#renaissance clothing is hell to paint

[phier]

Participated in my first ever game jam and it was great! It was for the Historically Accurate Game Jam 8, and the theme was assassinations! My team and I created a Visual Novel about a certain famous murder during the rule of Mary Queen of Scots. Check it out!

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 62

Part 1 Part 61

Will stares down at his walkie-talkie, hand clutched so tight around it that its body creaks. Mike pries it gently from his grip. They all stand silently on the sidewalk, kids pushing past on their way up to get more candy.

“Who’s Steve?” Max asks.

It’s like she breaks some hold Jonathan’s echoing words had on him. Will starts running. If Steve is missing, they’ll find him. Luckily, Loch Nora is one of the only places that gives out full bars, sometimes. Still, it’s a hilly neighborhood, and the Harrington’s live right at the top.

Mike’s already complaining beside him, but he keeps up, Dustin trailing behind, determined but quickly huffing with exertion.

“Why are we running?” Max calls, trailing behind the entire pack of them with Lucas at her side, but still following dutifully along. “Who the hell is Steve?”

“He’s like—our babysitter?” Lucas replies, not sounding winded at all. Clearly deciding that’s too embarrassing, he continues, “no wait! Not like—he saved Will’s life when he and Eddie got lost in the woods last year and now, they’re blood brothers or something.”

They’ve all told the lie so many times, it rolls smoothly off the tongue. He got lost in the woods. Steve and Eddie found him. End of story. But Lucas says it like it’s a lie, and Max’s scoff says clearly, she knows it.

“Whatever, stalker,” she says, huffing along behind Will at that same frenetic pace.

Will can feel the tether pulling him the right way – three dots converging on a map. Eddie beats him. He can feel that, too, before he even sees Eddie’s van parked in the Harrington’s long driveway. It’s sideways, taking up the entirety of the driveway like he’d parked in a hurry.

The headlights are still on, beaming brightly against the tree planted in the Harrington’s front yard, highlighting the way its willowy stalks sway in the breeze. Three car doors are left open, flung wide and abandoned.

Will picks up his pace, even as breathing becomes more and more difficult. The front door is open, a mouth ready to swallow them all. He passes the threshold into noise.

All the lights are still off in the foyer. It’s like being in a cave, dark and hungry. He can’t see the ceiling. It feels vast. Like they’re just ants. He pauses, just for a second, to stare up at it, feeling so very small.

There’s a light on upstairs, illuminating bits of beige carpet. Voices tumble out of it, screaming and crying, like the light is fire, and they’re all burning up in it.

Will’s feet slip and slide on the stairs. He doesn’t fumble for a light switch, just runs up, crawls hands and feet the rest of his way when he slips. Footsteps thunder up behind him. Will doesn’t turn around, can’t.

The bedroom he steps into his bright after the darkness, and it’s like a renaissance painting, given movement. The way Barbara and Nancy are screaming at a girl Will's never seen before, gestures effusive, voices too loud as they toss them around the small room. Jonathan stands between them, back to Will staring into the recesses of an open closet.

Eddie’s there, crying. He sounds like a wounded animal. Like that rabbit Lonny had caught in his snare while it wailed and wailed and wailed. Clothes and hangers are raining down around the pair of them, knocked from the bar with the force Eddie’s shaking Steve’s shoulders with. It’d hurt if Steve was there.

But he isn’t.

Steve’s eyes are vacant. Like all the life’s been sucked right out of him. Will shudders. Stands. Waits. He’s always waiting.

Someone pushes into Will’s back – one of his friends trying to push through to get into the room from where he’s still lingering on the threshold.

The tether snaps, like Lucas’ slingshot being fired, with Will as the ball. He rockets toward them, dropping to his knees hard enough to hurt even on the plush carpet.

“Eddie?” he says.

Eddie doesn’t look at him, can’t seem to stop making that horrible noise that’s lodged itself in Will’s own throat. But he scoots to the side, and Will slots into his place at both of their sides.

“Steve?” Will says, so quietly he wouldn’t have been able to hear it even if he was awake. Not over Eddie.

Will hovers his hands over Steve’s shoulder, wanting to touch but so afraid he’ll be cold.

“Steve?” he tries again.

Steve stares and stares and stares.

Will lowers his hand, feels the warmth of skin, and then nothing at all.

Part 63

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

How to Plant Snapdragons (pt. 3)

Task Force 141 + König + Keegan x Female Criminal!Reader (except Captain Price, because he'll be like a father to the bunch and König and Keegan won't appear until later on in the story)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You tell Ghost, Gaz, and Soap why you were in prison.

You are currently reading Chapter 3. Here is Chapter 2 and the Masterlist!

CONTENT WARNING: Strong Language WORD COUNT: 3k

A hand slammed on the table across you, and Kyle's booming voice echoed in the dining hall. "I've heard of the news!"

You sat with Johnny, while the Lieutenant was on the other side, where Gaz had also pulled himself a seat. You had your usual bright and smiley face that could rival the sun. You seemed as though you had just successfully run away from the base, skipping on some puddles.

You faced Gaz and smirked, knowing that your glorious feat had traveled the speed of light across this realm of gunpowder and tanks.

There weren't many people in the place, considering it was late afternoon, but it already seemed night because of the dark sky. You had changed clothes and eaten a portion of food before your superiors got to find you after you managed to slip away from them again. There were only a handful of soldiers scattered in the hall—considering it was a couple of hours past lunch—chatting their free time away and keeping their ears and eyes sharp for gossip. Gossip meant you.

You kept your legs crossed the entire time, in an attempt to hide the monitor. Every time it beeped and lighted up, you couldn't help but cringe. You hated being the center of attention and this thing that technically screams, 'Hey, keep your eyes on me, I might drive a tank into the base, uwu! Or I’m going to steal a bird and go HASTA LA VISTA BITCHES AND BROS AND NON-BINARY HOES IMMA GO HELICOPTER HELICOPTER!’ made it worse.

Except you didn’t know shit how to drive those things.

(That can’t stop you)

"Heard you got four combos," Kyle said, leaning over the table. "Two critical hits on each ball, eh?"

Ghost made a face under his mask, rolling his eyes. "Fuckin' hell."

"Aye, and a knock-out for his dignity," Soap shook his head with a couple of clicks of his tongue. "Poor guy vomited in the gym after the bloody massacre of his future children."

You giggled at his comment and shifted your gaze back down to the sheets of paper you had finally stolen. If it can be called that because the Lt. and Soap were staring at you the entire time you snatched them, along with a pen for fuck's sake in Price's office, before bouncing.

"I was planning on teaching the kid a lesson but . . . what the fuck are you—" Johnny glanced over his shoulder, wide eyes darting around the canteen before setting them back on the papers you focused on. You were drawing a bunch of nude dudes, not even hesitating to add nipples and balls and dicks—why were they so big, though? "Why are ya drawing that?!" He yelled in a whisper, his large hands covering your paper.

Both Ghost and Gaz peered over the gaps between his fingers and looked away the moment they saw someone else's balls. Then, Gaz quickly put his hand over the rest of your drawings his fellow Sergeant couldn't cover as a soldier passed by your table.

"Anatomy?" You waved a hand, raised a brow, and shook your head as though he didn't get something so obvious. "Renaissance art?"

Soap frowned at you. "I'm pretty sure Renaissance paintings don't have this much nudity, and they surely weren't holdin’ one another's cocks and lookin’ like they’re enjoying it!”

"Well, yes and no, sir." You tried to push their hands away but fuck those muscles staying like fucking statues. "Wanna know why nudity was common during that era? It is to revive Roman and Greek art, which focuses on the human body and nature. And they believe that without any clothing, they can see the purest form of the human body."

"That still doesn't explain that they're fucking holding—"

"Shush!" You put a hand over Kyle's face. "They're feeling each other's pureness, Gaz. They're feeling each other."

"The fuck—"

You slapped your other hand over Soap's mouth, gazing intently at him. "It's called an art style, Soap. An art style. A preference.”

"Well, other than ya have a peculiar preference, your drawings are well mint," Ghost claimed as he carefully took one of your drawings under Kyle’s hand and closely took in the details of the person you drew. The shadows and shades on the man’s visage made it seem like it was a photograph of a marble statue, which made him feel as though he was standing before it. You flawlessly captured the feelings and emotions—a life that he didn’t know would be possible with a pen.

He put it down and slid it back to you. “What did ya take in college?”

You brought your hands down from the sergeants’ faces and picked up the pen. “I majored in Civil Engineering." You spun the pen between your fingers and looked down at your drawing with a small smile.

You had traveled around, jumping from one country to another after you graduated. Met several interesting people, learned unforgettable and valuable things, and got into trouble with them. But that was what made your life colorful, painting over sceneries you had witnessed, covered in red. That, until you caught a bald eagle’s eye while he was on the hunt.

Also, what the fuck is ‘well mint’?

"And what got a bloody engineering student in prison?” Kyle questioned in a low voice. “Can’t be the one I heard around.”

Ghost glanced at him with a frown, while Soap glared at him, shaking his head as a warning, and Gaz in response, made an ‘o’ with his mouth, nodding.

“I blew up the university because the Dean said if the campus caught fire, she would let everyone pass,” You said, which made their heads whip in your direction in an instant, while you started to sketch on a clean sheet. “I was desperate for a good grade, but I didn’t know the Dean would be in her office as the fire spread.”

Johnny gaped at you in disbelief. “Bloody hell, for a grade?”

Gaz raised a brow. “Seriously?”

You snorted. “No.”

Both the sergeants made a face, whereas Ghost let out a low scoff.

“But I have truly always cared for grades,” you started again, “even though they say high grades aren’t everything and they are just numbers, I used to think they were everything. Then, whenever I see people partying around in clubs, I begin to get jealous of them because they seem free like they don’t have anything to worry about.” You glanced at them and found they were listening attentively, so you continued. “One night, I said screw this shit and went in a club.”

“Well, sometimes, ya just have to let loose, you know?” Soap said, leaning back against the chair. “We also go to the pub once in a while to drink.”

“And all hell breaks loose,” Ghost claimed, eyeing Soap knowingly.

Your brows raised. Oh?

“Shut up, Lt.” He glared at him, pouting a bit, which Ghost ignored. Then, Soap put his elbow on the table and propped his chin on his palm, then turned his head to you. “So, ya went to the club?”

“Yeah, met a couple of guys,” you copied his actions, “seduced those couple of guys.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Had a sloppy make-out in the bathroom.”

“Damn, aren’t ya fast?” Gaz asked, smiling.

You turned to him. “Went to the hotel . . . and drunk their blood.”

Soap straightened up in a blink. “Awa' an’ bile yer heid. I thought it was real this time!”

“Oh, damn it.” Gaz slapped the table.

You laughed, throwing your head back in amusement.

Ghost crossed his arms, tilting his head a bit. “You have your way with stories, don’t you?”

“I’m an avid fan of fiction. Either I write it or read it. It’s a way for me to escape reality.” You tapped on one of your sketches. “And if I can’t read or write it, I draw it. Although, sometimes, it also stresses me out when I can’t get things right.” You sighed, furrowing your brows lightly.

They stared at you for a moment, then shared glances, silently deciding it was believable enough, considering your request for books to Laswell and your eagerness to draw.

“Alright, what’s next?” Gaz spoke, motioning a hand. “You found a doll that turned out to be alive and a killing machine.”

You grinned, placing your pen down and riding along his joke. “Preyed on a bunch of children, led them in a sewer with candies and balloons.”

“Isn’t that Chucky and It?” Johnny asked, raising a brow.

“Didn’t expect you famous gentlemen would know those movies.” You nodded in acknowledgment and pointed at him. “Well, your turn.”

“A doll ya found in the basement of yer new house turned out to be possessed,” Soap fired, pointing back at me. “Why is it always dolls, though?”

You shrugged.

“Scared of dolls, Soap?” Gaz wiggled his brows with a teasing smile.

His fellow sergeant rolled his eyes. “The fuck I would be.”

Then, the three of you faced Ghost, who had remained silent and still on his chair. His eyes went back and forth between you three before he sighed. “Ya killed people with a chainsaw.”

You three nodded at him and you commented, “Classic.” Before you could say another word, you noticed Simon finishing something out of his pockets, a phone that you oh-so wanted to still just so you could read some fanfictions on the net. Soap and Gaz followed his actions.

At this rate, you were just going to make your own fanfiction to keep your sanity.

“Come on.” Soap nudged at you and stood up, making the chair creak.

The fun finally lasted and seemed something that you dreaded to do came sooner than expected.

You gathered and rolled your drawings carefully, and stuck the ballpen onto your bun, before following them out of the chow hall.

Laswell’s voice echoed from the laptop on Captain Price’s table, and you and the 141 stood in front of it, listening to the intel she had gathered. The map of Brazil appeared on the screen, making you raise a brow as it zoomed onto the mountains, which were covered in houses instead of nature.

“Supposedly our target, Fabrício, is in his base in Rio de Janeiro, we’ll finally be able to know his deals with Hassan.” Price crossed his arms and glanced at the rest of the group. “However, there’ll be mostly likely civilians around the area, so we have to watch our fire.”

“Rio de Janeiro . . .” You mumbled and put your fingers under your chin, which caught their attention. You faced the Captain, who had a questioning look at you. “Uh,” you raised a hand as though you were going to answer a teacher’s question, “may I say a humble suggestion?”

He nodded. “Speak.”

You gulped. “I may know some things about Rio that could bring us advantages."

Ghost fully turned his body at you. “What’re ya getting at?”

“During this time of the year, Rio holds their famous Carnival for a week every night until dawn. Millions of people go there, so their streets will be mostly empty or people will be in their houses. Yet at the same time, if you wander around at night in their streets, you’ll get targeted by criminals.” You pointed at the image of your target, a man with short curly hair and dark skin. “If that guy deals with international transactions, he’ll be most likely a boss of the local outlaws and militia or protected by them. So, at times of major events like this, eyes will be off them and they’ll be able to move freely.” You brought your hand down. “But so can we.”

Price’s brows furrowed a bit and he looked at the map on the screen. “That’s . . . good thinking.” He tapped on the pad of the laptop and said, “Laswell, I’d like to—”

“Damn, lassie, how’d you know that?” Johnny questioned, a grin appearing on his lips as he put his arm around your shoulders again.

Meanwhile, Price proceeded to discuss the changes in the mission with Kate.

“I’m pretty interested in Rio because of the Carnival, yeah, and the statue of Christ the Redeemer and their beaches.” You crossed your arms to stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him as well and take the chance to squeeze his chest, biceps, and cakes. “Also, they are famous for being good at football and beach volleyball. I used to play some sports during my school days and they’re one of those.”

“Well,” Gaz also dropped his arm around you, but on your lower back, making you gulp, “aren’t you talented, miss? Wouldn’t be surprised if you're pretty famous on your campus.”

You sighed. “Don’t call me ‘miss’, and no, I’m not famous. I like solitude to be honest."

Soap pulled you a bit closer. “Ah, like the Lieutenant until he shows off his skills, aye?”

“I am not a show-off.” Ghost glared at you three. “Also, there are several disadvantages to your strategy.”

“Yessir.” You nodded and the sergeants let go of you. You raised three of your fingers. “The target is in their home ground, they know the place like the back of their hand and the difference between our numbers."

"And that's exactly why we have a backup,” Price declared in a serious voice, followed by beeps coming from the laptop which caught your attention, and General Shepherd’s profile popped out, meaning he was listening to the discussion or might be watching you without seeing him.

You pursed your lips, running your tongue through the light cracks, but kept your eyes strained on the screen. You put your hands behind you, squeezing them as hard as you could. You couldn’t miss any detail about the mission that might endanger the 141.

“We will have two teams to corner Fabrício in his base, front and back,” Laswell began once again, bright lines lighting up alleyways on the map, leading up to the mountains of houses. The first profiles to appear in bright boxes were Ghost and Soap. “Bravo team will go through this street.” Then, the Captain, Gaz, and finally, yours, appeared on the screen following a green line. “And the Alpha team will go this way.”

You let out a silent sigh in relief, yet at the same time in disappointment. You’d like to enjoy the calmness of the Captain and Gaz, and their light jokes, but you also wanted to go ape shit with Soap and make dad jokes along the way with Ghost. But what irked you more was the picture of you they used—with the eyebags and pimples. Couldn’t they put a better one for fuck’s sake?

Then, a familiar American’s profile came into view, along with several men in one box, making you frown and yell thousands of curses in your head. “Once we have Fabricio, the Shadow Company will help subdue the militia, and Nikolai will go around in helo for exfil.” As soon as Kate finished explaining, she and the General popped out in a split screen.

“Most importantly, we want Fabrício alive for interrogation,” Shepherd concluded, serious eyes darting at the 141, then settled on you. “And how are you?”

It was hard to put on pants with the monitor on. The food wasn’t any better than in prison. People thought you were a threat to be burned alive if you did something wrong before them. People thought you were a piece of meat. A dog to tame. A whore for trying to become close with the 141. A woman who knew nothing but play around.

Yet you smiled at him, despite all the thoughts that rushed to your mind. Curses that you wanted to scream at him. “Still trying to get used to things around here, sir.” You squeezed your hands, nails digging into your skin.

Gaz glanced at you and noticed your stiffness. He kept his face expressionless, seeing how you looked, and slowly, his eyes made their way to your hands.

Meanwhile, Ghost walked and sauntered behind Price's desk, keeping his eyes on the back of the laptop.

“Really?” He leaned back in his chair, head tilting to the side. “I thought you easily adapt to different environments. Has Laswell spoiled you?”

Fuck him.

“I did not do such a thing, General,” Laswell was quick to retort, a sigh escaping her lips.

She, in fact, did. But that was a story for other times.

You forced out a laugh, flowing along her lie. “If she had, she would have given me a phone, sir.”

Shepherd nodded in acknowledgment. “Very well. I hope 141 is treating you well?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Soap was faster to speak. “Of course, sir. Now we know one of the reasons why ye pulled her out of prison.” He put a hand on your shoulder, a bright grin appearing on his handsome face, yet you kept your eyes on the bald eagle. “She’s a fun one.”

You clenched your hands harder and planted your nails deeper. Motherfucking hell, Soap, don’t call me fun.

As though spiders crawled down your skin, you shivered.

With Soap's hand still on your shoulder, he felt you shudder.

Shepherd smiled, something that you didn't expect to see. "I see. But I did not put her in the 141 so you could have some fun."

"Ah, yes sir," Soap removed his hand from you and felt a twitch under his eye, "I'm just saying that—"

"She's a criminal, Sergeant Mactavish. The only reason she's out is because she'll be able to help 141. She's a tool you can use, and she knows that herself. So, make sure she continues being good and obedient." With that, his voice went static and soon faded, his picture disappearing from the laptop's screen.

"We will discuss the mission again later on," Laswell quickly filled the silence. "Take care, all of you."

"Thank you, Kate," Price said, turning the laptop in his direction.

"Anytime."

The Captain shut the laptop closed.

Chapter 4 is here!

You can also read the series on AO3 here!

Taglist: @yyiikes, @the-faceless-bride, @sae1kie

Note: Hope you guys like this Chap and don't forget to comment because I eat them when I have a bad day! Also, I've been thinking about this, would you guys like the one and only Keegan P. Russ as one of our men here?

[calmcoldevening]

♡ Slashers x plump reader ♡

Thomas Hewitt

𑁍 He likes your hips. Especially when you sit on his lap and wrap your hips around his legs while he squeezes your ass.

𑁍 Plump partner suggests big and warm hugs. The boy is so hungry for human warmth that he will not let you out of his hands for a while, but squeeze you like a soft toy.

𑁍 Baby Tommy likes to carry you on his arms, especially in the wedding style, he likes to feel your weight on his hands; be sure, he will walk extremely carefully so that if you are uncomfortable, he will painlessly correct your position; Thomas will hold you to his chest, so even through his clothes, you will hear how much he has a rapid heartbeat.

𑁍 Tommy likes to show you his strength so that you admire him and feel safe. It's enough that he puts you on one of his hands and takes a chainsaw in the other. You can't see it, but he'll smirk when you squeal in surprise and cling to his shoulders and neck.

𑁍 If the boy is bored, he will come to the kitchen (where you usually sit during a conversation with Luda-Mae or cook) and, putting you on a chair, will kneel in front of you. Tommy will put his head on your feet. Stroke his tangled hair and you will hear a vibrating purr in his chest. Tommy loves kneading your legs, so you can't get away from it. It calms him down.

𑁍 Thomas likes to look at your palms and compare them with his big hands. Your flesh is soft, tender, with a pleasant smell of soap, and his is hard and rough from constant hard work.

Vincent Sinclair

𑁍 Most of all he likes your face: plump cheeks, soft neck and shining eyes. Vincent likes to rub his mask against your forehead, massaging your shoulders.

𑁍 If you are sad, a man will pull your cheeks until you start laughing, and then hug you tightly.

𑁍 For him, you are a work of art, a Muse and, in principle, a standard of beauty, so be prepared for the fact that most of the time you will sit with him in the studio or pose for him.

𑁍 He likes to sit on your bed and hug your body from the back. He will put his head on top of your head and wrap his hands around your hands clutching a mug of hot tea.

𑁍 Please let him draw on your body. He thinks it's very beautiful. In a couple of hours, your body will turn into a flat canvas for Renaissance paintings.

Michael Myers

𑁍 He likes everything. Your plump body is a place where he can leave as many of his possessive marks as possible; especially in the area of the abdomen and neck. Hell, you'll have to wear shirts and sweaters with high collars if you're going out somewhere, how strange these hickeys and bites with a trace of his massive jaws will look.

𑁍 Can pass by and accidentally touch you. Just ignore it.

𑁍 He sneaks into your room when you're already asleep and lies down next to you. He likes to hold you to him, hugging your stomach, and burying his face in your neck. Without a mask, he can smell your body much more clearly.

𑁍 You are so nice and warm, he will climb up to you like a cat.

𑁍 He saw how sometimes you look at yourself strangely in the mirror. Michael is bad at showing love, but now he brings you various chains and rings, usually with hearts, to cheer you up. Maybe he won't even resist and will kiss you through the mask as soon as he sees your cute cherry plump cheeks.

Lester Sinclair

𑁍 He likes your hands. No, seriously. The best way to cheer him up is to quietly approach him from behind when he is working, and put your chubby arms around his neck — the boy is all yours. He will relaxedly tilt his head towards your embrace and rub the back of his head against your shoulders (well, what a cutie?), don't be surprised if he starts to whimper and purr from this, Lester really likes it.

𑁍 Although from the outside he seems to be a solid daredevil and a funny guy who will laugh even with a twitching little finger (and he will make him laugh), Lester can be serious, no, extremely serious. Usually his mood changes when it comes to you. If he catches you calling your own body names, believe me, you won't leave the house in the next few days. Lester will hug you all day and kiss your chubby body until your arms and legs are completely red. He will tell you affectionate words of love and convince you that you are the best and most beautiful girl he has ever had in his life!

𑁍 If you're sad, he'll make you cookies in the form of hearts (better than deer meat, right?).

𑁍 He likes playing with your hair. If you are sitting peacefully, know that he will certainly sneak up on you and ruffle your hair so that even a comb will be powerless.

"Honey, you're very beautiful. I'm serious. What would I do without you with my boring life, huh? Watching Vincent? Calmed Bo's seizures?"

𑁍 Every evening, if you want it, of course, he will give you a relaxing massage.

You would be a goddess for these boys, sweetheart ;)

[hexagonspress]

BE by tothewillofthepeople

Grantaire is earnest in this, and it’s heartbreaking. Enjolras can’t look away. This is just a rehearsal. Grantaire is still wearing skinny jeans. They have lights and phones and textual analysis and thousands of years of history between now and then and yet– When Grantaire speaks, the distance collapses. (Grantaire as Hamlet.)

Title: Middle Ages Deco Headers/Accents: Letter Gothic Standard Body text: Adobe Caslon Pro Case title: Goudy Initialen

38,667 words | 224 pages

Binderary book 1: a long-favourite EXR fic. I love wild Les Mis AUs and I love Shakespeare and this is all of that in such a lovely lovely form. Stage manager Enjolras is inspired. Also, I've been frothing at the mouth to use my special blackletter fonts and go suuuper overboard designing and this was Perfect for that purpose.

More pictures/design/process under the cut.

Design and Construction Case: Flat-back case binding with bradel board covers and spine. The spine cloth is Hollander's pearl linen in charcoal grey. The painted titles were done in Amsterdam acrylic ink in silver, with a pair of scissors because I don't own a painting brush and likely never will. The cover papers are printed on 80gsm white printer paper and glued with a regular Elmer's glue stick and PVA on the turn-ins, and the whole case is sprayed with workable fixatif to (hopefully) preserve it longer-term.

Covers: The front and back covers were designed in Photoshop. The centre image is a William Morris pattern, and the top and bottom little circles are Renaissance printer's ornaments (pngs by the lovely @helle-bored of Renegade Bindery) that I vectorized in Illustrator (Illustrator and I were sworn enemies until this month. Now we're forced friends. Like enemies to lovers).

Insides: Endpapers are a William Morris pattern recoloured in Photoshop to be a richer green and red, obv, for EXR. Printed with inkjet on 80gsm printer paper and glued to gold cardstock, and sewn into the textblock. Endbands are pre-sewn from Hollanders, dyed gold with acrylic ink to match the endpapers.

Typesetting Typeset was done in InDesign. This is a one-shot with scene breaks, so to match the theatre theme of the piece I replaced the horizontal line breaks with flagged scene numbers. I tried to strike a balance in the typesetting between classic Shakespearean aesthetic with the blackletter drop caps and cover fonts versus what you might see in a theatre script book with the monospace accents. The title spread uses a transparent decorative frame, again from Helle's collection; the large box in the middle with the title was part of the original frame and then I duplicated and resized it for the author name and my imprint.

We All Do It, or, the Mistakes Section I somehow managed to print the cover papers nine inches tall and didn't see a problem with it until they came off the printer. Truly who knows how that happened. I was working on the case at two in the morning and cut the spine cloth the wrong length three separate times...earned the measure once cut twice badge big time for that one. The endpapers were an ordeal and a half for real. What I learned: print them too big and glue the cardstock to the back, then trim the paper to size, not the other way around otherwise you'll end up with big ugly gaps where the trimming was a few millimeters off. Whoops.

And...more pictures

I'm particularly pleased with how the covers here came out so here's closeups. Also, the arc on the spine that you can see in the endband on the last one is really pleasing to me lol I fought a war trying to get the flatback hinge calculations right.

[liminalpebble]

Violet: Chapter 10, Confession

Masterlist link

*minors DNI

Chapter 10: Confession

Violetta awoke with the dull pain of a headache, worsened by the chime of the doorbell. She turned in bed, pulling the many plush covers more tightly around herself.

Glancing at the clock on the mantle, she saw that it was nearly 8:30. She thought to herself, with a groan, that she would just let the maids get it, before she remembered that the maids had the day off. Then her eyes shot open as she remembered who must be waiting at the door.

She jumped up, shivered in the chilly morning air and tightly wrapped the warmest robe available tightly around her.  She was sure she looked awful, but was too grumpy and bleary-eyed to even bother looking in the mirror.  Disgruntled, she thought to herself, who the hell goes to mass at the crack of dawn the day after a late party and then comes back to visit the hungover girl pining after him, probably just to reject her? Apparently, Will Ransome does. Despite her bone dry eyes, aching temples, and aching heart, she had to smile at the thought of the peculiar man and his peculiar infuriating conscience.

She hurried down the stairs and opened the door. There stood the vicar, fresh from church in his starched black clerics clothes and white collar, his hair well-combed. “I'm so sorry to wake you,” Will said, without any other preamble, as she appeared in the threshold.

She waved her hand. “It's nothing,” she said as she pulled her waist-length curtain of hair away from her face and rubbed her red eyes, squinting at the bright morning light. “Come in. I need coffee today. Tea isn't enough. Is that alright with you?”

Will nodded, and despite his nerves, chuckled. “Thank you. That'd be fine,” he said with a smile, trying not think of how, if he had spent the night with her, he would wake up to this deliciously intimate disheveled version of her laying beside him. How he wanted to grab a handful of that loose hair and pull lightly, bringing her lovely face to meet his, exposing that delicious throat, then her collarbone as he'd slide those loose layers of nightclothes down and off of her body. They would drop so easily to the floor. He watched her boil the water, and deftly make the espresso with a strange silver device. She poured two cups and brought them in to the parlor where Will had taken off his overcoat and rolled up his sleeves to start a fire in the hearth.

She couldn't help but notice every muscular movement of his forearms, his large sure hands, his long agile fingers that seemed to be graceful at any task before them. She remembered how he moved them against her skin and felt a tense aching longing to have him close. She realized she was staring at him as he rose from his crouch, sooty hands presented before her. He had just spoken, she supposed with embarrassment while she was distracted.

“Pardon me. What did you say?”

He chuckled and gave her a warm smile. “I was just wondering where I might clean my hands.”

“Yes...uh yes, of course,” She said shaking her head as if to knock off mental cobwebs.

Returning with a damp cloth, and directing him to the sink, she said. “While you do that, I'm just going to...try to look human. I'll be back in a moment.”  

Will politely nodded, but couldn't help thinking about how she would be only a few rooms, away, dropping those loose nightclothes from her shoulders combing her luscious hair, washing herself, as bare and buxom as mythical ladies in Renaissance painting, damp skin tantalizingly tangible. The pastor imagined tapping on the door and being welcomed inside by this wild, ebony-eyed nymph, naked as Eve in all her glory.

As the door closed and Violetta shimmied out of her nightgown, she mightily resisted the desire to massage her breasts, roll and pinch the stiff peaks between her fingers, slide her hand to follow the topography of her body down between her bare legs, where it was already throbbing with need, warm and inviting. The temptation to pleasure herself as the parson, the object of her obstinate desire, sat just a few walls away, pulled heavily upon her. However, she resisted mightily, hastily finishing her ablutions and dressing properly to bury her want under layers of respectable clothes.

By the time she reentered the parlor, plainly but tidily clothed and well-scrubbed, she found Will sitting nervously with his finger to his lips, having been visited mere moments ago by his own unbidden fantasies. Now he was deep in troubled thought, as if preparing to give an account of his sins from behind the wall of a confessional.

She ached to sit on his lap and run her soft fingers over the worried crease in his brow, but she kept it to herself, and looked around for a distraction. Her eyes rested upon a sweet farewell note which Katherine and Charles had left that morning; colorful parchment tucked under a fine bottle of Italian cognac left for her as a gift. She held up the note and smiled as she read, showing the paper to Will as he reached for his cup.

“They're such sweet people, letting me stay here. I haven't even known them long. They've only ever known my family.” she said with a little grin.

Will met her eyes affectionately, saying quietly, “I've known them for years, and I'm happy to say they're every bit as lovely as they seem. They helped raise my children while Stella was...was ill with...” his eyes began to look distant and misty.

She mercifully continued the conversation past his painful memory. She already knew all the broad strokes of his history anyway and didn't consider it necessary for him to suffer by continuing down this avenue. “It's alright,” she said with a nod, stopping his recounting, “I'm glad to know that they're as wonderful as I suspected.” She didn't know what else to say. Neither of them did.

Violetta finally sat, perching herself on the arm of the sofa. She released the cork from the bottle with a deft hand and a satisfying pop. Trapping the cork between her teeth, she used one hand to hold her cup, the other to pour a hearty shot into her coffee. She reached over to pour a share in Will's cup but, he put a hand up to politely decline.

“Ah yes. My apologies. I forgot that not everyone is an amoral delinquent” she said, replacing the cork as her wide wry smile made an appearance, parting her full red lips. She didn't notice that one of her legs was peeking out in a flash of soft olive skin, bobbing up and down, but Will certainly did and it made him swallow hard. What he wouldn't give to run his fingers up her calf, follow their path with his lips until they found the pliant flesh of her inner thighs, warm and ripe like the flesh of fruit, begging to be bitten. This entire episode was testing the pastor's will power badly, but he refused to chide or ask her to behave as anything other than her natural self. He considered his weaknesses his own problem, not hers.

For her part, Violetta wasn't trying to seduce or tempt him, thinking that she couldn't possibly be attractive in this state anyway. Will sighed with relief as she sat across from him on the sofa a bit more properly. She finally realized that she had missed a few buttons near the bottom of her dress and fixed them hastily, obscuring her tempting leg. She sipped a bit of her hair-of-the-dog to fortify herself, then said, “You wanted to talk, Will Ransome, so talk.” She leaned back, crossing her arms; challenging him, but without an ounce of cruelty.

“Violetta,” he said, her name pouring from his lips like a psalm, “I'm so sorry, for what I did...what I put you through. I had no right.”

“True. You had no right to ignore me. That was a particular hell.”

He shook his head, “No...no. Violetta, that's not quite what I mean. I had no right to kiss you...touch you, that way in the first place. I didn't mean to abuse my authority over you...to intrude on your life and your youth in such an inappropriate way...to corrupt you.” His sincere eyes looked down penitently.

Violet resisted chuckling at the idea of “corrupting” her, knowing the sweet man meant it with total sincerity and concern for her immortal soul. She reached across to hold his hand, which felt chilly against her own. She wrapped both of hers around his palm, to swaddle it in warmth. Meeting his eyes, she said, “Corrupt me? Will, I wanted you. You have no idea how much. I'm not a child or a lamb in your flock. I know you won't agree, from your moral standpoint, but I think we have so little to be ashamed of.”

He exhaled heavily. “Then why do I feel so much shame?” he asked rhetorically. “Violetta, I'm sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry for leaving you in utter silence for so long while I ruminated and prayed...and cowered. I had too much to say, so I said nothing. I knew that if I took even a step nearer to you I would not be able to stay way. It wasn't because you meant nothing to me...quite the contrary. I stayed away because you mean far too much to me. You're so young and bright and lovely and kind and you have the whole of your life before you. I care for your far too much to compromise that.”

She was utterly silent for some time, as her eyebrows peaked in confusion. Will saw surprise and gratitude in her eyes. The young lady genuinely didn't expect the reason for his silence to be an all-consuming concern for her, and that made his heart ache. He thought to himself, she deserves to be cared about this much, in every moment of every day, and yet, no one has ever done so before. Hardly anyone even saw her past her surname, and she had accepted the invisibility, the insignificance, the perceived inferiority.  

She put a finger under his chin, lifted his face to meet her eyes. “I appreciate your concern, Will, but I don't want you immolating yourself on my account. I can take care of myself but I hope you'll take a bit better care of yourself in my absence. That would make me happy...maybe still let me cook for you sometimes when you visit the Ambroses. God knows, you need better meals,” she said with a sad finality and a little hitch in her voice, trying with all her might to be kind and funny and smile, but knowing with a terrible aching drop in her stomach, that Will Ransome would never come near to her the same way again; that he came to apologize and say goodbye. She tried not to be angry at him for it. He was doing what he though was right, but it hurt like hell to know. The agony of being mere feet from each other but completely exiled from true closeness would now be permanent. It would be a special kind of hell.  Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. She thought.

She cleared her throat trying not to cry, refusing to send her tears after him, making him feel worse. She affected a lighter tone, hoping it would fool him. It didn't in the least.

Violet quipped, “Besides, you've been more than a step nearer to me most of yesterday, and now, today. You seem to be doing just fine, although I'm flattered that you seem to see me as some kind of temptress. No one has thought so highly of me before.”

He met her eyes then, looking conflicted and serious. “It's not been easy, by any means. I'd never seen you as beautiful as you were yesterday.”

“Oh come on, Will. You can put a troll in a gown and it'll look nice...”

He smiled a little at that and chuckled. “No, I mean when you answered the door, when you were cooking and working with the maids. You were excited and curious and kind and...alive. You were...you are...just so lovely.”

Touched by his words, she tried to ignore the wave of heartbreaking sorrow that his imminent rejection would cause her. She turned away from him gathering the cups to nervously busy herself. “Well at least like this I'm pretty far from...”.

She was surprised to find herself silenced by his lips meeting hers hungrily, his hand cradling her head to turn it, guiding her lips needily to his own. Both of their busy minds were silent, consumed with the flavor and scent and texture of each other as they devoured. There was nothing left to say, no forbearance left to uphold.

-

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[bunnyb34r]

I will say I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt a little when my aunt had told me why my "cousin" (her niece, one I cut off. Tradwife cousin) isn't talking to her

So cousin's kids all look like fucking Charles Dickens orphan characters with these huge ass foreheads, whispy ass hair, and huge like sunken looking eyes. Well she had sent my aunt a picture of the kids and the one looked so fucking raggedy like always and she had asked if my cousin had ever seen "Call the Midwife", bc that's who her kids looked like, the kids on the show. She meant this as a compliment.

My cousin goes no I haven't, what do those kids look like?

And this is where my aunt made the mistake, she said they were desolate poor kids who like never had nice clothes. Not connecting that she was telling her that her KIDS then looked desolate and poor. (I was already cackling bc accurate. I know her husband makes a LOT of money and I know how much our aunt left her bc I've seen the will/got the same amount. So all together she's like upper middle class. They CAN afford to dress their kids nicely)

So my cousin didnt find that funny and she's like "and you're saying my kids look like that?" That being poor and raggedy.

Aunt heard "like those kids on that show"

My aunt then PHOTOSHOPS SAID KID INTO A COLLAGE OF THE KIDS FROM THE SHOW and puts a caption "which of these children Arent on the show Call the Midwife?" As a joke

Cousin didnt like that. Anyway the next day my aunt and her kid were at a flea market and saw really cute baby clothes and she had said "oh I wish I knew someone in the family with little kids. OH! COUSIN'S KIDS" and she texted that to her asking if she could buy them for the kids

Well she wasnt thinking anymore ab the previous conversation and how it essentially was her saying (in my cousin's eyes) that my cousins kids look poor and like they never have nice clothes, and hey can I buy your raggedy ass kids these clothes?"

I was nearly in fucking tears man 😭 I mean I'd be pissed as hell if she'd done that to me ab my hypothetical kids but bc it was a cousin I cut off and hate, and one who has really ugly children (they look like those renaissance paintings of babies sgsggsgsg like I'm sorry that is a man that isnt a baby) it was so funny

[saccharinebanquettime]

So I’ve been redesigning some of G3’s characters (more like all of them lol), and I have been wanting to share some of them!

I wanted all of them to have a set aesthetic, so for most if, not all of them, they have two aesthetics.

Cleo - ancient Egypt and glamour aesthetic. Ancient Egypt isn’t an aesthetic, but it is an influence on how I designed her. Her dress is based on a kalasiris and I gave her sandals high heels. A lot of the hair on her is fake: her hair is a wig, her eyebrows are fake, as well as her eyelashes. Happens when you have rotting for a long time!

Clawdeen - Clawdeen is Art Hoe x 1980s because I thought it’d look cute on her. Art hoe is mainly because I hc her to be into painting, especially painting different clothes and outfits (kind of like the Renaissance era), but she still likes to paint other things like inanimate objects and skies.

I was sick and tired of seeing the crescent motif on her everywhere I go, so I gave her other things to be interested in. The crescent moons are still there (as well as the other phases), but there are stars, clouds, and suns on there too! And also moon flowers because yeah

Abby - I decided after a little while that Abby switches between pants and skirts, so in Nightmare Nightmore, she wears pants there, but in school, she wears skirts. Her design is based off of Winter aesthetic and E-Girl. A lot of people have been saying that her outfit reminded them of TikTok clothes, so I decdided to take that to heart.

She’s also fat in my version, because it makes sense (more body weight usually equals more warmth! Come on). She also has baby horns like her mom, her bottom fangs pop out more, and she now has fur.

Heath - He is 1970s (??? I forgot which era he was based off of) mixed with a bit of punk. There are multiple things to say about his design (they did him so freaking dirty holy hell), but to keep it short: his physical design is based on the Biblical Devil and his background is based on Hades.

Toralei - honestly I have no idea what her aesthetic is. I just took something I thought was cute and made it into an outfit.

Not only did I redesign their outfits , but their personalities (personalities is gonna have to be for a different post) and friend groups are also a bit different

Toralei is still enemies with basically everyone, but she is friends with mainly Heath (Lagoona isn’t fond of her; Lagoona is seen as an object more than a friend).

We barely know Cleo’s other friends besides Clawdeen and possibly Frankie, so I have nothing for her.

Abby is friends with mainly Draculaura

Clawdeen gets along with a good chunk of everyone

Heath is friends with all of the Greek boys and Toralei.

[baiboop]

Sharing my Heart

Chapter 3

Adam finds himself alone in a beautiful room. Elegant wallpaper and art is meticulously placed around the confine.

The art looked to be old renaissance pieces?

Adam was no art-guy, but even he could recognize ‘The creation of Adam’ by Michelangelo. This piece has been chosen to be the largest painting in the room.

He thought about the irony in the painting chosen and his cheeks flushed slightly at the thought the angels may have picked it out special for him.

All the art work was framed with gold, made into ornate botanical patterns.

Adam paces the room for a couple minutes, taking in the expensive gaudy decorations while waiting for Zachariah.

After around (what he assumes to be) twenty minutes, he decides to sit at the table in the middle of the room.

He pulls out a chair and stops to inspect it, the chairs wood is painted gold and it has silky cushions on the seat and back of the chair- the cushions display fine detailing that looks to be hand done.

The room is nice and all but, it’s a little tacky for Adams taste.

An equally detailed table cloth sits upon the table, under its contents.

Adam lifts up the corner of the cloth to see the table underneath, it’s pure white marble. Because why wouldn’t it be?

The table is adorned with a stack of burgers and about 24 beers in a graceful, silver dish full of ice.

Adam studies them for a moment, before deciding the angels most likely would not poison him.

He reaches out for a burger and sniffs it before taking a bite. Instantly he recognizes it, it’s a burger from the diner by his house. The place where he and his mom would have lunch anytime she had a Sunday off.

Adam’s lips form a small smile. He feels bittersweet happiness from these memories.

He just really misses his mom.

He glances to the beer bottles on the table trying to place where the beers had come from.

After a moment of cerebration, he recalls the red, white and blue label of the beer.

This brand had been his first beer ever, he had it with his grandfather on a fishing trip at fourteen.

Adam decided against taking a beer. He didn’t want to be an easy target for the angels to screw over and he wanted to make sure he was fully aware, for any negotiations he might have to make with the angels to get to his mom.

Adam gladly finished his first burger, then reached out for another.

The moment the burger hit his lips, he heard wings flap and his eyes coasted to the left of him to see Zachariah sitting on the side of the table.

“I see you and your brother share the same refined palate.” Zachariah grins.

Adam takes a moment to finish chewing the large bite of burger he had in his mouth from.

“So, uh.. We ready?”

“For what?” Zachariah’s eyebrows take on a position of counterfeit worry.

“What do you mean, for what? For Micheal.”

Zachariah takes a sharp breath in, “Oh! Right. About that. Look, this is never easy but I’m afraid.. We’ve had to terminate your position at this time.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hey, don’t get me wrong, you’ve been a hell of a team player, really-“ Zachariah pauses to click his tongue and form his finger into an ‘OK’ symbol. “Good stuff. But, the thing is you’re not so much the ‘chosen one’ as you are… Well, great Winchester bait.” He says eyebrows raised, a satisfied smile on his face.

Adams previously deadpan expression turns into one of anxiety and confusion. “No. But-“

Adam takes a deep breath in to help compose himself, “What about all the stuff you said? I’m supposed to fight the devil.”

“Mmm, not so much. But hey, if it’s any consolation you do happen to be the illegitimate half brother of the guy we do care about!” Zachariah says with a derisive tone and shit eating grin that makes adam feel sick. “That not too bad is it?”

“So, you lied. About everything.” Adam says with an attitude prevalent in his tone. His straight face returning.

“We didn’t lie. We just avoided certain truths to manipulate you.”

“Oh, you son of a bitch.”

“Hey, how do you think I feel? I’m the one that’s gotta put up with that dumb, slack-jawed look on your face.”

Adam says nothing, returning Zachariah’s comment with a look of distain.

“Kid, we didn’t have a choice. The Winchesters got one blind spot, and it’s family. See Sam and Dean, they’re going to put aside their differences, and they’re gonna come get you. And that is gonna put Dean right..” He stops speaking in order to point at the ground below him, while never breaking his eye contact. “Here. Right where I need him.”

Zachariah gets up of the table throwing his hands into the air, “This is the night kid! Micheals seen it! The tumblers finally click into place, and it’s all because of you. And me. But who’s keeping score?”

Adams body tenses at the mention of Micheals name. The son of a bitch that orchestrated this. That tricked him. Resurrected him for no good reason. Only to have some balding asshole in a suit promise him his mom and life back, but none of it was even true.

He clenches his jaw, “Yeah, I’m not gonna let you do this.” He answers, standing up.

“Cool your jets. Sit down. We’re doing it together, how bout that? Plus, you still get your severance. You still get to see your mom, okay?”

“Why should I believe you?” Adam says with a dejected look on his face. He slowly sits back down and looks off to the side away from Zachariah.

“You know what? I keep hearing this.” He breaks to make a ‘talking’ motion with his hand. “But what I want to be hearing is this.” Zachariah says while closing his hand into a fist.

Adam feels a stabbing sensation in his stomach and before he can stop himself he’s coughing and gagging up blood onto the table cloth.

“That’s better.” Zachariah says nodding to himself.

——

Adam is still sitting at the table, his head down feeling sicker than he ever has in his life.

Blood slowly drips out of his mouth, the bulk of it coming out every time he coughs.

Zachariah is gone for the moment, he has been gone for about an hour or two.

Adam writhes in pain. He finally makes an attempt to get up to check for any ways out but, as soon as he’s on his feet, he’s on the ground.

Adam scoots up to a wall not wanting to attempt to stand again. Honestly, not sure if he can stand again.

He sits against the wall for another hour or maybe three, fighting the heaviness of his eye lids.

He can’t rest. He has to be ready. Ready for When Zachariah returns. He’s got to be ready to fight.

He hears the soft creak of a door, his eyes slowly sliding over to see who’s standing there. He can’t see over the table. He braces himself to stand, clutching at the wall for stability. Then he hears Deans voice.

“Adam, hey. Hey.” Dean says, worry obvious in his voice as he rushes over to adams side crouching down to the floor.

“You came for me.” Adam mutters softly.

“Yeah well, you’re family.” Dean assures, while locking his arm around Adam and guiding Adams arm around his neck. He lifts the two of them to their feet, Adam attempts to help lift but probably only lifts maybe 20 pounds of himself on his own.

“Dean, it’s a trap.”

“I figured.” Dean says starting to walk them forward and towards the exit.

Zachariah finally makes his reappearance in front of the two brothers. “Dean, please. Did you really think it would be that easy?”

“Did you?” Dean replies, cocking his head slightly.

Adam follows Deans gaze to see Sam rushing up behind Zachariah, angel blade in hand. He lifts his arm and attempts to strike Zachariah from behind.

Without any physical contact, Zach flings the angel blade out of Sams grip and throws him into a wall. Sam knocks down a few decorative stands before hitting the floor, hard.

“Sam!” Dean raises his voice, calling out to his brother for reassurance of Sam’s physical status.

“You know what I’ve learned from this experience, Dean?” Dean looks away from Sam back over to Zachariah and squeezes Adam in closer.

“Patience.” Zach finishes, putting his hand up in Adams direction.

Adam feels a sharp pain in his stomach once again. His knees completely give out and he gags on the rising blood in his throat. Dean wasn’t expecting Adams complete loss of balance and loses his grip. Adam clutches his stomach and spits the blood out on the floor.

“Adam?” He can hear Dean calling out to him.

“You let him go, you son of a bitch.” Dean commands.

The angel scoffs in return. “I mean, I thought I was downsized for sure, and for us, a firing- pretty damn literal. But I should have trusted the boss man. It’s all playing out like he said. You, me, your hemorrhaging brothers.” Zachariah clasps his hand tighter, intensifying the pain for Sam and Adam.

Dean looks frantically between his two brothers and then over to Zachariah who picks his speech back up.

“You’re finally ready, right? You see things our way. You know there’s no other choice. There’s never been a choice.”

“Stop it. Stop it right now!” Dean says, Adam can see tears glossing his eyes when Dean looks at his pained brothers.

“In exchange for what?”

“Damn it, Zachariah. Stop it, please.” Dean pauses, clenching and un-clenching his fists. Then looking forward at Zachariah Dean decides what to say. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

Dean meets Sam’s eyes before he speaks. “Okay, yes. The answer is yes.”

“Dean!” Sam calls from his corner of the floor.

Dean ignores him and keeps his eyes on Zach, his voice breaking while he speaks, “Do you hear me? Call Micheal down, you bastard.”

“How do I know you’re not lying.” Zachariah replies while scanning the room.

“Do I look like I’m lying?”

The two exchange a wordless stare for a couple seconds, before Zachariah starts speaking in a language Adam can’t recognize or understand.

Deans eyes shift over over to Sam who he gives a soulful look.

Maybe that look is Deans apology, Adam thinks.

“He’s coming.” Zachariah whispers.

The room is slightly shaking and a faint ringing can be heard.

“Of course, I have a few conditions.” Dean says.

Zachariah turns to face him. “What?”

“A few people whose safety you have to guarantee, before I say yes.”

“Sure, fine. Make a list.”

“But most of all… Micheal can’t have me, until he disintegrates you.”

“What did you say?”

“I said. Before Micheal gets one piece of this sweet ass, he has to turn you into a piece charcoal.”

Zachariah let’s out a short high pitched laugh. “You really think Micheals gonna go for that?”

“Who’s more important to him now? You? Or me?”

Zachariah approaches Dean, aggressively grabbing hold of his jacket. “You listen to me. You are nothing but a maggot. You are scum on this earth. Do you know who I am? After I deliver you to Micheal-“

Their faces are inches from each other and Adam, even from ten feet away, can feel the malice and power Zachariah has saturated the air with.

“Expendable.” Dean says through clenched teeth.

Zach chuckles again. “Micheal’s not gonna kill me.”

“Maybe not.” Dean validates. A blade sliding down from his sleeve into his hand.

“But I am.”

In a swift move Dean has the blade through the bottom of Zachariah’s jaw.

White hot light fills the room and Adam is blinded. He hears Dean hit the floor, and a loud sound, like somethings combusting, before Zachariah’s body follows suit- hitting the floor.

The light is extinguished, and Adam re-opens his eyes. His vision is spotty and eyes are still adjusting to the dimer lighting of the room.

He sees Zachariah’s body, large wings burnt into the ground and wall of the room around him. Adam mouths a soft ‘What the fuck..’ before returning his attention to the scene around him.

The ringing increases in volume every couple seconds and the room is shaking with more force now. He looks to his side to catch Deans gaze with a pleading expression. Dean stands up using the ground to help him and comes to Adams side. He already has a hand on Adams arm ushering him upwards before he asks, “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.” Adam replies using Deans arm to help him to his feet.

The room is re-lighting with a different celestial glow now.

Adam stands up staring at the ceilings brilliant light, while Dean helps Sam up. The plangent ringings volume increases once more. He swears he can hear a voice in the ringing, a whisper, something calling to him.

He can feel Micheal.

He can feel his essence filling the room, it’s strong and serene.

Adam closes his eyes for a moment, soaking in the feeling of tranquility that surrounds him. When he re-opens his eyes and snaps out of it, Dean and Sam are already half way to the door before he starts moving.

“Come on! Hurry!” He hears Deans frantic yell.

Adam moves as quickly as he can to the door, he’s right behind Sam and Dean as they step out. However the second their feet leave the door-way the door is slammed shut.

“No!” Adam yells, anxiety thick in his tone, his previous peaceful feeling shattered.

“Dean! Help!”

“Dean! Help, please!”

“Hold on! I’ll get you out!” He hears Deans muffled voice behind the door.

“Just hold on! Adam!”

Deans voice fades into nothing as the surge of essence and light consumes him wholly.

Adam is not scared.

He is okay.

He feels calm and protected as he looks on into the sea of luminescence.

Immediately upon the archangels descent Adam’s previous ailments had healed and cleared. He felt better than normal. He felt really good.

He could hear Micheals voice. His true voice.

It’s commanding and gives solace to Adams nerves.

“Adam Milligan.” The voice says. Adam clutches at his ears, it’s very loud.

“Adam Milligan.” The voice repeats. “I am The archangel Michael. You are to be my sword.”

Adam pauses holding his breath and looking to the side. “I know who you are and I’m not Dean y’know.” He almost delivers with an attitude but switched to speaking as politely as humanly possible.

“Yes, of that I am well aware. You need not remind me.”

“Oh.. Well I’m sorry, it uh.. It didn’t work out with Dean.” Adam says trembling slightly, not sure what the wrath of a displeased archangel would be like. (And not wanting to find out.)

“Be not afraid.” Micheal commands, sensing the humans trembling and fear. “I will not hurt you, Adam Milligan. You will be my sword, in Deans stead.”

Adam pauses, taking a step back into the wall. “No. I won’t. You… You guys are liars and-“

“I have never lied to you, Adam Milligan. I will never lie to you. Dean has punished Zachariah completely for his sins. I can promise you, not another lie shall ever pass your ears.”

Adam says nothing to this, feeling unsure of how to address someone like Micheal.

“I can protect you, Adam Milligan. I will keep you safe. After you have fulfilled your purpose I will deliver your mother unto you. If I am allowed in, I can promise you a life of happiness to come after the swift consummation of your duties.”

Adam felt Micheal’s celestial warmth seeping through the words he spoke. The essence subdued any of Adams negative emotions.

He felt light and almost intoxicated by the commanding force that was the Viceroy of heaven. Adam blinked his eyes, hard, trying to internally fight himself off of the path he was leaning towards.

‘I cant do this, I shouldn’t do this.’ Adam repeated to himself mentally.

His right hand tugged at the left sleeve on his jacket.

‘I should do this. Someone has to stop the devil. Right? Someone has to be with Micheal‘ He thought countering his own argument.

“Adam Milligan. Please speak your choice to me. I need your consent.”

Fuck. He believed Micheal. Micheal will protect him. He will see his mom.

His emotions felt numbed. The air around Adam was contaminated with the archangels power. Adam felt willing and pliable. His brain felt like static. He’s surrounded by the most magnificent heat. And finally without a second thought he’s decided.

“Yes.”

[cophene]

𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎 | vento aureo; p. fugo ending.

✦.⁺ delivery stock.

table of contents

pairing : vento aureo x gn reader summary : a college student tries getting the attention of some of the most admired and attractive people on campus, only to get caught up with stands and vigilante groups in the process. notes : college au, multi-chapter fic, sfw, doesn’t follow canon plot word count : 2.5k+

═ ☆.  THANKS FOR COMING WITH ME,” Fugo said. “Signor Pericolo always gets a huge shipment of new inventory right around now. His shop is small enough for him to manage by himself, but he always appreciates it when I come by to help with cataloguing.”

(Y/n) pretended to look bored. “Oh, is that what we’re doing? I thought we were going to do something fun.”

“Hey, we’re both fresh out of the hospital. There’s no need to overexert ourselves.”

(Y/n) rolled their eyes, smiling. They didn’t mind helping with book sorting at all. The little bookstore was a great place to spend an afternoon, and frankly, they were happy to spend any time with Fugo that wasn’t in the hospital. Already, he was looking noticeably better, his dark-blonde hair shining in the sunlight and his eyes bright despite the slight shadows beneath them. The doctors had removed the bandages wrapping his limbs, and the welts and sores left behind from Purple Haze had faded to pink, healing skin.

They didn’t know why, but they absolutely loved the short-sleeved shirt Fugo was wearing today. It was one of those indie shirts you could only find in independent clothing stores, plain beige with a green monster decked out in crooked horns. Or what (y/n) thought was a monster, anyway. The design was on the verge of ugly, but veered over to the realm of adorable instead. And the little green scarf peeking out of Fugo’s collar was so cute (y/n) was tempted to tear it off and kiss him.

“Do you mind if I stop by the café quickly? I just need to grab something,” said Fugo, pulling into the parking lot. 

 (Y/n) agreed to wait for him in the car, feeling like a kid whose dad had forgotten something at the store. A few minutes passed, and someone tapped on (y/n)’s window. A girl with sharp eyes and a mouth already curling into a smirk. Since the engine was still idling, (y/n) hesitantly rolled the window down.

“Hey,” the girl said. Her long hair was drawn over her shoulder, along with braids that were a few shades lighter. There was an eight-pointed star over one of her eyes that could have been a scar or a tattoo. “Are you with Fugo?”

(Y/n) had stumbled across random Stand users enough to be wary of anyone approaching them out of the blue. “... Who’s asking?”

The girl stuck her hand through the window, nearly catching (y/n) in the eye. “Call me Sheila. I work with Fugo at the café.”

(Y/n) reluctantly returned the handshake. “(Y/n).”

“I honestly thought you’d be more attractive.”

(Y/n) blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be. It’s not really your fault. Genetics and all that.”

Sheila surprised (y/n) by opening the backseat door and getting in Fugo’s car, cool as a cucumber. Was she supposed to get a ride with (y/n) and Fugo or something?

“I mean, with the way he was going on about you, people would think you were straight out of a renaissance painting. I’ve never seen Fugo act like such a dumbass. Has he asked you out yet?”

“I don’t—”

“I don’t know how he would. That guy has less charm than a concrete wall. He always gets more tips than me when he busses tables, though. It must be how painfully timid he seems. Is that what drew you to him? His tragic shyness?”

(Y/n) blinked at her. Blunt. That was the word (y/n) had been looking for. This girl didn’t seem fond of softening her words, no matter what it was she said.

The driver’s side door opened, and Fugo slid into his seat.

“Sorry you had to wait. I had to look around for—Sheila? W hat the hell are you doing in my car? ”

Shelia wound a braid around her finger. “I was just talking to your elusive crush. No need to sound so horrified.”

Fugo’s face turned an impressive shade of red. “Get out.”

“Is this what you’re up to when I have to cover your shifts? You’re using protection, right?”

“Sheila.”

“I never thought someone like you could get boned. There really is someone out there for everyone. I wonder when my someone will show up. You gotta tell me, (y/n), how good is Fugo? I hear guys like him are absolute demons in bed—”

“Holy shit, Sheila. I will never make you clean the espresso machine again. Just please leave.”

“... Can you say that again? I need to get it on record.”

Fugo banged his fist on the car horn, making (y/n) and Sheila jump. 

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving.” 

Sheila took her sweet time getting out of the car seat. She walked around the front of the car before saying through the windshield, “You’re taking all the closing shifts too.” Fugo narrowed his eyes. He stomped on the gas pedal and peeled out of the parking lot, barely missing Sheila by a few inches. 

“She didn’t say anything rude to you, did she?” Fugo asked, exasperated.

(Y/n) smiled tightly. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Fugo shook his head. “Since the first day we started working together, Sheila won’t get off my case. There’s always something about me she can find to badger about. I knew it was a mistake telling her about you. Sheila loves getting into my business.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a friend like that.”

“Oh, everyone says that before they get a Sheila in their life. Between her and Narancia, I’m surprised they haven’t ground my last nerve into dust. Purple Haze is going to come out one day and—” Fugo fell quiet at the mention of his Stand. (Y/n) could tell he was remembering the night of the fundraiser.

“That was stupid of you, you know,” (y/n) said. “I never would have expected you to do something like that.”

“I had to do something.”

“But it didn’t even work. You got seriously hurt. If Vanilla Ice hadn’t gotten the antidote there in time …”

Fugo sighed. “There’s still a lot I don’t know about my Stand. I just wish there was a way I could figure it out without … turning myself into goo.”

“At least you still have it,” (y/n) said quietly.

He looked at them. “White Satin hasn’t come back?”

“I can still summon it, but it’s so weak I can hardly do anything with it.” (Y/n)’s chest tightened at the thought. They hadn’t thought they would miss the glimmering strands if it ever disappeared, but here they were.

“I meant what I said in the hospital,” said Fugo, “that there’s nothing wrong with your soul. If souls are alive, it would make sense that your Stand might change at one point. Or grow weaker. Something like that.”

“Something like that.”

Fugo reached across the gearshift to squeeze (y/n)’s hand.

At the bookstore, the door wouldn’t budge when Fugo pushed on it. He glanced at the open sign, then pressed his face against the glass to peer inside. He tried the door again, pressing his entire frame against it. It moved a few inches, but not wide enough for them to enter.

“What’s wrong?”

Fugo rubbed his shoulder. “It’s … you’ll see. Come on, we’ll have to use the back door.”

(Y/n) followed him around the bookstore, wondering what on earth could be blocking the door. 

“Signor Pericolo!” Fugo called, edging around the bookkeeping supplies and shelves at the back. “Sir, are you here?”

The grey-haired man’s reply was so faint it sounded like he was in a different building, rather than a few feet away. When they finally arrived in the main store, (y/n) gawked at the sight.

The entire front of the store was swamped with boxes. (Y/n) literally could not see the front desk with all of the cardboard covering it. Some had been emptied; others were half-open, revealing glossy paperbacks and shiny hardcovers. There had to be at least thirty books in every box, and with how many boxes there were, (y/n) had a hard time understanding how the wiry little bookkeeper had managed to get them all inside.

(Y/n) had never seen anyone look aghast, but Fugo’s expression had to be close.

“Signor? Where are you?!”

“Over here!”

“There’s a path right there,” (y/n) said, stepping around boxes to get to it. They picked their way toward the front counter, Fugo scuffling behind them. (Y/n) gingerly steadied towers of boxes as they went, their heart tripping up more than once as they heard Fugo knock boxes over behind them. At last, they found the cash register, and Signor Pericolo sitting underneath the counter like a child in a pillow fort.

 “Sir—” Fugo frowned, then looked around them as though making sure the boxes were real. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Inventory delivery,” Pericolo replied, smiling serenely. He nodded at (y/n), one of his eyes wandering while the other crinkled in amusement.

“Yes, I know, but this—how did this happen? You’re not keeping all of these books are you? How did you even get them inside?”

“I told the delivery boys to just leave them inside yesterday. You can see how that went.” Pericolo set the book he’d been examining back into its box, then reached for another one. “I have many bookkeeping friends in the city, Fugo. It’s hard for them to schedule deliveries, so I offered my store as an address until they could be picked up. I was only looking at them.”

Fugo pushed a hand through his hair, shooting a look at (y/n). They shrugged, just as confused as he was.

“Sir, you can’t even open the front door,” (y/n) said hesitantly.

Pericolo beamed at them. “Well, that’s what the two of you are here for, isn’t it?”

(Y/n) didn’t think they’d over sung the alphabet under their breath so many times in their life. Fugo and (y/n) hustled around, trying to return the store to some semblance of order, weaving in between customers as they dropped by and raised their eyebrows at the mess. Signor Pericolo’s method of organizing books was easy enough to follow once the boxes had been moved and sorted by type and genre. The majority of them turned out to be copies of reference books Pericolo sold to the nearby schools and colleges. Those boxes were loaded onto trolleys that were ridiculously hard to maneuver, much to (y/n) and Fugo’s irritation. They found that the best way to move these trolleys to the back was by (y/n) pushing one end and Fugo pulling the other. (Fugo was kind enough not to complain when (y/n) squished him between the wall and the trolley when they turned corners.)

The boxes labelled for other bookstores were thankfully lighter than the reference materials and found their temporary home stacked behind the counter. (Y/n) and Fugo oohed and ahhed at the remaining stock that belonged to Signor Pericolo, admiring sleek first-editions and pretty children’s books. They would run between shelves and the front counter, asking Pericolo whenever they couldn’t decide what book went where.

The weight of books in their hands and the scent of crisp paper eased (y/n)’s thoughts. The work was actually enjoyable once they got into the rhythm of it. It was immensely satisfying to slide books onto shelves and watch the pile of boxes grow smaller. 

Fugo would smile at them everytime they caught his eye in the gap between shelves, his hair adorably mussed. Whenever (y/n) climbed the stepstool, Fugo would hold onto it, even though they were barely a few feet off the floor. There were other times when Fugo would rush up to (y/n) excitedly, pointing out an interesting picture or tidbit he found, laughing at (y/n)’s smartass remarks. 

“Last box,” (y/n) said, sliding the boxcutter through the tape.

Fugo slumped against the wall. “Thank god. My legs feel like they’re about to give up.”

(Y/n) lifted the flaps of the box.

“Fugo.”

He looked at them. The tips of his ears turned red when he spied the book cover in their hands.

“We should burn that entire box.”

“There will be no burning of books!” Pericolo yelled.

(Y/n) smirked, waving the book in Fugo’s face. The book was only one of the raunchy pulp fiction novels stashed in the box, the covers featuring half-dressed women and men with gleaming, ridiculous muscles.

“Quit it,” Fugo laughed. He snatched the book from (y/n), then hefted the entire box and shoved it in the back storage room.

“Nobody wants to read those,” he whispered, going to the front counter. He reported that all of the books had been shelved and organized, and Signor Pericolo clapped his hands.

“Grazie! The lovebirds have accomplished in an afternoon what would have taken an old man a week.”

(Y/n) chuckled. “It was our pleasure, Signor.”

Pericolo reached into the register and handed them each a 50 euro bill.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Fugo said, pushing the money back. “It was the least we could do, Signor. We were happy to do it.”

“And I’m happy to give this to you,” replied Pericolo. He wouldn’t back down until (y/n) and Fugo had pocketed the money. “Pick something out that you like and then get out of here! Don’t spend the day here with little old me.” He waved his hands at them.

(Y/n) could not resist grabbing the pulp fiction novel. They flipped through it, reading aloud all the steamy portions to Fugo on the ride back, in a ridiculous breathy voice that made Fugo bite down on his lip to hold back laughter.

They arrived back at Sapiena just as the sun was beginning to set. (Y/n) finished the paragraph as Fugo killed the engine.

“He nibbled my neck and shivers raced across my skin. He was so powerful. So dominant. Of course, he would protect me.” 

“How are you reading all of that with a straight face?”

“Because it’s funny. Imagine if everyone walked around saying stuff like this.”

“I dunno, sounds pretty nice.”

(Y/n) shoved his shoulder. “Shut up. That’s terrible.”

“Is it? What would you say if someone nibbled on your neck?”

Fugo was leaning towards them. His eyes were intent on (y/n), strands of hair falling into his face. (Y/n) tucked them behind his ears, suddenly keenly aware of their heartbeat.

Their hand lingered by his face.

“Can I kiss you?” 

Fugo’s breath hitched. 

“Of course.”

(Y/n)’s fingers slid into his hair, and they pulled him close. His mouth was warm, irresistibly soft. They felt him twist in his seat, wanting to get closer, his hands moving to their back. 

Fugo made a strained noise, and (y/n) jolted back. 

“Seatbelt,” he muttered. “I forgot my goddamn seatbelt.”

(Y/n) smiled ruefully. “Way to ruin the mood.”

“God, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “Can we do that again?” 

His mouth found (y/n)’s, and the two of them would’ve stayed like that a lot longer if Fugo hadn’t accidentally touched the car horn, scaring the shit out of them.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s the car’s fault, not yours.”

“I’m so bad at this,” Fugo groaned. “I need to pick up a book on making out or something.”

(Y/n) smirked. “The best way to learn is with practice.”

table of contents

[xxx-wounded-angel-xxx]

Red String of Fate - Poly! Lost Boys x reader

Soulmate trope: Pulled toward the place where your soulmate is/are?

Featuring a Transmasc (and really self-indulgent) reader and poly lost boys (who were not really expecting someone else )

Starting over. It's what mom had promised after she divorced and we left dad behind. It was the best thing that happened to us in a while. I would be regretting Phoenix, its underground scene, and all of the punk I grew up surrounded by thanks to my babysitter. But it was for the best, I knew that going to Gramps would be nice, he had a big house and lived not too far from the ocean, something I've been longing for dearly.

What made the change easier was the pull I felt that was getting stronger the closer we would get to Santa Carla. Really, it would be rather cool if I happened to find my soulmate here. I couldn't wait to meet him. I just hoped that the homophobia wouldn't be horrible here. Dad had been homophobic enough for the rest of my life.

In the car, my twin and younger brother were fighting over stupid again, as mom was changing the music. I wish I had a bike like Mikey so I could have used it. But alas I was stuck here with my idiotic brothers.

Soon mom pulled over to Santa Carla, and on the back of the big board was written in crimson "Murder Capital of the World" Mikey and I shared a worried glance: what the hell were we getting into?

As mom stopped, Mikey got his bike off the car and rode it, following us home. The house was creepy, and my brothers seemed convinced we were getting in a horror movie.

We settled down, and the boys fought for their room, running and messing with each other while I was putting my clothes in my wardrobe listening to some tunes, and hanging posters on my walls and ceiling. 

When the evening came, I joined mom on her way around the boardwalk for a little while, but when she approached a tape store I decided to go my way and look at the different stalls to see if I could get something for my patch jacket. I had been working on it for a while, and it’s one of my favorite pieces of clothing from before I transitioned. It had been through all my teenage years, and I couldn’t imagine wearing another jacket. 

I noticed something interesting and went to look for it, ignoring the pull I felt that was changing. Browsing through the stuff, I decided for a cool pin, and a skull patch. Very classic, but it would blend well with the rest of the jacket, which was mostly covered in band patches and vampire-themed ones. When I was looking for chains on another stall not that far, I saw a cute blond guy with curly hair starting to look for stuff beside me. As I was reaching for a cool chain, he took it, before apologizing as our hands brushed. Damn, even his face was really cute, he looked like those angels on renaissance paintings. The way I felt at ease with him was surreal, and when he offered to give me the chain, I accepted. I even let him fix it on my jacket with some safety pins he found in his pocket. He had one of the coolest patch jacket I’d ever seen, and we chatted about custom tips until I spotted mom and bid him goodbye, smiling when he promised me we would meet again. 

When I went to mom, she told me she got a job at that video store, and I was happy for her. I showed her the stuff I got, and when she came to the topic of the boy I was with, I realized that I forgot to ask his name. 

We came home, and I quickly washed before going to bed. That’s when I realized the pull I had felt much stronger in the angelic boy company… Shit, could it be? Had he felt the same way and was it the reason he said we would meet again? Because he knew where to find me? 

With my thoughts all turned towards him, I fell asleep with my window open, not paying attention to the pull that was getting stronger again. 

The day ran smoothly, I learned that Mikey had met his dream girl last night, the pull leading him to her, but apparently she had left with some bickers. I told him about the pretty boy I had met, and how I thought he was the one the pull was leading me to. It seemed surreal that twins would find both of their soulmates in the same town, but here we were. Since I wanted to find my angel boy again, we decided that we would go together to the boardwalk tonight and try to find them. He was curious about the boy I had met and wanted to meet him like I wanted to meet that girl. 

I spent the rest of the day sewing patches on my jacket, adding studs and the pin I got yesterday, before meeting Mikey outside. Sam was staying in since gramps was there. Mom didn’t like the idea of letting her younger son alone. 

I climbed behind Mikey, and we left together. I loved his bike and was saving up to buy myself one. But a better one, though. His had limits and I just wanted one to go wild. 

We were soon on the boardwalk and started to look for our mates. While I was confused about the pull, Mikey was more successful and managed to meet his girl. Her name was Star, and while they were talking I was trying my best to try to get where the pull was trying to lead me, without success. It was as if it wanted me to go four different ways, it was driving me crazy. We were soon back to the bike, and that’s when Mikey realized that he couldn’t give a ride to both Star and me. 

As I was trying to back up, I  felt the pull and turned my head to the four bikers that were circling us. Could it be?... no way… As I shook my head, the one who seemed to be their leader called Star, silently telling her to ride with him. But I didn’t pay much attention to the girl as my eyes met angel boy’s ones. The one I understood was called David dared Michael to a race, and I turned to my brother when he said that he had to take me home. Smirking, David told him that his brother was free to ride with Marko, talking about me. I silently asked Mikey what he thought about it, and when he nodded I turned to the bikers, letting the pretty boy from yesterday pull me on his bike. I blushed when I realized that thanks to this crop top I was in direct contact with his skin when held onto him. After one glance from David who made sure I was secured with Marko, the former rode off and the blond with the wild hair followed, then Marko and the brunet. When I turned, I saw my brother trying to keep up. Soon we left the sand for a road, and I slowly relaxed, even if the boys were driving like crazy. To be honest, I was having the time of my life and soon laughed and hollered with the boys. Mikey was keeping up, I was having fun, maybe everything would turn alright…  

As we reached Hudson Bluff, Mike got off his bike and punched David. I swiftly held my brother back, and shivered when David said “How far are you willing to go Michael?”. After sending a smile in my direction, David led the way to a cave. I was trying to not fall, and the brunet who introduced himself as Dwayne helped me stay steady and get down. He then left to lit up barrels and candles, as Marko took his place, while I was looking at my surroundings. Damn! As the blonde chuckled, I realized I said it out loud. 

Rocker boy who was called Paul sat me beside him on a broken fountain, while David was ranting to Mikey about the history of the place. Soon Marko was sent to buy food, and I was starting to get uncomfortable as he was the only one besides my brother I knew at least a little. Instead, I closed my eyes and tried to understand what the hell was going on with my red string of fate. Red sting that was… pulling me in four different ways, the closest being Paul beside me.

“ You feel it too, huh?” I opened my eyes and turned to the blond. Seeing I was silent, he added “The pull. Red String or whatever you call it. You can feel it too, right?” “I feel it too, you know”. I turned to the other side, seeing Dwayne. “Marko and David feel it, too. We were surprised, we weren’t expecting someone else after all this time” “ Four boys as my soulmate? damn I hit the gay jackpot.” My remark made them laugh. 

Marko came back with food, and we started to eat. David did something that scared Mikey, but I did not get the joke. Maggots? I sent a confused look at Star, but the brunette shook her head. David asked Marko something, and when he left to get it Paul left his place to sit by me. This boy lived in a cave and ate with his bare hands, which seriously made me reconsider everything. I checked the pull, just in case, and it still led me to Paul, Dwayne, David, and Marko that was coming back holding a bottle. 

He handled it to David, who took it and drank before giving it to Michael. My twin looked at me, unsure, especially when Star told him it was blood. I decided to trust the red string and nodded. The boys cheered, and David left to give me another drink, this time from a chalice. I looked up to him, and all he said was“Drink, my mate”. I felt like I couldn’t let my soulmates down, and took a sip. I felt the rich taste explode in my mouth, it tasted so good I wanted more. I drank the whole chalice before handing it back to David, who had a beautiful smile. The boys started cheering even more than for Mickey, I felt so full of joy. I was where I belonged. Mom was right when she said that Santa Carla was a good place for a new beginning after all. 

[mysticstarlightduck]

Happy STS! We all know about the tropes, elements, and themes we love (and in some cases, use over and over again) in our WIPs! In The Last Wrath, which trope, theme, or element did you choose NOT to include, and why? Was it a deliberate choice or did it just happen that way?

Happy Storyteller Saturday! Thank you for the Ask, @clairelsonao3!

This is a very good set of questions, I'll try my best to give it a great answer too!

In The Last Wrath, which trope, theme, or element did you choose NOT to include, and why?

I guess I wanted to stay away from the obvious typical overdone tropes from the high fantasy genre and try my best to subvert them *

For example, the Chosen One trope, I try to give all my characters deep importance to the story instead of ever using this trope, and even those that could be considered to have "prophecied ancient powers" - looking at Julyan here - are not Chosen Ones. The path is not paved for them, and often their "gift/blessing" bears far too great of a price or toll for them - especially until they learn to control it, and even afterward. With Julyan's character - the most overt subversion of this specific trope in TLW - his arc begs the question "What is the line between a Man or a Monster?" as in, how far can uncontrollable powers push you and you can still be considered human? He was born with ancient powers, yes, but the powers are more of a curse than a gift, and he struggles with the fact that he is merely the vessel for this untapped magic that can both destroy or save. He wonders if he can still be considered himself and not a weapon after these powers, and the burdens it brings, grow. And even when he learns to control it, it isn't a prophecy that is ever going to save him, but his effort to be something more than the sum of his inhuman powers and use these abilities for good, he doesn't have an easy road to follow nor mentors to train him. He has to do it all by himself, with the help of friends that know nothing about the extent of his magic, in a world where all knowledge of such godly powers was already lost.

But I also try to avoid the smaller, more subtle tropes, such as the famous (which I despise with the entirety of my being) "In Medieval Times everyone wore dirty and dark clothing and lived in unhygienic cities with no sense of culture, in a non-diverse depiction of a very inaccurate Europe". We all know that is not true (while the Medieval Times were often convoluted, our "Dark Ages" perception of it is deeply incorrect, and heavily influenced by Renaissance scholars, who wanted to paint that era in a bad light to make their own time seem more enlightened. People will be people, always, no matter in what era we live in. There is color and diversity, and culture, and the Middle Ages/Medieval Times were no exception) To avoid that trope, I try to give the continent of The Last Wrath as much color and diversity as I can - I try to make all the kingdoms unique, with their own heritage and politics, color schemes and traditions to spare. (This is one of my most despised tropes of all time, so I actively try to avoid that godforsaken thing).

I refuse to add the "Cardboard Cut Out (a.k.a one dimensional) YA Heroine who is Not Like Other Girls and who is toxic to everyone around her." HELL TO THE NAW. My heroines may be unique, but they're humans above all things, they have their quirks, they have their strengths and weaknesses, they love their families (and the people around them), and most importantly, they don't go around shaming other girls for being girls or trying to make it seem like "oh I'm so special look at me, I'm such a victim of the world", NO. Also, a character can be strong and female while not being cliche and unbearable. A girl can be a leader and fall in love (those things shouldn't be "either one or the other." A girl can be both a strong warrior and a caring girlfriend. Just look at - my beloved - Annabeth Chase from the books).

Also, on the note of female character tropes in fantasy fiction, I refuse to write heroines who are "femme fatales" (especially if that sums up their entire personality). A woman can be seductive, and embrace her sexuality while being more than that, while being intelligent, brave, or both. Another reason why I refuse to write good characters (and even most villainesses unless that is the point of their character and they're multidimensional) as "femme fatales", is because often the role of the "seductress" borders WAY too close to glorified s3xual assault (especially female-on-male, or more rarely female-on-female) and no hero character should ever do that. Those are villainous actions suited only to the most twisted, perverse, and sadistic of villains. (It should never be something to admire in a female character. Dominance should always have a limit on both sides of a relationship and femme fatales oh so often cross that limit). It's a deeply problematic trope, and unless the character is properly portrayed as problematic, it bugs the hell out of me. A woman should be more than just sexy, even if she embraces it. A woman can be sexually empowered, without being an offender. (For example of badly done femme fatales, the female heroines in many Bond movies or Irene Adler in most Sherlock portrayals.) And this trope has taken a return on the YA genre, especially with "Not Like The Other Girls" kinds of leads, and I find that... disturbing, to say the least. I also despise the Bad Boy Trope (the male version of a femme fatale that you will often see in YA romance novels) for the same, deeply problematic nature of the trope. Just no.

Relationship Tropes that I openly avoid (due to their problematic nature) in The Last Wrath also include: toxic/unhealthy/dangerous Enemies to Lovers (a relationship, even if it is Enemies to Lovers, should always thrive on respect and love, and be something healthy rather than a twisted fairytale), One Dimensional Villains (all characters need to be well developed, especially the ones that will contrast with the protagonists, that is, the villains, as they are the source of conflict for the story), Problematic/Twisted Family Relationships (a.k.a The Lannister Twins from Game of Thrones. Sweet Home Alabama - NOPE. It gives me all the ick and it is deeply disturbing, to say the least.).

I don't like "grimdark, all hope is lost" worlds. The point of the whole world in TLW (and one of the main themes of the book), is that, while their world may be a truly dangerous and dark place, where many horrors await and justice is often denied, and wars tear lives apart, hope is not lost - and that one must not give up in their search for a brighter future, whatever that search may be. There is light in the midst of the overwhelming darkness. Even if Agrannor is dangerous and their rulers are corrupted, there are people worth fighting for, and there are wondrous things worth living to see! It may be a dark world, as it is a Dark Fantasy novel, but there is hope (even if just a spark of it). Having hope, and allowing oneself to dream of a better future, are one of the bravest things one can do in the face of great darkness and peril.

I try to AVOID the trope that all fantasy heroes need to be one specific type of person. Anyone, if they really try, can be a hero and use their hidden strengths to achieve that goal! Raelen may be the heir to a lost Mageborn House, but she is not a great fighter (at first) nor an incredibly powerful mage, she's just a crafty and smart adventurer who tries to save her world despite many people hating her for her magic, and that she chooses to do so despite knowing she is not powerful enough to face the villains alone. But she is going to try. Ellinor may be the princess who had her kingdom stolen from her, but she chooses to become a warrior assassin and train to actively take back what is hers by fighting on the front lines and bringing justice to those she loves. Darian doesn't know how to fight or use magic, and his inventions often end in disaster, he is small and shy, but he chooses to venture into a warring world alone despite his overwhelming fears and blatant weaknesses, to save his best friend. Zephyr may be a sorcerer, but he has a deeply debilitating curse that makes using his magical affinity a living hell and which considerably weakens him, and yet he is still trying to find an anti-magic spell to reverse the attacks of the Secret Court - so that no one has to suffer like he does. Helios was framed for something he didn't do by someone much more powerful than him and had his whole life stolen from him, and yet instead of giving up and hiding away, he is still trying to find the truth. Nadinne is a delicate girl, a lady on all fronts, but she is not a damsel in distress, and her feminine traits never become weaknesses, and she would rather use her delicate and wishful nature to find a diplomatic solution to her friends' war.

The point is, anyone can be a hero. All it takes it to genuinely try your best, even if against all odds! After all, all we can do is try and hope for a better outcome.

I got very carried away with this post, but I hope I answered your question properly! (:

[my-reference-notes]

The Color Psychology of Red

From the start of the rainbow to the ubiquitous advertising for Valentine’s Day, red remains one of the most evocative colors on the visible spectrum. As a primary color, red is a color entirely its own – that is to say, no other colors can come together to form a perfect red. In RGB, red is comprised of 100% red, 0% green, and 0% blue.

Associated with energy, war, danger, strength, power, determination as well as passion, desire, and love.

Enhances human metabolism, increases respiration rate, and raises blood pressure.

It attracts attention more than any other color, at times signifying danger.

Colors related to red: Magenta, Burgundy, Maroon.

Red

Red is one of the fascinating colors that uncover various symbolisms, meanings, and associations. It is usually linked with our strong emotions, such as love, desire, and anger. From red hair to the red carpet in events, it is a color that’s regarded as a head-turner due to its warm, bright hues.

Red is a primary color. It represents passion, warmth, and sexuality, but it is also known as a color that stands for danger, violence, and aggression. Red sits between violet and orange on the color wheel. Colors that are similar to red are rose red and red-orange. The hex code for the color red is #FF0000.

The history of red

Red is the first color that humans mastered, fabricated, reproduced, and broke down into different shades. It is also one of the earliest colors used by artists during the prehistoric period.

Throughout the Middle Ages, red had a religious significance. It was the color of the blood of Christ and the fires of Hell. In the Renaissance period, red colors were supposed to draw the viewer’s attention to the most influential figures in a painting.

In the 19th century, red became the color of a new political and social movement such as socialism. So it was also when the color red was used to create specific emotions in art and not just for imitating nature.

Red meaning and psychology

Red is known to have both physiological and psychological impacts on people, thus producing positive and negative effects on us. Studies show that its warm and vibrant hue gives us more energy to take action. Below are some concepts that are linked to the color red.

Love We may all agree that red is the color of love, which involves passion, sexuality, romance, and lust. Whether we are infatuated, in love, or even broken-hearted, we immediately think of the color red. It communicates strong feelings of attraction that can energize and increase a person’s heart rate.

Since red is associated with romance, it is the chosen color for romantic gifts such as red roses, red balloons, and even chocolates paired with red ribbons. Showering such gifts to the one you love is fluttering!

Power Compared to the rest of the colors, red provokes the most potent emotions, both healthy and unhealthy. It makes people feel dominant and powerful by boosting their self-esteem. In addition, red is a bold color, which makes one stand out from the crowd and influences the way others see them.

For example, the fastest and most luxurious cars in the world are most often painted in red; famous people are usually given the red carpet treatment, and women that wear red are considered more attractive. Therefore, owning a red car, receiving a red carpet treatment, and wearing red clothing give so much more power than everyone else that doesn’t favor this shade.

Passion Red gives us the motivation to do our best in doing the things we love. It involves the expression of intense interest and enthusiasm about something. Red excites our emotions, which is why we exert effort to finish a task or achieve a particular goal, especially if it’s something that interests us.

Confidence Red also conveys confidence, the state of believing in one’s abilities and qualities. Wearing a red dress, red coat, or red lipstick shows that a person is ready to take on the world and make a big difference. Red is an essential color to show people what you’re capable of doing.

Danger When we look around us, red is found on several road signs. Why? Because red is often seen as a ‘danger cue’. It demands to be noticed, which is why we have red traffic lights and red stop signs. In addition, red is proven to increase our adrenaline rush and helps us act fast.

Popular Shades of Red

There are more than 50 shades of red out there that are widely used for many purposes. Let’s take a look at some of its popular variations.

Maroon  It is described as a dark variation of red. Maroon came from the French word ‘Marron’ which translates to ‘brown’. The shade represents attention and many other things and is often the chosen color of most universities and colleges.

Scarlet Scarlet red is a shade best described as a very bright red with a hint of orange. Its appearance is like the color of flames, and it embodies authority and strength.

Blood Red It is an intense hue of red similar to the actual color of blood. Blood red is associated with either positive or negative concepts. For example, it symbolizes life, but it is often associated with death, violence, rage, and the like because of its appearance.

Imperial Red  This kind of shade is a beautiful hue of red, like the inside of a watermelon. It is often used for culinary advertisements and the choice of color for some graphic design projects. Imperial red is seen as a warm and bright red color.

The Red Personality Type

People who favor the color red are generally observed to be extroverts, outgoing, and enjoy spending time with people and living life to the fullest. However, they can also be seen as competitive and unapologetic individuals. Is red your favorite color?

Positive Traits

Enthusiastic You vibrate a high level of energy, especially in doing the things you love, so you do your best to succeed in pursuing your interests.

Confident You are optimistic, firm, and not afraid to stand up for yourself. Because you believe in yourself, you are not easily scared of the negative things you hear, like criticisms and bashful comments.

Passionate Due to your passionate nature, you take things personally and rarely back down. As a result, you have strong emotions about many things and know precisely how to defend your beliefs.

Charismatic Others quickly notice as you enter the room because of your charming and radiant characteristics. You leave a good first impression that leaves your audience in awe.

Natural Leader You gain the respect of others by knowing how to recognize the essential things in both your personal and professional life, which makes you a natural leader. With this, you serve as an inspiration to everyone around you.

Negative Traits

Impulsive Too much passion often leads to impulsivity. Sometimes, you overlook the possible consequences of your action because of your intense urge to just do the things you like.

Unapologetic Because of your strong emotions, it is hard for you to apologize in a conflict and admit that you’re wrong.

Aggressive When you don’t get what you want, you can be aggressive and exhibit a violent temper. Although you may calm down pretty quickly, it’s not always easy to be around you.

Overly competitive Since you strongly believe in never giving up, you like to be in charge all the time, which often leads to disregarding other people’s feelings just to get on top.

While red is a vibrant color, it is also linked to revenge and anger. People often get red in the face when they are angry, which is why red is associated with rage across many cultures. In addition, red color stands for violence and danger because it resembles the color of human blood.

Red is also associated with warning signs. Due to its high visibility, it quickly attracts people’s attention to warning signs. For example, red flags indicate that something terrible may occur, and so they are used to warn people of impending danger.

Too much red can provoke aggression and irritation. It is found that red can cause an increased heart and respiration rate. For this reason, people can feel alert and stressed out when seeing red for a long time.

Color red in business

In reality, the color red is not liked by everyone. Red is a great way to express their sexuality, passion, and lust for life for some people. On the other hand, others see it as too much as it can appear sleazy and overwhelming.

Choosing the color red to represent your business is a risky path. Therefore, it is recommended for use only by the already successful companies or by those who feel sure about their business strategies.

Red stands for motivation that encourages clients to take action, but it doesn’t guarantee a positive response. The best way would be to use it in small doses as a sign of passion and energy for the business.

Color red in branding and marketing

Due to its warm and bright hues, red cannot go unnoticed. It is the most intense color on the color wheel, and it evokes strong emotions. So far, brands have been using it to build excitement and encourage customers to take action.

When targeting bigger crowds, lighter tones of red should do a better job. Softer shades will make a point, and it also helps brands not appear too aggressive and desperate. So instead, already successful brands use darker shades of red to create a more fiery and authoritative effect.

Random Facts about Red

Red is an exciting color with deep meanings and broad characteristics. Although intimidating as it may seem, red has more interesting facts to offer!

Red is the first color a baby sees.

In the Russian language, red translates to ‘beautiful.’

Red doesn’t make the bulls angry because they can’t see the color red.

The planet Mars is also called ‘The Red Planet.’

Red light is often used to help adapt to night vision, such as nighttime and other low-light situations.

Seeing the color red stimulates the human heart.

The color red is considered to have the longest wavelength of colors in the color spectrum.

Red candies taste the sweetest.

According to studies, men in red are more attractive and sexually desirable than women in red.

Red is one of the most common colors used on national flags.

Information about Red / #FF0000

In a RGB color space (made from three colored lights for red, green, and blue), hex #FF0000 is made of 100% red, 0% green and 0% blue. In a CMYK color space (also known as process color, or four colors, used in color printing), hex #FF0000 is made of 0% cyan, 100% magenta, 100% yellow, and 0% black. Red has a hue angle of 0 degrees, a saturation of 100%, and a lightness of 50%.

Burgundy Color

Burgundy is a shade lighter than the color maroon. It is a mix between brown and red that has a purple tint. Many people confuse it with maroon which has a slightly more red-brown tint and lacks the purple hue that burgundy has. The color of burgundy was named after a drink that had the distinctive red shade of color. More specifically, it was named after the color of the red wines coming from Burgundy vineyards in France.

Oddly enough, in Burgundy the color is actually referred to as ‘bordeaux‘ in reference to another wine region producing a similar deep red wine color. The English language picked up the word for the color in the late 1800s. It is possible that this is due to the increased import of French wines in English-speaking countries.

The Psychology of Burgundy

Burgundy is often associated with higher class society. It’s rich hue and red shade are interpreted as signifying sophistication. It is seen as more serious than lighter shades of red and lacks a sense of fun, light energy that shades like pink have.

Burgundy can be viewed as a color indicating power. The combination of it’s psychological seriousness and powerful energy give it a sense of high ambition. Therefore, people who are trying to display their power or wealthy class may use burgundy as a way to show these traits.

[amyx2001]

((holy hell your parents are asshats, I wish that they step on legos and small sharp rocks every time they're tired and wandering into the bathroom at night, and I wish that you have permission to safely watch and point and laugh, while eating reeses candy and without suffering consequence. also YOUR DOODLES ARE AMAZING AND I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR RAMBLING ABT ANGELS. SHARE WITH ME THE KNOWLEDGE :DDDDD)) -Z

Ohh!! >:)

Well, Lucifer

- likeness will remind you of Anakin Skywalker

- so will his attitude.

- this is a horny brat. He wants everything and anything and he WILL throw a fit if he doesn’t get it.

- Close to Michael, both before and after he personally threw him out of heaven

- needs to be dominant in EVERYTHING EVER. he has issues with this.

- Never wears clothes. Just like the renaissance paintings, he’s always naked. Michael hates this.

- goes to Michael in the middle of the night quite often. He still needs reassurance or hugs or sex like old times. They still love each other.

And, Michael

- is the one to try to convince Lucifer to wear robes or clothes AT LEAST when mortals are around.

- calm.

- likeness to Obi-Wan Kenobi, and yes, he’s got the accent and voice.

- stressed! Very stressed. He’s got a lot of expectations to uphold, and while being an ex-lover of Lucifer? Well good luck to him.

- Acts prudish on the outside. Is more knowledgeable in horny on the inside.

- a bit of a control freak. He’s in charge of a lot of things, and he is terrified to mess up.

- If you need to be scolded? This is the angel to go to. He will LECTURE.

- Is still, and will always be, full of love for Lucifer, and very worried for him.

And of course, example drawings of the both of them. I don’t even have to say which is which, horny and gay sparkle radiates off of Lucifer from miles away.

[victoriasreyes]

Street Art Week

I have only ever publicly protested in political/human rights marches, with signs I created expressing the message I want to be heard, while occasionally adding my own personal artistic touch. If I had time for whatever protest I was attending, I would try to add a unique picture so that my poster would stand out but still have the message read loud and clear. For example, during a women's march I attended, I drew a nsked woman under the words my body my choice. I feel like words itself are art as is it a form of expression and can be perceived in any way. 

LAAMS Lower East Side 

A)I was inspired to take this photo because of the emotional connection I felt with the specific words used. Although not entirely grammatically correct, I understood what it meant to say. This was specifically taken at a dark moment in my life where I felt that I was telling myself that I was not in the right place and that I needed to be more and bigger, basically that I wasn’t enough. I was so depressed and digging myself deeper and deeper into this hole of self hatred, consistently talking down on myself. When in reality, I needed to be listening to my feelings to understand why these feelings were so real. I needed to understand that I was depressed and that instead of digging myself deeper. Listening to my emotions instead of talking down on myself allowed me to pull myself out of this mental state. This artist was completely anonymous to me. I feel like anyone going through a dark time in their life and seeing these words could maybe alter the course of their day into a more positive perspective, as this can be interpreted differently by anyone. 

   B) McCarren Park Greenpoint Brooklyn 

Automatically this rainbow bus caught my eye as I was walking down the streets of Brooklyn after taking myself shopping. What made me capture this photo was that it seemed the only purpose of this bus was for it to be admired for the colorful patterns and bold words saying “Art is Love” painted all around. The hearts around it bring joy to the beholder, and the inside of it was filled with the same creative joyous spread. I wanted to capture this because of the feeling of happiness I felt as it expressed the simplicity of a clear message and colorful pallet. As I do not know the artist behind the creation, I would like to go back to this area and try to see if they have any more pieces like this. 

Canal Street Soho

C)Even though this is a sticker, I felt like this needed to be photographed because of how most native and new New Yorkers would agree to this. Ultimately, most residents would agree that there is no city like New York City, and that this city is like living a beautiful day in hell. Its chaos and face paced environment beats you up in all the right ways, forcing you to be a stronger, more creative individual. The entrancing element of New York city makes people both love and hate where they live, and appreciation of the city is something many people would agree with. Although this is only a sticker, I feel like words can often be used in an artistic form, as it creates dialog. After research, I found that this is possibly a sticker from the clothing store NYON. Fashion itself can also be used as a form of art, so both the sticker and the clothing allows New York to get the appropriate recognition. 

Madison Square Park 

D)I feel like most people familiar with the streets of New York have seen these words all around the different boroughs and throughout manhattan. The font and repeated texts signifies that it is the same artist writing these powerful words. This Queens-raised artist, Leviyev, tags the entire city in an effort to turn it into his own “modern day renaissance”. According to Leviyev from a quote in the article Dream Until Your Its Reality: Why One NYC Artist Will Keep Writing on Sidewalks Until You Follow Your Dreams, Written by Maddie Katz “The whole point of graffiti is it’s an illegal commercial. We don’t have the capital that major corporations have but we have ideas corporations wish they had.” He hopes to leave his legacy in the city and for New Yorkers to work their reality into existence. Everytime I see the tag. I now think of Leviyev and how he wanted his reality of being a legacy to influence the public, being both motivational and artistical. 

Outside of the MOMA

E)Although I am unfamiliar with the artist of these paintings, they were clearly inspired by the infamous Banksy, and his graffiti art offering a commentary on society. I have personally never seen an actual Bansky piece in person, so seeing replicas of his work was something I wanted to capture, especially since it was outside such an important museum. This graffiti master has influenced so much of modern day art, so seeing anyone try to mimic his capabilities is important in understanding that art can be created by any person.