#small wiry curious

[ocd-kenobi]

Is Obi-Wan so sweaty cause he's anxious about the vulnerability or is he just a Sweaty guy in your mind?

LOL this is such a great question. The answer is tricky because I arrived at this conclusion because in many books, his biggest personality traits are that he is sweaty and anxious. Does the anxiety cause the sweat? Perhaps! Is the anxiety common and constant enough to classify him as a Sweaty Guy? Yes! Also this is literally just me utilizing observational data about my clients over the past many several years and for some reason the very nice gay guys who want medium pressure seem to be extra sweaty for whatever reason!

[maireyart]

Sakumo and Obito's Parents* Live AU (7 artworks + drabble)

Team Minato Week Day 3: Any AU. It's not one of the suggested ones, but something I've been thinking about too much :3 @teamminatoweek

Kakashi and Obito prevent the terrible thing (they've noticed something has been really wrong with Sakumo). Sakumo, having seen Kakashi's horrified face, gets horrified himself at what he was about to do — not to himself — but to his son, and feels remorse about having almost abandoned his son.

2. After the Kannabi mission, Minato writes one of the most difficult reports in his career. He has to face the parents: Obito's dad and Sakumo. Imagine the moment team Minato returns to the village, but without Obito. Obito's parents, as well as Sakumo, meet them and realize that their son has not returned. Kakashi looks them in the eye and stretches a trembling hand with the goggles in it; they take them, shocked, and feel the sudden dark urge to throw them into something. Or at somebody. The panic. They feel like they're on the edge of a precipice, but a tiny hope that Obito might still be alive — just... lost... just... still breathing — is still there. But then it gets crushed by a detailed report from the team. The eye. Obito's eye. Their son's eye is looking at them from Kakashi's eyesocket, and they don't know what to think. Sakumo doesn't, either. They aren't allowed to look for the body immediately because of secret military operations still going on in the area. They grieve and wait. Soon they get the permission to start their search; grimly, they crush a rock after a rock to get to the bottom, and find… the blood… ninja weapons… pieces of his clothing... Obito's headband… But! NO BODY. And again Obito's parents feel shattered. Did the enemy ninja steal his body? Plucked out the remaining eye? Dissected him? What did they do to the corpse of their poor boy? Obito's parents are too late! Too late… And more weeks of grief and pain ensue. Until Kakashi starts seeing something with his eye. Some cave… After it’s happened a few times, he tells Rin, and she persuades him to talk to Obito's parents.

3. Thanks to Rin, Kakashi approaches Obito's mom and asks her a few questions about the Sharingan. He has to retell her everything again, but in more detail. Kakashi says that he's been seeing something from time to time, but doesn't know what it is... Obito's mom is puzzled, but suddenly a new tiny flicker of hope springs up in the darkness they've been living in for the past few months.

4. Eventually, Obito's parents, Sakumo, and Kakashi find Obito in barely-alive Madara's lair. Black Zetsu escapes, but there is somebody who can capture him and seal him off: Kushina.

5. Kushina loves her secret mission.

6. Jounin Obito, with his parents. Way later :3 *** And if you've read till this point, I have a little drabble for you for dessert about kid Obito getting to know Sakumo. Big thank you to @professor-of-naruto for fixing my mistakes & all the amazing support!!! 💕 💕 💕 

***

On warm days like this, Obito loved wandering around in the village and enjoying the lulling buzz of life. Quite often, these walks resulted in curious encounters and even adventures, and today seemed to be the case too. On the hill near the edge of Konoha park sat a man, staring somewhat sadly at the erratic mess of Konoha rooftops and low afternoon clouds, speckled with gold and pink. It was a man Obito had seen from a distance multiple times, but had never had the guts to approach.

Hatake Sakumo had somehow always looked both rugged and elven at the same time. He was tall and wiry, face sun-tanned, vigor emanating from his broad shoulders and spiky silver ponytail, but his eyes were jaded and thoughtful – too many shadows hiding there. There was a certain sternness about the lines on either side of his mouth, but the most gentle and peaceful smile Obito had ever seen offset the rough look of his face. And now, this very smile and a small nod of acknowledgement worked like a magnetic pull on the boy. Enchanted, he came up to the man and sat down nearby.

Kakashi’s father returned to silent contemplation, and Obito bent his eyes to the ground. That man wasn’t a talkative one, pretty much like his son, but did Obito want to know more about him! Sakumo was probably the only person in the whole world who could elicit a huge, brilliant smile from Kakashi. Not that Obito had actually seen that smile (damn mask!), only the crinkled eyes, but more than once, he’d heard their jolly voices and laughter when the pair of them were chatting about the events of the day.

“Hatake-san, nice to meet you. I’m Uchiha Obito,” he began formally, heart pounding in his chest.

Having pulled himself out of his thoughts, Sakumo cocked his head and gave him another serene and endearing smile. “Obito-kun, huh? You’re Kakashi’s friend, right? I’ve seen you playing together.”

“Um... More like a classmate, I guess?” A classmate who wanted to be his friend. Deep down. Probably.

“I’ve heard a lot about you from my son.”

“You have?” Obito’s eyes grew wide, radiating shock and wonder. Of all the things Kakashi and Sakumo could be discussing... Him? Oh, wait. Kakashi had probably been describing to his dad all those stupid situations that involved Obito, or something... They could be funny. In hindsight. Mortified, he hung his head, digging his fingers into the soft grass. So he knows... knows I’m a disaster... knows that I’m nothing like Kakashi…

“He often grumbles about a certain obstinate Uchiha boy who won’t ever leave him in peace. But I can also see how excited he is, looking forward to the fun that every day with you brings.” Suddenly Sakumo laughed, voice deep and resonant. “But around you my little hedgehog is a little standoffish, isn’t he?” (Obito’s ears perked up: A diminutive? For Kakashi? Outlandish). “I can be your friend instead.”

“Is it... Is it okay?” Obito mumbled, still feeling awkward.

“Of course.”

“Hatake-san… Why is Kakashi such a ‘hedgehog’?”

“Sometimes people treat trivial things seriously, and brush serious things off...” he said distantly. “I wish he saw that someday...”

“What are the serious things?” Obito was puzzled. “Just so that I won’t brush them off.”

“I have a feeling you already know,” he said with a playful twinkle in his eyes and ruffled Obito’s hair. “Maybe one day you’ll teach Kakashi a thing or two. If I fail.”

“What do you mean if you fail?!” Obito almost choked. “He listens to no one but you, Hatake-san! And I – I feel like I’m just always getting in the way. He doesn’t care about whatever I say!”

“I don’t think so, Obito-kun.”

“How do you know?”

“If he doesn’t care, then why is he watching us right now and listening to our conversation?”

“What?” Obito looked around nervously. He might have spied on Kakashi… but the other way around? What?!

“Sorry, Kakashi, but you have to come out,” Sakumo called. “I know you’re there.”

And indeed, Kakashi jumped off one of the trees, looking grumpy. “I have to make it clear that I am not a hedgehog,” was all he managed in his red-eared embarrassment. ***

@cool-thymus and I have more Sakumo and the kids art content (Hedgehog Special) 🦔

And if you're STILL here, feast your eyes on the wacky spin-off of the grimdark Kannabi report art (@poetrywise, you absolutely killed me with the description xD):

DJ Minato's psychedelic tunes 😁 *Obito's parents are referenced from the sole photo Obito had on his board both in the manga and anime.

*Obidad's earring is @quintilli0n's headcanon that I genuinely love with all my heart 😁

[thatdammchickennugget]

Puppy Love

pairing - remus lupin x fem!reader

summary - taking your dog to the park seemed like a simple way to spend the afternoon—until your playful pup forms an unexpected bond with a shy stranger's dog

warnings - fluff

wordcount - 3.1k

a/n - i swear there is slytherin boy stuff coming soon but I'm in my remus era atm. this is inspired by a movie my mom was telling me about

It was a rare sunny afternoon in the city, the kind that demanded a visit to the dog park. Cooper trotted happily beside you, his leash slack in your hand. He had that familiar spring in his step, ears bouncing with each movement. It had been almost three years since you had found him tied to the side of that empty road, and it was hard to imagine life without him now. Your little miracle.

"Ready to meet some new friends?" you asked, though you knew Cooper was more interested in sniffing every inch of grass than socializing. You couldn't blame him—meeting new people wasn't exactly at the top of your list either. After the disaster that was your last relationship, you had been more than content with the peace of your own company. Or, well, yours and Cooper's company.

But you had friends who loved to remind you, constantly, that you couldn't spend all your time working, hanging out with your dog, and pretending everything was fine. According to them, you needed to “get back out there.” Whatever that meant.

As you stepped through the park gates and unhooked the leash from Cooper’s collar, you took a deep breath. It wasn’t as packed as usual—just a few other dog owners scattered across the green, their pets running around, kicking up dirt in happy sprints. Good. Less small talk.

Cooper, in his usual fashion, immediately began making his way toward a group of dogs already playing near the middle. But as you followed, something—or rather, someone—caught your eye. A man stood a little distance away, leaning awkwardly against a tree. He looked about as out of place as you felt some days, glancing nervously at the small terrier at his feet.

The dog was adorable—scruffy, with caramel-colored fur and a wiry little tail that twitched now and then. But she wasn’t doing much of anything. Unlike the other dogs, who were practically doing somersaults, this terrier just stood there, taking in the scene without much interest.

Her owner shifted uncomfortably. He had this sort of quiet, disheveled look about him—wavy hair that probably hadn’t seen a brush in a while, a soft cardigan that looked worn but cozy, and the most tired-yet-kind eyes you’d ever seen.

For a moment, you hesitated. You should probably keep your distance—he didn’t look like he was here for a conversation. But, just as you considered moving on, Cooper suddenly jerked to a stop, his nose twitching furiously.

And, much to your surprise, the little terrier, who had been so still and uninterested before, perked up. Her head snapped up, and without any warning, she darted straight toward him, tail wagging in a hesitant yet curious rhythm.

The man looked up, startled, watching helplessly as his dog made a beeline for Cooper.

“Oh,” you said, half-laughing as the terrier sniffed cautiously at Cooper, who responded by licking her nose in greeting. “Well, looks like someone’s finally found a friend.”

The man jogged over, his cheeks flushed slightly. “Maple,” he called softly, his voice deep but a little uncertain. “You actually want to say hello, huh?”

You smiled, crouching down to rub the terrier’s ears. “She’s Maple? That’s a cute name. This guy’s Cooper. He’s usually a little too friendly, but it looks like Maple’s got him charmed.”

He laughed, a low, almost sheepish sound. “Yeah, I’m... still figuring her out, to be honest. I just adopted her a few days ago.”

“That explains it. She seems a little shy, but Coop loves a challenge.”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, still looking slightly out of his element. “I’m Remus, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Remus. I’m—” you paused as Cooper playfully nudged Maple with his nose, making her give the smallest little bark in return. “—apparently the owner of your dog’s new best friend.”

Remus chuckled softly, his shoulders relaxing a bit. “I wasn’t sure if the park would be good for her. She doesn’t seem very interested in other dogs. Guess I was wrong.”

“Well, she has great taste, clearly,” you teased, grinning as Cooper began to chase her in small circles. “I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it. New environments can be tricky for anyone, dogs included.”

“I hope so. My friends keep saying I spend too much time by myself, so... they kind of pushed me into this.”

“Same here,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Apparently, owning a dog isn’t enough, I’m supposed to find a boyfriend too.”

Remus blinked, clearly unsure how to respond to that. His shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, you could see a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You leaned back on you heels, giving him a playful grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not looking to adopt any humans right now.”

He laughed, a real one this time, though it was quickly interrupted by a sudden look of concern. He glanced around, his brow furrowing slightly. “Wait... where’s Maple?”

Slowly blinking, you realized with a jolt that Cooper was also nowhere to be seen. Your heart jumped into your throat. “Oh no... Cooper?”

You both both scanned the park, momentarily panicked, before hearing the familiar sound of paws rustling through the bushes a few feet away.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath, walking toward the sound. Remus followed close behind, just as worried, though you caught the hint of a smile on his face.

Sure enough, there they were, hidden behind the bushes, playfully tussling in a patch of dirt, completely oblivious to the scare they’d given us.

You turned to Remus, who was shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “Guess they’re getting along even better than we thought. Already trying to make a break together.”

“Seems like it,” you said, lips curling into a smile.

As you coaxed our dogs back out, you couldn’t help but notice the way Remus’ awkwardness had softened, just a little. There was something endearing about it, about him. You'd never met someone so shy yet so genuine. It was... kind of cute.

As you walked side by side, the dogs trotting just ahead, you found yourself glancing over at Remus more than once. He seemed to relax a little now that Maple and Cooper were so content, but there was still an air of quiet uncertainty around him, like he was adjusting to the whole concept of this—dog parks, casual conversations with strangers, maybe even just getting out of the house.

"So," you asked, breaking the comfortable silence, "did you grow up with dogs?"

He smiled softly, shaking his head. "Not really. Maple’s actually my first dog."

you raised an eyebrow. "Really? You’re doing a good job for a first-timer, I’ll give you that."

Remus let out a chuckle, but there was a self-deprecating edge to it. "I don’t know about that. I’m still kind of figuring out what I’m doing. I’ve never really... taken care of something like this before. But I guess you could say there was always a dog around when I was growing up."

“Always?” you grinned. “That’s not what I’d call ‘not growing up with dogs.’”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Well, it’s hard to explain.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Hard to explain?”

Remus’ smile faltered slightly, his eyes flicking down to Maple as if she might somehow offer him a way out of the conversation. His hand absently rubbed the back of his neck, and he gave a nervous little laugh.

“Well… it wasn’t exactly a normal situation,” he muttered, his voice suddenly quieter. “More like... a friend who was, uh, very... fond of dogs.” He trailed off, and you could tell he was fumbling for words now, the kind of fumbling that made you wonder if you’d hit a nerve.

You tried to offer an easy out, sensing his discomfort. “Ah, I get it—one of those friends who practically lives at the animal shelter?”

He glanced up at you, relief flashing briefly in his eyes, and nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Something about the way he avoided your gaze made you bite back a smile. He was holding something back, that much was clear, but it wasn’t the sort of secret people shared in casual park conversations. It was oddly charming, the way he was suddenly so awkward.

“Well, whatever the case, you’ve got the dog-ownership thing down. Maple seems happy enough with you.”

Remus let out a soft breath, grateful for the change in topic. “I hope so. I think we’re both still adjusting, to be honest.”

As you continued walking, a brief silence fell between you, broken only by the rhythmic sound of Cooper and Maple’s paws on the gravel. You glanced over again, noting the subtle tension that still lingered in his shoulders. Whatever that half-hidden story was, it clearly wasn’t one he was comfortable sharing with someone he’d just met.

“Anyway,” you said lightly, “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it. Dogs are pretty forgiving as long as you love them and feed them on time.”

Remus chuckled, this time more genuinely. “That, I can manage.”

You fell back into a companionable rhythm, walking a little further until you reached the park’s entrance. Cooper and Maple were still happily trotting along, occasionally bumping into each other as if they’d known each other forever. You watched them for a moment, then turned back to Remus with a smile.

“Well, I should probably head back before this one finds another mud puddle to roll in.” you gave Cooper’s leash a tug, but he stubbornly stayed put, his eyes fixed on Maple. You chuckled. “Looks like someone’s not ready to say goodbye yet.”

Remus smiled, though it was a little distant, like he was lost in thought. "Yeah. Guess they really hit it off."

You gave Cooper’s leash another gentle tug, but he remained rooted to the spot, clearly unwilling to part ways with his new friend. You couldn’t help but laugh, glancing over at Remus. "You’d think they’ve known each other for years."

He nodded but didn’t say much, his eyes still lingering on the dogs. There was a new kind of quietness in him now, a kind of withdrawal that made you wonder if you’d pushed a little too far with your earlier question. It was like he was trying to retreat back into that protective shell he seemed to carry with him, the one that kept people at arm’s length.

You hesitated, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, but there was something about Remus—his quiet awkwardness, the way he seemed a little out of place but still genuine—that made you want to offer another olive branch.

"Well," you said slowly, crouching down to give Cooper an affectionate scratch behind the ears, "if Maple ever wants to hang out with Cooper again, we could set up a park date."

Remus blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Oh... uh, yeah, that’d be nice. I think Maple would like that."

Reaching down into your bag, you pulled out a scrap of paper, quickly jotting down your number. "Here," you said, handing it to him with a smile. "Just in case."

He looked at the paper like he wasn’t sure what to do with it at first, then took it carefully, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. "Thanks," he murmured, his voice soft.

You straightened up, giving Cooper one last tug on his leash. This time, he reluctantly budged, though he kept glancing back at Maple with what you could only describe as doggy longing.

"Guess we’ll see you around," you said, offering a small wave. "Don’t be a stranger, okay?"

Remus nodded, his lips twitching into a shy smile. "I won’t."

ੈ♡˳

It had been about a month since that afternoon at the dog park, but the memory still lingered in the back of Remus' mind. The crispness of the fall air, the sound of leaves crunching beneath feet and paws, the warmth in your voice when you handed him your number—“just in case.” He still had that scrap of paper tucked away on the kitchen counter, weighed down by an old coffee mug that he hadn’t moved in weeks.

He hadn’t called you.

Not because he didn’t want to—he’d thought about it more times than he could count—but every time his fingers hovered over his phone, a tightness settled in his chest, like something was holding him back. What if you’d just been being polite? People said things like that all the time without really meaning them. And what would he even say? Hey, remember me? The awkward guy from the park? The one who can barely hold a conversation?

He sighed, glancing over at Maple, who was curled up on the worn couch across the room, her head resting on the armrest. She’d been acting weird for the past few days—lethargic, not her usual perky self. Normally, she’d be up and about, wagging her tail or nudging him for attention. But lately, she’d been retreating into her little world, barely eating, barely moving. Today was the worst—it was like she didn’t want to get off the couch at all.

Remus furrowed his brow as he watched her, worry gnawing at his gut. He didn’t have much experience with dogs, but even he could tell something was off.

“Maple,” he said softly, his voice breaking the quiet stillness of his small apartment. “What’s going on with you, huh?”

She blinked lazily in his direction but didn’t move.

Remus stood up and crossed the room to her, crouching down to gently rub her ears. She let out a soft huff, closing her eyes as if the effort of acknowledging him was too much.

“This isn’t like you,” he murmured, stroking her fur absently. “I think… we should probably get you checked out.”

The thought of going to the vet made him anxious—not just because of what they might find, but because of the cost. He wasn’t exactly swimming in money, and an unexpected vet bill could really mess things up. But Maple was worth the extra shifts he would have to take. He’d do what he had to, even if it meant tightening his already snug budget.

“Alright, girl. Let’s go.”

It took a little coaxing to get her off the couch, but eventually, she slid to the floor and followed him out of the apartment. He loaded her into his old car, the engine sputtering to life as they headed to the vet. The drive was quiet, save for the hum of the road and the occasional rustle of Maple shifting in the backseat.

When they arrived at the clinic, Remus hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The smell of antiseptic hit him immediately, mingling with the faint scent of animals, and he felt a knot form in his stomach. He checked them in at the front desk, then sat in the waiting room, trying not to let his mind spiral into worst-case scenarios. Maple rested her head on his lap, and he absently scratched behind her ears, hoping everything would be fine.

They didn’t have to wait long before the vet, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a calm demeanor, called them into the exam room. Remus explained Maple’s recent behavior, the strange lethargy, the lack of appetite. The vet nodded thoughtfully, examining Maple with careful hands before running a few tests. Remus paced the room, nerves building with each passing second.

After what felt like an eternity, the vet returned with the results, holding a clipboard in her hand.

“Well, Mr. Lupin,” she began, glancing down at the paper before looking back up at him with a small smile, “I don’t think you need to worry too much. Maple’s going to be just fine. She’s not sick—she’s pregnant.”

Remus blinked. For a second, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard her right. “She’s… what?”

“Pregnant,” the vet repeated, her smile widening slightly at his stunned expression. “She’s about four weeks along, by my estimate. That’s probably why she’s been acting a little off. It’s not unusual for pregnant dogs to be more lethargic, especially in the early stages.”

Remus stood there, trying to process the information. Maple… pregnant? It didn’t make sense—except it did. The only other dog she’d had any real interaction with was… Cooper.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Um,” he stammered, running a hand through his hair, “are you sure? I mean… she’s only been around one other dog that I know of. And they were only out of my sight for a few moments.”

The vet nodded. “I’m sure. These things happen. But don’t worry—Maple’s young and healthy. She should handle the pregnancy just fine. I’d recommend scheduling a follow-up visit in a few weeks to check on her progress.”

Remus nodded numbly, his mind racing. He thanked the vet, paid the bill with a slight wince, and led Maple back to the car, his thoughts a tangled mess.

As he drove home, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, one question kept bouncing around in his head: Should I call her?

He hadn’t reached out in a month. Have you been waiting for him to? Or had you forgotten all about him after that day? He wasn’t exactly the most memorable person. And what would you even think of this? Of Maple and Cooper? Would you be mad? Embarrassed? He didn’t know you well enough to predict your reaction, and that made the idea of calling even more daunting.

But he couldn’t avoid it forever. Cooper was the only dog Maple had been around in the past few weeks. There was no doubt in his mind—Cooper was the father. And you had to know.

Remus pulled into his parking lot, turned off the engine, and sat there for a moment, before making his way back inside his apartment. He sat on the sofa, staring down at his phone. His heart was racing.

What if she doesn’t even want to hear from me? What if she was just being polite when she gave me her number?

But he couldn’t leave you in the dark about this. It wasn’t fair. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone and stared at the piece of paper with your number. He hadn’t even asked your name that day—what kind of idiot was he?

With a shaky hand, he tapped the call button and held the phone to his ear, his pulse pounding as it rang.

Each ring felt like a lifetime.

Then, finally, the click of the line connecting.

“Hello?” your voice came through, warm and familiar.

Remus swallowed hard before he spoke.

“Hey… it’s Remus. From the park.”

Masterlist

Requesting Guidelines

[ashbub]

blessings

genshin impact: venti × gn!reader

contents: college au, mild cursing! [4.1k]

IN WHICH: a boy with blue haired tips suddenly appears & your life has suspiciously gotten a whole lot easier

❝ may the winds bless your travels! ❞

The first clue that something was off about him should have been on the first day you two had met.

You had been resting the edge of your elbow lazily across the surface of the scribbled-on chair in front of you, the lecture room softly buzzing as your muttering professor began pulling up his PowerPoint presentation on the projector.

Introduction to the History of Teyvat to Present Day

Not that you could really give a shit this early in the chilly winter morning, especially with how you found out last minute you had to take this class as a requirement for your major- rushing your ass to squeeze in this class for the semester before any of the remaining spots could be taken. 

The crowded classroom had the hum of the bustling morning filling the air while you lazily fished out your charger from the crevices of the bag. As students filed in, there was a symphony of exchanged greetings, the rustling of book bags, and the soft murmur of back-and-forth conversation.

You had your busted-up laptop propped neatly on the warmth of your lap, a small yawn resting on your pursed lips. You had elected to sit in the back row of the lecture hall for this first day of class to gauge the atmosphere of the classroom. You nuzzled the tip of your chin deeper into the thick fabric of the chestnut brown sweater you had worn as your smooth fingertips wandered over the mousepad, carefully skimming the blaring syllabus in front of you. 

"Can I borrow a pencil by any chance, friend?" 

The voice was soft, almost like the beginning melody of a song into your perked ears- Your soft eyes flickered lightly over to the occupied seat beside you, a young man digging his hand vigorously into the empty pockets of his leather satchel, his pale fingers instead pulling at the fabric of the bottom of his bag pitifully.

His bright eyes were a serene teal, looking towards you with a hint of bashfulness at his situation, the tips of his braided hair sharing the same tinted resemblance of his expectant eyes. He wore a light blue hoodie and worn-out jeans to the lecture, his fair skin warmly blushing against the snug layers that hugged him.

He was ethereal.

"Yeah, it's fine-" You quietly mumbled, snapping from the sudden stare before pulling out a thin mechanical pencil you had packed with you, the edges of the clear plastic having indented faint teeth marks from your late-night study sessions with your roommate, Amber. 

He lightly smiled, a warmth grazing across his thin lips before smoothly accepting the pencil from your grasp. Mouthing out a quick, "Thank you," before turning to focus on the flickering presentation, the soft rustles of his notebook paper humming through your ears.

Your teacher had finally started his presentation after fumbling with the remote of the projector, keeping his introduction short before reviewing the coursework required from your class throughout the semester.

He was a middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair and a perpetually disheveled appearance. His wrinkled, mismatched attire, featuring a misbuttoned shirt and untied shoelaces as his wiry glasses, had been frequently perched atop his rustled head, had seen better days, with duct tape barely holding them together.

Truthfully, you weren't really paying attention throughout his discussion of the syllabus. The notes you were typing were sporadic and sloppy at best, you had nearly even forgotten a whole section of notes about the future lessons till the same boy you had given your pencil leaned over, the faint scent of dandelions suddenly lingering.

Dandelions, huh.

"He's going to be discussing the seven divine seats of Celestia," The bright-eyed boy mused carefully, a curious glimmer peeking from the corner of his gaze before lightly tapping the empty section of notes presented on the screen of your dimly lit laptop, "The Archon War," His whisper was soft with the reminder, a small laugh hanging on his pursed lips with the edge of his fingertip curiously placed on the end of his chin.

The muted hum of the old heater provided a constant backdrop to the lecture. Students occasionally shifted in their stiff seats, their movement accompanied by the subtle rustling of winter jackets and scarves. The professor's voice was clear at the very least, carrying in the crisp air as they endeavored to hold the students' attention, your light laugh mingling back. 

"Thanks," The tips of your fingers curiously lingered on the smooth keys in front of you- His notebook had remained unmarked, the occasional eraser mark shyly grazing the paper with a content smile tugging the edges of his coy mouth. You tilted the screen of your laptop towards him from your lap, his pale complexion rosy under the warmth of the fluorescent lighting that flickered above in the classroom, "You didn't take any notes yourself; did you want to copy mine?"

He contently tapped the side of his forehead with a light hum, a quick wink fluttering towards your direction at the sudden rise of your right eyebrow, "I have a musician's memory, I remember most of this by heart." He proclaimed teasingly with a nearly sing-songy voice, his thin hand smoothly tugging on the thick drawstrings of his light blue hoodie.

Your eyes flickered towards his satchel, mostly remaining empty- Except with the small instrument peeking out: The lyre that was tucked away was a small wonder, made to be portable yet grand in appearance. Its body was a gleaming wood, richly stained and polished to a deep, honeyed hue.

As the professor concluded the day's lecture short, the college class began to stir with anticipation for the upcoming event. Students bundled up tightly in heavy coats and thick scarves gathered their array of belongings and began shuffling out of the classroom with soft murmurs, eager to escape the biting cold from outdoors to their next class.

You usually were out the door as soon as it was fucking clear too, no reason ever to stick behind, frequently hurrying to remain in the comfort of your dorm. Much to the disappointment of your roommate, who was very much excited at the prospect of a chattering conversation.

However, you had carefully tucked your closed laptop into the main pocket of your bookbag as your teeth chewed over your plump bottom lip, your voice smoothly carrying over to the boy with the dyed braids beginning to rise from the warmth of his seat beside you, "Are you a part of the school band? My classmate, Barbara, she's part of the school choir-" Your sudden question was immediately joined with the company of the faint tilt of your head, "I just have never seen you before around here."

His excitement was nearly bursting from the seams. "I actually recently joined the band here, I'm a new transfer-" His soft teal eyes shone almost brightly, a faint pop of his lips amusingly slipping out before adjusting the strap of his leather satchel over his shoulder with a shrug, "You certainly wouldn't forget a cute face like mine, huh?"

Feeling the ends of your ears grow slightly warmer at his boldness, you choose to ignore the question with a small scoff, instead scooping up your bookbag to the safety of your bundled arms in the midst of the conversation, "Freshman?" You replied with a soft laugh, your gentle fingertips tightly wrapping around the thin handle of your school bag before examining the youthful spirit hum.

His dark eyelashes fluttered closed at the comment, "Actually, I'm a senior!~" His dainty hands dug around the back pockets of his faded jeans, quickly patting around the thick surface before a small "aha!" formed on his smooth lips, tugging out a small brochure. “I am a bit older than what I look as many say.”

The pamphlet was littered with half-completed doodles across the front page, the information barely legible at first glance as you cautiously took it from his grasp- "You should come to watch me play!" He clicked his tongue cheekily at the offer, waving a small pointer finger at you, "I'm certain you would be entertained with my songs, mm?" 

Before you could muster a reply to his offer, a mysterious yet enchanting melody began playing in the air faintly, your eyes softly widening at the soothing whisper of music. You turned your head to find the source of the sweet song but saw no one there, only a few remaining students rustling up their notes into the safety of their bags, clearly preoccupied. Bewildered, you looked back at the dark-haired boy, but he, too, had nearly vanished into thin air, leaving you with the pamphlet in hand and as he had begun to open the elongated doors of the classroom with a lingering laugh.

The winter air streamed through the tall windows of the lecture hall, casting warm, elongated shadows across the worn wooden floors, "Wait-" His damp, white Converse sneakers pausing at your sudden call with a faint squeak as your voice remained thick with confusion, "I didn't catch your name-"

The ends of his braided hair swayed contently over his shoulder, loosely resting his fingertips over the handle of the lecture hall- His peeking smile was widely spread across his face at your sudden interest, a near mischievous glint emerging from the corner of his green eyes that for a brief second, you could have sworn under the swaying classroom lights were faintly glowing.

"Venti."

"The history of Teyvat is important, [y/n]!"

The dorm room was illuminated by a soft, warm glow as you and Amber huddled around your shared desks, engrossed in your studies. The room was adorned with bookshelves filled with classic novels and dented textbooks, and an array of post-it notes and highlighters were strewn about on the surface.

"I know- Which is why I'm studying this for the pop quiz, Amber."

Your roommate had puffed out her rosy cheeks, her hands smoothly closing your laptop shut with a small sigh, "Not just because of that- The history behind Teyvat is extremely part of our culture, of why our world is shaped the way it is. You are a transfer student, it is important to understand the stories and why they are so important." Amber had warmly reached over to run her fingertips over the fur of her pet bunny, dangling a bright carrot to the twitching nose that stuck out from the metal cage.

Relinquishing the snack over to the nibbling bunny, Amber briefly glanced at you with softening eyes, her warm brown eyes mingling with flecks of gold, "It is said that the seven archons were defeated in amidst the war, their remains scattered across Teyvat. Our nation was thrown into chaos, where lands were sent in disarray with the lack of guidance from our gods."

"But they managed to survive? Humanity?"

The brunette sat herself on the edge of her bed, smoothing out her bedroom sheets with her fingers, "Well, obviously, but many believe that the gods survived, regaining their strength and hiding amongst us humans for thousands of years."

Her eyes looked up at you.

"One day, the gods will return."

The memory was fresh of the study session between you & Amber.

Your gloved hands warmly wrapped around the paper cup of hot chocolate that you had purchased, the shimmering golden mora smoothly justling in the room of your back pocket. With a textbook in one hand and a well-worn backpack slung over your shoulder, you balanced a steaming cup in the other. The paper cup was adorned with a seasonal design that seemed to shimmer in the morning light, a small touch of cheer in the otherwise frosty world.

The campus was a world transformed during the first snow. As the first snowfall of the season blanketed the college grounds, it cocooned the familiar landscape in a glistening white tapestry. Every building, every tree, every path, and every bench was adorned with a layer of pristine snow. The air held a crisp chill, and a sense of hushed serenity settled over the campus, broken only by the soft crunch of footsteps and the occasional delighted gasps of students.

You were only going to see Venti for a second. After all, he had seemed rather excited to perform. It wouldn't hurt to slip by for a few seconds to listen to some music.

As you navigated your way through the snow-draped campus, your steps left a trail of footprints that soon vanished in the white expanse. You took deliberate sips from your cup, relishing the warmth that spread from your fingertips to your core. The hot chocolate was a comforting blend of rich cocoa, topped with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Amber had recommended the drink profusely, exclaiming that it was the only thing that had gotten her through her late-night shifts as campus security.

Among the snow-covered trees on the campus quad, the flushed bard had set up his performance space, seeming to have not noticed your presence while muttering to himself- a few wooden boxes messily set up across the snow for a makeshift stage that you quietly chuckled at.

Venti was a modest figure at a closer glance, his wiry frame enveloped in a weathered, woolen coat that had probably seen better days. His dark, tousled hair, and ruddy cheeks were the only bits of color in his otherwise enveloped dark green appearance. His nimble fingers danced gracefully along the strings of a weathered lyre in preparation, coaxing hauntingly beautiful melodies from the instrument.

In the midst of this snowy landscape, you found yourself leaning against the sturdy trunk of a massive oak tree. In your hands, you held a cup of hot chocolate contently, the warmth from which seeped through your soft gloves and into your chilly fingers. The swirling steam rising bashfully from your cup formed a fragrant wisp in the frosty air.

You rarely attended these sorts of events- Due to your busy schedule, you occasionally stopped by a concert or two held by the school to support Barbara and her singing- She was one of Amber's close friends who happened to be a part of the school's prestigious choir program.

You watched the scene unfold before you, a gentle smile played on the end of your lips. Your eyes were drawn to a small male bard who had set up his stage not far from yourself tucked away near the tree. You had ultimately concluded he had an unassuming charm about him, his flushed fingers deftly strumming a lyre once more, while his smooth voice wove melodies that seemed to be born from the winter winds themselves.

As the bard played, your gaze was fixed on him, and you couldn't help but admire his talent, his nose flushed and wrinkled up in the crisp air that enveloped the environment. The soft, haunting tunes resonated with the wintry landscape; each note imbued with emotion. 

The audience, which now had mainly consisted of wandering college students slowly gathering around him, listened in rapt attention, their jagged breath forming misty clouds in the cold.

You would have remembered Venti if you had seen him before- How could you not? He was damn near impossible to miss.

The bard's performance had a dreamy quality, like the whispers of forgotten tales carried by the winter breeze. A chuckle escaped from behind your wool mittens, before stiffening just as quickly.

 Though, you couldn't help but notice something curious. 

Each time a particularly poignant note was struck, a small, subtle gust of wind seemed to dance around the strings of the lyre, rustling his thick layer of clothing and the edges of his dyed hair ever so slightly.

It was barely noticeable. Honestly, you were doubting you had even seen it happen to begin with.

But then- another gust of brisk wind had fluttered the fabric of his dark coat, his brightening eyes glinting playfully at the whispering winds.

Your lowered eyes had caught these brief moments, flickering quickly to his wooden lyre that bathed in the attention that the bard had given him. You shifted your position slightly with your worn-out snow boots crunching under the freshly packed snow, trying to get a better look at the bard as your hot chocolate cup, nearly forgotten in your hand, suddenly felt cooler, though the drink inside was still piping hot.

You watched with a soft breath lingering on your chapping lips, what could you say? Your curiosity was piqued. The hints of wind abilities you thought you had noticed must be a trick of the imagination, you reasoned to yourself. Yet, as the blissful bard continued to play, the enigmatic breezes seemed to return, as if drawn by the mournful melodies.

The audience remained captivated, warmly bundled up students turning to one another in excited whispers and raising of the warm drinks, oblivious to the subtle interplay of air around the bard. 

You- However, had already turned away.

It had been a day or so since you had last spoken to Venti- You weren't avoiding him per se, but with your mind jumbled with upcoming assignments & adjusting to a semester abroad, the bard wasn't exactly easing the whole transition period either.

You briefly nuzzled your chin into the warmth of your freshly washed hoodie- You had elected to wear an ensemble of faded jeans and a pair of well-worn sneakers since you would only be heading to one class for the afternoon: Biology. Your dark backpack was stuffed to the brim with assorted textbooks and notebooks with post-it notes, boring a few coffee spills across the previous semesters, adorned with patches and pins in a measly attempt to cover them up.

From what you noted, the stairwell remained overall silent during the late afternoons, except for the occasional echoes of footsteps and distant voices from other parts of the building. The hushed tones and stillness of the stairwell were a stark contrast to the vibrant and energetic campus life just beyond its walls.

The stairs were constructed of sturdy concrete, its walls painted in a neutral shade of beige that had faded slightly over the years. It featured a broad central staircase with polished wooden steps that bore the marks of countless footsteps. 

You had rounded a corner to enter the stairs, adjusting some of the notebooks you had balanced in your grasp before setting your foot to notice the worn and uneven steps ahead. 

"Hey, [y/n], wait up!"

Then, it happened. A sudden, unexpected stumble sent you hurtling forward. Panic flashed in your eyes as your thick textbooks and multiple sheets of paper rustled into the air to escape from from loosening grasp. The ground seemed to rush up to meet you, and it felt like time itself had slowed.

Your eyes had flickered over to the owner of the voice- It had been Kaeya. The previous teasing smile that had usually adorned his sun kissed skin slipped- His dark hair had been messily tucked behind his round ears, his own expression stiffening at the top of the stairwell as his gloved hand raggedly reached out in an attempt to grasp for yours.

For an agonizingly long moment, you teetered on the precipice, your thumping heart lodged tightly in the back of your throat and your stiffening arms windmilling with the sudden tumble- Your cold fingertips attempted to reach for the edge of the metal railing in panic, rapidly clawing at the crisp air, grasping at anything to prevent the inevitable descent. The sudden voice had jolted you, your bright eyes suddenly widening with the impending collision with the bottom of the empty staircase.

But just as suddenly- the warmth of an adorning wind had fluttered past your skin.

Dandelions.

It lifted you gently and effortlessly at your sudden jagged breath, as though cradled by comforting invisible hands that slithered through the weight of your back. Your fall was halted for a second, only for a second, and you had hovered mid-air.

Your wide eyes met those of the boy with the smell of dandelions, the same bard with the expectant lush green eyes- His pale hands had carefully been placed on your upper back warmly in an attempt to steady your weight in his arms.

The thin ends of his braided hair nearly tickled your warm cheeks as you had frantically clutched the fabric of the thick sweater he had been wearing with your fingers with a small gasp, a single Cecilia pin adorning his chest proudly.

Venti.

He gently lowered you to the ground with his dainty hands quietly remaining on the edge of your quivering shoulders, the tips of his sneakers touching smoothly the final step with a small laugh slipping from his pink lips, you were safe- unscathed. Your scattered sheets of homework assignments decorated the floor beneath you.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, [y/n]-" Venti smiled teasingly, the curled ends of his mouth twinging upwards with a singular pointer finger waddling in the air, "Aren't ya happy to see me?"

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the narrow windows of the school, casting muted, dappled patterns on the walls, but the light felt distant as if the stairwell was a forgotten corner of the college. The soft, muted glow illuminated the dust particles hanging in the air, you had for a moment wondered if you would be able to see lingering dandelions mingling in the air.

Had time stopped?

"You shouldn't have been able to catch me if you were human. Not from there-" You finally managed out with a breath to him, your dark bookbag slumped into the corner of the stairwell before looking up at the bard with a frantic whisper melting into your seeping words, "What are you? Who are you?"

Instead, Venti had smoothly picked up one of the sheets of paper that mingled beneath the edge of his beat-up shoes with a quiet laugh in avoidance of the question or racing mind, "A thank you is usually in order, no? Sometimes even a kiss?" He lightly pinched the bridge of his nose, his words melting with a soft hum, "Never thought an interrogation as a formal way to thank someone."

Your drunken-like breaths had come out in ragged gasps before tightening on the wool fabric of his sweater tightly with the edge of your fingers. "How did you even- What was all of that-" Your bewildered eyes had quickly darted to his relaxed expression in a flicker, searching for a rapid explanation in his softening look towards you, "How did you even know my name-"

 He smiled warmly before his bright green- no- now blue eyes flickered with an emerging glow emitting from them. The playful bard had allowed his parted lips to linger on the warmth of your forehead with a small hum, smoothing out some of the remaining stray strands of hair away from your heated face with the edge of his wandering thumb.

The instant the warmth of his lips touched your skin, an overwhelming wave of warmth and comfort washed you. Your bright eyes grew heavy, and, almost involuntarily, they fluttered shut with a soft sigh before slumping into the softness of his sweater, your wispy eyelashes grazing your cheeks at the final blink. 

The last thing you saw was the Cecilia pin.

"Y'know," He whispered softly with a stray laugh lingering by your cheek, "Curious humans have always been my favorite," 

[y/n]!"

As you slowly stirred from your slumber with a quiet breath, your blurry vision hazily found yourself adjusting to the familiarity of the warm blankets you had nuzzled the side of your cheek on. Drool had pooled on the side of your chin before wiping it off with the edge of your thumb with a small 'tsk'. 

At the heart of the dorm room were two single beds, each neatly made with sheets and comforters reflecting the recent adjustments- Posters, tapestries, or photos adorned the thin walls- Your soft eyes fluttered open to the worried face of your roommate, Amber, her dark brown locks of hair spilling over her straightening shoulders, her golden eyes began widening at your flickering glance towards her kneeling patiently at the edge of your bed.

"Oh thank Barbatos, you're awake," She exclaimed with a light gasp at you small breath, her small fingertips interwoven warmly with your other hand with eyelashes finally fluttering shut. "You had us all worried. You just passed out sitting on the staircase, and we didn't know what happened."

You rubbed the side of your face quietly, your memory gradually returning with a soft sigh encasing your small gasps. Everything that had unfolded on the staircase. You couldn't help but wonder about the Venti- no- whoever he was- who had saved you and then kissed your forehead. It felt like something out of a dream.

Against one wall, two desks sat in a row, cluttered with textbooks, laptops, and notepads, bearing the marks of countless study sessions with bookshelves crammed with textbooks and highlighted notes. Amber had placed her small hand softly on the edge of your blanket, her own lips slightly pursed.

"Where's Venti?" You finally asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and slight raspiness. Your fingertips wandered over the skin of your forehead at the lingering kiss that had crossed it, a warmth spreading across your face before turning quickly glance at Amber.

Amber's expression shifted to one of confusion, her eyebrows quietly raising, "He wasn't there- Kaeya was the one who found you, [y/n], he brought you here."

You tried to explain the situation, recounting the events with the boy who had saved you. But as you spoke, you couldn't shake the feeling that your story was so fantastical, that it might as well have been a dream.

However, the sight on your desk that caught your eye—an exquisite Cecilia flower, its petals a vibrant shade of pale blue, sat in a small vase. You curiously reached out to touch it, your fingers warmly brushing against the delicate bloom.

"Kaeya found this near you," Amber continued carefully, her usually chipper voice softening as she saw the confusion lingering on your face before smoothly adjusting the plush pillow that resided underneath your back with a light laugh. "He had no idea where it could have come from."

You couldn't help but quietly smile, despite the surreal nature of the situation. You knew that Venti was far more than he appeared. He had saved you with a touch of magic, and now, with a single flower that remained blooming on the surface of your desk contently.

Though you couldn't explain the mysteries surrounding the boy, you felt a sense of gratitude and enchantment, he had woven a bit of magic into your world, and you couldn't wait to unravel the secrets he held, one Cecilia petal at a time.

a/n: i was considering making this a series or at least a pt 2 but i dunno hehe! it's kinda sloppy but pls enjoy! reblogs are appreciated! <3

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: "Sky's Canvas"

This little future Swan-Jones-Mills family fic envisioning them during their happy beginning post-s6 would probably have been well suited to Father's Day last week, but I didn't think of it until too late. I hope it will still be enjoyable this week too. It's a part of my one shot collection on AO3 or ff.net (if you'd prefer to read it either of those places instead) I hope you have fun picturing this alternate idea of what might have happened - and I'd love to hear what you think!

Notes: I toyed with the idea for this one for quite some time. The prompt elements that I have used are: a museum, the phrase “it was just a joke”, and also some small art facts – mostly about the particular museum itself (which is real). I have also put in a CS daughter (my personal head canon imagined one, Morgan Ruth Jones, whom I have written about before), and a college aged Henry. So, this is set somewhere in an alternative post-season 6 reality, where Henry stays in the Land Without Magic to seek his story, and also to be close enough to visit his family often, and for them to return the favor…)

by: @snowbellewells

The bubbly, nonstop chatter of her four-year-old little girl, which has cheerfully been filling Emma Swan’s ears for the past hour and a half, suddenly stills, immediately grabbing her attention and setting off an interior maternal alarm. She turns to seek out Morgan Ruth Jones – her little pirate princess – wondering if her daughter has yet again managed to sneak away from them and find herself in some sort of trouble.

Luckily, Emma doesn’t have to look far before she hears a chortling trill of baby laughter and locates her toddler with the disheveled head of dark, ringlet curls and twinkling, mischievous eyes – an aquamarine mix of her own green gaze and her father’s ocean blue – standing before a huge oil painting of a Spanish galleon rocking precariously on the stormy main and looking up at her father with fixed adoration. “Really, Papa?” Emma hears Morgan chirp, practically bouncing on the balls of her little feet as she tugs anxiously at his hook in eagerness to hear his answer. “Was it a storm that big you sailed ‘Roger’ through when you went to save Henwy in Neverland?!”

Emma is just chuckling wryly at the changes which have transpired in her life to give her a little girl more interested in daring adventures, ancient naval ships, and sword fighting than frilly dresses or dolls and makeup, even as her husband raises his eyes just enough to smirk at her knowingly over Morgan’s head, when another voice, youthful, warm, and settling into its masculine, adult timbre, answers Morgan’s question from over her shoulder, announcing Henry’s arrival to join them. “It was bigger, Pipsqueak,” he confirms jovially, pausing briefly to wrap a wiry arm around his mom in a quick side-hug before continuing to the side of his younger half-sister, kneeling to her level and adding with a gleam in his eye, “A mermaid summoned it to drown them all.”

“Hen-wy!!” Morgan squeals with glee; the painting, and even her papa’s beloved ship, forgotten as she flings herself into her brother’s arms with enough force to nearly bowl him over, causing Henry to chuckle as he catches her close to his chest.

“Hey Munchkin,” he greets affectionately, standing to his full height again – now even with his stepdad’s – still holding Morgan, her arms wrapped around his neck so tightly that Emma has to wonder if she’s ever going to let go. Turning to include his mom and his surrogate father in his next statement, Henry adds. “It’s great to see you all. Things must be quiet in Storybrooke, if you’re still going to stay all weekend.”

Here he arcs an eyebrow in curious bemusement, a trait Emma realizes all too well that he has picked up from her dashing scoundrel of a husband and probably uses to equally charming effect on all the girls he meets in his freshman courses at Bowdoin College. It is clear he has settled easily into the small arts school in Brunswick, Maine, just under a two hours’ drive from them, and that the campus atmosphere and freeing anonymity and normalcy he has there must be agreeing with him. Emma wants to snort in disbelieving laughter at his jest, though well aware that he knows better than to ever think his hometown would go completely, boringly normal. Instead, she shakes her head resignedly, merely giving her grown son a playfully long-suffering sigh. “You know how it is,” she shrugs, “never a dull moment. But – if you don’t count the dwarves coming to blows at Granny’s the other morning because Tom Clark accidentally sat in Leroy’s spot at the counter and got his flu germs on Leroy’s plate of bacon and eggs…”

“Which I do count,” Killian interrupts smoothly, winking at his adopted son. “I am the one who risked infection from the virus in forestalling their skirmish.”

Emma rolls her eyes at her deputy husband’s interruption and mutters “drama queen” under her breath, which Henry and Morgan both clearly hear and snicker at before she continues, “Otherwise it’s been as quiet as it ever gets. No deathly dangerous villains or curses meant to tear us apart and wipe our memories blank.”

“Yet…” Killian adds on needlessly, an ominous tone in his voice acknowledging the fact that they all know it’s only a matter of time before some new threat is wreaking havoc again. Their sleepy little town might seem like a place lost in time and space, but it is still a veritable magnet for trouble, and none of them can deny it.

Killian, however, waggles his brows playfully after his foreboding aside, making Henry shake his own head at his stepfather. It had seemed a rather grim pronouncement for the reformed pirate – more like his mom, really.

Morgan grins widely back at her father, nodding in gleeful agreement, her gap-toothed smile showing where she has lost a fair few of her baby teeth recently. “Yeah…yet!” she exclaims, not fully understanding the concern behind the sentiment, but always ready – as is her entire extended family – for action and excitement.

Emma shakes her head in humored exasperation at her two “children” – wondering, as she often does, how someone who has seen and experienced as much as Killian, who has witnessed some of the worst humanity had to offer and suffered at their hands, who has lived so long and weathered such crushing heartbreak and hate, can still easily find such simple, child-like joy in the littlest things. “Really, guys?” she questions, looking to her college student son for more mature support. “Can’t we just enjoy things being normal for once?”

“Aye, of course, my Love,” Killian replies deftly. “ ‘Twas merely a joke,” he adds, leaning over to brush a quick kiss to her brow that makes Morgan giggle, hide her face in Henry’s shoulder, and cry out, “Eww, they’re kissing again!” in a frank, tickling whisper against her older sibling’s skin.

“Just a joke is right,” Henry declares, motioning them forward to venture on into the rest of the Bowdoin College Museum and toward the particular exhibit he wants them to see. The collection was an 1811 bequest from a wealthy benefactor to the school and was one of the earliest college art collections in the country, as Henry had enthusiastically told her over the phone some weeks ago when his project had commenced. His Maritime History class had done a cross-curriculum partnership with the arts department to put together a student exhibit of research and mixed media in the college’s museum, and Henry has been quite secretive about his entry, even if insistent that they needed to see it in person. “Like anyone could be around you lot for long and think you were normal!” he scoffs.

“Ha ha,” his mother laughs drolly, bumping into his side with her shoulder in playful retribution as they move ahead side-by-side, with Killian, who is now holding a wriggling Morgan once again, following closely behind. However, once the jostling ceases, Emma grasps her nearly-grown son’s hand in hers for a moment, stunned anew at how much he has changed from the little boy who had found her in Boston all those years ago, and led her into the very life she has now. Squeezing tightly with emotion welling up in her throat, she wishes he could truly understand how much she loves him.

“Missed you too, Mom,” Henry murmurs softly, pressing her fingers back with his own wrapped around them. It is more than enough and makes her heart flutter in gladness.

Once Henry leads them through a few different rooms and several intriguing displays, he slows when they reach a large, somewhat circular room with a high, arched ceiling, and then turns to them with a mysterious smile on his face and clear anticipation in his big, brown eyes, just as they have always held, even at ten years old.

At first glance, this particular exhibit, this room in itself, seems empty. Looking around with faces equally full of curiosity and confusion, Killian, Emma, and Morgan end up staring back at Henry expectantly until Killian finally speaks up, “Begging your pardon, Lad, but I’m afraid I am not quite certain what you wish for us to see.”

Henry gives a nod of acknowledgement, rather knowingly pleased, and making Emma smirk to herself with a mother’s satisfaction at seeing her son so confidently happy and in his element. ‘He’s definitely got something up his sleeve,’ she thinks affectionately, admittedly finding herself anxious to see what his surprise might be. She knows that Henry has been loving this course all term – not to mention how thrilled her husband had been at the news – and that the long term practicum research projects are being showcased here throughout the entire month of April. Emma can only conclude that her son’s hard work has paid off in a way he’s proud of, and he must believe wholeheartedly that they will be too.

All Henry says is, “I take it you’re ready then?” and at Killian’s nod and Morgan’s “Yes, yes, YES, Henwy!!” exclamation, while she hops up and down exuberantly, he switches off the lights and presses a previously unnoticed button next to the light switch.

Immediately, the light and airy sound of some sort of flute or piccolo trickles through the quiet air of the room, a gently evocative melody with a lingering, haunted quality to its tone, enhanced by the sound echoing beneath of waves washing gently against the hull of some easily floating ship or back and forth over the shore of some deserted bay. Even as the sounds which are familiar and comforting to his tiny family audience wrap around them, small pinpricks of light appear just like stars in the night sky out on the ocean, sparking to life on the walls around them and the high ceiling overhead. It is a constellation spread out just for them in breathtaking majesty. Then, the Author begins to narrate his newest story…

Listening to Henry’s words, Emma feels her breath catch just a bit in both awe and emotion, glancing quickly over at her husband and daughter, before either of them realizes they are being observed. Morgan’s green eyes are wide and sparkling with interest and excitement, her mouth an open “o” as she looks above her, dazzled at what would appear for all the world to be the stars and constellations in the night sky brought indoors and spread out for their entertainment. Killian is silent and still, so much so that Emma knows – as few others would – just how valiantly he is battling some strong emotion…how very touched he is. Emma was never as great a student of the star charts and navigational astronomy as her sailor would have loved to make her, but Henry ate it right up, and she would bet her battered and beloved old VW that Henry has recreated some particular display that holds an extra meaning for he and his stepdad alone.

Shaking herself slightly to bring her focus back to earth and her attention back to the words of Henry’s presentation once more, she hears her son’s voice – soothing, engaging, and reeling her into the adventurous stories behind the scattered specks of light arrayed above them and their meaning and guidance to generations of sailors making their ways on a wide and pathless sea.

“The Cygnus,” Killian mouths silently beside her, appearing genuinely awestruck as he takes his gaze just momentarily from Henry’s representative “sky” to look in the eyes of the young man he has for years now cared for and loved like a son; a sincere gaze of fond understanding passing between them that brings a film of unshed tears to Emma’s vision that she has to rapidly blink away. In fact, soundless though it may be, she catches Killian’s comment only because she is so focused on her husband and his emotional reaction to this gift Henry has given all of them – but her pirate in particular. Emma senses that Killian knows it in this moment and holds tightly to his fingers twined with hers while practically beaming at her son, wondering again how she ever got lucky enough that the two most important people in her world would love each other as much as they each love her.

Morgan reaches over from Killian’s arms to pat her mother’s cheeks as Henry concludes his tale and turns the lights back up. “Don’t cry, Mama,” Morgan coos sweetly. “Henwy’s story was happy in the end. The Swan leads the sailor to his home.”

Emma smiles shakily at her daughter, and then the rest of her family with their looks of understanding. “I know, Baby,” Emma murmurs softly, still brushing away the evidence, but with her smile growing broader all the while. “Don’t worry. These are happy tears.”

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jrob64 @apiratewhopines

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @stahlop @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @winterbaby89

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @xsajx @bluewildcatfanatic

@xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @anmylica @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @branlovestowrite

@linda8084 @lfh1226-linda @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @let-it-raines @ineffablecolors

[fanbloggingpursuedbyabear]

Station 19 Characters as Dog Breeds (as described by the American Kennel Club).

This post might be a bit of a scroll, but I think it's worth it.

Maya: Border Collie

"A remarkably bright workaholic, the Border Collie is an amazing dog, maybe a bit too amazing for owners without the time, energy, or means to keep it occupied. These energetic dogs will settle down for cuddle time when the workday is done. Borders are athletic, medium-sized herders standing 18 to 22 inches at the shoulder. The overall look is that of a muscular but nimble worker unspoiled by passing fads. Both the rough coat and the smooth coat come in a variety of colors and patterns. The almond eyes are the focus of an intelligent expression, an intense gaze, the Border's famous 'herding eye', is a breed hallmark. On the move, Borders are among the canine kingdom's most agile, balanced, and durable citizens. The intelligence, athleticism, and trainability of Borders have a perfect outlet in agility training. Having a job to perform, like agility or herding or obedience work is key to Border happiness. Amiable among friends, they may be reserved with strangers."

Carina: Boxer

"Loyalty, affection, intelligence, work ethic, and good looks: Boxers are the whole doggy package. Bright and alert, sometimes silly, but always courageous, the Boxer has been among America's most popular dog breeds for a very long time. A well-made Boxer in peak condition is an awesome sight. A male can stand as high as 25 inches at the shoulder; females run smaller. Their muscles ripple beneath a short, tight-fitting coat. The dark brown eyes and wrinkled forehead give the face an alert, curious look. The coat can be fawn or brindle, with white markings. Boxers move like the athletes they are named for: smooth and graceful, with a powerful forward thrust. Boxers are upbeat and playful. Their patience and protective nature have earned them a reputation as a great dog with children. They take the jobs of watchdog and family guardian seriously and will meet threats fearlessly. Boxers do best when exposed to a lot of people and other animals in early puppyhood."

Jack: Beauceron

"The Beauceron is imposing and powerful, but also remarkably smart, spirited, and a versatile herder. Imagine a Border Collie's brain in a 100-pound body. They are especially beloved by women as a dashing but sensitive companion and protector. Beaucerons are muscular, rugged, and large, standing as high as 27.5 inches at the shoulder, and yet graceful and in all ways balanced. Their dark black coats feature handsome squirrel-red accents, including the red feet that give the breed its French nickname Bas-Rouge ('red stockings'). They're also seen in a black-gray-tan coat. The long head is well chiseled, and the dark brown eyes project expression breed fanciers describe as frank and confident. They're not for novice owners, who might end up being owned by their dominant dog instead of the other way around. That said, well-trained and socialized Beaucerons are levelheaded watchdogs and guardians, especially good with the young, the small, and the defenseless."

Andy: Airedale Terrier

"His size, strength, and unflagging spirit have earned the Airedale Terrier the nickname 'The King of Terriers.' The Airedale stands among the world's most versatile dog breeds and has distinguished himself as hunter, athlete, and companion. The Airedale Terrier is the largest of all terrier breeds. Males stand about 23 inches at the shoulder, females a little less. The dense, wiry coat is tan with black markings. Long, muscular legs give Airedales a regal lift in their bearing, and the long head, with its sporty beard and mustache, dark eyes, and neatly folded ears, conveys a keen intelligence. Airedales are the very picture of an alert and willing terrier, only bigger. And, like his smaller cousins in the terrier family, he can be bold, determined, and stubborn. Airedales are docile and patient with kids but won't back down when protecting hearth and home. Thanks to their famous do-it-all attitude, Airedales excel in all kinds of sports and family activities."

Vic: Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier

"The Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, an exuberant Irish farm dog, is happy, friendly, deeply devoted, and just stubborn enough to remind you he's a terrier. The unique wheaten coat is low-shedding but needs diligent care to avoid matting. The hallmark of these merry extroverts, and what sets them apart from other terriers, is the silky, gently waving coat. It runs from a pale beige to a shimmering gold, recalling the color of ripening wheat. Topping out at 19 inches tall and 40 pounds, Wheatens are square, sturdy terriers with a peek-a-boo hairdo and dashing goatee. The overall picture is that of a hard-muscled but soft-coated working terrier or, as the breed has been described, an iron fist in a velvet glove."

Dean: American Staffordshire Terrier

"The American Staffordshire Terrier, known to their fans as AmStaffs, are smart, confident, good-natured companions. Their courage is proverbial. A responsibly bred, well-socialized AmStaff is a loyal, trustworthy friend to the end. AmStaffs are stocky, muscular bull-type terriers standing 17 to 19 inches at the shoulder. The head is broad, the jaws well defined, the cheekbones pronounced, and the dark, round eyes are set wide apart. AmStaff movement is agile and graceful, with a springy gait that advertises the breed's innate confidence. The stiff, glossy coat comes in many colors and patterns. AmStaffers describe their dogs as keenly aware of their surroundings, game for anything, and lovable 'personality dogs' around the house. AmStaffs like mental and physical challenges. They are highly trainable, as their many forays into showbiz suggest. When acquiring an AmStaff, there's only one way to go: Do your homework and find a responsible AKC breeder."

Travis: Akita

"The Akita is a muscular, double-coated dog of ancient Japanese lineage famous for their dignity, courage, and loyalty. In their native land, they're venerated as family protectors and symbols of good health, happiness, and long life. Akitas are burly, heavy-boned spitz-type dogs of imposing stature. Standing 24 to 28 inches at the shoulder, Akitas have a dense coat that comes in several colors, including white. The head is broad and massive, and is balanced in the rear by a full, curled-over tail. The erect ears and dark, shining eyes contribute to an expression of alertness, a hallmark of the breed. Akitas are quiet, fastidious dogs. Wary of strangers and often intolerant of other animals, Akitas will gladly share their silly, affectionate side with family and friends. They thrive on human companionship. The large, independent-thinking Akita is hardwired for protecting those they love. They must be well socialized from birth with people and other dogs."

Theo: German Shepherd

"Generally considered dogkind's finest all-purpose worker, the German Shepherd Dog is a large, agile, muscular dog of noble character and high intelligence. Loyal, confident, courageous, and steady, the German Shepherd is truly a dog lover's delight. German Shepherd Dogs can stand as high as 26 inches at the shoulder and, when viewed in outline, presents a picture of smooth, graceful curves rather than angles. The natural gait is a free-and-easy trot, but they can turn it up a notch or two and reach great speeds. There are many reasons why German Shepherds stand in the front rank of canine royalty, but experts say their defining attribute is character: loyalty, courage, confidence, the ability to learn commands for many tasks, and the willingness to put their life on the line in defense of loved ones. German Shepherds will be gentle family pets and steadfast guardians, but, the breed standard says, there's a 'certain aloofness that does not lend itself to immediate and indiscriminate friendships.'"

Sully: Plott Hound

"The Plott, a hound with a curious name and a unique history, is a rugged, relentless hunting dog who is a mellow gentleman at home but fearless, implacable, and bold at work. This eye-catching scenthound is North Carolina's state dog. The hound with the curious name (we'll get to that) and unique history (we'll get to that, too) is a streamlined, long-tailed, light-footed hunter standing as high as 25 inches at the shoulder. The flashy coat comes in an array of brindle-stripe patterns, from black flecked with gold to flaming orange and russet, in addition to some solid colors. The medium-length ears hang gracefully, and the leather of the nose, lips, and eye rims are black, setting off an inquisitive and confident expression."

Warren: Mastiff

"The colossal Mastiff belongs to a canine clan as ancient as civilization itself. A massive, heavy-boned dog of courage and prodigious strength, the Mastiff is docile and dignified but also a formidable protector of those they hold dear. For the uninitiated, a face-to-face encounter with these black-masked giants can be startling. A male stands at least 30 inches at the shoulder and can outweigh many a full-grown man. The rectangular body is deep and thickly muscled, covered by a short double coat of fawn, apricot, or brindle stripes. The head is broad and massive, and a wrinkled forehead accentuates an alert, kindly expression. Mastiffs are patient, lovable companions and guardians who take best to gentle training. Eternally loyal Mastiffs are protective of family, and a natural wariness of strangers makes early training and socialization essential. Mastiffs are magnificent pets, but acquiring a powerful giant-breed dog is commitment not to be taken lightly."

[lynxindisguise]

happy birthday @impishtubist! what better way to celebrate impmas than with werepuppies!

"Do you think they'll be scared of me?"

It's such a ridiculous question that only the slight break in Remus's voice keeps Sirius from laughing. He cups his face, thumbs pressed to the hollows of his cheeks.

"Of course not. You'll finally be able to communicate with them, Moons. Quincy is so smart already, and Pip has your sense of humour, and Lyra... well maybe Moony can get through to her."

This wrings a weary chuckle from Remus, but the ever-deepening crease in his brow remains.

"Hey. Stop that. It's going to be fine. Better than fine."

He helps Remus unbutton his shirt and gives his waist a teasing squeeze before going to check on the puppies. They've been agitated as of late, likely sensitive to their Da's nearing transformation.

They whine and yelp as it begins, and he turns into Padfoot to reassure them that everything is fine. It's then that he notices something strange: Vulcan's wiry, black fur is becoming lighter and fluffier. Aurora's floppy ears are now pointed. Quincy's curious eyes are lighter, glowing.

Their puppies are turning into wolf cubs. Fortunately, it doesn't seem to be nearly as painful as Remus's transformation. Still, it tugs at his heart to hear Waffles's broken whimpers as his tiny body stretches ever so slightly larger.

Padfoot attempts to nudge them into a pile, but Lyra and Vulcan scramble away from him, running straight towards Moony.

The newly transformed cubs stare in awe at the massive wolf standing in place of their Da. Pip and Quincy tap their paws excitedly. Aurora flops onto her back. Waffles lets out a nervous fart.

Comically Remus-like in his expression, Moony attempts to make himself as small and unintimidating as possible.

Not in the least intimidated, Lyra jumps up, nipping at his muzzle. He picks her up by the scruff and delicately deposits her next to her siblings.

Padfoot licks Moony in welcome, nuzzling his cheek. Then, in a stroke of mischief, signals for the cubs to tackle him. Even Lyra obeys enthusiastically, and the six cubs pounce in unison, leaving their Da flailing. After a moment, Padfoot joins in, wrestling away the more energetic cubs so Moony can have a chance to bond with the others.

It's going to be a good night, he decides, this unexpected twist making it all the better.

And then it occurs to him that one day he'll be wrangling seven full-grown wolves.

[mysticbeaver]

on the subject of height, im curious to know your height headcanons for kevin and rolf as adults 👀 idk if you've talked about it before

Oh I've never talked about that! I love the idea that Kevin actually ends up slightly shortish, or average height. Like 5'9''-10'' tops, if he's lucky... not gonna be a basketball guy :P (and probably not a footballer either cause I keep thinking he's actually kinda scrawny) I guess it's because of those moments in the show where he IS drawn kinda small, I think I made a few pic posts about that haha. Canonically shorter than Edd anyway.

For Rolf it would be obvious to say he's tall... I'm thinking anything from 6'1'' to 6'5''! I always have this image in my head of a jolly cheerful big guy in dirty overalls just hanging around at some evening bbq party lmao... I know it's such a specific image but it must be based on people I've met. I don't think he'd be that stout tho, maybe a more lean and wiry kinda guy. In overalls. I actually DO know a cool guy like that IRL... who lives near the woods (of course 🤣) On a sidenote, I also love how he's got big ass feet with those clown shoes. Even Ed doesn't really have big feet. Reminds me of that one kid in class who always had three sizes bigger shoes than everyone else lol

[inktailsaystuff]

Introducing Freckle to Ruby (Ivy's dad)

Ivy meets Nina

Freckle stood outside the grand home of the Pepper’s. The mansion stood tall and proud, snowy walls with tall windows and large oak doors stood before him. Freckle fixed his bowtie, trying to look as professional as possible. He had worn his usual green pants and suit jacket, since according to Ivy “they matched his eyes.” Speaking of Ivy, the gray short furred cat stood next to him, her long thin wiry tail swishing with excitement. She was wearing a yellow sundress with matching heels and a matching hat adorned with flowers. 

“You ready Freckle?” Ivy’s chipper voice broke through his thoughts.  

“...Uh yeah. I’m ready.” He smiled at her, his tail twitched as his anxiety bore down on him. This was it, he would meet Ivy’s parents and if everything went according to plan… he could ask for their blessing, and hopefully marry her. 

“Great! Come on.” Ivy led him up the marble steps, her heels hitting the floor each time with a clack. He followed albeit less enthusiastically behind her. His blood ran cold as the door opened, only to reveal a silver furred butler. 

“Welcome back Ms. Pepper.” He bowed, holding the door open for the both of them. 

“Hello Damien.” Ivy beamed. “Where’s Mother and Father?” She asked as she dragged Freckle along behind her. 

“Your father is in his study, your mother is with your sisters in the garden miss.” Damien answered as he shut the door behind them. 

“What time is lunch?” Ivy asked as she fished a pocket watch out of Freckle’s coat.

“At 12:30 Miss Pepper.” Damien answered. “Would you like me to notify your father of your guest?”

“Yes please.” Ivy nodded, “This is Fr- Calvin and he will be having lunch with me right?”

“That is correct.” Freckle straightened his posture trying to make himself look more confident than how he felt. As Damien vanished Freckle turned to Ivy. “That’s like twenty minutes. What are we going to do while we wait for lunch…?” 

“Come on.” Ivy gripped his paw in hers. “Damien said that mother is in the garden with Rose and Willow. Anyway, Willow is the younger sister, she's six. Rose is ten.” Ivy looked at him. “Got it?”

“Yeah I think so…” Freckle blinked as Ivy led him back outside into the gardens. Rose bushes surrounded him, and snaking ivy grew along the wall like snakes. A small stream cut through the garden leading to a pond with a snowy white pavilion under a willow tree. Even from across the garden Freckle could see a pale cat sitting in the Pavilion. She had a long fluffy tail with a few ginger spots across her snout and long black hair, she also had large yellow eyes just like Ivy. Next to her sat two more girls, the seemingly older one had gray fur with white spots and yellow eyes, while the younger had dark gray fur and blue eyes. 

“Mama!” Ivy beamed running up the stairs to the pavilion while Freckle trailed behind. “Willow! Rose! It's great to see you again!” Ivy hugged her mother and sisters respectively. 

“Ivy. Hello darling.” Her mother smiled, she had a soft quiet voice. She moved gracefully as she hugged her daughter. “And who’s your friend?” She asked, her yellow gaze landing on Freckle. 

“Mama. This is Calvin, Calvin this is my mother.” Ivy introduced Freckle to her mother. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Pepper.” Freckle smiled politely. 

“Calvin hm?” The snowy cat hummed. “I’m Charlotte, Ivy’s mother as you know. It’s a pleasure to meet you Calvin. Upon what business are you here?” She raised a brow as she stirred her tea with a silver spoon. 

“Oh- Uh…” Freckle stuttered over his words. 

“It was my idea!” Ivy jumped in to save him. “Kill two birds with one stone you know? You all get to meet Calvin, and he gets to asked Father for his blessing.” Ivy sped over the last part of the sentence. 

“Blessing?” Charlotte raised a brow, sitting up straighter. “How curious. How about you and I discuss this Ivy?” She turned to Freckle. “Could you watch Willow and Rose while we chat?” Freckle nodded, despite being phrased like a question he could tell that it was an order. 

“I would love to, after all I get to meet more of the Pepper family.” Freckle watched as Ivy vanished with her mother, the duo walking along the garden leaving him with the kittens. Rose immediately dragged Freckle over to a small table. 

“Play with us.” She demanded, her stance was similar to Ivy whenever she demanded something of anyone at the speakeasy. 

“Oh… you want me to-”

“Play with us!” The girl screamed, stomping her foot.

“Ah! Right yeah sure.” Freckle sat down in one of the tiny chairs. 

“So you are Rose?” Freckle smiled at the fiery kitten as she dressed him up in one of Charlotte's sun hats. Like Ivy, Rose clearly took no for an answer, she even had Ivy’s signature glare. He started to regret giving into the girl’s antics as Willow wrapped him in a fluffy shawl. Similar to the one he could see Mitzi wearing around the Lackadaisy sometimes.

“Yep! And that’s Willow.” Rose pointed at the younger kitten while Willow poured imaginary tea into the broken china set. 

“Now. I’m going to be the Queen, Willow you are the princess, and Calvin is the King.” Rose commanded as she strung pearl necklaces around her neck. Placing a flower crown on everyone's head. “And the Queen is having a tea party.” 

“But I wanted to be the Queen.” Willow protested, pouting as he tail swished in annoyance. 

“I’m the oldest. So I am the Queen.” Rose hissed, stomping her foot. “And I want a tea party.” 

“Uh… How about you both are queens?” Freckle offered before this became an all out argument. “Just from different kingdoms. And you are having a tea party to discuss… queen things.” 

“...Fine.” Rose sniffed. “You can be queen Willow… but only because I said so!” She added. Freckle played along as the girls did their thing. However when Ivy and her mother returned they were met with an interesting sight, Freckle was wrapped in random items of clothing holding a teacup in hand as Rose gave a toast. 

“You look ridiculous.” Ivy burst into giggles as she liberated him from her two sisters. 

“I noticed.” Freckle smiled at her, as he stripped off the unmatching clothing.

Freckle stood by Ivy as they got ready for dinner. “Father. Meet Calvin. Calvin, this is my father.” Ivy smiled, as she stood between the two men. Ivy’s father was a dark gray cat with sharp blue eyes, he didn't have a particularly bulky build and was more on the slender side. He wore a baby blue vest, with darker blue pants and black glossy shoes. 

“Greetings Calvin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The cat smiled. “I’m Reuben Pepper.” He had a soft smile, similar to Ivy but less energetic and more tired. 

“It’s good to meet you Mr. Pepper.” Freckle smiled politely.

“Oh nonsense you may call me Ruby.” Ruby chuckled, waving a paw. “Now please sit down. We can discuss as we eat. No point in standing and chatting as the food gets cold.” Freckle sat down next to Ivy. Ruby gave him a good vibe, he seemed friendly enough. “So how did you meet my daughter?” Ruby asked as he cut up his steak, his eyes never leaving Freckle as he slowly ate his food. His long thin wiry tail coiled like a snake. 

“We met at the Little Daisy.” Ivy cut in, “I decided to talk to him first.” She was clearly more eager to prattle on about how they met than Freckle was. Something Ruby most definitely noticed by the small smile that formed on his face as he watched the duo.

“Ivy. If you please let Calvin get a word in.” Ruby chuckled at his daughter's antics, as he drank some water, his tail flicking side to side. 

“Sorry Father.” Ivy shoved a piece of bread into her mouth.

“So… I assume you are not here just because you two are friends.” Ruby looked at Freckle, “Am I right?” 

“Oh… well…” Freckle gulped. “I wanted to ask for your blessing…” He took a deep breath as he felt Ivy interlock her fingers with his. “I have liked Ivy for a while now… no… I love Ivy. And I would like to marry her and I would like your blessing so I can do that.” Freckle sat awkwardly in his chair, twiddling his thumbs. 

“Well… from what I’ve seen and what Ivy has told me… you are a good match up. Considering you can keep up with Ivy.” Ruby nodded. “I give you my blessing.” 

“O-Oh…” Freckle blinked, he hadn't expected Ruby to relent so quickly, he had even made a whole speech and list just in case he had to convince him.

“Surprised?” Ruby chuckled. “Ivy has told me you're her only partner to not get attacked by Viktor. So I say you're a good match if even that hard head approves.” 

“Thank you…” Freckle blinked, turning to Ivy. “I… I guess we are getting married.” The rest of the dinner went by rather smoothly other than Ivy whispering into his ear. 

“You're really good with kittens, you know?” Ivy grinned at him, looking at him through her lashes. “I think you’ll make a great father for our kittens.” It took all of Freckle’s self control to not hide his face in his paws out of embarrassment. Ivy smiled, noticing that he was flustered. 

“W-What kittens…” Freckle mumbled as he drank his water. 

“The ones we’ll have soon hopefully.” Ivy remarked, making Freckle almost choke on his water. “I mean… you said it yourself… we are getting married.” She teased, looking at him with a sly smile. 

“Ivy please.” Freckle whispered as he tried to regain his composure. “I’m not trying to embarrass myself in front of your family.” He tried to act as normal as possible, the only giveaway of his increasing state of flusteredness being his tail that whipped side to side.

[dross-the-fish]

If you like big hyde why did you keep him small? Just curious

Because I do prefer Hyde to be physically different from my Jekyll.

I made my Jekyll extra tall and very broad and self conscious of how much space he takes up. As Hyde he's smaller, more agile and so much faster. The lightness he feels physically also kind of mirrors the lightness of his spirit once he's able to let go of the burden, the weight if you will, of being upstanding Doctor Henry Jekyll. I think the sad thing about that is that no one actually hates Henry's weight as much as he himself does. Utterson probably quietly loved it but Victorian society was not kind to fat people and Jekyll was conditioned to loathe every roll on his back, the fat of his stomach hanging over the cinch of his belt and and his heavy creaking tread.

Hyde still grows in my AU but his growth is very slow. Right now he's kind of stunted because after the whole suicide thing he didn't let himself be Jekyll anymore. He's stuck as Hyde and he hasn't really grown as a person either, he just repeats his same cycles on loop, until he becomes part of the crew and he has to adapt. Then he starts to grow again. Hitting around 5'2" I also made him thin but tried to avoid making him look twinkish by covering him with hair and giving him big hands and long muscular arms. There's nothing soft about his body. It's all sharp angles and wiry muscles.

The other reason I keep him short is because we already have Adam Frankenstein taking up our "giant creature" slot and I wanted more of a "vicious little monster" vibe out of Edward.

[ackermom]

a piece of a thing that will otherwise never see the light of day. post-canon armin/annie, nsfw-ish

---------------------------------------------------

"how's the lovemaking?" pieck asks.

annie supposes they are friends. funny, that word, as funny as pieck, no longer the long-legged little girl annie remembers, always wearing a dopey half-smile that made annie want to kick her in the face. she's become something far more irritating now, something lithe and beautiful with the long dark hair and the pale heart face. tall and sharp and thin— the kind of woman who can ask about lovemaking as she finishes her manicure and watches the waves out the window.

something annie has never wanted to be, not until she knew it was something she is not. she hates pieck for even making her wonder, staring in the dim cracked mirror of their steerage cabin and seeing herself, really, for the first time. she hates her for it. so, friends.

"you don't have to ask every time," annie says. never mind that the lovemaking— pieck's word— is few and far between at all, let alone in these small bunker cabins where one can hear a neighbor drop a pin on the carpet. she's not so callous to deny that she likes the feel of armin's collarbones beneath her hands and the heat on his skin pressed into her thighs, though she wouldn't call it lovemaking. she wouldn't call it anything. it's probably better that way.

"i want to know if he's getting better," pieck says. "you never give me details."

"the details are private."

"he must be doing something right to keep you coming back. or should i say, to keep you coming."

well— therein lies the problem.

"oh," that bitch says, putting down her nail polish. "i see. finally something the genius can't figure out."

annie finally wrangles her stockings off and makes the mistake of glaring at pieck in the mirror— bad idea, for the curious eyes and arched eyebrows that look back at her, something sly and suggestive in the rising curve of her lips as she watches annie from across the bunkroom. she turns her back to pieck again, busying herself at the bureau, but she is annoyed— bitch— at the revelation uttered aloud, if only for the implication that annie would let a guy prod at her for hours to "figure it out" when she could just tell him what to do and get it over with. the trouble is, she doesn't know either.

the trouble is, her sex education was provided by a wiry-hired marleyan doctor focused on the science of reproduction and the risks to avoid should a warrior ever find herself undercover for the purpose of seduction and entrapment. nothing was said of love or desire. no instructions were given for the warm space between her legs other than not to get pregnant, and so far the little rubber diaphragm she impulse-bought at a pharmacy on the mainland has been winning that battle for her. the only reward she's gotten for her sexual exploits has been cleaning armin's come from her thighs as he apologizes and offers to try again next time.

it's just getting old, that's all.

"there's nothing to figure out," is all she says then. there is a lot to figure out.

she hears pieck blow on her nails. "don't let a man use you like that, dear. one day you'll find yourself knocked up without a hand to hold."

she'll have her own, annie thinks, remembering grim, clenched-jaw moments sitting on the toilet after she tugs out her soiled diaphgram, praying to whatever gods are shitting on them that none of his seed makes it inside. mostly she relies on gravity.

"i'm not letting him use me," annie says. although, at this point—

"think of karina braun," pieck says, ignoring her. "that's your future if your carry on like this. imagine having to raise reiner."

annie throws her a sharp glance, finding her flapping one hand as she waits for the nail polish dry. pieck blows on her fingers, then catches her eye.

"i've always hated that woman," she confesses. she grimaces. "but to her credit, i'm not sure i could've done a better job."

she blows on her hand again. when she finds annie's still watching, she raises her head, her gaze softening into something...— ...something.

"what do you see in him?" pieck asks her.

annie looks away. that's as good as any answer. she's not sure she knows. she doesn't know shit anymore, or maybe she never did. but armin understands in a way that none of the others do. they wouldn't get it. not even reiner, who's the closest to her heart; but it's a soiled black hole he left there, in every part of her. and not pieck, not the way they're speaking now, like they've always been friends. they don't even know each other.

maybe she only wants him because she wants to hear his voice, the way he talked to her for years when she was half-asleep, folded up into herself like a cocoon underwater, watching the light break through the surface and trying to hold her breath for just a little longer. maybe she'd be fucking hitch instead if she was here, or maybe it's only herself she's seeing— creeping up from the depths to break through the layers burying her to finally find the light.

[bitteraristocrat]

A Study in Black

(A small drabble piece I wrote for @demonicspiracle and also as a little exercise writing in first person pov.)

It was time for elevenses when the knock came, punctual down to second. I wouldn’t expect anything less, although Sebastian would occasionally withhold my tea by several minutes when he felt it was necessary to dawdle for the sake of curbing my appetite. Of course, it did little but infuriate me. 

“Come in.”

“Your tea, sir.”

The French double-doors behind me swung open, and the foliage seemed to bend a bit at the encroaching entity. Sebastian rounded the terrace dinette, serving cart in tow – it was the week-end, and I opted not to venture into the city, as the Spring season had brought about a rain that would surely swamp the streets, and spent the afternoon reading an array of Dr. Conan-Doyle’s latest novellas. I much prefer the rain from behind shelter, and the glass walls of the terrace provided ample view of the storm without getting one’s shoes wet.

“I have prepared a Second Flush Darjeeling tea from the Jungpana Estate procured in this week’s hamper from Fortnum and Mason. For your elevenses, a cold fowl salad, peach compote, ginger shortbread biscuits, and cucumber sandwiches.” 

“Was it not I who suggested he cease this drivel with historical novels?” I scoffed, ignoring Sebastian’s presentation, tossing the magazine to the side of my chair where it collided with a growing pile of others. “I shan’t attempt to understand the queer complexities of a creative’s mind. They lack all sense of logic at times.”

“It seems our dear professor does not share your affinity for games, my Lord,” Sebastian gave a wiry smile as he began to assemble the table. 

“Or perhaps he’s playing the game of marketability. Which I can respect.”

“Murder mysteries still seem to entice audiences these days, if I may make an observation.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to stoop to being likened to penny dreadfuls.”

“An astute observation, sir.”

My mouth began to water as Sebastian placed the three-tiered platter before me. The food seemed to glimmer, even under the overcast grey of the rainclouds. I turned my attention to the quiet trickle of tea being poured into its respective cup. Although my butler held the teapot to the height of his brow, the stream of liquid cascaded with nary a sound, save the gentle, satisfying bubbling into the pool of amber below. Anyone would be impressed, but it was as common an occurrence as being dressed. 

It wasn’t his skills of servitude that caught my eye. Rather, the way his visage seemed starkly pale against the semidarkness of the sky; unmarred, contoured in mauve depressions around his eyes and cheekbones. The curve of his nose, impeccably crafted and resembling his true nature (the damned crow) catching what little light peeked through the rain and emphasized his vulpine handsomeness. 

“Is there something on my face?” Sebastian quirked a quizzical brow at my staring. I averted my gaze back to the table. Focused on the sandwiches and plucked one from the display. 

“Just your face,” I retorted, chewing on a single slice of cucumber extracted from the edge of the crust. 

Sebastian leaned forward, placing the cup and saucer before me. Infuriatingly, he caught my gaze again, this time far too close and level. The demon’s umber eyes were intense, mildly perturbed yet curious, his lips–his lips–pursed into a small frown. “Has my face grown unsatisfactory to you, young master?” 

“No,” I challenged, maintaining eye-contact and frowning back. The devil’s eyes narrowed, damn him. He hadn’t moved his hand either, arm still extended towards the table as if he had pinned me where I sat. I shifted, crossing my legs and straightening my shoulders. “Merely studying you.”

“‘Studying’ me? That does not sound like you at all. Were you not just criticizing illogical creative endeavours, my Lord?”

“It’s perfectly logical, I’ll have you know. I have to anticipate your antics. Your change in emotion. It’s all very minute and subtle. It’s much like chess. Anticipating your opponent’s next move.”

“I am flattered that my Lord considers me a worthy opponent,” Sebastian scoffed. He began to straighten, not before I caught his tie and pulled him back down. 

“I’m not finished studying.”

“Your tea will grow cold.” A flash of fangs appeared behind my contractor’s lips. “Surely in all the years I have served you, you have been able to anticipate my nature.”

“I won’t be long, stay there where I can see you properly.” I released his tie and moved my hand to the wispy ends of his fringe, which dangled past his chin like tendrils. The tresses tickled my knuckles, so feathery thin that I could scarcely feel them on my skin until I touched his hair in earnest. Impossibly soft. So very contrary to the sharpness of his features. So very like a raven.

Sebastian made an imperceptible face, calculating my intentions with some difficulty. He, too, was analysing his opponent’s strategy. 

My fingers raked upward into his scalp, nails trailing along his faux skin and relishing in the way each follicle caught and fell unkempt at my will. I hummed in satisfaction, giving the demon’s hair something akin to a ruffle, flicking it so that it fell in wayward wisps across Sebastian’s eyes. 

“All finished.” I averted my attention to my tea, adding a lump of sugar and a splash of milk, watching as the liquor was polluted by a curling cloud of white. 

“Were your intentions merely to irritate me?”

“Are you irritated?” I grinned behind the porcelain rim of my tea cup. 

“Only if that was my master’s intention,” the demon said, a hair of annoyance on the edge of his timber. Sebastian stood at full height and pushed back his hair as it fell instinctually back to its pristine placement. 

“Perhaps a bit.”

“Then, I am a bit irritated.” 

[incognitajones]

A short post-episode vignette for episode 7 of Andor, based on a weird prompt I came across that grabbed me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m posting it mainly because it’s already a week late, and because I’m curious whether it makes any sense outside my head... 

[thank you, everyone who commented on this, reblogged, or liked it! I posted a cleaned-up version on AO3]

we will not meet in this world

Cassian wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

Something was off—he could tell, even with his eyes closed. It was too cold and quiet, for one thing, and the sheets weren’t silky smooth. When he opened them, it was darker than the tourist strip ever got, no lambent background glow.

A power outage? No, he could just make out the shadows of a low wood-beamed ceiling overhead instead of the duracrete arches of his hotel room.

This wasn’t where he’d fallen asleep. Shit. 

How the hell had he wound up here? He hadn't taken anything last night, but there’d been a lot of spice floating around at the club... Still, there was no way he could have absorbed enough to black out just from breathing. Someone must have slipped him something, if he was losing time. He closed his eyes again and retraced his steps at the end of the night once, twice, but that only brought him to the place he should have been: in bed with Windi at the hotel.

Someone murmured sleepily, and a body rolled over, away from him. Cassian turned his head and discovered a tousled head of straight hair and a pale-skinned shoulder that definitely didn’t belong to Windi.

He’d fucked up big somehow.

His clothes weren’t on the floor beside the bed, but at least he was wearing someone else’s soft sleeping pants. Another change he didn’t remember.

He slid noiselessly out from under the thin blanket, shivering as his bare feet hit the floor and the chill crept over his bare chest. When had the temperature dropped so low? No window in this bedroom, so he couldn’t tell where he was. Underground, maybe… he’d heard the seedier parts of town were dug back into the cliffs.

The single door opened into a tiny kitchen. One small window showed a square of lights: a glittering grid of city lights below and stars above, divided by the sharp black silhouette of a mountain range.

Mountains? There were no mountains in Niamos—

A dim light flicked on behind him, and he jumped.

“Cassian?” a soft voice mumbled around a yawn. “What’s wrong?”

Fuck. Normally Cassian was an expert at getting out of bed without waking his partners. Another sign he was fucked up. And he’d be fucked over worse if he didn’t figure out who this was and why the hells he’d told them his real name.

He turned, slowly, to look at the woman whose bed he’d woken up in. She was small, wiry muscle and loose brown hair falling into a face that was sweet, pointed chin and snub nose. She could have been any age from twenty to thirty, and she wasn’t wearing anything but a long-sleeved shirt that hung to her thighs and a pair of thick socks.

She knew him, even if he had no idea who she was. He hadn’t blacked out in years. This was not good.

She shuffled across the floor straight to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest. Cassian froze, pinned against the counter by her negligible weight. He could feel her breath stirring the hair on his chest, giving him goosebumps. The last time someone had hugged him—just held him—when had it been? Maarva, maybe, the day he got back from prison, or Bix the last time she’d dumped him, when she’d told him he was a mess and needed to get himself together before anyone would want him long term.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

He gingerly rested his fingertips on her shoulders, trying to seem relaxed. “No.”

“Is it your back?”

There was nothing wrong with his back, never had been, but her casual certainty almost made him doubt. Cassian swallowed. “No,” he repeated.

“I’ll make some tea, then.” The woman released him and moved over to the other side of the kitchen. She reached automatically into the cupboard for a canister of tea and two mugs—her home, then.

Cassian’s eyes jerked around the small space, searching for any other clue, but it was just a kitchen, clean but shabby. He turned his head to look out the window again and his reflection stared back, cast on the dark glass by the light behind him.

That wasn’t him. It looked like him, but the beard he’d shaved off was back again. His hair was longer, brushing the sides of his jaw. And that looked like strands of grey in both.

Cassian exhaled as relief washed over him. A dream, then. Just a dream that was way too convincingly mundane, and he’d wake up in a few minutes only half-remembering it.

The woman sat down at a wobbly table and pushed one mug over to the other side. For lack of anything better to do, Cassian sat down across from her and sipped at it. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but it was strong and sweet. Under the table, a pair of feet wound casually around his ankles. His hand jerked, slopping more into his mouth than he could swallow, and he coughed.

She grinned at him and he smiled weakly back. He looked down at his hands wrapped around the mug and his fingers twitched again at the sight of dark lines tattooed around his left wrist, with a coiled knot over the pulse point. A Kenari lifebraid… he hadn’t seen one of them since his parents died.

“You’re really not okay,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. Cassian only shrugged. His brain wasn’t functioning well enough to come up with an excuse that would work. Not that he had to, for a dream.

“Come back to bed,” she said, reaching out across the table and taking his hand. “Staying up all night won’t help.”

She had a matching lifebraid on her own wrist, just visible under the loose cuff of her sleeve.

Cassian hid his face behind his mug and took another swallow of tea. This bizarre dream had turned too intense, giving him what felt like a home and someone who he’d trusted enough to tell about his past—to marry, by the custom of his lost family. Who the karking hell was she? She had enough scars that she could have been a bounty hunter or an ex-gang member, but she didn’t have any visible tattoos except the one on her wrist.

A thin wail came through the closed door and she winced. “I had to jinx it, didn’t I.”

With a sigh, she got up and slipped through the door, leaving it open a crack behind her. She didn’t turn the bedroom light on, but Cassian heard rustling blankets and a soft shushing, interrupted by indistinct hiccuping cries.

Cassian blinked. That noise could only come from a kid—a young one. There was a baby in the other room and he hadn’t even noticed it.

She came back into the kitchen holding a bundle of patchwork blankets with a tuft of dark hair. “There’s dada,” she crooned. “See?”

The bundle looked at him and if he’d been standing, Cassian would have fallen to the floor. Kerri’s dark eyes looked at him out of a scrunched up face that resembled her so strongly it took the air out of his lungs. He didn’t know exactly how old he’d been when Kerri was born, but he’d been old enough to remember her just like this: a chubby, scowling baby with skeptical eyes.

He pinched his wrist under the table, hard. This dream wasn’t entertaining anymore. A quiet life in a small plain room on a cold planet, a spouse… both of them were laughably off base, but a child? That was disturbing.

“Now that she’s seen you, she’s not going back down.” She pushed the bundle at him, setting it in his arms, and he had to accept it or let it drop. He stared down at the baby, its unblinking stare focused somewhere around his chin. Tiny fingers latched on to the edge of the blanket and then splayed out, reaching for his hair.

He didn’t react quickly enough and the baby got a fistful of the ends with a yank. He hissed in pain and grabbed the fat little hand, gently prying it open. The kid wouldn’t let go, but clamped around his index finger and held on. With a bubbling sigh, the heavy head drooped onto his chest.

The woman laughed softly, cupping the back of the baby's head and stroking its back before lifting her hand to push his hair out of his face and behind his ear. Her hand lingered on his cheek. She leaned down and kissed him at the corner of his mouth. “Come back to bed,” she murmured against his beard. “Lie down and stay warm at least. I’ll rub your neck. And if we’re lucky, maybe she’ll sleep…”

Cassian stared down at her. His mind turned over and over itself in a useless circle. He could always come up with the right thing to say, to make people see what he wanted them to, but he was lost. The affection in her eyes and her touch didn’t match anything he was, anything he deserved. Who was she seeing?

The dark lines woven on his arm curled around the baby caught his eye again. A dream, that’s what. No-one else in the galaxy knew what that design meant, no-one would have their love for him etched on their body. Cassian was lonely and stoned and his mind had constructed a flimsy fantasy to comfort him. He might as well sink under and enjoy it before he woke with the worst hangover of his life.

He followed her to the rumpled bed. She sat with her back against the wall and Cassian inched carefully on to the bed beside her, trying not to jostle the baby. She drew him down until his head lay on her shoulder and the baby was nestled between them, fenced from the edge of the mattress. “Rest.”

Cassian wasn’t sure he wanted to. The sooner he did, presumably, the sooner he’d wake up. But his body was already relaxing into the warmth of hers.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. Cassian could have pretended to be asleep, but instead he turned his head and let his lips brush the skin over her collarbone. The baby snorted in its ball of blankets.

*

The next time Cassian opened his eyes, it was late morning: the fierce sun of Niamos was already lancing in through the half-open blinds. His head ached, his arms felt empty. He rolled over, and Windi was there, asleep with one hand caught under her face.

Things made sense again; his brain wasn’t telling him impossible things, and the hollow carved in his chest was normal. He glanced down at his bare wrist before he got up and went into the fresher. It was time to check on practical things: weapon, credits, anything else that might be useful. The water on his face was cold and bracing, and if he looked worse than usual in the mirror that didn’t mean anything. This was where he belonged.

* * *

The title is from this poem, and the prompt (in case it didn’t come through at all) was “a time travel AU where one character goes 10 years into the future for a night; as soon as they wake up, they’re back in their own timeline”

[phillippadgettwrites]

Can you write some drunk/tipsy early encounter? maybe involving a bj

Quarantine

Rated X / 1147 words / Posted on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

She throws back another shot, grimacing as the amber liquid scorches her esophagus. She lost count a few shots back, and her head is swimming, but it doesn’t matter because she’s alive.

She’s alive.

Mulder squeezes one eye shut and peers at her across the small table in his room, though to call it a room is generous. It’s more like a cell, an 8x8 cinder block square with a cardboard mattress and table for one—until she dragged a second chair in from her own room. It’s been fifteen days and they’re only halfway to going home, subjected to daily blood draws to screen for the spores that killed the Firewalker team.

“You ‘kay, Scully?” he slurs, and she grins at him. Beams. Her glassy eyes are nearly squeezed shut by her joy over being here, alive enough to complain about boredom and get drunk to pass the time.

Mulder smiles back, and she feels a swell of affection that she’s too inebriated to tamp down. He’s cute, especially when he smiles, and now it makes her think of him sheepish at her hospital bedside, presenting a thrifted VHS as an unlikely gift.

“What?” he asks, confused and curious, and she hears the words in her mind come out of her mouth, garbled and nearly inaudible over the ringing in her ears.

“You’re cute,” she says matter-of-factly, poking the back of his hand with her index finger.

Mulder laughs so loudly it startles her, then he scoots his chair in further and leans forward, his upper body covering the entire expanse of the puny table. The hot, whiskey-soaked vapor of his breath warms her cheeks, and she feels a flutter of excitement and nervousness in her belly.

“You’re one to talk,” he teases, his eyes shining at her from less than a foot away. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Her eyes widen in slow motion, her reflexes bogged down by booze. Gorgeous. Not cute, not pretty. She’s pitched herself forward and pressed her mouth to his before she even registers what she’s doing.

The table moves, or they do, or some combination of the two. Things clatter against the floor and the walls, obstacles pushed aside in their frenzied effort to get closer. He has to practically fold himself in half to kiss her, and her calves are already burning from holding herself up on her tiptoes, but she finds it surprisingly easy to push him back onto the flimsy twin bed in the corner. She climbs on top of him, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and finally discovering just how plush it really is.

He paws at her over her government provided sweat pants and T-shirt, but she wriggles away from him, scooting down. In her periphery, she can see him craning his neck up off the bed, watching her as she grabs the waist of his sweats and tugs it down, along with the boxers he has on underneath.

“Scully,” he says, alarmed, and she looks up at him.

His cock is hovering just beneath her chin, lurching as though reaching for her. She holds Mulder’s eye and licks her lips, waiting. After a beat, he closes his eyes and drops his head back against the mattress.

She takes a good look at him. A patch of wiry, unkempt chestnut curls surrounding a deliciously thick shaft. She knew he was big, that much is obvious even to the untrained eye, but live and up close, it’s quite the sight to behold.

“You have a nice penis, Mulder,” she says thickly, and she hears the beginnings of a chuckle before she runs her tongue up the underside of his shaft and it morphs into a gasp.

She has somewhat of a proclivity towards sucking dick when she’s drunk, she knows this about herself. She keeps her eyes open to ward off the spins, sinking down and back up rhythmically while her hand picks up the slack. The head of his cock bumps over the ridges of her hard palate, then glides across the smooth flesh at the back of her throat as she takes him deeper and deeper. She listens to him groan and mutter obscenities, and a flutter between her thighs tells her that she’ll be soaking wet by the time she’s done. She feels his hands in her hair and she looks up to see him watching, slack-jawed and bleary-eyed. The audience inspires her to double down, her tongue swirling around the head on each upstroke, and without warning a spurt of cum slams against the back of her throat. She startles, caught off guard, and swallows it down, feeling a warm trickle in her nose. She slows as his cock softens in her mouth, finally slipping him out and swiping a finger under her nostrils to find a sheen of semen there.

Mulder’s eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. Asleep. She stands and immediately wavers, touching the surface of the bed to ground herself. Her belly rolls, whiskey and cum and the realization that she just made a terrible mistake churning like cement. She scrambles out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her as hurries to the lavatory.

In the morning, she wakes to a soft rapping at her door. She sits up slowly, swallowing against nausea and a terrible, sour film in her mouth. After making her way gingerly across the small room, she opens the door to find Mulder on the other side, freshly showered and holding a steaming mug of coffee. His smile pulls into a grimace at the sight of her, and she feels both embarrassed and confused.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, chipper. “You doing okay?”

“Never better,” she grumbles, resting her head against the cool metal doorframe. “What the hell happened, Mulder?”

“About three fourths of a bottle of whiskey, based on what’s left in my room,” he explains. “I honestly don’t remember anything after playing a highly competitive game of Slap Jack.”

“I don’t remember anything after dinner,” she replies, eyeing his coffee.

“Here,” he says, holding out his cup. “I’ll make another one. There’s breakfast in the mess hall, whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” she replies, taking the mug and closing the door as he walks away.

She does remember dinner, flashes of a card game. She remembers laughing, a lot of laughing. She doesn’t remember how she got back to her room, but she does recall dreaming. One of many dreams she’s had about Mulder: kissing him, touching him, fucking him. In this one, she was sucking his cock as he groaned above her.

She shakes her head, chastising her own subconscious for the tawdry lens it puts on her and Mulder’s friendship. She makes her way towards the bathroom for a shower, grabbing a tissue on the way out the door to blow her running nose.

[manybcdthings]

tuscany

felix ranstrom and chloe belcourt @gloriouswhispers

The piano bar was nestled in a cobblestone alley, the small and intimate setting seemed the perfect way to wind down the week in Italy. Slipping outside for a cigarette, Felix sought a few moments to himself. The evening air was crisp but silent and a welcome contrast to the chatter within. But the quiet didn't last for long, as he lit his cigarette, a crescendo from the piano signaled the door opening. Felix glanced over, catching sight of Chloe as she stepped into the night. Since the poolside fiasco with Ines, he'd made it his personal mission to exist on the opposite end of any room from her. Chloe seemed to have adopted a similar strategy, staking her claim on the other side of the doorway.

Felix didn't utter a word to the Belcourt, fixing his attention elsewhere while hoping she wouldn't break the silence. But, moments later, they were both interrupted by the rhythmic panting and soft patter of paws against stone. A wiry-haired dog bounded into view, tail wagging like a metronome to the muffled piano. It approached Chloe first, giving her feet a curious sniff before it's attention locked onto Felix. It trotted closer, and with the gravity of a royal degree, sat at his feet, eyes gleaming with expectancy.

"I don't have any food." Felix chuckled, watching as the dog's head tilted with one ear flopped down and the other stood at attention. A lopsided salute. "Sorry. Where did you even come from?" he leaned down, hand hovering briefly before settling on the dog's head. Instantly, the pup flopped onto its back, exposing a belly that demanded a rub. Felix laughed again, and of course he obliged, patting at the stomach. His eyes then met Chloe's, a shared amusement between them. "Think he got off a leash or something? Is anyone walking that way?" he nodded in the direction the dog seemed to appear from, scanning the street for any sign of an owner.

[hariki-maru]

affenpinscher!!🐾

the affenpinscher is a toy german dog breed of the pinscher type (group of dogs bred as ratters and guard dogs originally). theyre a confident, curious and playful breed that can be stubborn at times, but all in all theyre an affectionate and protective breed!

history

although the exact history about affens is unclear, the most widely accepted story of how affenpinschers came to be was that a man from lubeck, germany, began breeding ratting terriers during the 1600s. although the early form of the affenpinscher chased mice in stables, they soon were bred to a smaller size, with the larger size having gone extinct (╥_╥), and brought into homes during the plague to kill kitchen mice.…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

in the 17th and 18th century, a breed dubbed the schooshundrassen ("lapdog breed") became popular in germany which closely resembled modern affens! by the early 20th century, dogs from the same litter could be identified as either schnauzers or affenpinschers depending on their head shape. most mini schnauzer historians trace the origin of their breed back to these affen-schnauzer crossings.

a book on brussels griffons notes, "there has always existed a breed of small, rough coated dogs, as early as the 15th century or before, and they were used for ratters and believed to be the forerunners of the present day affen". its theorised that crosses between the miniature schnauzer, german pinscher and pug may be the mix of dogs that helped create the affen ▽･ﻌ･▽ﾉ”

appearance

affens generally weigh about 3-5 kg (7-10 lbs) with a height of about 23-30 cm (9-11.5 in) with a life expectancy of 12 - 15 years! it has a wiry, harsh and rough coat which can be short and/or medium in length. its coat is shaggier over the head and shoulders, forming a mane (🦁), with a shorter coat over the back and hind quarters, often described as neat but shaggy :3

following the breed standard, they can come in colours such as black, black and tan, black and silver, red and beige (a mixture of red, brown, black and white hairs)!! black masks are acceptable and (when registered to a kennel) white patches arent penalised but are undesirable υ´• ﻌ •`υ

temperament

affenpinschers are active, adventurous, curious, and stubborn, but they are also fun-loving and playful!! theyre affectionate and protective towards their family <3 it shows little fear to aggressors, possessing a "big dog, small body" mentality, so owners are told to be cautious of their pup provoking a larger dog ,:< they adjust easily to changes which makes them a model dog to travel with U ´ᴥ` U

grooming affens should be groomed twice a week, if theres any mats they should be pulled apart gently using fingers. fur on the head is usually brushed to the front and cut in a v shape to expose the eyes while the hair on the bridge of the nose is trimmed into a fan shape to keep the eyes clear ໒(＾ᴥ＾)७ the affens coat doesnt grow quickly so trimming an affens fur every few months should suffice

health

responsible breeders will screen their affens for conditions such as luxating patella (kneecap dislocation) and hip dysplasia (abnormal formation of hip socket). theyve also been known to have eye issues and legg-calve-perthes (the ball at the top of the femur loses its blood supply and breaks down inside the hip joint)

affenpinschers, like other short-faced dogs, have difficulty breathing during hot weather if allowed to overheat ╥﹏╥ they may also have dental problems, and other health concerns due to the shortened nasal passages and compressed airways common in brachycephalic breeds. (i actually dont really like short faced dogs dogs due to the health conditions that follow this characteristic but its a 'breed standard' so ㄒoㄒ)

exercise although the affenpinscher is a part of the toy breed which makes them ideal apartment dogs, they are classified as moderately active dogs so they do need exercise!! indoor play, either with their owner or with a toy, is enough to make up a large chunk of an affens exercise. a brisk walk once or twice a day is required and also allows them to socialise with other people and dogs!

training for many years affens were mistakenly believed "too stubborn to train" but the truth is they are very intelligent little dogs, easily bored with repetitive or forced training, and prefer to think independently. while yes, they can be stubborn, they are generally eager to please <3 basic obedience training is recommended, with the affen having to understanding he isnt the leader of the pack. affens get bored easily so long training sessions arent recommended so shorter, more frequent sessions with a trainer who has experience working with toy breeds are usually successful.

fun fact to end off this post: the word affe from affenpinscher comes from the german word ape, referring to the monkey-like face of the doggy!! >w<

sources:

🐾