a band of angels and they're coming after me”

Your eyes had adjusted fairly well to the perpetual darkness of their ship. In the constant oppressive gloom, days had begun to blur together. The only thing that marked its passage was your ever growing hair and nails and the daily dose of mush they considered... nourishment. It certainly wasn’t palatable enough to be called food.

How long had it been since you’d had a proper meal now? How long had it been since you’d breathed fresh air, or since the sun had kissed your skin? As the drum of your palms rang out from their pounding against the smooth floor below,

“Ain’t no grave can hold my body down,”

You knew it was an eternity.

They’d tried to silence you, prodded you with pokers that zapped and stung. But if there was one thing humans had in spades, it was Community. The ability to relate to and pack bond with almost anything… especially other humans.

There were a dozen cells in this tiny room, each housing two of you; and no doubt dozens of rooms just like this one all along the ship. They couldn’t silence you all.

Your voice blended with your cellmates’ as you sang out with them, voices blending as one.

A curse. A promise.

“There ain’t no grave can hold my body down.”

They had come in the night. Their craft touching down in the city square, raining fire and brimstone from above.

No one had seen it coming.

For all of the movies and stories about aliens conquering the earth, for all of the tin foil hats and UFO fests, it amounted to little more than a game. A thought experiment. Something fun to fantasize about and thrill each other with. Implausibly hilarious. Like cryptozoology or Tommy Wiseau winning an oscar.

Although if you had had to put money on it, you supposed alien invasion was slightly more plausible than the latter.

“Well, look down yonder Gabriel, put your feet on the land and see,”

God, you had had a zombie plan. A nuclear winter plan. A plan for if the central power grid was taken out. So many apocalypse plans… most of which included migrating out to the middle of nowhere, starting a small farm, and building a community up with the knowledge you had gained over the years… finally putting that degree in botany to good use. Living modestly with hard work, but the satisfaction of knowing that humanity would continue. It would survive.

“But Gabriel don't you blow your trumpet 'til you hear it from me,”

You would write down your memoirs in a journal, chronicle your life as little by little you slowly succumbed to madness.

But this situation…. Holed up in a tiny prison on an alien ship?

You didn’t have a plan for this.

“There ain’t no grave can hold my body down.”

Veronica was the name of the woman you were trapped with. Twenty eight, married… had two kids, ages five and three, and an acute fondness for Johnny Cash. She was in the grocery store with you when they had begun their raid, just ahead of you in line. She’d made a late night run for bread and eggs, just put the kids to bed for the night after a long shift.

She had cried on and off the first few days you’d been packed in here. She still cried, but the fire in her heart never stopped burning.

You remember reading once when you were young, in a book about clans of warrior cats, the most profound statement about the love of a mother; It was not soft and gentle, but powerful, fierce, overwhelming in its intensity.

You could see that in Veronica as she sang in resistance, hurling her words like spears against the bars of your prison.

“Ain’t no grave can hold my body down.”

When the starship had finally docked, you were all bound ankle to ankle and shoved out in a line like animals out of the arc. Closely watched by your captors, you all shuffled down the hall, and although you were loathe to follow their orders, the thought of being off that ship and under the open sky was thrilling beyond belief.

The crisp smell of air hit your nostrils like a drug… briny, salty.

You’d never been much of a runner but the sound of waves lapping against the shore beckoned you like the sweet song of a siren. Your muscles ached with longing. The dim lights of the ship gave way to the grey of twilight. On one side a sea, on the other, clusters of home. A troll city if the mingling of bodies with candy corn horns, golden eyes leering at your procession, was anything to go by.

You breathed deep, savoring the mingling aromas of the outside world after having spent god knows how long in that tiny cell.

Behind you Vanessa sniffed, no doubt stifling her tears. You had made a pact together; No matter what came, you would never give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry. They led you to large metal cages covered in a thick, fraying fabric, shoving you in ten people to each one. Their fangs glinted in the starlight as they spoke to one another. What you wouldn’t give to understand what they were saying.

The smaller of the two laughed, eyeing your cage up and giving what looked like a noncommital gesture. Your lips curled into a snarl.

They just laughed harder.

“Easy there, tiger.” Vanessa murmured putting her hand on your shoulder, attempting to pull you back. “It’s not worth it.”

The taller troll stepped closer, placing a large hand on the bars of the cage, grinning down at you. And she spoke. Clipped, thick, heavy words tumbling from her throat.

“Someone’s going to enjoy breaking you.”

She turned to address all of the cages. “Human worms, tomorrow you will behave yourselves…. You will be serving new masters, and if you continue to behave, you may even survive.” Her cruel smile widened. “Rest up.”

The canvas covering was pulled over the cages, obscuring the outside world once more in near complete darkness. You could hear the sounds of people crying all around you, and Vanessa clutched you close. “There’s a difference between being brave and being stupid, tiger, and you’re really toeing the damn line ain’t you.…”

Your jaw clenched involuntarily. “I know.” You wanted to say, but the words tangled in your throat and all that came out was a shaky laugh.

“Look I know you’re scared, but you’re no use to anyone if you’re dead. Got it?”

You nodded, sighing and sitting down. She was right… you couldn’t do anything if you died.

There was a tiny tear in the tarp they had over your enclosure, just large enough that you could look outside, the ocean stretching out to meet the horizon. The smell of salt was almost enough to mask the stench of fear.

[transmanrayner]

Chapter 1!

Virgil's POV:

I look around nervously as I step out of my room and slowly creep down the hall. Janus has always been pretty overprotective of Remus and I, especially me. I just want to go to the imagination, is that too much to ask? I know I'm a new side compared to everyone else, but I've still been here for a long time! I've been here ever since Thomas was 17. He's 21 now! I've been here for 4 years! Anyway, back on task. I listen for Janus' footsteps, or Remus'. I'm not entirely sure who would be worse to run into, Remus or Janus. 

I freeze in place when I hear a floorboard creek and immediately blend as much as I can into the shadows, my already dark clothing helping a lot with camouflaging me. Janus walked by, seeming to be in a hurry, and I felt more nervous then I normally would've been. Thomas must need to lie to someone important. I would normally worry about it a lot more then I am now, but I'm a little preoccupied at the moment and sneak into Remus' room, even though I'm absolutely horrified with how disgusting it is. Through either of the Creativity's rooms are the only way into the imagination, and I'm certainly not going to the light sides. I'm going to be in enough trouble as it is.

Remus' room is mainly black and green, much like you'd expect it to be, but there's mysterious goo and blood everywhere, as well as a curious stench that I don't want to stick around long enough to find out what it is. I don't want to become the next horrendous stench in his room. His bed is has a black wooden bed frame that looks like he started beating it up, or chewing on it, either is possible. It has flowy black sheer curtains that are torn to shreds by the end, where they fade completely to a glittering dark green. It would be beautiful if it was better taken care of. 

There's two other doors, one is a black that fades to green, much like his curtains on his bed, that glitters slightly with something different that I shudder in disgust at. Then I look to the other door and hesitate to go near it. It's a sleek, pure ebony black door that has a slight shine to it, almost like it's made out of marble. It gives off this vibe of, "DANGER! DO NOT APPROACH!" And my body is inclined to agree. But I have to get in there. I have to see what it's like on the other side, if it's really like they say. 

I close my eyes, then slowly open the door and step through, letting it close behind me. When I open them again, I'm alone in a dark forest, all the trees looking like they're towering over me and about to fall ontop of me. Obviously this freaks me out, but I take a deep breath to calm myself down and start climbing a tree to see where I am and how far away I am from the border. I'm pretty far away, but I can make it there in 2 hours. Thomas should also be asleep by then, though with Sleep who's to know when Thomas will fall asleep. 

I climb down from the tree and start walking in the direction of the border, making sure to watch my step because Remus loves to place bear traps randomly throughout his side of the forest to make sure no one comes there, and/or to torture anyone who comes in. Thankfully we were immune to the lure of whatever illusion or scent he put on them to lure people into them. After a little while of walking, I reach the brambles that separate Remus' side from Creativity's side. 

The brambles are a thick, dark wood with blood scattered along the thorns that I take great care to avoid. The thorns are of all different sizes, from thorns as small as a single hair that probably had poison on them, to thorns as big as my arm that could impale me easily. There are big trees around me made of a dark oak, but lighter then the rest of the trees in Remus' forest. Much like the others, these are tilted, except a few trees are tilted in the other direction, one even going over the brambles and connecting to a tree on Creativity's side. 

I start to climb the tree and keep watch for Remus, as well as anyone over Creativity's side of the brambles. But as soon as I see what's on the other side, I freeze in awe. It's beautiful. (Castle garden picture) As I move farther up the tree to take in more of the scene, I'm left breathless at how beautiful it is. (Castle picture 2) By now, I'm almost on the edge of the tree branch, leaning out over the brambles to get a better view. Then my heart dropped when I heard a snap from underneath me. 

I screamed as I fell, the thorns tearing my skin and ripping my legs, though thankfully I instinctively covered the important parts of my body with my arms. It hurt, sure, but it wouldn't kill me. That I knew of, a side couldn't die anyway. Thankfully I had landed on Creativity's side of the brambles, so it was mainly just branches that tore and shread, as well as leaves that cushioned my fall. It still kept me high enough that I couldn't get down by myself though, and it tore my jacket off and flung it back onto Remus' side. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and my breathing was quick and uneven. I thought I was gonna die... 

My vision started fading as my adrenaline wore down and my head lolled forward as I  started to pass out, the last thing I saw being just a few colors, white, gold, and red. The last thing I heard was, "Get the ladder and a gurney!" Then everything went black.

//Sorry if you're not tagged!

@transformationloveb

[justice4harwin]

Light's Corruption- Chapter IV

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Summary:With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty

Rating: 18+

Click here for chapter 3

Tags are in the comment section. If you dont wanna be there or wanna be added please let me know 😊

Anyways, I hope you like this one. I'm really excited over a particular scene 😏😏

Chapter 4: golden butterfly, black rose

Alina woke up with a new purpose: to observe and listen.

She hastily threw the blankets and sheets off of her and put on her kefta as she realized she might be late for breakfast.

Running down the stairs, hair a mess, the Sun Summoner smiled and greeted everyone on her path.

Some replied. Others just stared oddly.

She entered the hall to find that, as usual, Marie and Nadia had left a seat empty between them. Alina gingerly took it.

"Good morning!"

They gave her smiles as they reciprocated the greeting.

"You're in a good mood today." Nadia noticed, taking her spoon.

"I slept like a baby." she lied. She hadn't gotten that much sleep -Genya must've gotten even less- but she felt good that day.

Just the day before, she had been able to summon on her own for the first time, and she had to stay positive if she wanted to accomplish her new mission.

She engaged more in the chatter with the grisha women that day, venturing so far as to reply with questions of her own to get to know them better.

"I didn't know you had a brother, Nadia." she said, genuinely surprised as they made their way to Botkin's stables.

The woman nodded with a half-annoyed, half-endearing smile.

"He's grisha too. A few years younger, so he's still at school. His name's Adrik."

"Is he a Squaller too?" 

Nadia confirmed that he was, because of course, the little rat had to copy everything about his older sister.

Alina laughed at that.

"The little girl seems very happy for someone who's about to get into a fight?" were the words with which Botkin received her.

Alina fought back the need to recoil. The only time she had won so far had been against Zoya, …if one could consider that a win given what happened right after.

"Maybe I'll be lucky today." she beamed at him.

Botkin seemed almost surprised.

"Positivity is fine, little girl, but you need to focus during a fight. But first." he clapped his hands twice, immediately getting all the attention. "Run around the lake. Twice. The last one to get back here will help the stable hands for the rest of the day."

Alina really ran like never before that day.

Her side hurt, and she almost felt like she wasn't getting enough air; but after the first half, her legs didn't burn so much anymore, and she felt almost as good as she did when walking.

"Damn, Starkov." she turned her head to see that Michail, a heartrender with a hard-shaped face and kind, green eyes, was easily keeping up with her. "When did you get this fast?"

"Practice." she said, a little breathless but feeling nice with the cold air slapping against her face. "Besides, I really don't wanna end up in the stables."

He laughed at that.

"That makes two of us. I hate those animals."

Alina frowned. She just didn't wanna clean up their shit, but other than that, she could find nothing wrong with horses.

"Why?"

"Those long faces," he said, gesturing over his own. "they're scary."

"You're scared of horses?!" she asked, disbelieving. 

"Why don't you yell it a little louder?" he asked, looking around at the disperse group, but he was smirking. They weren't at the front, but they weren't slagging at the back either.

"Sorry." she leaned in. "I'll keep your secret if you help me not to be the last."

"I don't think you need my help," he laughed. "but sure."

She got knocked down on her ass by a short Inferni woman with dark blonde hair, but Alina laughed it off, hiding her embarrassment, and stretched out a hand. The Inferni rose an eyebrow and then helped her up.

"Thanks." she told her, dusting off the back of her kefta.

"For kicking your ass?"

"Hey, I think I did learn a thing or two." she winked. "Next time I'll be ready."

"Oh, so you want a rematch?" the woman asked, amused, as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

"If you're up for it." Alina shrugged.

"Deal." they shook hands. "But it'll have to wait until we're done with him." she said, nodding towards Botkin, who was busy making rounds, watching the others. "I'm Natasha, by the way."

"Alina."

"Oh, I know. Everyone knows." she smiled once more before retreating to a small group of Inferni that had reunited by a corner.

As she passed by the lake in her usual route to Baghra's hut, Alina got startled by the damage she had done to the perfectly green grass. Gardeners were still at work getting rid of the black mass she had left in her path, going so far as to dig into the earth. They saw her passing and glanced up, some frightened, others definitely not amused.

"I am so sorry." she whispered frantically, before hurrying her steps.

"Don't let the heat out!" was all the greeting she got from the ancient woman.

Alina closed the door and hurried to the chair that awaited her. She was smiling.

"I don't think that will be a problem." she said, proud of herself.

She scoffed. "So I have heard. Show me." she said, hitting her in the arm with her cane.

"Ouch!"

With a nasty frown, Alina placed her palms in front of the others and called the light that she had rejected for so long. So eager to answer, her power rushed through and out of her, and she was almost puzzled by its intensity. She focused on keeping the orb small.

"Uh. Well, it took you long enough."

"A 'Congratulations' would be nice."

She got hit again. Her light wavered and then solidified again.

"Congratulations? What? Do you want a parade thrown in your honour as well? For what? Doing what you were supposed to do your entire life? Shut up and expand the orb. Make it encompass the entire place."

With deep breaths, both to concentrate and control her anger, Alina steadily expanded her light, making it fill the hut.

"Bend it to its shape."

Carefully, she tried to do as she was told.

"You were right, about being held back." she uttered as she tried to shape her light to blend in with the walls.

"I know." the woman said, petulant. "Now call it back and repeat until there is no effort to it."

Alina tried, and tried again, but as eager as her power was to explode, her body was eager for a long, long nap. There had been so much repression, so much denial for so many years, that it was as if the light wanted to just explode out of her body and consume it all.

It scared her a little, but she focused.

The Darkling had told her she was magnificent, Alina remembered, and he had made it sound like she was capable of anything.

The way his grey eyes shone with such intensity, like he wanted to engulf her into his arms and have her all to his own, the way in which his hand felt against hers, or how just even being next to him made her want to lean into and over him like a lazy, overly clingy cat. 

She'd lay on top of him all day if she could.

Alina wondered what would've happened if Genya hadn't arrived at the moment she did. Would The Darkling had kissed her? What would his lips taste like? How would his beard feel against her skin? Just exactly how good was he with his tongue?

Alina blushed. The light flickered, as if excited at the mere idea of the man.

She had kissed a few people before, but him, there was something about him that told her that if he should kiss her only once, she'd spend the rest of her life running after the very same sensation and more.

"Dreaming about your dark prince again?"

She looked at Baghra.

"What?" looking around, she noticed that her light had expanded farther than the hut and she was glowing.

Alina snapped her hands, and everything was dark again. Her fingers tingled with power, her eyelids closed with exhaustion.

"I-I wasn't-" she blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the new environment.

"Stupid, stupid girl. You need to focus on your task."

"I'd concentrate better if I wasn't being hit every five min-OUCH!"

"Do not make excuses with me. You are lazy, easily distracted, you do not know what you are getting yourse-"

"You know, for someone who's supposed to be such a great teacher, I've still got to see some actual teaching." Alina snapped. "All you do is yell at me, hit me and belittle me; yet one conversation with The General I can finally summon." the brunette spat, each word more angrier than the previous one. "So don't try to blame me for your shortcomings."

Baghra was silent, nostrils flaring. When it looked like she might raise her cane and hit Alina right in the head with it, she opened her thin lips instead:

"Out." she uttered, almost inaudible. "Out! And do not come back!"

"Gladly!"

Alina stood up and marched for the door, her steps almost as loud as the insults the old woman was throwing after her.

"Stupid girl! Unconscious! Just another pawn of his! You never learn! Lazy! Stupid! Blind!"

 It was a good thing the old crone couldn't see the tears of frustration and shame in her eyes.

She was on her way back to the Little Palace, trying to decide if she should bathe or go to the library first.

Baghra’s words still rang in her head.

Maybe, if she was quick, really quick with her bath,...but then again, she was getting too used to such a luxury, that once in there it was quite difficult to leave unless the water turned cold.

But if she went to the library, she’d be there until the words blurred and her eyes burned.

On the other hand, there were other grisha in the library, and she couldn’t afford to walk in there smelling like-

"Alina?"

General Kirigan's smooth voice had her turning on her heels, hand still massaging the spot on her arm Baghra's cane had so harshly landed. She had managed to hold back the tears, but the woman's word still stung.

"Moi Soverennyi." She greeted but forgot to bow.

He looked at her arm.

"How was your lesson?"

"I spent months with her and nothing; five minutes with you and I can summon." She basically spat, still bitter at Baghra's harsh words. "I think that speaks for itself."

He smiled, almost.

"Give the old woman some credit. She is good at what she does."

"Terrorizing isn't teaching." she replied, and then, with her head high, added: "She didn't get me to summon."

"No." The Darkling agreed, taking a step towards her. All engulfed in his black cloak, he almost seemed to float. "You did it. It was all you." He said it with such reverence that her breath became shallow.

She didn't look away from his eyes. The storms swirling in there were magnetic. There was so much going on in there at the moment, yet it all sped up through those grey orbs so fast she couldn't make sense of it.

"Why don't you teach me?" The words slipped from her tongue before she could think better of it.

He rose an eyebrow, taking another predatory step towards her.

"I serve the King. I run an entire army. I do not have the time to train everyone personally, nor would I want anyone to think they are favoured above others." 

He was so close to her now, she had to crane her neck to look up.

"You once said there was no one else like us; who could be a better teacher?"

In truth, she also wanted to see him more often. Glimpses as he passed through the Little Palace or left Os Alta, and the occasional conversation weren't enough for her.

"You flatter me, Miss Starkov."

"I only state my opinion." she took a step, shortening the distance, like he was a magnet calling for her.

Mirth shone in his eyes. It made her smile. 

"I will be going away for a few weeks." At this, her smile fell, and his formed as he tilted her chin up with his gloved fingers.

Alina stared up into his eyes, dark with something.

"I'll miss you." She whispered, foolishly, without thought. 

"Will you?" He asked, almost perplexed for a moment.

She found herself nodding.

"I know we don't get much chance to talk, but I like talking to you." She confessed, a knot in her throat. "You understand all,...this." she flickered her fingers and a tiny orb of light formed above her hand.

His eyes followed suit, almost fascinated, like he still couldn't quite believe her power was real. And when he looked at her, it was like he couldn't believe she was real.

His hand rose and shadows swallowed her light. Alina watched them dance, entranced by his power, and noticed it taking shape.

"For you." The Darkling said, handing her a black rose, from the base of its steam to the very last petal. "To remember me by while I am gone."

Disbelieving, she reached out and gasped as she touched the shadow. There was a little bit of gold in there, her own power hidden within, shimmering weakly here and there.

"I don't have anything to give you." She said, lamenting.

He leaned down, his beard rough against her soft cheek.

"Trust me, Alina," he whispered, her name on his lips against her ear making her tremble. "I could not forget you if I tried."

There was the whisper of a kiss against her cheek that seemed to linger for the longest moment, …and then he was leaving, cloak flipping behind him as he left the sun Summoner holding onto a small piece of shadow and a piece of her heart gone with him.

Click here for chapter Five

[the-coffee-story]

Rise of the Forest God

Chapter 17 - Professor Tally Winchester

Winchester Hall was a beautiful, dark Victorian mansion á lá Addams Family that rested proudly upon the tallest hill around. The windows, grey with age and dust were tall and skinny and a rusted iron gate, with weathered carvings now indistinguishable rested half swallowed by dirt and uncut blades of long dry grass. The whole thing blended rather well with the crawling forest behind it.

The team was waiting by the gate, curious and giddy with half-numbed nervousness.

"Well, now I'm definitely interested," Walther commented, peeking through the towering, rusted gate. "This looks like it's haunted by at least three ghosts who died a horrible death. They never found the heads."

October laughed.

"Seriously October, imagine the Addams Family's mansion, now scale it down a little."

He raised an eyebrow. "Can't wait for Morticia to pop out."

"Well, Morticia was definitely not on the phone," Violet noted.

Suddenly, the carved, dark-oak door that rested comfortably in the centre of the home's front opened, and a young man peeked out, adjusting his glasses as he took a moment to assess the situation. After a few moments passed, he noticed the team waiting by the gate, waved to wordlessly grab their attention, and quickly scuttled over.

Tally Winchester was a medium-heighted, slender and bald individual with large, wildly blue eyes behind thick glasses and a countless amount of scattered silver piercings dotted in and around his earlobe. Despite the fact that it was it had just dawned early spring, his skin was sunburnt and tanned, as if he spent most of his days somewhere lost outside. He walked with a noticable limp, and Walther didn't need to wait long for an explanation, when a prosthetic briefly appeared between his worn brown converse sneakers and faded jeans.

"Hi!" He flashed a toothy smiled at the group and opened the gate. "Great to see you, I'm Professor Tally Winchester!" He shook everyone's hands as they trickled past. The sleeves of his petrol flannel were rolled up, revealing a rather out-of-place, faded tattoo of a crawling lizard and a bunch of old scars. "You can call me Tally though."

Violet held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Violet, we talked on the phone."

"Great to meet you all!" He grinned. "Are you coming inside?"

***

"Before anyone asks, I inherited the house," Tally explained while leading them upstairs. "It's rotten and I hate it and the bills are a naked horror but I doubt I can find anything that has more capacities for a library." He opened a door. "Intrate, everyone."

"Remarkable," Doc commented.

Remarkable was indeed an understatemt. The room they'd entered was a library- with a beautiful brick fireplace and huge windows that let in the sparse afternoon sun, bookshelves brushed against the webbed ceiling and sunk into every wall. The floor was carpeted, through incredibly uncomfortable to walk on, and the furniture antique. One wall was plastered with photographs and notes.

"Nice," Walther mumbled, taking the second to once again soak in their surroundings.

Tally grinned, idly brushing aside pages and old notes compromised of incomprehensible scribbles and drawings. His teeth were somewhat crooked. "I didn't replace any of the furniture, but I did sell a chunk of the old books. There was just no space for mine." He closed the door behind them. "So anyway, you wanted to know about the cult?"

"There's been a bunch of murders in Forest Lane that were eerily similar to what it did, so yeah." Thasfield shrugged his broad shoulders. "We suspect the cult might be involved."

"Oh, I heard about that on the news!" Tally sorted the files on the table until he found what he was looking for. Then he looked up. His face was serious now. "At this point I'd like to admit I have a slightly selfish motivation in this."

"What is it?", Violet asked.

"You see..." Tally leaned against the table. "For context, I'm a history professor, but my focus is on cryptids and modern legends. Historical context, potential explanations, yada yada. A few years ago I stumbled across the legend of the Forest God."

Walther's face lit up. "Oh, I remember that story, my parents used to tell it to me when I was a kid! This one guy got lost in the woods, was found dead and after his funeral his reanimated corpse came home and his wife who loved him very, very much-" They side-eyed Violet and Coffee, who in turn glared back. "-couldn't accept that maybe it's not exactly normal that your husband's corpse is vibing around, then after a while he started killing people, then he killed her and then the neighbours buried him in an iron casket in the woods so he would stop randomly murdering people. Right?"

"You summed it up." Tally nodded.

"But who believes in that?!" Violet frowned. "I mean... it's just a legend, right? Somebody finally snapped, had a rough week or something, and people straight up believe his bullshit?"

"He came back from the dead and started murdering people, Violet," Doc commented.

She shrugged dismissively. "We've all been there."

"I don't want to meet you after a bad week," Tally remarked with mild discomfort, absentmindedly flipping through pages of notes and nonsense. "The existence of the man who allegedly became the Forest God is proven. His name was Eustace Wyndham and if you ask me he had rabies and some things were added for drama. But that's not even relevant, because the cult came almost a hundred years later." He slid around the table and opened another scattered file. "1969 they started to worship the Forest God. At first it was nothing special, you know, just the average college student nonsense." He held up an old photograph, subtle wonder in his eyes as he stared into it, before handing it to Walther. "Here, you can take a look at this! That's the entire cult. The guy in purple with the long hair is one of the founders. The other founder left in 1970 after getting a bad feeling about the whole thing. I caught him for an interview five years ago. Lovely guy, sadly died of cancer shortly after. It's a shame. You can pass the photo around! Notice how they're all wearing cow parsley wreaths. That was the flower associated with the Forest God and the flower scattered all over their murder victim's body, or rather what was left of it."

"All the victims had cow parsley in their mouth," Doc realized, dragging a hand up to rest in his soft ginger curls, staring blankly into the distance, thinking.

Tally nodded hastily. "Exactly! And now please look at what I found on my windowsill this morning!"

He limped over to the tallboy, half relying on the nearby furniture for support. Leaning down and throwing open a drawer, after a short while of sifting through papers and photographs, he took out something else. Then he held it up.

It was a wreath of cow parsley.

"That's....not good," Walther murmured after a long moment of stunned silence.

Tally nodded, twirling the flowers between his thumb and forefinger. "You get it. You know..." He leaned heavily against a dusty, worn table and heaved a small sigh. "When Wilhelm called me at first I was very sceptical of it all. I'm not a group project person, if you know what I mean. But this is just the tip of the ice berg and I have a feeling that I might be next, so I decided to work with you." He shrugged his shoulders.

While he'd been talking, Coffee had been furiously typing. He handed Tally his phone and Tally read it out loud.

" 'How about we use you as a bait?' Um... Can you...can you please explain what exactly you mean? That doesn't sound particularly safe-!"

He handed Coffee's phone back to him, paranoid he might accidentally drop it, and the detective started typing an answer, this time with significantly more determination.

Hear me out. So my idea was basically that tonight we let the killer come, but were going to be prepared. In other words, we gather a big group that's going to protect you, and we're going to arrest the murderer once he's here. What do you think?

Tally hesitated for a short moment and chewed his lip, opening his mouth to reply, then closing it again.. "I mean... I guess you have a point, sooner or later he's going to get me either way."

"I mean, let's be real, you can't run forever," Thasfield said, leaning forwards. "Even if you move, it's still going to take a while, and judging by what we know you're being pretty actively stalked, so it's quite possible he'll just follow you and then you'll be killed by a Forest God in a hotel room in Central Graytown. Which probably makes for an interesting plotline in a noir film, but we're talking real life here and I highly doubt you're so keen on landing in the morgue anytime soon. Although the Doctor is an expert at autopsies."

Doc smirked.

".........yeah," Tally admitted. He sat down on the table and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, that sounds...icky but realistic." He closed his eyes took a deep breath. "Alright. Who's gonna be on this team?"

Doc's phone's rang loudly to shake up their newfound confidence, and he excused himself, stepping back into the dusty hallway to take the call.

"I mean, most of us for starters," Violet said. "But I was also thinking of grabbing Gary Fox and Wilhelm. Strength in number, you know?"

Doc eventually came back to the group. His weathered face was stricken with subtle anxiety. "Bad news."

"What is it?", Walther asked.

"Alice found her mailman by the stables."

Walther frowned. "Okay, and what's so special about that?"

"His left arm was by the stables. The rest of him was scattered across the field."

"Dear God, is he okay?"

"He's okay, but he's dead." Doc turned to Tally, lowering his voice just enough. "Can we settle on tonight?"

Tally nodded. His sunburnt face had notably paled, turning his skin a somewhat pasty yellow. "Sure. What time are y'all coming?"

"Is five o'clock alright with you?"

Tally shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."