#this was hard to color and looked ugly but i'm in love with these two

[writingwithcolor]

A Careful Balance: Portraying a Black Character's Relationship with their Hair

@writingraccoon said:

My character is black in a dungeons and dragons-like fantasy world. His name is Kazuki Haile (pronounced hay-lee), and his mother is this world's equivalent of Japanese, which is where his first name is from, while his father is this world's equivalent of Ethiopian, which is where his last name is from. He looks much more like his father, and has hair type 4a. I plan to make his character very finnicky about his hair, both enjoying styling it, but also often being unsure how to style it (not in that he doesn't know how to, but has so many options for how to style it, he has trouble choosing). However, I know that there are some very harmful ways to write black hair, especially in regards to how the black character themselves feels about it. Kazuki does not hate his hair, in fact he takes joy in it, and I'm researching black hair and hair styles to be as accurate as possible. But I'm unsure if portraying a black character as occasionally overwhelmed by or vain about his hair is negative. How would you suggest either changing this or making it work? Does it need to be changed in the first place?

Black Character Overwhelmed by Curly Afro Hair

Your Black character wanting his hair to look its best and at times feeling overwhelmed seems reasonable and natural to me. It appears their challenge comes with how to style it. Not so much with struggling how it looks or how hard it is to manage. That is good, as this further helps avoid placing a strong negative focus on Black hair. 

Him caring a lot about how it is style should not be deemed vain or frivolous, either. In any case, hair care is self care. There’s nothing wrong with having pride with your hair, especially hair that mainstream society, historically and present, might say is not beautiful. This still matters, even in a fantasy world, since your readers still exist in this reality. It’s empowering and a welcome change to see someone who loves their afro hair, actually.

There are unique factors someone with coily afro hair would experience vs. straight, wavy, or looser curls, but people struggling with their hair (too frizzy, too flat, too limp, too thin, too thick!) is universal. 

There is a delicate balance to achieve.

Avoid Writing a Black Hair Journey Experience 

An overall negative Afro hair journey might be the reality for many, especially when society deems Afro hair as unacceptable and slaps so many uninvited opinions, laws and policies over its existence and on certain styles (again, historically and very much at present), but that’s the kind of story that is best handled by someone with the background. Someone willing to commit to the research might also be able to pull it off, although it’s truly not the kind of thing an escapism novel needs in my opinion. If the story is not meant to delve into “A Black /Black Hair Experience” then I'd avoid going that route. That is moving a bit towards a struggle narrative, depending on how much it defines your character’s story.

Add positive and neutral hair language and interactions

For your writing, I’d avoid using unchallenged negative language about his hair. Being overwhelmed at times and frustrated is one thing and expected. If his hair is constantly brought up, and is associated with uncontrollable, ugly, or too [insert struggle here], then rethink the direction you’re going. 

Add some positive or neutral terms, reactions, and interactions in the narrative towards afro hair, such as describing color and texture.

“His fine coils bounced in the wind.” 

“Hair black and shiny” 

“She wore her hair in two large, fluffy buns.”

“He admired his fresh, neat braids in the mirror, smiling at his reflection, before turning to leave.”

Another tip: It may have been for research purposes, but leave out any hair number categorizing in the story and rely on description. I’d say this goes for any story, as reading the number would feel off. 

“He had coily 4a hair.” Nahh! :P 

Also, I would suggest sending all passages that focus on his hair to a Black sensitivity reader for review.

More reading:

~Mod Colette

[snowsinterlude]

overprotective, lovesick, deranged.

(yandere coriolanus x reader)

summary: your ex boyfriend couldn't seem to let you go.

if i can't have you, no one can.

trigger.warning: yandere coriolanus, obslove (obsessive love), stockholm syndrome, drugging (no its not for sexual purposes), pregnancy, marriage, horror, depictions to murder (explicit), dubcon, p in v, cockwarming, extremely toxic behavior, unhinged coriolanus, this fanfic contains extreme toxic behavior and too much blood, if uncomfortable with that content, please, don't read it.

"This might get a little messy, I'm sure.

Heads rolling for the one I adore

This may become a little brutal if I'm honest

But it's any-anything for you my dear, I promise"

overprotective.

coriolanus snow was a man of ambition; one of those who won't quiet down until the moment he had what he wanted. this was something that happened to the women he got involved with too.

lucy gray baird was one of those. the moment your now ex-boyfriend was sent to district 12 you could tell something was wrong. you could not care less, though. he wasn't your boyfriend anymore and in your most honest opinion it was something good.

when he came back you were with a different man; one named valentine, who stayed with you when you saw coriolanus kissing lucy gray. who comforted you during this time and who hugged you everynight when the thunders during rain times echoed so hard that made you feel like being killed by one of those.

valentine, who's head was decapitated in front of you.

coriolanus, who was smiling to you as he opened the 'gift' he had prepared to you.

you, who couldn't help but throw up at the sight of your dead boyfriend. you, who passed out by the sick sight of his decapitated head, his eyes opened by strings of a red line, needled carelessly. the same eyes who used to look at you with so much affection and love, now weren't looking at you at all.

when you woke up, your hands were tightly wrapped up in a tight knot that he learned to do as a peacekeeper. strung up reasons.

"good morning, my love." he smiled, kissing your forehead. you were still in the kitchen, dressed in a white dress, you didn't remember putting it on. you didn't like the fabric nor the color of white- it would always get stained too easily. "you finally woke up."

you didn't had to think much to know that what happened wasn't a dream. it was real. he killed your boyfriend.

you opened your mouth, and the scream you left was enough for him to slap you across the face. once you begun to cry, he kneeled in front of you, hands cupping your face as you shaked.

"it's okay baby, snow's here for you,"" he kissed your face, making you melt into crying as hard as you could, sob after sob making your doll heart heavy. "remember you used to call me snowflake?" he asked, and you nodded cowardly, afraid of saying anything that might make him furious. "i'm still your snowflake."

and he hugged you, caressing your scalp as you ugly cried in front of him, but to him, you would never look ugly.

lovesick.

with your face pressed against the mattress, you stared at the gigantic mirror that covered an entire wall, watching yourself.

it's been three months since valentine died, and two months since snow untied you, carried you like a princess bride and bathed you, always murmuring the waltz that played when you both met.

maybe it wasn't so bad after all. he took extra care of you, never slapped you again- it was a relapse. he took care of the red slap mark in your cheek, apploed ointment on you everyday, prepared your favorite meals and left you to your own peace, let you mourn the death of that pathetic boy you decided to date.

it wasn't his fault, right? no- it was. why the hell were you thinking that the victim was the one to put to blame for their own death? are you dumb?

well, you aren't- but you're starting to become.

why were you smiling at him as he showed you the dress he brought you? why did your heart flutter when he made you desserts? c'mon now, he killed your boyfriend. ex-boyfriend?

he wasn't there to protect you now, was he? why would he be important in anyway? of course, he was the sweetest to you, never questioned when you moaned coryo's name instead of his, he knew how hard it was to you.

for fucks sakes, what were you doing? what were you thinking?

coriolanus entered the room he made to you after three knocks, a tray with golden white details on his hand, with two toasts, less than a dozen pancakes that he knew you liked, a cup of strawberry juice and a small bow of green grapes.

once you ate at least half of it and drink the juice, he was by your side, caressing your hair.

"bunny?" he called, taking you off your own state of blankness.

"yes?"

"do you hate me?" you wanted to say yes. wanted to spit on his face for asking such a dumb question after holding you hostage and killing your boyfriend, you truly wanted to.

but you didn’t. "no," and maybe you didn't hated him at all. maybe that juice with the truth-telling pill didn't had much of an effect on you

"hm." he hummed, lips curling into the pretty smile he had. "it's good to know that."

he put the tray aside, laying by your side. why have you been laying like a sick woman at it's death bed? ah. yeah, he didn’t liked the idea of you going away, he said he didn’t want you to leave him. how cute.

you smiled at the thought. then you had to gather all the senses you had left to scold yourself.

it didn't last long though, the moment his hands found your hips and started grinding on you, you felt aroused. you shouldn't be, this was the man that killed your boyfriend. this was the man who slapped you. this was the man who didn't let you go around the house with the excuse that he didn’t want you to leave him.

but of course, your cunt didn't had the same thought that you did. so, by the amount of teasing and the way his soft, slender fingers found your clit almost immediatly, you couldn't help but moan and grind back, feeling as if you were humiliating yourself.

"s-stop that, coryo. please." you said. "i'm still mourning valentine's death-"

"i'm sorry, dove, but your pussy doesn't seem to agree with that." and he rolled your nightgown up, pulled his pants down and finally his dick was grinding against your wetness, the tip teasing your clit as he didn’t went inside, why he wasn't going inside? you needed him in.

your breath hitched at the thought, your hand gripping the sheets as he slowly thrusted, but never inside of you.

"tell me, dove, do you want it in?" he asked, his index finger teasing your clit.

"n..no, i-i don't-" he chuckled at your own lies, you felt like laughing too, the exact moment he kissed your shoulder you had to close your own lips, aware that you would end up smiling at him.

"i don't think you don't want it. tell me, baby, what do you want exactly?"

your breath hitched, you could feel how harder your nipples were compared to before. you shouldn't be wanting this. and you knew that. but you loved him so much.

"y-you. please, i'm sorry, coryo." what were you sorry about? you didn't do anything wrong other than mourn and cry.

"you're forgiven, baby. now, just let me enter you, okay?" you nodded. you were pathetic, that nod was pathetic, looking at you in the mirror was pathetic, seeing how you surrendered so easily to his touch was pathetic- the fact that you were ovulating was pathetic. the fact he knew you were fertile was psychotic, and mostly pathetic cause it was you who let him know about it when you were both dating.

you slurred a long and low moan out of your mouth, your eyes closed shut the second your walls were slowly stretched by his dick, it wasn't as painful as the first time, but you felt like being ripped apart.

dubiously, you let his dick kiss your uterus like never before. you felt so ridiculous when his dick went further into you, when your warm walls squeezed his dick into you, when your pussy felt like gushing and you cockwarmed him with pleasure, and you fucked him back, moving your hips almost like you didn't want him to see you moving.

"you would look so good pregnant, don't you think, baby?" he asked, his hand going upwards and abandoning your clit to pass on your belly. "you'd be so pretty. more than you are already"

you shook your head, panic taking over you.

"p-please, coryo. don't do it, not inside, please. not inside" of course, he didn’t even cared about your mewls, thrusting harder into you, earning a bunch of moans out of your mouth, your voice echoing as he spread your legs and made you look into the mirror to see the mess you were.

your boobs bouncing out of your nightdress, your pussy beautifully welcoming his dick inside your cunt, his balls slapping against your clit due to the pose, and the more you concentreated on the pleasure, you were closer to cumming.

"yeah, keep squeezing me like that, dove" he said into your year, sucking on your neck. you moaned as an answer "i'm gonna fuck my baby's into you."

you squeezed him too tightly, your pussy gushing around him before finally cumming. too good, too good. were all that you could think of.

"such a pretty girl, baby. you will be such a good mom." he said, finally cumming inside of you, the hot seed flowing inside you and leaking a bit.

you turned to see his face, recieving a kiss that you promptly deepened.

you were doomed.

deranged.

his grandma'am was the one to acompany you to the altar. the entire panem was there or outside waiting to see the marriage of the new president snow.

you smiled at him under the veil, your swollen round belly being the one that claimed attention more than anything. you were in fact a beautiful mom, carrying his twin girls in your heart and stomach.

you still loved him after all, who would know?

not even him expected you to say yes, not in the marriage, not at the proposal, and not at any other situation, specially when he was impregnating you.

"do you, mr. snow, accept mrs. y/n as your wife?" the priest asked, a sweet smile on his elderly lips.

"i do."

"and you, mrs. y/n, accept mr. snow as your husband?" he asked to you, and you smiled, cherry lipstick covering your lips.

"i do."

you caved your own grave, and you knew it. but if you died, you would take him with you.

that's what love is about.

[ilydeku]

Hello!! Before I start, I just want to say that your green profile aesthetic is so prettyyy😭😭😭 it honestly reminds me of Pinterest idk. Can I request IT!girl!reader dating middle school Izuku? (im just in love w loser bf x drop dead gorg reader!)

tysm anonnie !!❤️❤️

im not sure if i did this right, but here u go 😭💕

~

you, an IT girl, dating izuku in middle school

- now this is quite the unexpectation

- what were you doing with the quirkless loser, Deku??

- you, so full of confidence with the way you carried yourself, loads of friends, grades of flying colors, beauty unmatched, a strong quirk. the list goes on

- him? the only thing remarkable is probably his will to keep going. just a quirkless outcast, a shameless nerd with unreachable dreams

- LITERALLY THIS LMFAOO:

- so why? it came as a GREAT surprise to see a post of you and Deku hanging out at a kitty cafe on insta. was it a dare? a prank? like ts gotta be some typa joke right

- WRONGG.

- they're merely scratching the surface, a surface that's not at all what it seems

- he's a really sweet boy, completely taken advantage of because of his meekness

- despite being quirkless, he was the realest person you've encountered in the school: observant, hard working, respectful. it's not like a quirk defines you anyway

- it's so embarrassing watching a classmate with the most ugly, useless, atrocious quirk you've ever witnessed poke fun at Deku

- like oh my GOSH dude they get humbled QUICK after you mention that you'd rather be quirkless

- like atp that ain't a quirk that's a disability 💀—not to be mean, but to make a point that Deku is just as capable of becoming a hero as anyone else

- going to school dances with Deku would be a lot more enjoyable if it weren't for those meddling whispers about you two. he often gets pushed to the sidelines 'cause you get swarmed by your friends and bombarded with questions :(

- but in the end, you came with him and mattered the most to him.

- he gets so nervous when he's around you, help him, he can't even look at you

- not in offense or anything. you make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and he can't help but feel enveloped by your presence

- you're this beautiful ray of light and he's kinda just..the shadow that follows after

"Izuku...Izuku did I do something wrong?"

"What? N-No! Of course not!"

"Then why aren't you looking at me?"

"Because you're—you're really pretty..."

"Pfft. You're really pretty too."

- Deku doesn't really initiate anything, thinking it'd be too lame or uncomfortable for you :( and if he does, he'll hesitate and drawback any ideas aforethought

- he follows you like a little puppy, always at your disposal

- he knows NOTHING about dating, only the note of going to amusements parks and sharing a sweet treat

- his confidence dwindles :( maybe he could learn a thing or two from you? <3

- when i tell you he was absolutley shocked when you confessed to him. his immediate reaction was playing it off as a joke

Wh..What? Oh...very funny, y/n...Huh..? YOU'RE SERIOUSOWUEIDEGHD!?!?

- he ALWAYS questions your feelings towards him—why me of all others? but i'm just a regular boy and you're..you? (gorgeous, pretty, beautiful, super cool, whole hearted, sweet...)

- and you can reassure everytime—because you're you and i like you!! a one of a kind.

- Deku doesn't have much to give to you, but he does have a big heart and alotta love

- maybe he is a loser, but he's your loser, and you wouldn't have him any other way

[baby-yongbok]

It's a Date - Seo Changbin x afab!Reader

Genre - Fluff WC - 836 a/n - Day 2 of my Binnie Birthday Week Posts

✧ Masterlist ✧

You’re running, well kinda, you’re walking super fast but it feels like you’re running. You abuse the elevator call button, impatiently waiting with a tapping foot for the lift to arrive. It’s nearly midnight, he won't be expecting you but you need to see him before you go mad. Once the elevator arrives on his floor you rush to his dorm, you knock harder than intended and whisper shy apologizes to the people who poke their heads out to check the source of the noise. 

“That wasn’t even fair, you cheated I know you -” Hyunjin opens the door, swinging it back from the frame carelessly and freezing when his gaze catches yours. “Oh, hey.” You wave, looking past him and over at his roommate. 

“Changbin, someone's here for you.” He pauses the game on the tiny tv, turning around and catching your gaze for a second before he jumps up from his bed. “Hey, what’re you doing here? It’s past curfew.”

“Needed to talk to you about… uh, earlier.” You glance over at Hyunjin who’s still holding the door open. He’s staring up at nothing in hopes that one of you will tell him to move or something. “I just feel embarrassed, I was having a hard time with finals around the corner and I just… I didn’t mean to break down like that. I didn’t mean to ugly cry and be all dramatic.”

“You weren’t being dramatic.” Changbin steps closer so that he’s next to Hyunjin. “And it wasn’t ugly. Nothing about you could ever be ugly.” Changbin stares over at you with a sincere smirk and you stare back with a bashful blush. You expected him to be sweet, he always is but you didn't expect him to be this sweet.

He tugs a bit at the bottom of his black tee before pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “I’m always here for you. No matter what.” Hyunjin clears his throat as you open your mouth to reply. You both look at him and Changbin gives him a death glare. “Hush.” He warns before looking back at you.

“Well I still wanted to apologize for crying like a baby.” You chuckle nervously and he smiles. “You risked getting a curfew strike for this?” You nod and now he chuckles. 

“I also wanted to ask if you maybe wanted to get lunch tomorrow… to make up for my tantrum today.” Hyunjin turns to Changbin, wide eyes staring at his friend while his friend stares at you who’s staring at the floor. “A lunch date?”

“She didn’t say it was a date.” Hyunjin mumbles and Changbin sends him another death glare before he looks back at you. Your eyes are on him now and you catch a glimpse of the blush coloring the tips of his ears.

“Yeah.. a date.” You hold your breath and Changbin holds his for a second before attempting to reply. He stumbles over his words once, twice, three times before you huff a laugh. 

“I’m sorry I’m just- I uh- Yes, I’d love that. I’d love a lunch date with you tomorrow.” You shift your weight from one foot to the other, a wide smile on your face. “I uh- I’ll meet you at your class in the - at the, uh..” He trails off, closing his eyes with a bashful smile as he tries to compose himself.

“I genuinely don’t know why my brain just goes blank when I look at you. I think I'm going a little crazy.” He scratches the back of his neck and you attempt to rock back and forth to defuse the nerves building up in your stomach. “You’ll meet me after econ? North building?” 

He nods, pushing his fists back in his pocket. “That was cute.” Hyunjin mumbles, still staring up at nothing. You giggle at him and even Changbin smiles a bit.

“I should get going.” You take a step back, waving at the two before Changbin calls after you. He grabs a hoodie and slips on some shoes before grabbing his keys. “I’ll walk you back to your building.”

“You sure?” You ask and Hyunjin parrots you, staring at his friend with a furrowed brow, he gets another death glare. “Yeah, it’s late, I'll walk you back.”

He tells Hyunjin that he’ll be back quick and follows you down the hall. You press the call button for the elevator, much calmer than before as the two of you wait in silence. “I grabbed this for you.” He hands you his hoodie, his favorite one. 

“It looks a bit cold out there.” You smile as you take it, it’s the middle of summer. “Oh, thanks.”

“Of course.” He guards the elevator door once it opens, allowing you to step in. You both stand next to each other as the doors close. You hug his hoodie that smells just like him and Changbin smiles down at his feet.

“It’s a date.” He whispers to himself. 

“It’s a date.” You whisper back to him

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

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[strawberries-and-summer-days]

clarisse la rue x reader where the reader and clarisse are bsfs and reader is being bullied by a couple of aphrodite girls, and clarisse find out and flips out then clarisse confesses :))) i love your writing!!

THATS MY BEST FRIEND....RIGHT? . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

pairing: clarisse la rue x iris!fem!reader

warnings: swearing, violence (mentions of physical assault - clarisse calling the girls out), teenagers being bitches and calling ppl names

a/n: this was soo cute to write omg. this also would've been out sooner but then tumblr shut down before i had the chance to save it 😭

if you walked up to any camper and asked them which two campers were best friends every single on of them would go clarisse and y/n.

it was like a second nature to them by now.

clarisse a daughter of ares and y/n a daughter of iris. not the most likely duo, but you fit. you clicked in a way you hadn't with anyone else.

you were the only person who could talk clarisse down when she was worked up. and she was the only person who could break through to you when you were lost in your world of paints and colors.

you had first met clarisse your third week at camp. you were sitting in the stands watching campers spar - well watching was a stretch, you were actually painting - and clarisse had finished up with the camper she was fighting. she had walked up the stands and plopped straight down next to you with a huge grin on her face. it had been almost irresistible to not look back up at her with a matching smile.

that was the first time someone had ever managed to pull you away from your paintings. it wasn't the last.

from then on you and clarisse had practically been inseparable. you were the camp's unofficial official bsf's.

clarisse.

your mind often drifts to clarisse when you paint. her soft skin, curly luscious hair, and adorable smile. they constantly popped into your mind - it was hard not to paint something clarisse related honestly.

"hey you." a presence drops beside you on the grass.

"hi," you offer softly, looking up from your painting which surprise surprise was a painting of clarisse.

"ooh i like this one," she says pointing at the now dry canvas - how long were you staring at it?? "it really brings out my eyes."

you dip your head blushing. "uh thanks."

"hey," clarisse says tilting your head up. "don't be embarrassed. i love it. its one hundred percent going with my collection." her gentle touch sends tingles through your skin and causes you to blush even more.

she grins and picks up the painting, "im gonna put it with the others in my cabin, i'll be right back." clarisse picks the painting up not even listening to your protests of how its technically not finished and races off to her cabin.

you sit the and pull out another canvas, determined to not paint clarisse twice in one morning, its happened before.

"look at the ugly ass painter and her little canvas," a sneer comes from in front of you. you don't hear them already lost in your world of paints.

"what shit painting are you doing now?"

you still don't hear them. the only way you could notice their presence was the shadow above you - but again you're still wrapped in a world of colors merging and dancing over the canvas.

you're painting a bouquet of wildflowers. the colors blending perfectly together. you're immensely happy with they ways its turning out but then voices start to break through your haze.

"hey bitch? are you ignoring me?"

"art slut? did you hear me? that's the ugliest thing ever and i'm not talking about the painting."

a hand whips across your face and someone rips you away from the painting. "you in there art bitch?" you finally notice the four aphrodite girls standing in front of your.

the same four girls have been terrorising you for months. and they're careful, never coming up to you whenever clarisse is around. right now? perfect example.

two hands grip you arms to keep you back and the main girl, ellie, steps forward picking up your painting and a handful of dirt.

"NO!" you shriek lurching forward.

"what you don't like my improvements? i made it match. the dirt is the same color of this shit." she looks at you with malice. "and for the final touch," she stabs a nearby stick straight through ripping the painting to shreds.

tears are springing to you eyes.

your painting. YOUR PAINTING.

"aww are you crying?" ellie smirks and then steps forward picking your paints up and pouring them straight onto you. she steps forward and smears it across you writing slut and bitch across your front. you try and squirm as the second girl steps forward with handfuls of dirt and sprinkles it over you.

tears are freely streaming down your face now and you slump, the fight leaving you quickly.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" a loud voice booms behind you all.

the four girls freeze, letting you go.

you fall forwards a sob escaping your mouth at the sight of your painting.

your painting.

"what the ever loving hell are you doing?" clarisse's voice is deadly calm and she stalks towards y/n collapsed on the ground.

the aphrodite girls all step back from you and clarisse takes a single step forward. "we weren't doing anything!" the two who were holding you say panicked.

"no you were doing something," clarisse stalks closer the girls back pedalling in fear. "you were holding my best friend back while those two bitches assaulted her."

"we weren't assaulting her!" the girl beside ellie shrieks. "it was just a joke!"

"you one hundred were assaulting her." clarisse points to you. "does this look like someone who thinks its a joke?"

"well if she wasn't such a bitch and listened to me the first time i talked we wouldn't have had to," ellie seethes.

clarisse snaps.

she practically flies on top of the girls - and yes girls, plural. clarisse crash tackles ellie and the other girl to the ground sending punches to their faces. "motherfucking bitches," she spits and she yanks on a handful of hair.

shrieks and cries come from the girls causing campers to come over and watch the scene unfold. now look, you're not exactly an extremely popular camper, but everyone knows you and likes you, your sweet to nearly everybody you meet so when they see you on the ground covered in paint and dirt, their surprised looks turn into egging clarisse on to get a better hit. some other ares kids join in happy to put some bitchy aphrodites back in their place.

your siblings gasp in unison when they see you helping you off the ground and picking up the strewn paint bottles and shredded painting sending death glares that hades would be proud of.

"why is this such a big deal?" ellie laughs from beneath clarisse. "you act like you're in love with her."

"of course i am!" clarisse all but roars sending more punches into her. only stopping when several of her siblings hauled her off ellie because chiron and mr d had shown up.

they both - well chiron - looked at you with sympathetic eyes telling your siblings to help you get cleaned up and to lay down for a while.

you didn't hear them. you didn't hear anything but clarisse's voice.

you act like you're in love with her.

of course i am.

of course i am.

of course i am.

you couldn't think of anything else as you showered, washing away the paint, dirt and tears. you didn't think of anything else when your siblings guided you back into your cabin and into bed. you didn't think of anything else as you fell asleep.

you didn't think of anything else until you felt the mattress dip next to you, a warm hand stroking your forehead, stirring you from your sleep.

"hey you," clarisse smiles down at you.

"hi," you whisper.

"today's been shit huh?" she looks down at you with concern.

"yeah..."

"how are you feeling?"

"better," you smile gently, it fades when you work up the nerve to say. "hey about earlier-"

"i'm sorry for flipping out," clarisse says. "its just that she was saying all that shit about you, and i hated it, you looked so broken and small on the ground and i, just snapped, im so sorry, really, i am. i shouldn't have done that without checking on you first but i knew if i did that, that bitch was going to get away with it. im so so sorry, y/n. please forg-" you cut her off in a moment of boldness sitting up and placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

clarisse sits there stunned, her mouth slightly gapes open and you smile at her.

"did you mean it?" you ask hoping she understand you were talking about her earlier 'of course i am' outbreak.

she closes her mouth and nods speaking softly, in a nervous way. "yeah, i meant it."

"good. because i feel the same way."

clarisse lights up at that, a huge grin spreading across her face. "really?"

"really."

you intertwine your hands together grateful then that the cabin was empty - clarisse probably cleared it out when she came to visit. you'd never admit this to her, but quiet a few of your siblings are scared of her.

you grin back at her and pull her face down to connect with yours feeling the colors explode into the world, light dancing around the two of you in a beautiful circle.

maybe today hasn't been too bad after all.

a/n: unedited! this made me giggle and smile wayyyy to much lmao

©strawberries-and-summer-days please do not steal, use or repost my works.

[mmmichyyy]

🌸 gallavich fic rec list 🌸

welcome to my 2023 fic rec list! i went through my ao3 bookmarks and my tumblr tags from this year so here's some (not all, or else this post would go on forever) of my fave (new & older) one-shots, completed multi-chaps, wips & ficlets <3

make sure to check out my 2021 list & my 2022 list ! since i'm not going to include fics i've mentioned before in this year's list :)

& don't forget to check out @gallavichfanficlibrary @gallavich-fic-club @gallavichthings @thegallavault for more recs plus @galladrabbles & @gallavichmeta too ✨ let's go!

one-shots:

doesn't matter where we go by @heymacy (The boys take a road trip.)

to think that we could stay the same by teatrolley (post-breakup au, but Mickey gets out of prison, Caleb doesn't exist, and we get really into their past and Ian’s (struggling) head)

of going home by @lalazeewrites (Valiant has taken the greatest fall from grace the superhero world has witnessed in years. The Shrike is an unregistered vigilante who doesn't even ping the radar of Chicago's crime fighting scene. Ian is forcibly put on leave from his job and returns to the Gallagher house, a failure all over again. Not only does he not know what Mickey does when the world goes dark, he doesn't know that Mickey is still living southside at all. Not since the events of eight years ago.)

quiet by @babygirlmickey (In the quiet of a perceived absence of scrutiny, Mickey can be incontrovertibly tender. Or: 5 times Mickey lets his guard down, as observed by various third parties.)

all i need in this life of sin (is me and my husband) by literatii (As embarrassing as it might be, Ian is not only his husband but also his best friend, and Mickey is pretty damn okay with that. Why the fuck would he find other people to do the exact same shit with that he already does with Ian, minus the fucking, when he can just do that shit with Ian plus the fucking? It makes no sense. Or: Ian wants the two of them to have more friends. Mickey doesn’t.)

thirteen hours by @crossmydna (Ian has known for thirteen hours that he’s not crossing the border with Mickey, so he makes the most of the time he has left with him.)

queen of decatur by jaxington (“How’d you know that?” Ian asks, smelling chum in the water, the observant little fuck. “Not like your brothers are getting sent to lady prison all that often.” Mickey thumbs at his lip, trying to find a way out of this conversation. It probably wouldn’t be too hard to distract Ian just by taking of his pants, but he is trying this new thing where he actually tells Ian what’s going on in his head. “No.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s my mom.”)

like strings of fire by @gardenerian (mickey finds a safe and colorful way for ian to indulge himself when hypersexuality rears its ugly head.)

the needle and the burning body by squash (jesuisgourde) (Mickey had two burning torches for hands but he knew what to do with them. Ian's head was on fire and all he knew was how to run and keep running. How to find a cliff and jump off. How to make Mickey chase after him, again and again. And in a cold cell in prison, Mickey catches him.)

some fucked up romcom by godisthedice (Two years after they locked him up, Mickey told himself that he was done with Ian fucking Gallagher for good. Two years as a free man and he's marrying him for all the wrong reasons.)

when the sun goes down by @sam-loves-seb (super cute and fluffy lifeguard au!)

lava java by @stocious (He's being really unprofessional. Mickey might not even be gay. He might be hitting on a straight man through takeout cups.)

here's to hoping i'm not what kills you by @crestfallercanyon (After a confrontation gone bad, Mickey and the Gallaghers get Ian to the hospital. And look, Mickey always knew that if the Gallaghers had a will they'd find a way, but being roped into their schemes himself wasn't something he'd planned on signing on for. All the Gallaghers need to know is Mickey's helping out because he's not pure fucking evil. They don't need to know Mickey was scared shitless when Ian got knocked unconscious, Jesus, he can barely admit that to himself. Once Mickey knows Ian's not dead and not dying, he's out of there. Except he can't bring himself to leave.)

to the thawing wind by @gardenerian (Living and working in the icy chill of an endless winter, Ian and his family are assigned to work the farms to bolster food supply. They live quietly enough, following the rules, until Mickey and Mandy Milkovich (with all their secrets) are moved in across the road.)

i'll come meet you where you are by @crestfallercanyon (Mickey comes back from prison with a ring of vicious bruises around his neck and an edge to him Ian doesn't recognize. But he came back. He came back, and now it's time for Ian to meet him halfway.

closing in walls and ticking clocks by c_cups_bitch_u_wish (So, this is happening. Mickey is sitting in the corner of the bedroom on the comfiest fucking chair he’s ever sat in, and his adult self and adult Ian are about to fuck. And he’s going to watch. What's most odd is that this doesn't even feel like the weirdest thing to happen to him today.)

a spark of fire by @lingy910y (“You wanted us to finally have some time alone. You wanted to keep me safe, but you didn’t really care as long as we were together. You didn’t want it to end.” Mickey swallows a lump in his throat. “I…I don’t fuckin’ know.” “But can I, uh, ask you something else?” Ian rubs his thumbs together. “You like me, Mick. You fucking like me.”)

flip fuck? by @gallawitchxx (Mickey’s always thought that Valentine’s Day was fucking gay. But then some dramatic, ginger fuckhead had to move into the room next to his, and steal his hole, his heart, and the attention of his tumblr mutuals. Mickey decides to keep it lowkey when he asks Ian to spend the evening together: You wanna hang out on Tuesday? Ian’s response is quick and gives absolutely nothing away: Sure thing! That big-dicked idiot better remember it’s fucking Valentine’s Day.)

completed:

prelude motel by @whatthebodygraspsnot (When Mickey’s secret spot is infiltrated by an intriguing stranger, all the warning signs are there. Despite the voice in the back of his head telling him to disengage, he can’t help but bite off more than he can chew, running straight back to the spot and the stranger when a job leaves him injured. Enter: the Prelude Motel - where, for the next three days, Mickey finds himself hiding from more than just his pursuers.)

garden song (series) by @gardenerian (two gorgeous fics about ian's bipolar, about hope, healing, and tomatoes)

better by anomalously (It's been ten years since Ian's seen Mickey.)

in your love by @sgtmickeyslaughter (Mickey had been out of prison for 2 years and Ian never would have known until they ran into one another on a random night in May. Ian fights for the love they shared while Mickey fights for the life he built, as they both struggle with shame and guilt from their shared past it becomes clear that they cannot help but be drawn to what is bright and beautiful between them.)

whumptober 2023 (series) by @sam-loves-seb (21 beautiful fics of angst & hurt/comfort)

out of nowhere by @suzy-queued (Ian should have never offered to hide his father's stash of gold. Now he's stuck living on a deserted piece of land in the woods, alone, losing his sanity. Mickey wants nothing more than to disappear — from prison, from his family, from the entire world. If only he knew where to get his hands on a cool million. The Gallagher gold. Mickey wants it. Ian will do anything to protect it. Who will cave first?)

all these things i have left to say to you by @crestfallercanyon (After all this time that Ian's been missing, he leaves a tape recorder on Mickey's pillow. And on it? An hour of pure, unfiltered, Ian audio that is all, apparently, dedicated to him.)

wips:

keys to my heart by @milkovichrules (Ian finds his stable college life getting difficult when a new neighbour moves into the dorms.)

intro to quantum dating by @spoonfulstar (another college au) (one of my fave fics of all time!!)

the ink is a witness to this by @palepinkgoat (six chapters about the stories tattoos can hold and hide.)

order up by @heymacy (Ian and Mickey work together at a Chicago diner. They like to push each other's buttons - all their buttons. How long until the dam finally breaks?)

second chapters by @squidyyy23 (When Mickey’s PO assigns him a job at the local library, he’s pleasantly surprised—not that he’d ever admit it. Practically lived in the prison library, and what better way to start his new life than with a career he might actually enjoy. And when he meets the charming, clever, utterly fuckable, redheaded children’s librarian, well, shit just keeps getting better and better. Mickey’s definitely not interested in anything serious right now, but what’s the harm in a little fun?)

electric blue by @goodkwuestion (Paramedic Ian Gallagher knows true love exists. He's not going to settle until he finds it either, no matter how much his friends and family roll their eyes at him. Mickey Milkovich, on the other hand, isn't sure about all that stuff. He's an engineer with a long to-do list, and chasing rainbows isn't on it. He'll never say no to a good time and a pretty face though. When they meet, it will feel like kismet, something inevitable that neither of them can shake. Honestly though, who would want to? Falling in love can be the easiest thing in the world, especially when the whole universe is rooting for you... That's if the whole universe is rooting for you.)

ficlets:

all of @heymrspatel's drabbles, especially this one of ian being self-conscious about his body

docks scene & birthday suit gardening ficlets by @metalheadmickey

all of @lupeloto's sweet & domestic ficlets

@sam-loves-seb's meta about ian being the moon and mickey being the sun

ian's birthday ficlet & 31 ways we never meet (a.u.gust 2023 ficlets) by @callivich

airport confessions by @dynamic-power

gallavich drabbles by @whatthebodygraspsnot

all of @howlinchickhowl's a.u.gust 2023 ficlets!

(if you made it this far, i also write fics occasionally too so here's a self-promo lol)

[villainbait]

So I did a short story submission for the Love and Deepspace Misty Invasion contest. I didn't get to spend as much time on it as I wanted (I actually wanted to do a few different ones but life got in the way) so I only had time to quickly clean up Sylus's before the deadline. Please enjoy under the cut. c:

Title: Last Night in Paradise Love Interest/Pairing: Sylus x Main Character Rating: M Word Count: 1k28 Alt Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58443109 Tags: teasing, kissing, implied sexual content, canon sylus behavior, story spoilers, lost oasis spoilers, first person pov

The hushed sounds of desert trees swaying in the wind permeated the otherwise quiet moment. I sat in the middle of the small rooftop bed that had been generously provided, unable to sleep, gazing across the vast expanse of sand that seemed to stretch on infinitely. Somewhere in that vast desert, supposed gods were laid to rest. My feelings, however, were a restless mess. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about what happened the day before. Sleep tugged at the corners of my mind, but I couldn’t relax when a certain white-haired nuisance was still missing.

Sylus had set off towards the desert and hadn’t come back after that fateful sunset exchange. After how the conversation between the two of us had ended the day before, I didn’t expect him to. Instead, I had spent the day continuing to help the boy like you had been invited to do and making a tenuous friendship with the old lady, interrupted by sunbathing and delicious food.

I didn’t think he would’ve left me here like this with the way things were, or without even saying goodbye. It was difficult to tell whether I was relieved or disappointed about it, but I was leaving tomorrow, so I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter anyway. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear Sylus at all when he returned. All traces of his earlier behavior had dissipated, and I watched him approach the bed wearing the mocha colored silk robe I had spied on the wall earlier. I must be exhausted if I was so out of it I didn’t hear him shower or change.

“You’re still awake?” he murmured, sliding behind me before pulling me gently into his lap. What I wanted to say was that I was waiting for him, but instead all that came out was, “It’s too hot. I can’t sleep.”

“Do you need me to tell you a bedtime story again?”

His voice was low and close to my ear. It made me squirm in his lap as I recalled the last time he told me a bedtime story.

“No, I…”

“Or should I lull you to sleep using a different method this time?” he teased, his hand sliding higher under my thin gown.

“Sylus.” His name was a warning on my lips, but I knew I had lost the moment his own touched my throat. He hummed against the sensitive skin, and the heat of the summer oasis only made me burn hotter.

“Why do you look at me like I’m the first water you’ve seen in miles? Am I your oasis?” I blurted out suddenly, and he stopped his attempt to distract me from the summer heat to answer.

“If I said it’s because I want to drink you in until I'm satisfied?” His tone was careful.

“I’d be scared there wouldn’t be anything left of me by the time you were done.” I replied breathlessly. His cool breath against my overheated flesh makes me tremble, or maybe I’m trembling for another reason. I could feel the pounding of my heart against his lips, and the vulnerability of allowing him so close scares me as much as it excites me still. It was hard to focus with him wrapped around me like this, and I never knew if I wanted to pull him closer or shove him away. It always felt like a never-ending tug-of-war between the two of us, and neither one was willing to throw down the rope first.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Sylus murmured cryptically in response and propped his chin on my shoulder, his eyes drawn to the cut on my arm.

His fingers ghost over the ugly, angry kiss of a wound on my forearm that I had received from helping the boy earlier today. His expression is unreadable, and I watch as he uses the barest trace of his evol, the red mist swirling uselessly before dissipating. The wound will heal slowly.

I scoffed quietly. “Did you really think that would work?”

Sylus said nothing for a long time, the silence permeated by the rustling of desert trees or the quiet, discordant symphony of insects. Somewhere in the distance, an animal’s cry echoed softly. When I turned my head to look at him, he looked so far away, captured perhaps by the memory of another time. Another place. Another me. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who felt lost in this desert after all.

“Sylus?”

He looked down at the soft call of his name, and his expression was far more tender than I anticipated. It made me want to look away.

“What?” he cajoled, but he pulled me closer. “Are you so eager for my attention that you need to mewl for it?”

“I wasn't!” I puffed my cheeks out, indignant that he would suggest something so ridiculous. I started to pull away, but Sylus captured me fast in his arms. The night was balmy despite the tepid breeze, and I could feel the contact of dewy skin everywhere we connected. His robe had fallen dangerously open, and the sash barely held on.

I wanted to be closer to Sylus and I pressed more of my body against his, but it wasn’t enough.

“If you keep doing that,” he murmured slyly, his tone seductive. Intimate. “I won't be responsible for what happens next.” I tried to hide but Sylus wouldn’t let me, catching my wrist in his hand and using it as a distraction to kiss me. We grappled playfully until I suddenly found myself staring up at him, the stars creating a beautiful backdrop to this moment. I could smell the faint wafting scent of him from the shower and it lingered in the air. I wished I could wrap it around me forever. Sylus made me feel safe and I couldn’t deny I liked the warmth that safety brought.

I knew one day I’d miss it too.

He can see my mood start to shift and tips my chin up with his finger. “Let’s go to bed,” he whispers hotly against my lips and pulls me under the covers.

[ashwhowrites]

Sun to me

5:36 a.m., I was 'bout to start my day But she lay in there across me, so I stayed anyway Arms tied, legs numb, and wrapped around my knees Sweetest of the sunflowers, yeah, you're the sun to me I don't recall what you were wearing on the first night we met Besides the subtle clouds around you from my last cigarette And you come from a good place with a happy family Only bad you ever done was to see the good in me

Eddie started the day in a routine. He'd wake up to the birds, dreading another early work day. Then he'd remind himself he had to be at work at seven am, but then he'd feel her body across his with her arms and legs tangled into his. He'd run his fingers up and down her back, touching her sent memories through his head. He'd close his eyes and think about the night they met. He could never remember specifics but he remembered the look in her eyes as the smoke from his cigarette clouded around her.

"You are quite beautiful, you know that?" Eddie asked, blowing out his cigarette smoke. He watched as she remained unphased as the smoke swirled around her head.

"I've been told that a lot at this bar" she laughed, but could feel the compliment racing her heart.

"Probably not by a man who kinda wants so much more than sex," Eddie said, the liquor running off his tongue.

She blushed at that, feeling her cheeks burn. She bit her lip as she smiled. "Yeah? What do you want, Eddie?"

That was the first time he heard his name roll off her tongue. The sound gave him goosebumps.

"Your time"

That won her over. They spent six hours sitting at a random park as she told him everything about herself. Everything she said had Eddie falling more and more.

As the time moved closer to work, and Eddie still with his eyes closed, thought of her more and more.

He thought about how much she sacrificed for him. They came from two different backgrounds, opposites. He grew up in a trailer, not caring enough to have real parents, just him and his uncle. Both poor and scraping by for everything.

She came from love. She grew up with all her family, two parents and siblings. She saw sun on the cloudiest days and found happiness in every drop of rain.

Eddie's world felt so black and white until she touched him. Then the world burst into color. He saw a change in himself too, this feeling of being enough.

She was perfect, and her only flaw was giving him a chance.

But I've been livin', waitin' on the day That the good Lord willin', send you out my way I've seen hard times, bad luck, and all that's in-between Sweetеst of the sunflowers, yeah, you'rе the sun to me

As Eddie finally made it to work, he felt the loneliness kick in. Every minute he spent away from her, the more fear he felt. He imagined about the day he'd fuck it all up, and her part in his life would come to an end.

His life was ugly and that followed him. He'd seen hard stuff in his life and he knew he was painted with it.

But she never left. Three years of love, shining something bright into his life. It didn't take him long to realize she was the only bright thing in his life, and the more he soaked in it the more he loved being alive.

And I remember being younger, and my mother told me truth Find someone who grows flowers in the darkest parts of you Take heed when things get hard and don't you ever turn around You'll find someone, someday, somewhere That'll grow you to the clouds, oh And you walked me home that evening when I could barely walk And you spoke to me so sweetly on the days I couldn't talk And now I'm seeing clearly and I'm growing up so free Sweetest of the sunflowers, yeah, you're the sun to me

Eddie never told anyone, but there were nights he cried about how worthless he felt in the world. And how Wayne would calm him down, repeating the same things over and over. He preached about never turning around, you live life to move forward, not spend it in the past. Told Eddie to find something or someone that made him want to live. If it was a job or love, a hobby or love.

Eddie believed no one could make him want to live because he never was someone to live for.

Turned out he just hadn't met her yet

Y/N knew Eddie like the back of her hand, and that was because she saw him through everything. She'd seen the good, the bad, the pretty, and the ugly. She had seen Eddie inside and out.

That's why she knew how to help him.

She'd drive anywhere to pick him up, then hold his heavy body into their bed. No matter if all the drinking was a result of a bad fight, she'd walk him home.

Or the days when Eddie's past haunted him and he couldn't get out of bed. How he'd lay lifeless as tears flowed out of his eyes. She never asked because she knew. Eddie's talked about it once, and that was all he would do. He didn't need to talk, he needed to listen.

And she knew that. She talked for hours, telling Eddie stories to fill the silence. She'd talk for him and ask questions to further the conversation. Then he'd see it, the brightness broke through the clouds.

He swears he had never felt so high and tall.

And I've been livin', waitin' on the day That the good Lord willin', send you out my way I've seen hard times, bad luck, all that's in-between Sweetest of the sunflowers, yeah, you're the sun to me Sweetest of the sunflowers, yeah, you're the sun to me

Then the day is over and he gets to go back home to her. Because he'll forever be scared of the day home and her are separate things. So he made every moment with her count. Soak in the brightness she offered, blooming under it.

She was the love of his life

She's the sun of his world

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunsonmain @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt @ineedmentalhelp123

[lemonjestercoffee]

so i said something about alicorns being funky in my last mlp redesign post yeah? well before i get into that-

the beautiful bride and the ugly ass groom

okay okay jokes aside here's Shining's real sheets and Cadance on her own

starting off with design choice notes

Shining Armor - his was like- really hard to figure out and i didn't really know what i was doing, but i did like the concept of him having lost a leg in some sorts of battle. one thing i did know what i was doing with tho was his armor, i never really liked the canon armor so i decided to take my own stab at it. decided to make it cover the more important areas better, added gambeson underneath, put a royal crest on it, and gave them a head weapon. yes the metal horns are on all species armor, it's there not only to protect real horns from oncoming attacks but also give all soldiers an emergency weapon if they get disarmed. the tassels would be colored differently depending on rank

Cadance - the only through i really had going into her design was i wanted her to have a cloud and heart motif, but i'm unsure if the way i handled it is the best. her cutiemark is meant to resemble a Mexican sacred heart because deity of love- like come on. i also wanna kinda change the color of the carnation in her hair to stand out more, but white carnations have a different meaning so it's fiiiinee

okay now what we really wanna hear about, what the fuck did i do to the alicorns?

i decided to tamper with their lore quite a bit, as i was inspired to by the Skyscraper Gods Au by Shirecorn. now mine is no were near as drastic as that au, obviously, but it did inspire me to come up with my own quirks for them.

i went more "alicorns are more like the elves of ponies but because they can only be made by some unexplained rare mystical intervention and live for fuck off long, normal ponies see them as demigods of sorts". i've even given them things like groups or locations that they act as patrons of and prioritize above other things, but that stuff gets a little rambley so imma not do that on this post

for the anatomy tho, i can talk. i'll be using Twilight as a visual example because she's the one i've drawn in all stages

so basically the concept here is pretty similar to the canon, but with some funky add-ons.

first up- when an alicorn ascends, not only do they gain the wings/horn combo and grow an inch, they also gain some other unique anatomy from the other species.

Unicorn- along with the horn, they also receive the ear tip tufts i gave unicorns. these actually have a purpose, they're sensitive to magic energy and allow unicorns to tell where magic is coming from. depending on the unicorn they vary in sensitivity but alicorns are by far the most sensitive Pegasus- along with the wings, the get some of the extra feathers pegasai have on their bodies, namely the ones on their ankles that are used for finer trajectory adjustments in flight. they also receive the sensitivity of their hooves that's used to pick up changes in cloud texture and sense their stability Earth Pony- earth ponies may seem like they don't add shit, but they actually give two very important things. the first thing is a strength boost, as they're stronger than the other two pony species by nature. the other thing is dense as fuck hooves. that sounds kinda lame but they have rock hard hooves that allow for them to dig into dense materials and have a kick with some real bite in it that the others just can't replicate and might tear their own hooves up trying. they also add the visible fluff in the ear canal. but that's just a dust filter and if isn't cleaned properly might actually be more of hindrance

it's worth noting- if you look at Cadance and Twilight side by side- that despite being given extra anatomical traits from the other species they will always look more like the species they were before ascension. this is mostly visible in the ears, tails, and hoof shapes -unicorns have long tails with hair only growing from the underside, basic ears, narrower hooves, and usually have long fetlocks as part of their culture. -pegasai have short tails that are completely covered with hair and have rudder feathers at the base, pinned back feathery ears with restricted movement, and really shallow hooves with no fur around them -earth ponies have medium tails with even hair growth around a third of the way down, basic ears, and slightly taller hooves with varying fetlock sizes.

second up- the only uniquely alicorn physical traits that they really have (aside from height) are their hair and beards. unlike normal pony beards that are made of the same hair as their manes, alicorn beards are made of coat fur and will grow a specific length each year that marks how old they are kinda like tree rings. due to this the alicorns don't try to cut them. the manes are kinda funky cause they start out at the roots as normal hair, but then become more "ethereal" after a few inches or so. they tend to start to become ethereal roughly 10 years after ascension

they do have one more weird trait but it's less noticeable and that's the thing with the patterns. when an alicorn is first ascended they gain an extra pattern on their legs, and that pattern gains a second layer around the time they start to get their ethereal manes. you can see it happening on Twilight's lineup.

there's also a bonus thing here that has nothing to do with alicorns as much as it does unicorns- but i like the idea of Unicorn tails (flesh/bone, not hair) getting longer with age. it's usually not too noticeable because they don't normally live long enough for it to be really noticeable compared to younger unicorns, but alicorns do- so former unicorns can end up with some long ass tails in their 1000's

that's all i really got now- if i added in magic and social stuff this would have been way longer. i'm done with my rambles

[eldritch-nightmare]

❝ it's not much, but i got you this. ❞

notes: prompt credit. i've never actually fully written anything for cody now that i think about it... i hope i do him nicely!! since it took me literally forever to post this, the other two prompts won't be valentine's base, though i may still use the prompts i chose for them bc. i like them. anyways!! i'm actually actively job hunting right now, which is why i've been so busy lately and haven't had much time to write. but i'll try working on some stuff soon!! for now, i hope you all enjoy this incredibly, very messy and late valentine's day post. thanks for being patient with me guys, it means a lot <3

pairing: x virus x gn!reader

word count: 983.

warnings: established relationship, fluff, cody is awkward as fuck when it comes to romance he's just like me frfr, wrapping paper is his biggest enemy, very mild angst like... a pinch of salt type of angst, cody is a perfectionist but idk if i portrayed that well enough here.

Cody stared at the clumsily wrapped gift placed in front of him, his arms crossed and his brows furrowed as he glared at the gift as if it had scorned him in some way.

And to him, it basically has.

You see, the gift he's been trying to wrap neatly and nicely is something he got for you, his lovely significant other. This is the first Valentine's Day he's spending with you, and while it doesn't have to be perfect, he would at least like to wrap your gift in a way that isn't... ugly.

It's not even that big of a gift. It's just a little bracelet he made in his spare time, so why the hell is it so hard to wrap in the little box he got for it?

He could just ask someone to help him wrap the gift, but that feels... I mean... it feels like that would be cheating? Strangely enough? Like... he made this for you, so he should be the one to wrap it up as well, no matter how annoying and how difficult it was starting to become.

It feels like it'll mean more if he does this himself.

But he's been here for like almost two hours now trying to wrap the box, and it looks so messy and it's covered in tape and honestly, the wrapping paper's color looks uglier and uglier the longer he looks at it and it just doesn't seem good enough for you. It could be so much better.

You deserve so much better. And if he could kill the wrapping paper, he would, truthfully.

Cody silently glares for a moment longer before letting out a sigh in defeat, resting his forehead against the surface of the desk in his workshop and grumbling quietly to himself.

The wrapping paper wins this round, but he'll do better next time.

With a huff, he sits up straight, giving the poorly wrapped box one final glance before grabbing it and standing up. It was time to actually give you the gift. And hope that you don't dump him for his poor wrapping skills. Do people do that? He's not sure. He hopes not. He'd hate for you to dump him.

Oh god, what if you dump him?

"Cody?"

"Fucking hell-" Cody nearly loses grip on the box in his hand when your voice suddenly pops up behind him, startling him so badly that he jumped a bit. He looked strangely similar to a dog that got caught doing something it wasn't meant to be doing.

And judging from the way he had quickly hidden his hands behind his back, awkwardly looking off to the side to avoid eye contact with you, you can't help but wonder if he had maybe done something.

"How long have you been standing there?" He asks, and your brow quirks up slightly at how strangely nervous he sounded. His behavior sort of reminded you of the day he had asked you out.

"Long enough to be concerned about whether or not I need to hide wrapping paper from you in the future." You respond, smiling a bit to yourself when you see Cody relax a bit at the joke you cracked.

"Ha ha. Funny." He blandly responds, though you don't miss the way his lips twitch upwards slightly. You deem your joke a success, even if he behaved otherwise.

"So, you wanna tell me what it is you're hiding behind your back? Or is it another one of your... projects?" You ask, crossing your arms and patiently waiting for his response.

And that made him tense up again.

He doesn't know why he felt so nervous about giving you a gift, poorly wrapped or not. I mean, you're literally dating each other, so he shouldn't get nervous like this, right? But also like, you're the first person he's ever dated and he honestly didn't think it would last this long even if it has only been a few months since he asked you out but still! Still!

He shouldn't be this nervous, honestly.

"Okay, so, like," He cringes slightly at the way his voice cracks a bit as he speaks, "Uhm, you know how it's Valentine's Day, right? I, uh, maybe it's silly but..." He trails off, seemingly debating whether or not he should actually continue before he's suddenly holding out a box in front of you.

It wasn't actually that poorly wrapped. Truthfully, it's way better than anything you could ever do. The wrapping paper was even your favorite color.

You take the box from him, glancing down at it before looking back up at Cody. He simply motioned for you to open the box, so you peel the wrapping paper off and do just that, taking the lid off the box to see the handmade bracelet neatly placed inside.

"It's not much, but I got you this," He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, "I mean, if you don't like it, I can make you something else! I know it's not the best thing in the world, but-"

"I love you."

He falls silent at your words, his nervous rambling cut off as he stares at you. You look up from the bracelet to stare at him, and your expression was so serious and genuine that it almost felt as if the air had been forced out of his lungs.

"Cody, I love you." You repeat.

"Oh," He stutters a bit, "I love you too." His words are a bit quieter compared to yours. It felt awkward saying those words out loud knowing you could actually hear him.

But the smile that bloomed on your face made him forget about all of that, and you nod, satisfied with his response, "Good. Now, help me make you one so we can match."

And who is he to say no to you and matching bracelets?

[echantedtoon]

Ocean Deep Ch6 A Slight Change In Planning

Warnings: Mentioned kidnapping and mistreatment of the mermaids. Mentioned death.)

@six-eyed-samurai

The warm sun shown down on the bright sand matching the golden colors of the sand grains making up the beautiful scenery. The waves gently lulled against the grinding grains. Golden sand meeting blue water as the waves gently hugged them good morning. 

Water hugged up to her waist as she giggled and dug herself deeper into the soft squishy sand just under the waves near the waves. She was so close to the surface all she really had to do was just sit up and push up a foot or two more and her head would poke right out of the water. One should always be careful when near the surface especially if humans were about but she couldn't help it. The sand was so soft and comfy. She was just curling herself into the comfort of it all.

"It looks like you're having fun." A hand held up a newly caught tuna. It still wriggled about in his hand trying to get away. He would've already skewered it but the sight of her giggling at her own fun and enjoyment.

"IT'S SO SOFT!! We should get some of this sand for our seabed! Makio's always complaining about the bed being too hard!"

"Heh. You think so?"

"I know so! ..But I'm hungry now!"

He blinked- "Pfft. Hahaha! You got hungry just from doing nothing but rolling around in the sand like a guppy?" He couldn't help the laugh he gave her. It was so random it was amusing. Of course the pout she gave her with her puffed out cheeks was also a bonus.

"It's not funny! I am hungry! You're just making fun of me for not eating anything yet!"

"Well it's a good thing I make sure to provide for my wives." He loved the way her big blue eyes just widened as he just held out the wriggling fish in his hand. "Looky here. I just happened to remember your favorite."

"HHHHHAAAA!!! TUNA!!" If she wasn't already underwater, her mouth would be drooling. "YOU GOT IT JUST FOR ME?!"

"But of course. I can spoil you all I want..Just don't tell Hina about this. She's still on my case on giving you that entire net's worth of shrimp for yourself."

"AAAAHHH!! You didn't have to do this!"

A hand placed itself on her head making her look up to the smiling face staring down on her. 

"Yes. I do have to. I also want to do this for you. After all, you deserve it so much, Suma. I'll catch you as much as your heart desires. Ok? So don't worry about it. I'll always take care of my girls."

"Aaaaaaahhhahahaaaaa!"

You had jumped as Suma doubled over and fell to her side in a crying fit, curling up in the fetal position. A fresh new stream of tears flowed down her tears and staining her eyes red. You were stunned by the sudden reaction completely unmoving and silent for a long moment before you looked at Hinatsuru next to you and seeing the pink eyed mermaid looking just as stunned as you but she looked much paler. Her pretty ruby jewelry stood out against her pale face. You looked behind you at Makio who had the same expression as her wife. You looked back to Suma as her sobs picked up in volume sobbing her eyes out in the fetal position and holding her clasped hands to her chest. After another few seconds you unsurely spoke-

"What's a...Tengen??" That's what she said right?

"A A A A A A H H H H H H!!!!!"

Your words had the opposite effect. Body jumping as Suma W A I L E D loud enough to probably shake your windows if this room had any! In a panic you held up hands in a comfort pose. If someone heard her then there might be trouble.

"Hey! I- it's ok! I'm sorry for asking! You need to calm down before someone hears you!" Two hands awkwardly patted her back in a vain attempt to comfort the gasping mermaid. "There, there! It's ok! Everything's ok- AH!!"

Without warning Suma threw herself at you completely throwing her arms around you and pulling you into a bone crushing bear hug. Her face buried itself into your shoulder as her ugly gasps and sobs continued..Um. Ok. This was happening you guessed. At least her voice was muffled now. 

"There, there??" You again awkwardly patted her back in an attempt to calm her down half expecting Makio to yell at her again to stop being a crybaby but oddly both were silent. "Look. Whatever upset you I'll fix. Ok? " You tried appeasing her to try and calm her down. "Shh. Shh." You hugged her back to you pulling her closer and patting the back of her head. "If it's the fish, I'll throw it out and just get you something else. How about that?"

Her only answer was the ugly crying wetting your shoulder. What just happened? One moment you were just sitting down having a good time and the next there was...Well this. What could've gotten into her that made her cry? Well cry more seriously than she usually does. Behind you Makio's eyes trailed from your head to Suma's hands gripping your back- 

?!

"What the-" Your head snapped back over your shoulder as you felt Makio just RIP away Suma's hand from your back nearly tearing a hole in the fabric of your dress. "What are you doing?!"

She said nothing as she just desperately forced her counterpart to open her palm only to tear out what was inside it. Makio's face if possible became even more pale than before as she finally got a good look at what it was sitting in her palm. The little Silver stones clinked together as they were jostled in her palms.

"Hina!" 

Wordlessly Hinatsuru leaned over to look at what Makio thrusted at her, and fell silent and wide eyed as her eyes fell upon the strand of stones. After a stunned moment of silence she silently took the strand from Makio to gently hold on her own hands. As she was beside you, you were able to finally see what was being passed around and saw they were holding-..

A string of stones??

Your brows rose as you just stared at it. It was a strand of plain looking but obviously cut and polished silvery grey stones. That's what made her cry? 

"What's that?"

"Tengen." Her answer was brief, blunt, and devoid of any emotion. 

That caught your attention. Your brows raised. F/c eyes looked at the strand of strange stones in Hina's hands in question. That's 'tengen'?? What the heck was 'tengen'?? A type of rock? Didn't sound like any type of rock you knew.

"What's 'Tengen'?"

"Tengen Uzui. He's our husband."

HUSBAND?! F/c went wide looking between her and then to Suma (who was still crying into your shoulder and had knocked the fish she gave you out of your lap-) and the to Makio who looked about ready to cry herself and then back to look at the stones in Hina's hands. That was their husband?? Well they did mention once about having two husbands on top of being each other's wife. ... Mermaid marriages were very strange. But no. Wait a second. It wouldn't make sense for them to be married to a strand of rocks. Did the rocks belong to this Tengen man?

"And these are his?", you asked gesturing one hand to the rocks.

Hinatsuru shakily nodded. "Yes. We'd recognize them even if we were blind." She looked at the basket of fish before back to you. "Where did you get those fish?"

"The butcher's. I told you that-"

"THEY'RE GONNA MAKE HIM INTO F-F-FOOOOOODDD!! AAAAAAAHHHAHAHAAAAA!!!"

You winced as Suma wailed again right next to your ear. "Ow! He's not gonna be butchered! The entire shop is an open space." You could literally walk in and see them cutting and the store room where the meat was kept to be dried, seasoned, or jerkied. "If there was any mermaids in there, I would've literally seen him. It's more likely that his ...rocks just got caught up in one of the fishing nets and transported here by accident." You took the chance to grab Suma's fish and toss it back into the basket where it landed on top of the others with a wet splat sound.

"Then that means he's close by." Hina's face lit up as she looked at you with wide eyes. "Where did these fish come from?"

"They're some of the last ones our sea boats could carry." You explained raising a brow. "Lately some rouge sirens having been sinking any ships  that's leaving the nearest port at the beach, so most of the men have been taking to leaving for other bodies of water nearby for our goods. That's why most of the overstock has been so cheap." Or free in your case.

"Tengen!!"

"AH!!"

You were suddenly shaken back and forth by Suma who finally pulled away from your shoulder only to grab and start shaking you with inhuman strength.

"HE'S DOING ALL OF THIS TRYING TO FIND US!! I KNEW HE WOULDN'T GIVE UP!! HE LOVES US TOO MUCH!!" She sobbed and wailed as she shook your body. "HE'S SO CLOSE BY-!!!"

"SUMA!! Quit shaking her before you bust her brain!!" Makio angrily grabbed your shoulders and halter your movements. Your eyes rolled around before shaking your dizzy head.

"Oops..Sorry. But he's here!! He's really here!!" Suma gushed happily grabbing her cheeks and smiling widely. "I mean not here-here but it's so close if something of his shows up right?!"

"It depends." Hinatsuru's expression and tone did not change from the blunt, far off stare she was giving the stones she still held before her hands slowly closed around them and she took an inhale before looking at you again. "How far away is the ocean from here?"

You blinked. "Uh. Well the nearest beach is a month away from here. Two weeks if by horse. But there's lots of rivers here that lead back to the ocean." You shuffled out of Suma's and Makio's grip. "That was kinda my plan from the beginning. I mean I wanted to make sure you three were strong enough to like swim through currents and stuff, and so I was gonna wait until the end of this month and then take you back up to the nearby river." As if to demonstrate you pointed north. "It'll eventually lead you back to the river."

"That won't work."

You blinked taken aback by Hinatsuru's blunt tone. You thought that was a good idea. "Why not? You guys would be home free!"

"If what you said I'd true about humans fishing in the rivers now, then there's the greater chance of us getting captured." You froze. "On top of that there's less safety than there would be in the oceans. It's not just humans and nets that pose a danger to us."

You... hadn't even thought about that honestly. If you released them into the river then they could very likely get captured again, and that time they wouldn't have anyone to help them. They were lucky to have had you there, and that time you were lucky to not have been caught at all. 

"Oh..I uh.. Hadn't thought of that before. But that's good right? That your husband is close by-.. Wait." Your brain whirled a bit as it processed a piece of Intel that was previously said before you slowly looked at her with eyes the size of plates as reality slapped you across the face. "YOUR HUSBAND IS THE ONE SINKING OUR SHIPS?!"

Hinatsuru blinked. "I-...Well to be fair it's perfectly justified-"

"Justified?! Our whole town is a fishing and trading community!" You frowned hard at her. "For months our ships have been destroyed and our whole way of life has been altered! Half the town has been considering just up and moving away because of the depletion! Fish aren't just food for us, but a way of life!"

Who knows how much this will affect you after he stopped? IF he stopped. Less fish means less income. Less income means the families her will suffer more than they had been for the last few months! 

"He's VERY justified thank you!," Makio piped up again behind you, "And so were we! He's only doing this because all of the humans in this town are bigoted greedy assholes who want nothing more than to make us suffer!"...You blinked as two arms suddenly wrapped around your body in a semi hug. "Except you of course."

"Y/N'S not like that and all!! Don't make her hate us!!"

"IM NOT SEA SLUG FOR BRAINS!!"

You rose a brow at Makio like she didn't insult half your remaining family and friends in the town. "...Right." You decided not to comment on the basis that they did suffer from the hands of humans. "So how can we make him stop?"

"You can't." You froze again as Hinatsuru stared seriously but calmly. "If it really is Tengen, then he isn't going to stop until he gets what he wants."

"And..What is it that he wants?"

"Us. Of course."

"...How long exactly have you been gone from the ocean?"

She shook her head. "I lost track after we were brought here. How long has these attacks been happening?"

"Nearly a year now. It just started with rumors that a few boats in a different and far away area was experiencing but no one thought much of it." You shrugged as you felt Makio slowly start to untangle and comb through your hair again. "They were only rumors at the time and there was no way to really know if they were true. Plus even if it was it wasn't a concern. Sometimes ships sink because of the weather or the sailors are inexperienced. It happens. But-.."

"But?," Hinatsuru pressed raising a brow as you trailed off. 

You made an 'eeehhh' face with a roll of your wrist. "Strange things started happening."

"Like what things?" The way she was looking at and speaking to you reminded you of a mother or teacher interrogating a child.

"Well..A ship or two went missing along with everyone on it." You slumped your shoulders with a heavy sigh. "A lot of people were grieving over the massive losses." You'd never forget about all the crying faces and sorrow the families felt. By far that was the biggest mass funeral your town had ever seen. "And then the disappearances started to happen. Within the span of a few months four girls-" Your hand held up four fingers. "-went missing." No one had gone missing since you were a child. So the sudden disappearances made you scared. "And then more ships started to get damaged and sink and it just kept escalating and escalating until eventually the culprit was identified and now no one can even place a boat in the water because it'll just be torn up and sunk. No one could really stop them so they all started to fish in the nearby lakes and rivers instead."...You hummed. "Now that I think about it..All of the disappearances happened right at or close to the river." The three exchanged glances. "Would you three know anything about that?"

All three either shrugged or shook their heads. "No. Even if those disappearances were caused by someone we know, we couldn't have any way to know. We've been trapped, and hauled around like cargo for a long time."

"Hey. I know this might be a sensitive topic but how did you three get captured in the first place?"

"It was an accident at first." You rose a brow. "Really. It was. We were sleeping in a seabed and a net was scrapping along the seafloor. Caught us off guard and by the time we realized it, it was too late. The sailors were as surprised as you when you first found us..But as you can obviously guess, they didn't exactly have any ideas of letting us go."

"That must've been why he started sinking those ships."

Jeez! Just how strong WAS this single merman in he could sink solid thick wooden ships so easily?! You knew that these three alone were obviously very strong as they yanked you around. Were mermen stronger than mermaids?? Or was it just this one merman who was incredibly strong? It was so, so confusing. At least you had an understanding of the situation now. 

"Y/n can take us back can't she?!"

A duck sound went off in your mind. ..What?

"Gah!!" You were once again grabbed by the shoulders by Suma who lit up brightly smiling. 

"You can take us to the ocean right?! You already brought us here, so you can do that too! Right?!" And like dominos the other two looked at you expectantly.

"I-...*sigh* It's not that easy. I don't have anyway to travel with you all."

"HUH?! But why?! You  had that wagon."

"Had. Past tense. The wagon wasn't mine, and the owner already took it back weeks ago."

A tense silence passed over the four of you as wondering thoughts and realization take it's course. Eventually but quietly they moved. Makio started on your hair again and Hinatsuru picked up your hand once again to look at your nails. Suma was the only one who still looked ready to cry with her bottom lip quivering and and eyes watery. 

"You mean..W-We're never gonna ge-get home?"

"No!" Suma jolted as a hand clasped onto her arm. "I mean yes!" You held up your other hand despite Hina's protest. "You will get home. I-I just need some time to figure out what to do next, but I promise you I'm going to get you there... Somehow."

You just needed more time to figure out how you were going to do that...

It was a Wednesday morning when you came into work as usual. And as usual you saw Mrs. Henya glaring across from the street with an enraged scowl. Nothing too different for now at least. Your body only ignored her as you just made your way down the street and to the shop doors. You didn't want or need her targeting you next. You just pushed in the doors, stepped inside, and stepped inside- Only to freeze as a familiar face turned to look at you, and he smiled widely.

"Well if it isn't the most beautiful girl in town.~"

"Akira?!"

A dripping sound cascaded down on the surface of the water. It was really peaceful to watch and not at all harmful to anyone else who was under the water and watching the storm turn the top of the sea into rippling broken glass. Pink eyes gleamed up to the sky as she hummed and watched the pretty sight.

"Here you are. I was wondering where you were when I didn't find you in bed with the others."

She didn't have to turn around to know who that was. "I couldn't sleep. It kinda fascinating isn't it?" She gestured up to the surface. "If you were above it, you'd be knocked about and drowned but from down here it looks almost pretty. Like thousands of stones being tossed across the water. "

A chuckle was given as two arms wrapped around her body pulling her flush against a well toned and muscular chest. "Well it's a more flamboyant sight down here.~"

"Why do I get the feeling you're not talking about the Water's surface?" Her answer was a kiss to the top of her head. 

"I can't help that my wives are all visions of beauty.~ The first time I ever saw you scrounging around for lobsters, I thought 'there's a flashy woman who's gonna be my wife'."

"Mmm. I remember it differently."

"How so?"

"You stuttered when you tried talking to me and then you swam away when you panicked. I still think it was cute when you smacked into the dolphin swimming by."

"Hmph. I don't remember anything of the sort. You must be mistaken."

"And I suppose what really happened in your memory was me instantly swooning into your arms??"

"Well...maybe not instantly." If she could see his face, she would've seen him light up red in embarrassment as she giggled. "HEY! S-Shut up! I was totally under control the entire time!"

"Ok. If that's what you want to go by..But I still think it's cute when you stutter."

He grumbled just burying his face in her hair holding her tighter, making her giggle all the more.

"Hinatsuru? Hey, Hinatsuru!" 

Pink eyes blinked out of their dazed state. Gone was the soothing water and comfy hold around her body. Instead cold hard floor and a tub too small was what her eyes saw, along with a hand forcing a vegetable her way. A carrot it was called if she remembers right.

"Quit your daydreaming and eat. You're not doing yourself any favors by ignoring good food."

"Right...Not doing any of us any good."

[anxiouspotionofgloom]

Hotguy comics zine is so good... Really if you've been hesitating, you have to read it... I've finished it two days ago and I'm still stuck thinking about it - I've talked so much about it I convinced my friend who does not know a lick of Hermitcraft to read the 410 pages

No really!! It is so good!! You can really feel the love and care that has been put into it. It even has a story! AND MY GOD WHAT A STORY ARHGFHGU Literally cried at the end, I loved it. ALSO EVERYONE IS SO TALENTED WHAT THE HECK! If I don't talk about it I feel like I'm gonna explode.

I'm sending hearts to everyone that has worked on this project, I will cherish this zine forever... THANK YOU!! <3 <3 <3

Some more ramblings about things I really liked under the cut beware of spoilers:

First of all, Scar and Grian both lying about their favorite food, ahahah I loved that detail

The discussion around page 108 it was so AJSLAHKHKU "I trust you with my back! But... my identity? Not yet." KILL ME NOW I'm gonna start to chew at walls [AND THEN IT ECHOES LATER DOWN THE LINE HELLO?!]

Bas les masques pour un soir is actually my favorite part *shakes them* they're just so!! Them bantering and then Scar discreetly answering Cuteguy's text in secret MY HEART!!

Okay I lied Deer hunting season is actually my favorite part... Genuinely everything is so great about it. The artstyle? The colors? The WRITING?? "Ideals? Who said anything about ideals?" I felt a shiver down my spine, the image of Scar dragging Cuteguy back to safety with the words echoing AHHHHHH It's legit such a vivid depiction I'm in awe

Ohh the angst of Scar wanting to reveal his identity and Grian stopping him... Knowing the context makes it even more tasty. Scar being miserable, my beloved <3

Have I mentionned how much I love the characters sheets thing? Because I really really love them

OUGHHH Corruption, I love a good corruption arc and it was so GOOD!! "My Cuteguy" UH SIR! The way he looks so soft talking to Grian despite being corrupted I'm unwell I'm sick

I love Scar's eyes they're so neat

"Kill Cuteguy" OHHH that was so sick and twisted, I love it!! THE GENIUS IDEA OF CUTEGUY TAKING OFF HIS COSTUME I'M GONNA CRY THIS IS SO COOL "I'm no hero." Damn it! It hits so hard. Him trying to get the weird bug thingy and it looks so soft together, a hug while Grian tries desperately to make the real Scar come back and he ends up confessing his insecurities OUGHHH I'm framing this scene on my walls, I'll never stop thinking about it everrr. AND the slowly fading orders in the background?? I'm fainting, I'm gone

The whole ending scene of that comic killed me. Legit tearing up rereading it. (Also everytime Scar calls Grian birdie I gain ten years of life, man it's so cute.) THE EPILOGUE?! I screamed.

The train comic. No words needed. My heart died from cuteness. Scar lying with Grian, "Now I can't let go" this has done things to me.

IMPULSE'S SHEET HAVING A 5 IN LOYALTY BUT IT'S SCRATCHED OUT THAT'S SUCH A GOOD DETAIL

I'm not saying anything about "through the looking glass" because I'm pretty sure the works will get posted on ao3 eventually (I think??) and I have much Thoughts about it so I'll probably drop a comment then. BUT ARG IT'S SO GOOD

When the countdown started AHHHHH I felt my heart skip a beat, despite it being a comic it really felt in a movie, when the last action scene finally drops

"His eyes are wet" WELL SO ARE MINE oughhh them being both ready to sacrifice themselves... I'm not ok

"I can still see everything I need." I fucking sobbed okay? I'm never recovering from this. Bittersweet edging on sweet, but still! His eye! The word retirement never broke my heart so much as now, but at the same time it's full of joy, because they are all alive! He is well!

A role to play fucks me up. The whole framing, with Scar having Hotguy's glasses, and then taking them off because he's not really here to be him, damn it. "We survive on hope." I cried ugly tears, I know, I know, but there's something about Scar's monologue, it feels... ah, I don't know. Don't think I have the words for it. It feels big, too big for my chest. "There's gonna be a great. Big. Beautiful tommorrow." I'm sure there will be. It's such an amazing end, for such an amazing work. I said I loved it, and i really really meant it.

Thank you for making this. Ah, I started out very excited to share my thoughts, but the ending always gets me a little bit sappy. Oh, well. Amazing work. It feels so loved.

[pugwitharug]

Hello! I really want to make a last legacy request, my LL OC is chubby/fat but I'm not real good to explain how the m4 would react to MC being self conscious/uncomfortable in their body.

(ignore the fact that I've had this in my inbox since literally Christmas--)

(by god I will pull myself out of my writing burnout if it's the last thing I ever do--)

Don't you worry my sweet anon, I got you covered

Content Warning: Mentions of negative body image, no specifics on what their body actually looks like

GN Reader, oof this may be really out of character but we're gonna do it anyways, some hurt and lot of comfort, the one thing all the LIs know how to do is give you love

Felix Iskandar Escellun

Felix isn't one for vanity, but he is one for the gothic aesthetic, so you bet he has one of those huge standing mirrors with the most ornate gold-leafed steel frame next to his wardrobe

It's one of the many gorgeous things in his room (not including him heheheheheheh) and it's something you find yourself staring at a lot

You normally do your best to not look at the actual mirror part, but today, your eyes seem drawn towards your body. You're not wearing anything revealing, your fashion style is more conservative by Earth's standards, but you focus a lot on the parts of your body you hate

Your own eyes feel like claws, rending bleeding wounds through your skin. Voices crawl into the back of your head. Ugly. Disgusting. Unlovable. They're hard to block out

You wrap your arms around your stomach, tears stinging the back of your eyes, and you find yourself unable to tear away from the mirror. As gorgeous as the mirror is, in this moment, you want to smash it into pieces

It's now when Felix walks in and sees you shaking in front of the mirror, the tears now starting to roll down your cheeks. He rushes over to you and pulls his cloak off, throwing it over the mirror and pulling you out of your stupor

Once he's sure the mirror is fully covered, he hugs you tightly, rubbing small circles on your back. He whispers comforting words in your ear, refuting everything the voices in your head are saying as if he can hear them himself

It's sort of true, for him. There were times where he felt disgusted by his body, feeling like he's an imposter in a dead person's body. He knows what you're feeling, and he hates that you feel that way about yourself

If he could take all those feelings out, he would. But for now, he's here to help and tell you how much he loves you

Anisa Anka

Being with Anisa has taught you that she can be strong with her opinions about you. Specifically, all the good opinions she has about you

She knows about your self-image issues, and she doesn't blame you for having them!

.....okay, that sounds a little wrong. She doesn't think that you're being dumb or irrational for having those thoughts. Your feelings are valid, and she's here to help you with that

Case in point: the two of you are doing some shopping through the town. Anisa has a free day, and the two of you just wanted to walk around town and see if anything catches your eye

You walk past a fancy dress shop and stop at the window to gawk at the newest dress. It's a gorgeous baby blue color, with white trim and pleating. It's a dress that you would die to have

As you're imagining yourself wearing the dress, your eyes flick over to your reflection in the mirror, and your dreams slowly begin to shatter. Compared to the beauty that is Anisa and the gorgeous dress, how dare you stand next to them. How dare you think you belong in the same space as them

You look away from the window and start to walk away, heart heavy with regret. Anisa notices and gently grabs your wrist, asking what's wrong

There's nothing wrong, you say. You're just ready to move on

Of course, Anisa knows you better than that. She grabs both of your hands and squeezes them comfortingly, reassuring you that those thoughts in your head? Garbage. And you know where they belong? In the trash, out of your fantastic brain and gorgeous body

And by the gods, she's gonna see you in that dress, and she's gonna see you smile

Sage Lesath

Sage never really had body image issues, to be honest. All of the negative feelings he's had about himself are about his actual self, not about his physical body. That being said, he absolutely understand having those negative thoughts about yourself

One of the main ways those negative thoughts materialize in real life is that you always wear pajamas to go to sleep. Full pants and mostly long-sleeve shirts, only wearing short-sleeves if it's really hot. It's in large contrast to Sage's underwear-only sleep style

He's asked a couple times if you ever wanted to try something like a nightgown or wearing shorts, but you've always turned them down. Since it was clear you weren't comfortable with those ideas, he's left you and your sleepwear choices be

One night, you're both getting ready to sleep. He's taking off his clothes, you're putting yours on--or, at least, you're trying to. For some reason, you can't find your last clean pair of pajamas

Did you accidentally put it in the dirty laundry? You rifle through the dirty clothes, scrunching up your nose a little, but you can't find them

Were they shoved into the back of the closet? You get on your tiptoes and feel all against the wooden back, but you can't feel them

At this point, you start to get a little frantic. You need those pajamas. You can't just sleep without them. If you don't, you'll feel your body, Sage will feel your body. Your actual body, your actual skin. Oh, how disgusted he will be

Sage asks you what's wrong, and you try to collect yourself and explain that you can't find your pajamas, but you can't stop the tears from coming and your voice from breaking. Your arms instinctively wrap around yourself, trying to hide from his worried view

He reaches out and pulls you up against him, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. His soft hair tickles your nose as he whispers reassurances in your ear

He doesn't entirely understand how you can hate such a gorgeous and divine body like yours, but he's here for you nonetheless. Whatever you want him to do to make you comfortable, he will do it, and he will show you his love in his own way

Mainly through worship. He's a worshipper. We all know this

Rime Solano Varela

I'm gonna be honest, I don't think he really cares about your body like that. He cares about you, of course, but he doesn't give that much thought into what you look like. He's more interested in who you are as a person

Even so, he does understand wanting to feel comfortable in your own skin. He wears what he does because it gives the small sensation of being comfortable, and so he wants that for you too

One day, you're doing some spring cleaning around the house and are clearing out your shared closet. You're pulling out your clothes that you don't wear anymore to put in a donate pile to give it to people less fortunate than you

You're separating your Astraea-bought clothes from your Earth-bought clothes, not entirely sure if you can give away your Earth clothes, when your eyes catch one of the tags on your shirt. There's at least three letters on there, and most of them are X's

You look at all of your Earth shirts. All of them say the same thing. All of them have those damn X's and L's. No M's or S's in sight

Compared to Rime's clothes, which better fit his smaller body, yours look...grotesque. They clearly don't belong here. You clearly don't belong here

You grab all your clothes and throw them as far as you can in a fit of rage that fizzles out into sadness. You stand there, shaking, eyes welling up with tears, stuck where you are with the voices in the back of your head

Hearing the commotion, Rime comes in to check on you. Seeing the clothes strewn about, you standing still in the middle of the room, and knowing your struggles with your body image, it isn't hard for him to piece together what happened

He says your name as he walks over to you, and you don't even get to look over at him before he claps both his hands on your cheeks. As you're trying to recover from the shock, he starts talking

He really doesn't give a shit about what you look like, or what clothes you wear. They're insignificant. Literally just pieces of fabric. The only thing he cares about is you, and you need to start doing that too

His normally icy expression softens as he takes a deep breath, trying to switch gears a little. He just wants you to be comfortable in your own body, and he knows it's easier said than done, but he wants to help you

So let's not focus on what you have and go get something you like, okay? He doesn't know how much longer he can stand seeing you look at yourself like that

[24hrsoda]

This is gonna be long and prob uninteresting so feel free to skip but I saw that you wrote that you didn't think of species when drawing bats for your au and that we're free to interpret them how we want and though Large flying fox wouldn't match what you've drawn super well (outside of colour) cause they've got small ears and are raven sized(up to around 1kg in weight and 1.5 meter wing span), it'd mean that Cass could very easily hitch a ride as long as she's a normal sized bat(like a black myotis, though all vesper bats are prob too small so a species of leaf nosed bat might fit better but she doesnt have a leaf nose).

Also Cass having small eyes but being able to echolocate while Bruce has big ol eyes and can't would be a fun parallel to Cass's mask not having visible eyes and her whole 'body language as a native language' thing(like... both being an extra sense kinda deal).

I really hope this isn't a bother i just love bats and will use any excuse i can get to word vomit about them, they are such an awesome group of animals(they make up a fifth of all discovered mammal species(1300) and the smallest have a weight that's like 1/400th that of the biggest! Not to mention the variation in noses and ears!) and your au is very cute(Not to mention all the other awesome art)!

Hope you have a good day! Also, please look up the Lesser mouse-tailed bat if you haven't seen it i love them, ghost bats(woag... like the ship) are really funny looking too. Most bat species are fucked up little freaks and i love them all, they might be part of what got me into batman ngl 👉👈. I'd def recommend looking through bat species just for the hell of it cause they really are awesome, theres some real cute and bizzare ones out there. I've personally used dif species as inspiration for dif batman designs.

Ok i'm restraining myself so hard to not write more i want to write about the bird eating spectral bats so bad but this is. So long. And unsolicited.

Ghostbats are ugly-cute little gremlins! I’ve come across so many pictures of them while looking up ghostbat (the ship) related things!

I do find a lot of bats to be strange and funny looking but cute in their own way :3 I just don’t have enough bat knowledge to decide which species of bat first best for each Bat family member lol. But plenty of people seem to have better ideas than i do!

These are all interesting, Anon! And the differences between Cass and Bruce would make for some super interesting and cute connections between the two of them.

(I did go back and do some research to find the photos i used as references when i first started sketching the AU and i believe i used pictures of fruit bats, which may be why i colored them brown!!)

and speaking of ghostbat…maybe Khoa needs to make an appearance or two in this AU…and i have a pretty good idea of how to do that :3

[vosh-rakh]

3e634, chapter 1

"I'm sorry, the Temple of Dibella is closed,” the priestess said. “You can receive your blessing, if you wish, but the other sisters are in seclusion."

Malekaiah frowned. She looked around anxiously at the alien masonry of the temple’s interior. The four statues of nude Dibella resting against the pillars kept their gazes resolutely forward, ignoring Malekaiah’s plight. She pressed her fingertip hard against the point of her tusk, a bad anxious habit she’d long ago acquired. The tusk was too dull to draw blood, but one could hope.

Finally, her eyes alighted on the shrine against the wall, its points rising like flower petals towards a central space, and she was given the courage to look back at the priestess. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice quavering, but somehow she pushed on. “I’ve been an acolyte of Dibella all my life. I’m on an important mission to spread her love to those who have never known it.”

“I’m sorry, sister.” The priestess offered a small smile as compensation. “The sisters cannot be disturbed.”

Malekaiah looked up at the brass chandelier on the ceiling, and closed her eyes briefly. “Okay,” she said, nodding, but avoided the priestess’s pitying gaze.

The priestess nodded, and returned to her cleaning.

Malekaiah approached the shrine to Dibella. She gently placed a hand on one of its dull red wings, trying to feel for Dibella’s energies. Then she knelt, clasped her hands, bowed her head, and prayed.

Please, sweet Dibella, I beseech thee: grant me the power and wisdom to see thy love and beauty in every facet of this world, so that I may spread the knowing to those who know only sorrow and ugliness. Let thy kiss become my kiss, lips sweet enough to embrace the world.

Malekaiah couldn’t remember how the prayer was supposed to end, so awkwardly she cut it short there. Unclasping her hands, she rubbed her face, trying to bring some heat to her cheeks, and rub some wakefulness into her eyes. It was so cold here, in Skyrim, and she had barely slept on the long carriage ride from Anvil to Markarth. She had a long journey ahead of her, and she needed to be prepared.

Almost on instinct she quickly felt for the short steel hiding under her ochre robes. Yes, Da’s dagger was still there. Even in this foreign place, it brought her a strange sense of safety.

Malekaiah rose and walked out the temple door. She was immediately faced with the western mountain enclosing the city, waterfalls cascading down the cliff with a deafening roar, flowing into the waterways that ran down the city’s streets. Behind those falls stood proud and ancient the bizarre stone-and-brass architecture of the dwarves, yet as ordinary to the people here as timber and brick.

After a moment of awe, Malekaiah drifted left along the stone walkway, skirting south around the pillar which the temple of Dibella crowned. Down a level of the city, straddling one of the rivulets, was a small smithy, jarringly built of wood. Over the roar of the waterfalls rang out the sharp clang of hammer on metal, and a woman shouting at her apprentice with very colorful language. Turning her head to the left, Malekaiah saw the distant silver mines, crawling with hard-at-work miners, seeming from this far away like ants carrying their burdens of ore.

Malekaiah descended the stairs, making her way down from the temple. They led her closer to the smithy, where she caught a glimpse of the smith. She was an Orc, which stopped Malekaiah in her tracks. There were very few Orcs in Anvil; most had left for bustling Orsinium about a decade or two ago. Despite going to their homeland to proselytize, she didn’t know much about her race. She had read as much as she could about them and their history and ways before leaving, but most of the sources she was able to get her hands on were outdated and often very bigoted.

The smith must have felt Malekaiah’s gaze, and she looked up at her with a scowl. She waved her off with a hand holding an unfinished sword.

Malekaiah quickly turned to continue on her way, but in so doing she ran straight into one of the city guards. He reached for the sword on his hip. “Watch where you’re going, outsider!” he shouted.

“Sorry,” Malekaiah quickly mumbled. The guard, seemingly dissatisfied but uninterested in an actual confrontation, pushed Malekaiah aside and continued on his way.

Malekaiah rubbed her shoulder where the guard had pushed her and looked again at the smith, who had apparently seen the whole thing. She shook her head at Malekaiah and went back to her work.

A bit shaken, Malekaiah continued descending the stairs, following one of the rivulets. She reached for the talismans around her neck. First, the amulet of Dibella: she rubbed the violet stone in the center of the metal flower. It was cold, but it gave her some comfort, anyway. Her hand roamed across her neck to the other talisman, the strange icon left in her swaddling cloth when her parents abandoned her in Cyrodiil. She could feel its rageful face, teeth and tusks bared, and a fuming heat flooded her face. She let go, shook her head, and tried to forget about the encounter with the guard.

Malekaiah continued along the stone path through the city, hoping to find an inn where she could stay the night. Instead, she found herself at the front gate again, faced with the small market situated there.

The square was bustling with activity, a dense crowd - surely half the city - swarming from stall to stall, gawking at and haggling for the goods on display. The few children who could pry themselves from their mothers’ watchful eyes ran through the forest of legs, squealing like pigs.

Something caught Malekaiah’s eye. A gleam of silver, or steel. Her vision snapped to the stall on the far end of the market, selling jewelry. A woman was trying on a prospective purchase.

But there was something else, a man pushing through the crowd, the sun shining in his hand.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The woman removed the necklace. The man grabbed her mouth from behind. He raised his shining hand and jerked it across her neck, right where the necklace was a moment ago. Blood sprayed on the silver on the stall’s counter. The woman behind it, her face also spattered with red, covered her mouth and screamed.

Just as the crowd began to react to the shriek, the assassin turned around, still holding up the now-mute and struggling woman by her chin. Her head was nearly severed, so vicious and deep was the spurting gash.

“The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!”

The throng devolved into chaos, women and children screaming, men shouting and shoving to escape. There was only one guard nearby, somehow, and he was slow to react, ineffectually trying to push his way through the crowd.

Malekaiah was frozen, staring at the gore of the wound. The man dropped the woman after she stopped moving, and turned back to the stall. The jeweler had fallen to the ground in shock. The assassin vaulted the counter, sending rings and necklaces and torcs to the ground with a tinkling sound that Malekaiah shouldn’t have been able to hear over the din, but could have sworn she did.

He advanced upon the jeweler, dagger in hand, blade under fist. She extended an arm to protect herself, and the assassin’s blade pierced her hand, stabbing all the way through. Her pained scream pierced the sky. The assassin inverted his grip, blade over fist, and began slashing. The jeweler took a cut to the stomach before raising her arms to defend again. The steel tore through the sleeves of her dress as well as the flesh of her forearms.

A fire ignited in Malekaiah’s throat, melting her freeze and compelling her move. She hiked up her robes and withdrew her dagger from the sheath fastened around her thigh, and she advanced through the dissipating crowd. She vaulted over the counter, knocking off yet more jewelry, and approached the assassin’s back.

Firmly gripping the dagger’s hilt, in one simple motion, she thrust the blade deep into his back, sliding effortlessly between two ribs.

Poppies bloomed around the wound, soaking into his shirt.

The assassin exhaled sharply as his lung collapsed, and stopped attacking the jeweler. His weapon clattered to the ground, and he slowly turned to face Malekaiah. With shaky breath, and through bloody coughs, he mustered, “I die for my people,” and then collapsed, dead.

Slowly, shakily, Malekaiah bent down to pull the dagger from the assassin’s back. Once the blade was free of his flesh, there was an upwelling of blood, painting his tunic a deeper black.

She looked across at the jeweler, who stared at her, frightened, tears streaking down her face. Malekaiah took a step forward, causing the jeweler to squirm backwards with a squeal.

“P-please…don’t…” mumbled the jeweler.

Malekaiah glanced at the bloody blade in her hand. Some portions were untouched, clean steel, and she could see her reflection clearly in it. But in the bloody bits, the wet gore reflected a demented distortion of her face. She screamed, too, and tried to wipe the blood from the blade with her cuff. But all she accomplished was staining her sleeve.

Malekaiah returned the dagger to its sheath on her thigh, struggling to keep her hand steady. She tried to approach the jeweler again, with open hands. “I won’t hurt you,” she assured. “I’m a healer.”

The jeweler hesitated, but nodded, letting Malekaiah come forward. Malekaiah knelt next to her and channeled Dibella’s grace to her hands, which glowed with a golden light. She began to hover them over the jeweler’s wounds, slowly bidding them close.

Suddenly, something cold and sharp lifted Malekaiah’s head by the chin. Forcibly she looked up to see one of Markarth’s guards pointing a sword at her throat.

“What are you doing, murderer?” the guard spat from beneath his helmet.

“I…” Malekaiah quavered, blinking rapidly.

“You idiot,” shouted the jeweler at the guard. “She saved my life!”

The guard seemed to finally take full stock of the situation, seeing the woman’s slit-throat corpse, the assassin’s face-down body, and his bloody blade discarded at his side.

In the meanwhile, Malekaiah continued healing the jeweler, starting with the slashes on her arms and the thankfully superficial cut on her abdomen. Malekaiah looked at the stab-wound through the jeweler’s hand with dismay. “I can’t heal this on my own,” she told the jeweler, who had mostly calmed down.

Malekaiah turned to the corpse and dagger behind her. She wiped as much blood from the blade as she could, and used it as a tool to cut a relatively clean strip of the assassin’s tunic. She turned back to the jeweler and apologized. “This will hurt.” The jeweler nodded and offered her injured hand. Malekaiah delicately wrapped the strip of cloth around her palm, tying it tightly. The jeweler groaned at the final tug but otherwise didn’t complain.

“She needs a more experienced healer for her hand,” Malekaiah said, looking up at the guard, who had withdrawn his sword to its sheath.

“I’ll take her to the temple,” the guard growled. Taking her unhurt hand, he helped the jeweler stand. As they began to walk off, he turned his head and said, “Keep your nose clean, orc.”

Malekaiah knelt there numbly for a moment. But eventually her close proximity to two corpses and so much blood became too much, and she forced herself to stand. She examined her robes, and found them surprisingly spared, save for the cuff she used to wipe the blades clean.

The market was almost completely empty now, save for a few late-arriving guards come to gather the bodies. But there was another man, fast approaching Malekaiah. His smile did nothing to disarm her anxiety after the preceding harrowing events, and she reached instinctively for the dagger through her robes.

“Easy there, friend,” said the stranger. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He glanced at the dead woman being carried off by a couple of guards. “Gods. A woman attacked, right in the streets.” He seemed to notice the blood on Malekaiah’s cuffs, and asked, “Are you alright? Did you see what happened?”

“I was right there,” Malekaiah answered. She ran her hand across her bare scalp and looked away. “He killed that woman, and then…tried to kill the jeweler.” Her words felt like lead dropping from her tongue, seeming to almost hang from her lips, not wishing to be said. Her voice didn’t feel her own. “So I…I…I killed him.” She covered her face so the stranger wouldn’t see the unbidden tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” the stranger said. “I hope the Nine give you more peace in the future.” Malekaiah lowered her hands to look at him, just as his expression suddenly changed. He quickly reached out his hand, shoving something into Malekaiah’s. “Oh, by the way, I think you dropped this.”

Malekaiah jumped at the sudden movement, but calmed a bit when she realized it was just a piece of folded paper. “Is this…yours?” she asked, confused.

“Mine? No, yours. Must have fallen out of your pocket in the commotion.” He offered a little wave and then turned to leave.

Malekaiah was positive she didn’t have any parchment on her before this man gave her this note. She unfolded and read the brief note scrawled in an uneven hand: “Meet me at the Shrine of Talos.”

Malekaiah looked back up at the man, who was now halfway across the square. “Shrine of Talos?” she hollered. “Where’s that?”

He stopped in his tracks and half turned towards her. “Huh?” He scratched his chin. “Not sure. I don’t worship Talos, myself. I think I heard someone mention it was underneath the Temple of Dibella, in the big crag in the center of the city.” Then he turned and walked away.

Malekaiah’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight. Then she glanced at the note again, and sighed. She folded the paper back up and slipped it into a pocket in her robes.

She looked up toward the center of town, at the crag where she had just come from the Temple. It truly was an enormous feature, dominating the city’s skyline.

She checked for her dagger again, and against her better judgment, she made her way towards the Shrine of Talos.

-----

It took some walking around the crag to find the correct path to the shrine, as well as walking past its unmarked doors on accident several times. The doors were large and notable: huge brass double doors twice her height, surrounded by ornate ancient masonry. But there was no indication they belonged to the shrine of a Cyrodiilic war god.

Malekaiah pushed open the heavy doors with some effort, and stepped into the dark corridor, faintly candlelit and sloping downwards. She narrowed her eyes in the darkness, but her Orcish vision quickly acclimated. At the bottom of the slope she could make out two figures: one, surely a statue of Tiber Septim, stoically leaning on a sword; the other, a man kneeling before the altar, head bowed.

Malekaiah slowly descended the corridor towards the shrine’s sanctum. She tried to be quiet so as not to disturb the man’s prayer, but despite her best efforts he still somehow noticed her approach as she neared the end of the ramp.

The stranger from the market quickly stood and turned to face Malekaiah. “You came,” he whispered. “Thank you. I’m sorry to drag you into Markarth’s problems, but after that attack in the market, I’m running out of time.”

Malekaiah blinked rapidly. “What?”

Breathlessly, the stranger continued, “You want answers? Well, so do I. So does everyone in the city. A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he’s a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess.”

Unbidden, images flash into Malekaiah’s mind: a torn open throat, poppies, and a demon staring back at her in the bloody blade.

It was as if her head detached from her neck, and began to float away. She responded numbly to the stranger in an automatic process seemingly devoid of any conscious intention. Her conscious attention was no longer in the room.

The entire conversation grazed past her like a breeze. She may have agreed to something, but the memory of precisely what was slippery. She was vaguely aware that at some point, the man - suddenly she remembered he called himself Eltrys - left the shrine. But she remained, standing before the altar, invisible to herself.

Malekaiah returned to her body, and found herself kneeling at the altar, hands clasped, muttering an unintelligible half-prayer to - presumably - Talos. She stopped herself. She had never worshiped Talos; it struck her as odd that Skyrim had shrines at all, as he was chiefly a Cyrod’s god. She felt nothing stirring in her heart from the attempt. Oddly enough, though, she felt something stirring in her gut.

Oh. She was hungry. She stood, dusted off her knees, and left the shrine.

———

Not even the warmth of the inn could take the chill from Malekaiah’s bones. She shuffled into the threshold, and suddenly all of the many eyes of the crowded tavern were on her. Whispers accompanied them:

“Is that…”

“Did she really…”

“She really is a…”

Malekaiah pressed her thumb into her tusk hard as she shambled towards the bar. She vaguely recognized that she was falling into her old bad habit, but it seemed to keep her head screwed onto her neck, so she allowed it this time.

She clambered onto a stool at the far end of the bar. She knew she needed to order dinner, and rent a room for the night, but she was an immobile statue, unable to speak. So she folded her arms on the counter and buried her face in them.

After a moment, a gentle male voice reverberated, “Hey, lass.”

Malekaiah lifted her head to see the barkeep looking at her.

“You’re the Orc who killed Weylin, right? Saved Kerah’s life?” He didn’t look angry, but it felt like an accusation to Malekaiah nonetheless.

Without speaking, Malekaiah nodded slowly.

The barkeep reached underneath his side of the counter and placed something on top of it. Malekaiah recoiled immediately, but her alarm softened as she saw what it was: a tray filled with food. A bowl of steaming potato cabbage soup; a thick rye-bread trencher, topped with a hefty slice of goat cheese and an entire roasted goat shank; on the side, some kind of dark-berried pie, and a large mug of what smelled like mead.

“You did good, lass,” said the barkeep with a smile. “Food’s on the house. Bed too, if you need one for the night.”

A holler went up through the room, all the whispering mouths turned to joyous raucous. A nearby Nord reached over with his mug. It took a moment, but Malekaiah realized she needed to lift her own and clank it against his. Both cups overflowed, and the coolness of the splashed mead felt good on Malekaiah’s hand.

Malekaiah was afraid to eat at first, not sure her appetite would be up to the massive challenge. But she didn’t miss a bite. She even drank the whole mug of mead, despite never having had alcohol in her life. The barkeep, whose name was Kleppr, led her to her room after the festivities became too much for her. It wasn’t long after her head hit the pillow that she fell into a deep sleep.

-----

It was early morning, and the sun was yet to peek through the window into their home. All that lit the room was a small candle on the table between them. Its flame flickered across her father’s dark face, dancing across his features: his round spectacles and the dull brown eyes behind; his large, bulbous nose, a mountain dividing his face into two separate landmasses; and underneath, the thick mustache covering his upper lip completely, a dense dark broom of hair. His clean-shaven scalp even caught the light, casting vague orange smears across his head.

She admired his looks. He looked like a father ought, she thought. She pitied her childhood friends and their imperfectly paternal fathers.

Sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep, she tried to imagine what her “true” father looked like. Would he measure up at all? Surely he was greener, and with prominent tusks, but what of the mustache? The spectacles? It was usually at this stage that she began to feel intensely ashamed for considering it at all. Da was her father, and that was that…

Da slapped her hand away from her mouth – she had been pressing her fingertip into her tusk again. “Stop that,” he muttered sternly.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Lost in thought, again.”

Da huffed. “Don’t think so much.” Pivoting quickly, he said, “Don’t be afraid.” From the satchel leaning against the legs of his chair he pulled out two items. She squinted to make them out in the darkness: one seemed to be metal, gleaming in the candlelight; the other was some loose assemblage of leather strips.

“A parting gift?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, Kaiah.” (She loved it when he called her that.) “Nine forbid you ever need to use this.” He delicately handed her the objects; as the metal one passed nearer to the flame, she recognized it as a dagger.

“What is this?” she asked, startled.

“I said don’t be afraid,” he rebuked. “It’s protection. You go alone into dangerous lands. Nine forbid you ever need it, but…just in case.”

She slowly reached for the blade’s grip, her hand shaking ever so slightly. As her fingers wrapped around the hilt, Da let go. She was surprised by the lightness of it; she had expected heavier.

“And this,” Da said, holding up the tied leather strips, “is your sheath. It will tie around your thigh. Keep it concealed beneath your robes.”

She nodded numbly as he gave her the sheath. The leather was soft under her fingertips.

“How will I know when to use it?” she asked.

“You’re a grown woman now, Kaiah,” answered Da. He began to rise from his chair. “I trust your judgment.”

She began to rise as well, expecting an embrace. But he turned his back to her, and approached the smoldering ashes of last night’s fire in the furnace. There he stood, quiet, hands clasped behind his back.

She wanted to hug Da, for him to tell her she was doing the right thing, that she would be okay. She started to slowly shuffle up behind him –

But the dagger was still in her hand, and her fingers tightened around it. She surged forward, blade first.

His lungs deflated with a sudden gasp, and poppies welled around the wound in his back, piercing right between his ribs.

She cried out, “Da!” She let go of the dagger and tried to back away from this murder.

But his hands unclasped themselves, and reached up to grab her arms – joints popped and bones cracked from the unnatural extension required. He began to turn his head back, further and further, vertebrae shattering as it swiveled to face her. But it wasn’t his face.

The candle on the table behind her seemed to roar into a conflagration, fully illuminating his hideous visage, a demented ashen demon, teeth glistening with gore, lips spread wide with malice and rage. It shouted, “Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!”

-----

She woke up screaming, “I’m sorry!”

She grabbed the burning hot talisman hanging from her throat and, through her tears, saw Da’s twisted, angry face in the icon. She ripped it from her neck and threw it across the rented room, and wept.

-----

Blessedly, the ancient stone walls of the inn seemed to be thick enough to stifle her screaming and sobbing. At least, no one came knocking on her door to get her to shut up.

Malekaiah knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep; she was too afraid of further nightmares. She decided to get dressed and go for a walk.

Before she left the room, she glanced back at its dark corner. A faint gleam caught her eye; the demon talisman from her swaddling cloth. She approached it and retrieved it; it was still slightly warm. She reasoned she couldn’t blame it entirely for the dream, and after all, it could prove useful in Wrothgar - it could open some doors. She tied it back around her neck.

Malekaiah quietly left her room and passed through the stone corridor into the inn’s main chamber. Although packed and active last night, in these early hours before dawn it was dead. Everyone had retired to their beds, except for a single drunkard passed out in the corner.

In the lingering light from the fires, she caught a glimpse of the bloodstains on her cuffs. She decided on where her walk would take her.

The air outside was near freezing. Malekaiah wished she’d packed a pair of gloves. She pulled up the hood on her robes in an effort to protect her cheeks from the chill.

It seemed the guards of Markarth kept the streets lit overnight; she saw one a ways down who was tending to a brazier with her torch. Malekaiah considered asking the guard if she had a torch to spare, but she wasn’t brave enough. So she carried on by the occasional light of braziers, hoping she remembered her way back to her destination.

After some searching, Malekaiah arrived: the small stream by the blacksmith’s. (The old Orc woman didn’t seem to be there yet.) She wasted no time undoing the red sash around her waist, and then pulling her ochre robes off and over her head. All that remained was her woolen underclothes, but they still covered her neck-to-ankle.

“Pretty wiry for an Orc, aren’t you?”

Malekaiah jumped and dropped her robes into the stream. She tried to snatch them out, but the flow was too strong. She turned to try to make out who had addressed her in the dark.

“Sorry,” the voice said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t alone, so you didn’t strip all the way down.”

Malekaiah strained to focus her eyes. The woman a ways down the stream had a crate of objects that glimmered in the moonslight, and a bandage wrapped around her waving hand.

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. “You’re…”

“My name’s Kerah,” answered the woman in the darkness. “I figure the least I owe you for saving my life is my name.” She waved her hand again. “Can I have yours?”

“Malekaiah.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Kerah said. She reached out with her uninjured hand and grabbed Malekaiah’s robes as they passed by her in the stream. “Come here, Malekaiah. You might want these.”

Malekaiah slowly obliged, drawing closer to Kerah. As she did, she noticed the box was filled with blood-spattered silver jewelry.

“Cleaning the merchandise before we open,” smiled Kerah as she handed Malekaiah the robes. “It needs to be presentable, of course.

Malekaiah knelt beside Kerah and furrowed her brow. “Are you okay?”

Kerah tilted her head slightly. “Oh, it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said with a light wave of her bandaged hand.

“No,” Malekaiah said, “I mean…” She gestured vaguely at her own shaved head.

Kerah’s face hardened a bit. “It’s fine. Such is life in Skyrim. Especially the Reach.” She pointed at the bloodstains on Malekaiah’s robes. “Not the first time blood’s been shed in this city, and it won’t be the last.”

“Oh,” Malekaiah said. Attention having been drawn to the bloodstains, she began to scrub futilely at them in the stream.

Kerah idly watched Malekaiah’s attempts to clean her robes while fiddling with a necklace from her crate. Finally she said, “That’s not going to work. Here.” She reached beside her and offered Malekaiah a small round object.

Malekaiah took it gently, and her fingers brushed against Kerah’s. She had expected them to be soft, but the tips were rough and calloused. Malekaiah realized Kerah wasn’t just a jeweler - she was a silversmith. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine.

It took a moment for Malekaiah to return to her senses. She examined the smooth object in her hand. It was yellowish-white, with darker flecks throughout. “What is -”

“Soap,” Kerah interjected. “Goat tallow, potash, and a little lavender imported from Whiterun for the scent.” She waved towards the robes. “Give it a try.”

Malekaiah gave the bar of soap a sniff - it did smell faintly of lavender. She began to scrub at the blood stains with it, and gradually they began to fade until all that was left were patches of slightly darker ochre.

“Thank you,” Malekaiah whispered when she was done. She tried to hand back the soap, but Kerah pushed it away.

“No, keep it,” Kerah said. “I have plenty. Margret taught me how to make it a while back.”

“Margret?” Malekaiah asked.

Kerah winced. “She is…was…a customer of mine. She was…the one at my stall this morning. When you were there.”

It took Malekaiah a moment to piece it together. Then the image of the woman’s bleeding throat flashed before her eyes, and she quickly shut them tight. But it didn’t help.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Kerah wiped a moonslit tear from her eye. “It’s okay.” She sighed, her entire body shuddering. “I don’t know about where you’re from, but in Skyrim, we celebrate our dead. Even when they’re taken from us.”

“Anvil,” whispered Malekaiah.

“Hm?” replied Kerah, tilting her head.

“I’m from Anvil. In Cyrodiil.”

“Oh. So was Margret. From Cyrodiil, I mean. Not Anvil.” Kerah smiled. “She was here to buy a pendant for her sister in the Imperial City. Have you ever been there?”

Malekaiah shook her head. “Never left Anvil county. Not until I came here.”

Kerah reached out her hands. Malekaiah accepted the offer with some hesitation, placing her hands in Kerah’s. They certainly weren’t the pampered hands of a merchant; this woman worked a forge. And judging by the quality of her wares, she was good at it.

“So what brings you to Markarth, Malekaiah?” asked Kerah.

“I’m an acolyte of Dibella,” Malekaiah answered. “I’m on my way to Orsinium to proselytize.”

“Hm,” Kerah said. “That must be a tough crowd.” Malekaiah’s face fell a bit, so Kerah added, “But maybe they’ll listen to you, since you’re an Orc and all.”

Malekaiah smiled slightly. “Maybe.”

The sun was beginning to rise now, Kerah’s crate of silver dazzling in the early dawn light. “Damn,” she blurted, pulling her hands away from Malekaiah’s and burying them in the assorted jewelry. “Sorry, I really need to finish this and get ready to open.” She smiled again, wide and sparkling in the sun’s golden glow. “It was lovely getting to know you, Malekaiah. Be safe in your travels, and good luck.”

Without the warmth of Kerah’s hands, Malekaiah’s fingers felt lonely in the cold Skyrim air. “Thank you for the soap,” Malekaiah said as she gathered her wet robes and began to stand.

“You saved my life,” Kerah said as she scraped hard blood from a sapphire. “It’s the least I can do.”

Malekaiah waved awkwardly with the hand holding the soap, but Kerah was now fully engrossed in cleaning her merchandise. Malekaiah nodded and walked away.

The robes tucked under Malekaiah’s arm were dripping wet. Looking up the stream, she saw the blacksmith’s forge again, situated on an island in the center of the flow. She squinted at it in the dull morning light, and could just make out a couple of aprons hanging from a line strung between two of the hut’s posts. She still didn’t see the Orc there, so she approached.

Malekaiah had to ascend a level of the tiered city to find the stone bridge crossing the stream. At the smithy, she glanced around. On a table near the anvil she found a pair of small iron clamps. She took them and used them to hang up her robes on the line with the aprons.

Exhausted from her short sleep that night, she sat at the stool by the table. She pulled her hands in her sleeves to keep them warm, and laid down her head on the table…

-----

Malekaiah was pulled awake by a firm hand wrapping around the back of her neck and yanking up her head. She yelped and reached up her hands, but her assailant slapped them down.

“What are you doing in my workshop, whelp?”

Malekaiah was just barely able to turn her head to see the fuming Orc smith gripping her nape. “I…I…I…” Malekaiah’s sudden rip from sleep kept her from forming a sentence.

“Not thieving, I hope?” continued the Orc woman. “You know what we do to thieves in the strongholds? We take their hands, whelp.” Suddenly, Malekaiah noticed a flash of light on the steel axe in the woman’s other hand.

“Uh, Ghorza?” It was a man’s voice, albeit a timid one, coming from behind the furious woman.

“Not the time, Tacitus,” growled the woman, presumably Ghorza.

“Look,” Tacitus continued anyway. He must have pointed, because Ghorza turned. She moved her whole body to look, letting Malekaiah see Tacitus was gesturing at her hanging robes. “She’s just drying her clothes,” Tacitus laughed.

Ghorza dropped Malekaiah and moved over to the robes. Malekaiah scurried into the corner.

Ghorza plucked the clamps from the line, causing the mostly-dry robes to fall to the floor. “These aren’t clothespins, girl,” she growled. “I’ll have your hide if these rust.”

Tacitus, a soot-faced young Cyrod, bent down to look at Malekaiah - he seemed to take notice of the sheath on her thigh. “Wait, Ghorza. I know this one! She was the one at the market yesterday, who killed the Forsworn!”

Ghorza huffed wordlessly. “Stand up and let me have a look at you, girl.”

Malekaiah felt heat rush to her cheeks as she slowly obeyed, keeping a hand hovering near the sheath just in case. Ghorza towered over her, but Tacitus in the corner was about Malekaiah’s height. Malekaiah began to wonder if she was short for an Orc.

Ghorza placed her rough smith’s hands on Malekaiah’s shoulders, squeezing as she moved down to feel her biceps. “Pretty scrawny,” she said before grabbing Malekaiah’s chin and tilting her head this way and that. “And maybe not so bright - no common sense, at least - but you know how to kill. A decent sign.” She let go and turned around. She pulled something from a rack and turned back to brandish it before Malekaiah. “Here. See how this feels.”

It was a sword - Malekaiah guessed it was made of iron. She took it by the offered handle from Ghorza and waggled it around a bit. It was lighter than it looked.

Ghorza stepped back. “Give it a few swings.”

Malekaiah looked up at Ghorza’s eyes, anxious. But she did as she was told, and swung at the air a few times. They were clumsy swipes, and the sword nearly fell from her hand at the end of the last.

“Stop,” ordered Ghorza. “No training. Shouldn’t be surprised.”

Malekaiah laid the blade across both hands and inspected it. The metal was dull, without the sharp gleam of her Da’s dagger. She asked, “Is this…a gift?”

“No. It wasn’t going to be free, at least.” Ghorza retrieved the sword from Malekaiah with a delicate touch that betrayed a great respect for the iron. “But it wouldn’t do you any good without any skill. Swinging it wildly is ineffective, at best. Get you killed, at worst.” She pointed the sword at Malekaiah’s sheathed dagger. “Better off with something smaller. And staying out of trouble in the first place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Malekaiah as she watched Ghorza return the sword to its rack. She took the opportunity to retrieve her robes from the floor.

Ghorza turned back and looked Malekaiah up and down for a moment, arms crossed. Finally she said, “You did good in the market yesterday. Take care of yourself.”

“Thank you,” Malekaiah said.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Yes m-” Malekaiah began, but Ghorza’s eyes flared up, and so she hurried away, nearly tripping over her dangling robes in the process.

-----

Unlike in Anvil, the sun in Skyrim never seemed to rise very high in the sky, even by midday. But Malekaiah knew she’d be mostly keeping to this same northerly latitude for her journey, so she figured she’d have to get used to it.

Malekaiah had stocked up on food and supplies this morning, spending almost all of her remaining gold, before leaving the city about an hour ago. She followed the main road west as it faded from paved to dirt to cleared to tracks to footprints to complete obscurity. Now she and Magnus faced the same direction, the latter sure of his path over the mountains, but Malekaiah much less so. She knelt in the dirt and puzzled.

When overwhelmed, Da always taught her to take things one step at a time. She scanned the jagged horizon of slate-gray peaks, and looked for low passages between the rising slopes and cliffs. She followed a trail of them closer and closer until a nearby path emerged.

She stood and dusted off her knees. She was ready to keep walking, but then she heard footsteps behind her. She turned back to see a woman there she hadn’t noticed before. She was a dark elf, a Dunmer, wearing shiny brass armor and a deep black cloak with red trim. Her hood shrouded her face in darkness, but two locks of white hair spilled out from underneath onto her shoulders.

“Muthsera?” croaked the Dunmer, betraying what Malekaiah understood as the accent natural to residents of the volcanic island of Vvardenfell, in the Ebonheart Pact.

Tentatively, Malekaiah responded, “Yes? How can I help you?”

The dark elf said, “I’m lost. Which way to Solstheim?”

“Oh, I’m not from here,” Malekaiah said with an apologetic smile. But she wracked her brain for memories from her geography lessons. “Solstheim…that’s an island, isn’t it? In the Sea of Ghosts?” She pointed east, behind the Dunmer.

The dark elf didn’t so much as turn her head to acknowledge the gesture. “Oh,” she said, staring exclusively at Malekaiah. “Thank you.” She broke eye contact briefly to glance up at the skies as she asked, “Seen any dragons lately?”

“Sorry? Malekaiah said, looking up where the dark elf did. She didn’t see anything, so she looked back down. “Dragons aren’t real, are they?”

The Dunmer’s lips spread open wide, revealing two rows of yellow, viciously sharp teeth in a wicked grin. “Oh, yes,” she said, her teeth not separating as she spoke, “Of course they’re real.” Her red-nailed fingers wrapped around the corners of her hood and peeled it from her face, the shadows receding to reveal her eyes, blood-red and wide, and the third, tattooed on her forehead, crimson ink glowing brightly. “You’ve just met one.” She rushed forward, grabbing Malekaiah by the face and pressing her thumb into her forehead.

“Praan.”

And nothing but thick blackness remained.

[sataniquepanique]

New York, I Love You.

Summary: Eddie plans a trip to NYC for your anniversary, but becomes distant once you land in the city that never sleeps. You know he's hiding something, but you're not sure what.

Genre: fluff, angst, older!Eddie

Warnings: mention of depression/intrusive thoughts

A/N: I'm getting married in 2 weeks (fucking yikes), so I wrote something based on my fiancé's actual proposal to take my mind off of planning shit for two fucking seconds.

“Have you heard about the theory that Van Gogh didn’t actually kill himself?” You chime, looking over the museum map, eagerly tracing an invisible tour path through the winding galleries.

“You’ve only told me about it a million times over the past seven years,” Eddie chuckles as he stares down the entranceway of the Museum of Modern Art. The two of you look incredibly out of place; stark white walls, juxtaposed with tattoos and leather. The soft squeak of your Docs reverberate through the winding hallway, adding to the anxiety that’s been building since stepping foot in New York City two days ago. Something was off with Eddie, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. It started at the airport, he had stopped talking after getting to the gate; chalking it up to nerves about flying, you ignored it. The first day in the city was the same, barely any conversation unless you initiated it, and even less physical affection on his part. Maybe he was still tired from the trip, or maybe he just hated the city? A third reason rears its ugly head and starts to burrow deep inside your conscious; maybe he was getting tired of you. After seven years of being together, of cohabitating in a small apartment outside of Hawkins, of two cats and a dog later, maybe the love of your life was pushing away. 

A hand on the small of your back snaps your attention back to the map. The 1880-1940’s collection is on the 5th floor, allowing you to traverse through the rest of the museum before seeing the one piece this entire trip was centered around.

———

New York City was actually Eddie’s idea, though it doesn’t seem so from his current disconnected behavior. A few months prior he had bounded into the living room, smiling like he had just won the lottery.

“Baby,” he sang in his best, most innocent voice, “how would you feel about going to New York City in July?” 

Your head slowly rose from the book you were buried in. His particular tone was usually only reserved for when he was already in trouble, or plotting something mischievous. 

“What’s your angle, Munson?” Shifting forward on the couch, your eyes narrow in suspicion.

Hand over heart, he looks at you with faux offense, “How dare you think so little of me. I just think we should do something cool for our anniversary this year.”

All your wariness fades to glowing endearment.

“Oh Eds, that’d be amazing! Of course I’d love to go to New York!” 

His face relaxes as he huffs out a relieved breath, “Oh thank god, ‘cause I already bought plane tickets—“

You smile at him, impressed that he had actually planned something ahead of time instead of waiting until the last minute like usual. You’ve been together almost 7 years, and as time went on celebrating your anniversary became less and less theatrical, now consisting of take-out from your favorite Chinese place and a movie of unanimous choosing. Low-key, comfortable, but still full of love, just like you and Eddie.

“—and I also reserved two tickets for the Museum of Modern Art.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head, “That’s where—“

“—Starry Night is. I know, that’s why I’m taking you there.” He flops down onto the couch, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders as you melt into him.

For your entire life, or at least as long as you can remember, Van Gogh has been your favorite artist. Doing master-copies of his paintings in high school, trying to hard to get his technique just right, obsessing over his use of color to convey emotion. In college you majored in Art History, specializing in Post-Impressionism, spending long nights pouring over books about Vincent’s life and background. As much as you love his work, his story made him that much more intriguing. How a man struggled with such a tragic life and still managed to see the beauty in the world was nothing less than astounding. 

You’ve seen a few of Van Gogh’s pieces in person at museums in the tri-state area, but you haven’t traveled much further. Money’s been tight ever since you and Eddie moved in together a few years ago, but you’ve always had the bug, itching to go far away and see the world with all it has to offer. Eddie shares the same desire, always talking about dream trips and planning fake vacations, waiting for the day you can make them a reality. 

“Eddie, where did you get the money for this?” The thought of possibly spending rent money on plane tickets makes you panic, but he’s is quick to shrug it away.

“I picked up some extra shifts at the shop, we’re fine don’t worry.”

———

Eddie is usually very physically affectionate, constantly having a hold somewhere on your body; but through 4 floors of galleries he hasn’t so much as touched your hand. The lack of contact is all you can think about, barely able to take in any of the artwork you’ve traveled all this way to see. As you make your way to the 5th floor, Eddie trudges behind silently. The awkward tension is killing you, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

Turning into the 1880s gallery, a small crowd of people gather around the far corner. A glimpse of familiar cerulean and marigold swirls, the same brushstrokes you’ve studied for years, peaks over the top of their heads. You swiftly push to the front, and all of the air is crushed from your lungs. 

It’s other-worldly. 

Every photo you’ve ever seen of The Starry Night doesn’t do it justice, not even remotely. The peaks of paint that dot the surface of the canvas, the brightness of each color, none of it can be properly depicted on the pages of a textbook. After so many years of studying this painting, seeing it in the flesh is almost like seeing an old friend. There’s a calmness in it, admiration mixed with giddiness.

You’re close to tears as you feel Eddie’s presence beside you.

“It’s amazing…” his voice is low, partly because of the subdued setting, but also in awe.

All you can muster is a nod as your eyes drag over every inch of the painting, committing it to memory. 

You have to practically rip yourself away, buzzing from the entire experience. 

Eddie waits by the entranceway with his hands in his front pockets, “Do you wanna go get dinner? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” still unnerved by his demeanor, your tone is stoic and emotionless, “Where do you wanna go?”

He scratches the back of his neck, something only done when he’s uncomfortable, “Uh, there’s this pub across 52nd if that’s cool?”

An audible stomach growl answers for you.

Eddie keeps a few feet of distance between your bodies, weaving through groups of people on the crowded sidewalk. You’ve never seen this many people in your life, even at college in Indianapolis. Growing up in Indiana, your hometown was so small that everyone knew each other, same with Eddie’s upbringing in Hawkins. City life always intrigued you, and up until this moment you had thought of Indianapolis as a “big city”; but it was nothing compared to New York. After high school you moved away to college to study art, choosing Indiana University for its busier atmosphere. 

A month after graduating with your BFA, you met Eddie by accident. Moving back home to live with your parents was the last thing you wanted, but finding a good paying job was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. 

Depression started to sink it’s disgusting claws into your psyche; you felt like a failure. 

One night, in a valiant attempt to bring some joy back into your life, your best friend dragged you to a bar in the next town over; the promise of live music and alcohol extremely enticing. Hawkins wasn’t known for much, except for the weird rumors about mysterious disappearances over the years, so you weren’t expecting much from this hole-in-the-wall bar. The Hideout was kind of gross, but in an almost endearing way. The floors were sticky and the air almost unbreathable, but the staff was kind, despite their rough appearances. The bartender chatted the two of you up for while, making jokes and letting you sample whatever beer you wanted to try, all while some metal band played on the rickety stage in the back. 

A little before midnight, the band had packed up and the crowd inside thinned out to just regulars and a few drunk stragglers. As you sat at the bar and waited for your friend to get back from the bathroom, a stranger sat next to you and ordered a beer, greeting the bartender like an old friend. After exchanging a few light-hearted jabs, the stranger smiled and looked over at you. 

“Cheers—“ he holds out the neck of the bottle towards you.

Taken aback by his boldness, you return a small grin, “Cheers to what?” 

He shrugs, sucking his teeth in thought for a second, “To metal? To surviving another gig? I dunno.”

The guitar pick around his neck catches your eye, “Was that your band playing earlier?”

He gives a shy nod, smile stretching wider and accentuating a dimple on his left cheek.

“You guys sounded really good,” You hold out your own bottle towards him.

“I’ll cheers to that,” he taps against yours, a small clink echoing in the almost empty bar. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.” Normally, you would rather die than talk to a random person at a bar, but there was something about this boy that drew you in. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was how ethereal he looked under the neon bar signs, either way you were captivated.

You stayed at the Hideout longer than intended, long after your friend had decided to go home. Eddie made you laugh with stupid jokes and weird stories, sharing your mutual love of horror movies and fantasy books. You were so enthralled that you hadn’t even noticed it was closing time. Apologizing to the bartender, you asked to use their phone to call a cab. Eddie immediately offered to drive you home, promising he wasn’t a serial killer when you profusely questioned him. 

The drive was filled with loud music and scream-singing on both of your parts, Eddie drumming on the steering wheel to the beat as you headbanged beside him. When he pulled up at your parents house, you quickly pulled a pen out of your bag, scribbling your phone number onto his forearm. He winked before driving away, having stayed a few extra minutes to make sure you got inside safely. Every thought for the rest of the night was consumed by Eddie; something was tying you to him, and you wanted to follow that invisible tether all the way to the end.

———

The 52nd Street pub was empty, something that was shocking upon entry, but you were nonetheless a little grateful for it. The quiet was a welcome change from the overwhelming sounds of New York, a small corner of solitude in the center of the city that never sleeps. Welcome almost as much, are the beers that you and Eddie down immediately. 

Though he normally cannot stop talking, Eddie is being uncharacteristically mute. You have to practically drag out any bit of conversation, forcing small talk until the food arrives and you can focus on that instead. 

After a silent meal, the portly older waiter drops off your check and strikes up a conversation with Eddie about your trip and why you were visiting. Eddie put on his polite voice, smiling and laughing along with man’s questions. This stranger was receiving more from him than you had in days. 

The nagging voice in your head struck up again: he’s tired of you.

You stopped paying attention to Eddie’s side-conversation as annoyance consumed you. There was an emerging throb in your head, the physical pain matching the emotional hurt of Eddie’s complete disdain towards you. At this point, all you wanted was to go home.

The sun was setting as you walk out onto the corner of 52nd, and you squint down the street searching for a cab. 

“Hey—“ Eddie smiled at you for what seems like the first time all day, “—wanna go to Central Park?” He points down the street, and you can make out the tops of the trees seven blocks away. 

You shake your head, “I’m really tired, and my head is killing me. I’d rather just go back to the hotel honestly.” 

Eddie’s face falls a little, and you feel slightly guilty, but then remember how uninterested he was all day. 

Again, he glances towards the park, “Are you sure? It’s just a few blocks away—“

“No, Eddie. I just want to go back to the room.” Your voice was stern, annoyed that he only now wanted to spend time with you. A yellow cab crested over the next block, and you raise a hand to get the drivers attention.

“I would rather share one lifetime with you—“ Eddie mumbles behind you. Only half listening, you swear he’s grumbling about not being able to go to the park, and it sets off a rage flare.

“—What?” You snap your head around to face him, eyes narrow and angry, bracing yourself for an argument.

He’s standing a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other holding up a diamond ring. Your lungs constrict, an audible gasp escaping as you stare at him wide-eyed. He grins sheepishly as you freeze in place.

“Eddie…what?” 

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone,” He repeats, returning your stare with his soft brown eyes. 

“…are you seriously quoting Lord of the Rings to me right now?” You laugh, all tension leaving your body. 

“Did you expect anything less from me?” His deep eyes search yours, silencing the menacing voice in your head, “Marry me, Y/n. I love you more than anything—“

“—more than Gollum loves his precious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and snorts, “Obviously, you fucking nerd.” 

Scoffing dramatically, you smile and take the ring from his outstretched hand, sliding it onto your finger. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, Eddie Munson. I thought you’d never ask.” 

Finally, after days of anxiety and frustration, he kisses you, smiling the entire time. You can almost physically feel the stress leave his body as you hold onto him.

Pulling back you grab his hand, interlocking your fingers, “Is this why you’ve been acting weird?”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I was super nervous. I honestly planned on doing it in front of The Starry Night, but I freaked out when I saw how many people were around.”

Your heart soars at the sentiment, and you look down at your hand in his, the little diamond sparkling in the fading sunlight.