#unwise indeed

[aibouart]

anyone got the latest monthly challenge thing artists do (like goretober or whatever)

am out of the loop on everything ever would love to take a gander at upcoming or ongoing ones

[crown-ov-horns]

Lottie was right, the baby did change everything. Shauna lashed out at Lottie because of the baby's death. Everyone feared Lottie will die from her injuries, so they made a sacrifice to the Wilderness, unwilling to lose the Prophet. Thus, began the ritualistic hunting and eating of people. Once that seal was broken, they could not go back.

[andorshitdaily]

ANDOR + Texts From Last Night

[aliquid-de-magis]

I wanna stress this is a joke tho I wouldn't doubt if others genuinely feel this way but "Bruce's mouth has got me acting unwise" popped into my head so I transfer the burden of knowledge to you I wouldn't suggest answering this lest it blows up

[j-august]

"What am I like?" said Huang Zu. "You are like a god in a temple: You sit still and receive sacrifice, but the lack of intelligence is pitiful."

Luo Guanzhong, Romance of the Three Kingdoms (trans. C.H. Brewitt-Taylor)

[eldritch-edward]

Auctober Prompt 18: LGBTQA+

Elle finds out his girlfriend has a crush.

Winry finds out that her datemate was serious about the whole polyamory thing.

Hijinks ensue.

Extras under the cut.

It looks like I have more works scheduled throughout the month, although not all of them are for Auctober.

Side note, I've gone back and forth on whether or not EdWin is a thing in the AU. Thus far, both love each other platonically and have discussed their romantic attractions to one another.

If they date, it will be under the pretense that, since Ed's never really around, Winry can do basically whatever she pleases (he's not sure he can date more than one person while living on the road). They're in a Ling-distant relationship with at least biannual get-togethers.

If they don’t date, it was a conscious decision made by the two (mostly Edward) that, since he's never around, she shouldn’t be tied down by him. (She thinks she should have the option to "hold herself back" as much as she pleases, but Ed points out that a "no" will always supersede a "yes".) Even so, they absolutely adore one another and are impossibly affectionate (Hughes makes some assumptions, Ed is not amused).

Again, I'm undecided.

[autistichalsin]

One thing that fascinates me with Halsin is how sometimes, the only way to get him to admit certain things is by being profoundly cruel to him as a player.

For example: the infamous post-Drow scene. He refuses to use the word "captors" to describe the Drow that held him (which is part of why I never got the impression he had actually healed, honestly, but that's a conversation for a different post). Even in the new scene, there is only one way to get him to call his abuse, his rape, what it was. If you are a Lolth-sworn Drow Tav, you have one of the evilest dialogue options in the game-

"So the mighty bear is an escaped pet, then. I wonder if there is a reward for your return..."

To which Halsin responds with a terse, "you would be unwise to attempt it, trust me. In any case, the house of my captors is long extinct." Then he pauses and looks thoughtful, "interesting. Part of me still thought of them as hosts. But I suppose 'captors' is indeed more accurate."

This is the only option the player has that gets him to admit it, and it requires being unspeakably evil to him, threatening to sell him back to his captors.

He romanticized his past as a sex slave (both as a reaction to the Shadow Curse's stresses, and to make his slavery safer in his mind), but when you threaten to sell him back, you make it real for him again, and he is forced to admit it didn't matter if he did "some things that were less than necessary," he still didn't enjoy it, and yes, they were his captors, not his hosts.

The other example is getting him to admit he loves you. Unless you are playing as Origin Karlach (in which case he will use the word under different circumstances near the ending), he won't use the word love to/about you except as a term of endearment. He might use the words "my love", but never says "I love you."

Unless, of course, you decide to be an asshole and say you are breaking up with him, only to change your mind, multiple times, ignoring how increasingly upset he gets each time, accusing you of liking to see him crestfallen. And then, eventually:

"Why would you test my patience like this? Sometimes it is difficult to love you." (Emphasis mine).

Difficult to love you- but he still does. He doesn't break up with you after this, doesn't say this is the last time and next time you bring it up is it... nothing. He still loves you despite you toying with his heart. And much as above, it is the only way to get him to admit out loud that he loves you- by being a complete and utter bastard to him.

I just find it interesting. Sad, but interesting.

[augustinewrites]

as a captain in the luofu’s sky-faring commission, you’re no stranger to late nights. there’s always lots to do. there are expense reports to sign off on, mission summaries to type up, patrols to assign. the workload is never ending. 

“here are the reports you requested, captain,” a young, bright eyed cadet says as she places a stack of papers onto an empty corner of the desk. “and your coffee.”

“thank you.” you take the cup, flashing her a grateful smile before taking a quick sip. the warm, bitter sip of espresso is exactly what you need to get through the tail end of your night.  “i've sent you all the maneuvers we’ll be practicing next week, as well as patrol assignments for the month. if you have any questions–”

a few gasps cut you off, the attention of your fellow pilots drawn to the entrance. 

“it’s general jing yuan!” they whisper giddily. 

your brows furrow slightly. “jing yuan?”

“yes, love?” 

you startle slightly when a pair of arms wrap around your waist, a shock of white hair entering your peripheral as the most powerful man on the xianzhou luofu nuzzles the crook of your neck.

“dismissed. i’ll see you all tomorrow morning,” you say quickly to the starry-eyed pilots in front of you. they scramble quickly, leaving you alone with your husband, who gives them a lazy salute.

“i missed you,” he murmurs, his breath smelling strongly of osmanthus wine. 

“and i, you,” you assure him, twisting in his hold to face him and patting his cheek lightly. you see now that he’s dressed down in only the soft material of his shirt and trousers, forgoing heavy leathers and armour fashioned for a general.

when was the last time you'd seen him so relaxed in public? unburdened by the needs and conflicts within the luofu? 

jing yuan preens at your attention, grasping your hand to press a kiss to your palm. he gazes at you, cheeks rosy and eyelids already beginning to droop. “shall we take our leave then?”

gods, he’s starting to lean, resting his body weight against yours so you’re struggling to hold him up. “you certainly should, love. i’ll meet you at home once i’ve finished my work.”

“i suppose i shall wait for you then,” he concedes with a great sigh, suddenly pulling away. it appears your suggestion has fallen on deaf ears, because jing yuan drags an empty chair over to your desk, plopping down into it. 

given his drunken state, it’d be unwise to leave him to return home unsupervised. you wouldn’t be there to stop him from purchasing an unreasonable amount of baked goods (again) on the way home. 

“fear not, lover,” he grins, crossing a leg over his knee as he makes himself comfortable. “i shall endeavour to be as silent as a mouse while you work.”

you highly doubt his ability to do so, but know that arguing with him is pointless. once the general makes a decision, his mind is impossible to change. 

so he sits as quietly as he can manage, fingers drumming rapidly against his knee as he hums. it takes you a minute to identify the tune, but when you do your pen stops.

“is that our first dance song?”

“indeed.”

his chair scrapes the floor loudly as he drags it next to yours, leaning his head against your shoulder. 

“jing yuan,” you sigh, rubbing your temple. “i can’t work when you’re like this.”

he takes your hand, slipping his fingers between yours. “do you find my affection…distracting?”

“incredibly.”

you very nearly cave when he brushes your hair aside, nosing at the side of your neck before pressing his lips to your pulse. “then it appears i’m doing my job as your husband.” 

you stare hard at the expense reports, trying your best to focus with your lion of a man clinging to your side.

you feel a little guilty when you pull away from him, a whine escaping his pouting lips. you stand, straightening your uniform and stepping back to avoid his grasp

“stay here,” you instruct. “i’m just going to run to the archives room.”

jing yuan, as expected, does no such thing. 

giggles and odd looks are cast in your direction at the sight of an arbiter general trailing after you. 

“helm master!” he suddenly calls out, voice echoing through the building. your gaze darts to where his is fixed, spotting yukong walking towards you both. “i command you to relieve my wife from her duties for the night.”

she glances between the two of you, amused. “well, who am i to ignore an order from general jing yuan?”

“it’s really not necessary–”

yukong places a hand on your shoulder. “go.enjoy your night. besides, i doubt anyone will be able to get any work done with him moping about until you finish.”

she heads back to her post before you can protest, leaving you alone with the very satisfied general.

“come along, dear,” he says, scooping you up with ease and heaving you over his shoulder. he lands a firm smack to your rear when you squeal, arguing to be put down. “let’s head home and see if we can recreate the rest of our wedding night, hm?”

a/n: little drabble for @mydiluc for letting me ramble on about our fave men at random hours of the day ☺️ thank you my starshine sugarplum cupcake angel i appreciate you!!

[yokohamapound]

Oh hi Mark! Can I request some hcs on Dazai, Fyodor, Ranpo, Akutagawa, Tachihara and Odasaku with female reader who is a model and one day when he comes to pick her up from a shoot, she comes up to him and says they're short a model to finish a shoot with and the clothes just so happen to be his size and please won't he model with her? Just for this shoot? :D

Always love a good The Room reference! And what a perfect request for such a cavalcade of beautiful men~

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Edogawa Ranpo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Tachihara Michizou, Oda Sakunosuke

Contents: no real warnings, just Dazai throwing his ass back

Dazai Osamu

Dazai has a tendency to come to your photoshoots whenever he has free time (or even when he doesn’t but he just wants to skive off of work). Not only are you there, usually dolled up and hanging around between outfit changes and lighting set-ups, but there’s also usually a buffet table full of food he can mooch off of. He still hasn’t shut up about the crab rolls from the first shoot he attended. 

Photographers, wardrobe assistants, and make-up artists are all familiar with him by now, and just put up with his nonsense in order to work with you. And he is capable of wrapping people around his little finger when it suits him to do so. He can turn the charm on and off like a light switch. 

He does have an annoying habit of standing behind the camera and pulling exaggerated faces at you while you’re trying to maintain a pose. Don’t worry, you’re too much of a professional to break. One day, probably when he’s loitering around the buffet table or pissing off the lighting techs by doing shadow puppets against the backdrop, the photographer makes a suggestion to you—since the male model hasn’t been able to attend, why don’t you put your boyfriend to some use? 

Dazai’s tall, slim, and very good looking, so they might as well get some use out of him if he’s going to be there, right? Lucky for you, it really doesn’t take much convincing. When you ask him, Dazai seizes both of your hands, his eyes sparkling.

“About time! I knew I’d be discovered one day!” 

Dazai divas it up through hair and make-up, telling the make-up artists not to make him look too pouty. By the time you actually get his ass into the clothes and in front of the camera, everyone's a little exasperated. You don’t have the heart to scold him, though—you know he’s only really doing it for your sake…and he really does rock the clothes. 

Photographer: “Dazai-san, you don’t need to arch your back quite so much.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I don’t imagine Fyodor can come to your shoots very often, but when he does, he always creates a stir. A tall, pale man with black hair, violet eyes, and that bone structure! He’s like a dream for the designers, and the make-up artists are itching to get at him just to enhance those features. There’s an aura surrounding him that makes them all keep a respectful distance, though. 

No one can quite figure out who he is. They speculate that he might be a European model. A musician, with those hands? Perhaps some kind of foreign celebrity none of them will dare admit to not knowing. You never elaborate and neither does he—the speculation amuses him. 

The way he watches you gives you delicious little goosebumps whenever you’re posing for the camera, and the photographer has to call for an assistant to come and blot you with warm towels to make them disappear. 

You’re never quite sure how Fyodor feels about your job, but he’s never objected. Part of you suspects he turns up now and then to make sure that everyone remembers who you belong to, and that it would be unwise indeed to upset you or take any liberties. Just to remind them that he exists and he’s watching. 

On one particular shoot, the wardrobe assistant and the director both approach you, looking a little sheepish. The male model has come down with the flu, they explain. Do you think your boyfriend would mind stepping in just this once? Otherwise they’ll have to wrap the shoot and reschedule, costing thousands…

You tell them you can’t make any guarantees, but you’ll ask him. Fyodor watches you with an amused expression as you approach him. One of his eyebrows creeps up when you haltingly explain what the photographer wants. You’re going to have to wheedle a little to get him to agree, because Fyodor doesn’t make a habit of stepping into the public eye. Then again, how funny if one of his enemies was to see him modelling on a billboard. It’s this, and his desire to indulge you, that finally makes him agree. 

“I suppose I can step in this once,” he says, putting a finger under your chin and lifting it so you’re looking him in the eyes. “But you’ll have to make it up to me, darling.”

The make-up artist is almost vibrating with nerves as she applies a few minor touch-ups to Fyodor’s face, not that he needs much, and the photographer phrases his requests very politely. No yelling, no orders, no “Yes, baby, give me more!” Although the thought of anyone saying that to Fyodor is enough to have you in hysterics. 

Fyodor’s naturally elegant, so he can pull off the poses, get the tilt of his head just right. He always makes sure that he’s touching you in some way—hand resting on your waist, your shoulder, fingers curled loosely through your hair. It’s like he’s claiming ownership of you in every photo. 

Style-wise, I think your best bet is either for a winter photoshoot, so he can keep his ushanka, or men’s formal wear. Fyodor in a suit? Yes, please. 

Edogawa Ranpo

At first Ranpo would come along to your photoshoots due to the prevalence of snacks on the buffet table, but as time went on he tended to get bored between all the time spent touching up your make-up, fussing with your clothes, or waiting for the lighting to be arranged. He loves you, but he gets bored easily and you’re too busy to pay him much attention. 

He’ll go off and find something else that interests him or wait for you at home, usually. He does still pop up now and then if your shooting location is near to where he’s investigating a murder or if he’s got lost and just used Find My Phone on your phone and followed it to your location. (Ranpo doesn’t do this to keep track of you—it’s literally so he has a way to find you if he gets lost. It’s not like you’re really able to hide anything from him anyway…)

It’s on one of these occasions that the male model has somehow been unable to show up for the shoot, so you’re forced to rope Ranpo in. 

He folds his arms, complete with a pout. “I don’t want to.”

“Please? I’ll bake you some macarons when we get home~”

You can see his resolve starting to weaken. Macarons are one thing, but homemade macarons, still warm from the oven? He starts to loosen his arms, opening his mouth, but you hit him with your ultimate move.

“I know you’ll be so much better at it than the guy they hired, anyway~”

Ranpo visibly wavers, then he sighs. “I guess. If you’re really that much in need of my expertise, I can help you out. I’m so charitable.” He points a finger at you. “Don’t think you don’t owe me those macarons, though.”

Suitably bribed and flattered, Ranpo loses his begrudging attitude and throws himself into it, letting the make-up artists primp and pamper him. Just picture him sitting there with his head tilted back, eyes closed, a satisfied little smile on his face. He’s so fucking cute.

Ranpo’s photographs well, posing happily with you through various couple-themed set-ups. Pretending to kick puddles in the rain while sharing an umbrella. Feeding each other bites of ice-cream from a sundae (although the photographer has to tell Ranpo to stop actually eating it). Sitting on a fake beach. 

Of course, the real kicker is when he opens his eyes and reveals that gorgeous shade of green. Your modelling agency is fighting to sign him up then and there, but he breezily turns them down, telling them he doesn’t have time to do this and be the World’s Greatest Detective. 

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Akutagawa doesn’t want to be there. Everything from his tense posture to his folded arms to his scowl make that abundantly clear. The only reason he is there is either because you asked him to be, or because he insisted on coming along to make sure that no one tried anything with you. He’s protective, but huffy about it. 

Naturally, this makes everyone on set a little nervous, even if they don’t recognise him as one of the most dangerous members of the Port Mafia. 

Despite how unnerving his presence is, more than a few of the make-up artists have fantasised about getting him in the chair and accentuating that face of his. His stark haircut, pale face, and sharp cheekbones make him look like he just stepped off the runway for an avante-garde designer. Like someone’s goth fantasy brought to life. 

When I tell you the amount of begging you’re going to have to do to get this man to take photographs with you…

“You must be joking if you think I’m going to make a fool of myself like that.”

He absolutely won’t do it if he thinks there is any chance of someone mocking him or laughing at him. It’ll take a lot of encouragement, and he’ll be militant about not taking his coat off, until you remind him that he’ll still be wearing clothes and able to use his Special Ability if there’s any kind of attack. 

You’ll have to do his make-up. No way in hell is he letting anyone else touch his face or his hair. 

Your best bet is if this is some kind of high-concept, gothic photoshoot. Lots of dead flowers and Victorian architecture. If it suits his aesthetic and his shirt has ruffles, you’ve got a much better chance of convincing him to go through with it. He’ll bitch about the antiques being fake, and he stands as woodenly as a mannequin, a scowl on his face, but that might actually work for this kind of shoot. He makes a great model for the clothes, austere and aloof. 

Basically, he’ll only do it if both of you look like you’re about to die of consumption and he gets to see you in something ruffled. 

Tachihara Michizou

I feel like Tachihara only came to your shoot in the first place because he’s a nosy little shit and wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And because he enjoys watching people fawn over his gorgeous partner. It strokes his ego, so what?

He likes to hang around and casually menace the make-up artists, or flick through the clothes and give his opinions on them loudly. 

“Ooh, bring this one home, babe~”

Despite this, he’s pretty popular. He’s a little rough around the edges, but he does have a slight charm to him, and his comments have made you laugh mid-photo more than a few times, much to the photographer’s chagrin. 

You didn’t realise how into it he was, however, until the day you ask him to step up and take the place of a model who couldn’t make it. They don’t often bring amateurs in, but Michizou’s cocky grin and delinquent good looks will work for this shoot. 

He gets pissy when the make-up artists make him remove the bandaid from his nose, but he settles down and goes strangely quiet while they’re dabbing stuff on his face. If you poke at him, he’ll grumble that he’s just making sure they don’t stick him in the eye with something, but you know it’s actually because it feels nice. 

“Hey, what’s the name of that crap you put in my hair? Looks good.” 

The clothes are fine as long as he’s not put in anything ridiculous. He can pull off a lot of different styles, but casual streetwear suits him best. He brings out all his punk boy poses: 

Kicking a foot back against the wall. 

Crouching down with his arms resting on his knees, hands loose.

Arms folded, slouching, giving a “what you looking at, hah!?” stare over his shoulder.

At the end, he wants to know if he can keep all the clothes. 

Oda Sakunosuke

Odasaku’s an easy going man. He was reluctant the first time you invited him along to a photoshoot, thinking he’d stand out like a sore thumb, but really no one has time to worry about him being there. He was able to blend into the background like a tall, handsome, stubbly shadow. 

He enjoys people watching, and a photoshoot is like watching an army of ants circle around its queen—you, in this case. People are fussing with your hair, your make-up, adjusting the fit of the clothes, the tiniest tilt of your head. He doesn’t know how you put up with so many people plucking at you, but he’s impressed by how professionally you handle it and accede to the photographer’s wishes. 

Sometimes they mistake him for a roadie (or the photoshoot equivalent) and he finds himself being roped into moving boxes of clothes or holding up one of those lighting umbrellas. You try to intervene where you can, but he always brushes it off and tells you he’s just content to get involved. 

He never expected to be so involved that he’d be in front of the camera, though. When the photographer beckons him over one day and asks him to take the place of the male model, he’s a little stumped. Not even his Special Ability could have foreseen this. 

“You wanna take photos of me?”

Oda’s pretty humble. It takes some convincing to get him to agree, and he twitches a bit as his hair is styled and wardrobe comes over to adjust the clothes he’s wearing. It’s easy to forget he’s still Port Mafia, and understandably paranoid about strangers touching him. 

Oda’s not really a natural behind the camera. Takes a while for him to shake off the stiffness and stop squinting at the bright lights, but the fact he’s doing this with his partner makes it a little easier. 

The photographer figures out he can get the most natural smile out of him by making sure he’s looking at you in every shot, rather than the camera. 

For some reason, I think he’d look really good in an Autumn/Fall photoshoot? Sweaters, boots, heavy coats, scarves, fake snow and falling leaves. That sort of thing. This man looks like he was built to wear plaid.

[calisources]

FANTASY MAGIC & ROMANCE SENTENCE QUOTES. various quotes about romance, and sometimes magic in a fantasy setting from various media. you can change names and pronouns according to how you see it fit.

“Rejection is an opportunity for your selection.”

“They say the soul cannot rest until it finds its match. Then it ignites.”

“You don't love someone because they're a dream of perfection. You love them because of the way they meet their challenges, how they struggle to overcome."

“She's magic, (name). A single flower blooming in an endless desert.”

"Is loving me really enough to endure everything you have to just to be with me?"

"Do you really want to put yourself through this?"

"You are under my protection now, and I protect what is mine.”

“I cannot come with you, my prince."

“You're exquisite. You're transcendent. And you are mine.”

"A man even a wealthy, beautiful, magically gifted princess would be pleased to call her own."

“One is always on time if time doesn't matter to them, little mouse”.

Call him. Claim him. Speak his Name. Make him thine before all others.”

“You think a courtship and a hunt are two separate things. They're not.”

“I’d once believed I could enamor her. But ’twas I, indeed, who was enamored.”

“Here it comes; the light chasing away the darkness.”

“Your mistake is thinking that without magic, I'm defeated.”

“The gods are nothing more than the monsters who happened to hold the pen."

"The most exciting attractions are between two opposites that never meet."

"As they say, a jeweler knows the uncut gem. And I am. And she was. And so."

"In a perfect world, you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart. "

"In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect."

"In many ways, unwise love is the truest love."

"You are the harbor of my soul's journeying."

"We should have taken our chances back then, when we were young and beautiful and didn't even know it."

"If you were a lord, you should be my lord, And the same if you were a thief."

“Take me with you. For laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you.”

“Perhaps we all give the best of our hearts uncritically–to those who hardly think about us in return.”

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while." 

 "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

[redflagshipwriter]

Young Lovers shot by Cupid ch 3

(Damian/Danny dpxdc fic, Damian and Stephanie buddy cop fic)

Masterpost

Brown was a somewhat agreeable partner to travel with when she was not aiming to irritate him. She made no side trips, unexpected stops, and she certainly did not feel the need to show off world-class acrobatics when they were aiming for speed.

Begrudgingly, Damian admitted to himself that she was not entirely terrible. The revelation that she felt some competitive spirit in regards to Drake was good information. That could improve their working relationship considerably. Perhaps he would allow her more grace.

They arrived at the mall in short order.

They looked up the blueprint from outside and quietly conferred on a plan. The large building was closed, dark, and quiet. There was a single security office, and it seemed that the mall did not employ anyone overnight. Damian pried open a vent on the roof and slipped inside silently. Brown was at his heels a moment later. She hit the ground with a soft tap of her boots.

Imperfect, but excusable, Damian generously allowed.

The office itself was a damp little nest of filing cabinets with a lingering and unpleasant aroma of popcorn butter and coffee. Damian wrinkled his nose through the task of sorting their security tapes.

The food court tapes from yesterday had already been removed, labeled, and put away.

Unfortunately, they were literal tapes. Damian huffed in disbelief at the bulky VHS units.

“Holy moly,” Brown muttered. “I thought the old man was the only person who still used these.”

Indeed.

Damian suppressed a sigh. “I think it unwise to linger here and watch all the footage,” he said, but he hesitated to take them. It would have been much better if they could simply make a copy. But these? Impossible. Wasn’t it?

…Batman would know. Damian crossed his arms unhappily. The oldest members of the family would hold this knowledge. “You are too young to know these devices?” he confirmed.

Brown huffed a little laugh. “Yeah, but how hard can it be?” She tapped at the likeliest tape with a gloved finger. “There has to be a way to make copies. We can look it up. But we could just watch here. You know what time the incident was, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Damian admitted begrudgingly. “But it would be optimal to watch the entire day’s footage to ensure that nothing else happened.”

Brown blew out air between her lips. “Alrighty then.” She dug out her nightphone and apparently started searching for tutorials.

Between the two of them, they managed it. They slipped away with two recorded tapes. They made a detour to deposit them in Spoiler’s bike storage before returning to their patrol. In between normal activities, they quietly debate their next challenge: watching the tapes. Obviously, Batman was the only person in the world paranoid enough to retain such ancient technology. They needed to use his equipment. But how to do it without being seen? It was kept in the entertainment room closest to Father’s bedroom, so that he could watch his childhood favorites if the nostalgic urge struck. He occasionally did so as background noise for filling out paperwork.

“The easiest time would be when he’s at work,” Brown recapped thoughtfully. “But there isn’t much of a window between when we get free from school and when he could come home from work. It would take weeks to watch it all that way even once, and by then Valentine’s Day would have passed.”

Damian made a tsk of disgust. It was true. Unfortunately, the fastest way to draw attention to their operation would be to forgo school. That would invite scrutiny from Pennyworth.

“Oh look, a carjacking.” Brown threw herself off the building and screeched like a bat as she fell. The sound rang out and echoed across the cold, dark streets.

It was a bloodcurdling sound. The guilty man looked up with amusingly wide eyes and a pale face. Damian suppressed an amused snort and came down in silence at a different angle.

After they had apprehended the fool and left him with a stern warning to follow the law or else face the pain of losing a hand, the two returned to the skies.

“That was pretty metal,” Brown said, in a tone of ardent admiration.

Damian cast a look back at the building they had been passing. He hadn't noticed anything in particular. To what was she referring? The window grates? Something inside the windows? He chose not to respond other than with a grunt.

Brown laughed again.

He ignored her harder and channeled his tenseness into an unnecessary flip before landing. He stood and put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the city. “Your Mother is frequently at work while you are imprisoned in school.”

“...Yes.” Brown cocked her head to the side.

He nodded briskly. “You will give me a disease,” Damian instructed. “Of course you may not malaise without supervision. You must come to the manor.”

“Oh, fake a sick day or two,” Brown breathed. She clasped her hands together. “You're becoming such a real boy, d’you know that?”

“Tt.” Damian turned away with disgust so that he did not have to see Spoiler bouncing on her heels.

“Alright, symptoms. Can't argue with diarrhea!”

He cringed hard.

“There's a good reason for no one else to see it,” Spoiler justified. “We can't fake a fever. We could maybe manage clamminess, red eyes, etc.” She paused. “But honestly, the two of us being sick at the same time would go a long way to convince, since we have a history of antagonism.” He could see her make a face under her mask. “Tonight could work against us for that.”

Damian nodded. “We will have to invent a conflict,” he said. He immediately started picking through their patrol for a premise.

She blew a raspberry. “Nah, adding details gives them something to unpick,” she said.

He was struck by the unwelcome realization that she was not wholly unintelligent. His mouth felt glued shut.

“I'll just go back in a bad mood, make a couple faces and sigh loudly once,” Spoiler said airily. “You put on your little thundercloud face and storm away, give crisp answers to anyone who asks if there's something wrong.”

“...And in the morning, I will sleep in,” Damian said. “Past my alarm. Pennyworth will note it as a matter of concern. I will get ready for school.”

“I'll call and ask if I can malaise at the Manor, since my mom is at work and she's worried,” Brown continued easily. “Alfred will put two and two together and tell you to stay home.”

Damian hesitated. “I think that if you had given me some low-class disease,” he started.

She cut him off with a lifted hand. “You get that illness isn't a class related thing, right?” She huffed. “Maybe you got me sick with your elementary school germs. Little kids are disgusting.”

…His peers were upsettingly unhygienic. He gritted his jaw.

Still, he had his self respect to maintain.

“I would never pass a contagious disease,” Damian vowed. He had too much self discipline for that. “The origin must be you.”

She hummed.

“Robin and Spoiler, you two are closest to Red Hood. Care to lend a hand?”

The two straightened into professional posture that Damian didn't remember leaving. “What's the situation?” Brown asked.

“He shook a bush and a lot of creepy crawlies flew out,” Oracle drawled. “Danger is minimal, but containment is impossible with one. Dropping coordinates.”

The next hour was spent dragging dregs of a gang from Bloodhaven out of dumpsters and other such crannies in order to escort them to city limits. They were aurally assaulted by Todd’s idea of a motivational speech and his puerile territorialism. “Stay out or I'll cut your hands off and sew them onto your ankles, blah blah.”

Damian tuned it out. Mother had truly wasted her time on him. He was so dramatic.

The rest of the night went as planned. He and Brown returned to the cave in a pointed silence, wrote professional reports, and stalked to their respective showers without exchanging a word.

He went to his room and picked up his alarm clock. Perhaps he ought to adjust the time?

‘No. If Pennyworth is passing and does not hear it at the usual time, he will note the irregularity.’

Damian willed himself to sleep. When the alarm did go off, it took his finely honed discipline to turn the machine off and then lie back down in bed. It was… uncomfortable. he laid there stiffly, looking at the ceiling.

He forced his eyes to shut. He matched his breathing to a pattern for sleep. And he waited to see how long it would take for someone to notice that he had slept in.

His punishment for childhood began at 8 am and released the prisoners at 3 pm. Therefore, he habitually awoke at 6:30 am. After an agonizing wait Damian peeled open an eye to see that the time was 7:12.

…It was past the time that he would normally have arrived at the breakfast table. He weighed if he wished to hurry downstairs or let Pennyworth come to check on him.

Something felt like a rock in his stomach. Damian sat up and put a hand to it, frowning at the sensation. What was this? When he had thought about his actions causing Pennyworth to abandon his post and trek up a flight of stairs the odd feeling had emerged.

There was a knock on his door. Damian's head shot up as it opened. Pennyworth peered in and his eyebrows went up slightly at the sight of Damian still abed. “Good morning, Master Damian,” he greeted.

“I apologize.” Damian took the hand off of his stomach and all but leapt to his feet. “I have- overslept. I will be but a moment.” He paused, genuinely flustered. “Good morning, Pennyworth.”

“Your breakfast is ready,” Pennyworth said mildly. “Excuse me.” He closed the door.

Damian raced through the bare minimum of his routine and pulled on a school uniform. He made it to the kitchen at 7:20. He faintly heard a phone ring in the other room. His heart gave just one undisciplined leap. Was it Brown, telling their story?

Drake was slouched halfway over the table, cradling a hard-boiled egg in his hands. An otherwise empty plate had been pushed into the center of the table. He had kicked his chair out quite far and was leaning directly forward, his entire upper body on the wood. He contemplated the depths of the egg with a wrinkled brow and eyes halfway hidden under bangs.

Damian edged around Drake to his seat, careful to avoid physical contact.

“You're late,” Drake said to the egg.

Perhaps it was his egg, Damian thought snidely. He was an oversized duck, was he not? Perhaps he had laid that egg and that was why it was so fascinating to him.

“Oy,” Drake drawled. He sniffled as he turned to look at Damian. “What's wrong with you? Forget a project?”

“Do not be foolish,” Damian forbade. He picked up his silverware and set it on his breakfast.

Drake regarded him for a long time. “Are you sick?”

…Why did he think so?

“No, I am not,” Damian snapped back, before he could think better of it. Perhaps he ought to have let Drake establish his alibi.

“I don't know, you look kinda off,” Drake said. He let the hand cradling his egg hit the table and he squinted.

“Master Timothy,” Pennyworth said.

Damian did not jump.

“Ms. Brown has just called to say that she's quite under the weather. I will be retrieving her shortly. How is your condition?”

Drake sat up. “I'm fine, Alfred,” he said formally. Then he blinked. “I think Damian is sick.”

He bristled. “You will bite your tongue,” Damian snapped back. “I am- I am no such thing.”

He could see the moment they both decided that he was, in fact, too ill for school. That was the goal: but he could not accept it calmly. They would assume he was on death’s welcome mat. Therefore he hissed and protested and derided Brown’s name with only a distant smidgeon of guilt.

But eventually, Damian was ushered to a quiet and dark room to wait while Pennyworth informed the day prison that Damian would be absent from Geology, Geometry, and all manner of vile variations on how one might ensure misery for a lone intellectual in a flood of brainless oafs.

Success.

Brown was delivered and managed to appear in the same room that Damian had been consigned to. She had managed to contrive an unusually poor condition of her normally lustrous hair. That, combined with shapeless clothes and smudged eye makeup, served to make her appear quite terrible indeed.

“You look terrible,” Damian told her, because she had done a good job.

A muscle twitched visibly under her eye.

“Is Bruce gone yet?” She asked.

Damian shook his head. “He will leave at 9:30.”

Brown sucked on her lower lip for a moment and wiggled into the crack of the sofa cushions. “I think we should go to his VHS room before he leaves, so when he notices someone was in there he doesn't see a reason to investigate.”

Damian shook his head minutely. “No. He will take the opportunity to spend the day with his ailing children and watch his favorite childhood show. We will have no opportunity to watch the security footage.”

“Not his kid,” Brown muttered. “But you're right. The chance is too high.” She let her head hit the back of the sofa. “That would be a good way to spend a real sick day, I think.”

Was she wistful?

Damian eyed her in bewilderment. Was she aching for bonding time with Father?

“I shall inform him that you want to watch his detective show at a later date,” he decided generously.

[thewulf]

With You? Always || Legolas

Summary: This was supposed to be a request but I took it in a very fluffy direction. Like no angst. Just teasing and reuniting with Legolas after the events of LOTR. Hope you guys enjoy!

A/N: Thank you for the cutest request anon even tho I didn't follow it! I had too much fun writing this one. It's so much fun to write these LOTR imagines. Thank you guys for sending them in!

Pairing: Legolas x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k +

TW: Insecurity, angsty, fluffy

“King Thranduil suspects he will be back by nightfall.” Your father spoke breaking you from the trance you had seemed to be in. Your eyes were scanning the emptying kingdom among you. Just like the Elves of Rivendell the Elves of Mirkwood took to the sea’s too, many more than you suspected would leave so quickly. You were yet to get the calling. You were sure your father had felt it just as your mother did so long ago. But he had a duty to the king as his head guard, and he wanted to be around for you and your life milestones, “His elk can sense Legolas but a few hours away.”

You let out a small gasp with glee, “The Elvenking is hardly ever wrong.” Your eyes upturned into the smile that had now graced your usually withdrawn face since he had left here almost two years ago. You hardly lived your thousands of years without Legolas in tow. It’d been well over a year since he set off to destroy the ring. Being that you had lived thousands it should have been quick, but it felt like more than a century since you had spotted Legolas’s nearly silver, blonde hair.

“Indeed, my daughter. It is unwise to not listen to the king.” He gave you a knowing smile before retreating from your room and heading to his chambers to get ready for dinner. Leaving you to be with your thoughts. Quickly you got ready making sure to take extra care of you appearance just in case he had arrived early enough for it. It would be rather obvious of your intentions for you had been rather careless since he had been gone. You found no point to go above and beyond since you knew your eyes only landed on Legolas. No one else stood a chance even if they tried.

Sliding on your finest evening attire that wasn’t too over the top you set off for dinner. You scanned the castles dining hall for any sight of him but only slumped when you came up short not finding his normally intricately braided blonde hair.

It wasn’t often Elves could be snuck up on but when your eyes were desperately searching for the one that had been on your mind nonstop it was rather easy to sneak up on you, “He has yet to arrive my lady.”

You jumped turning to the elf standing beside you, “Galion! Where did you come from?” You placed a hand over your rapidly beating and rather startled heart that felt like it got caught doing something it shouldn’t have been.

“From across the room.” He smiled giving you a bow, “I was hardly being quiet.” He gave you an answer you weren’t really looking for.

You nodded quickly looking away, “Right. Thank you Galion. I was searching for my father.” It was an obvious lie and even he knew that for he knew of the feelings between the two elves. It had been painfully obvious for centuries. Even King Thrandruil was growing tired of son not courting you. He had long since accepted you as an extended member of his family. He had practically raised you alongside Legolas. He was eager to see the two of you together before he set sail. He had wanted to rejoin his wife and was growing impatient to Legolas’s growing timidness to asking you the question.

Galion nodded knowing you were lying through your teeth. Being the kings longtime advisor, he had known you just as well as the king and your father did. He knew all your little quirks. One being that you couldn’t lie to save your life, “Right my lady. He’s in the corner with the king.” Galion pointed to the two elves sitting there snickering about something.

Ever since the Kingdom of Mirkwood received word from Legolas that he was safe, and the ring had been destroyed the usually stoic king that hid away made himself more present and smiled far more often than you remembered. You were excited to catch glimpses of the old king you’d grown to see as a second father. Ever since Legolas’s mom and his wife has passed the king has grown cold. But now that there was finally some good news and hope he was becoming more of his old self.

Your thanked Galion before making your way your father. You weren’t planning on eating with him especially not that you learned that he was eating with the king. It’s not that you didn’t like them. No, you loved your king. It’s that he seemed to know of your longing feelings of his son no matter how well you tried to hide it. He always found a way to bring Legolas up and embarrass you in the process. Surely he would show no mercy due to your father sitting next to him.

“King Thranduil, Father.” You bowed before the two elves with utmost reverence. You knew how precious your spot in the Kingdom of Mirkwood was. If your father wasn’t who he was you would be nothing but a peasant elf the king could care less about. You tried your hardest not to take it for granted.

Before your father could speak the king did instead, “You look rather put together tonight Y/N. Special occasion?” He asked with a hint of smirk on his face. And that was why you were trying your hardest to avoid said king who was beginning to antagonize your efforts.

“None that I am aware of.” You spoke another obvious lie. Your father watched in amusement as your usually cool demeanor crumbled over the look the king was giving you. He too was not dumb. All of Mirkwood would have to be blind had they not known you and Legolas were to be bound together. It was just the two of you who seemed to lack the awareness.

His eyes looked over your outfit before replying, “My son’s favorite color is red. It is most uncommon to wear that color here, no?” He waved his hands before him showing that nearly elf was either in green, gray, or beige.

“Is it?” You tried to play dumb feeling utterly nervous under his looming gaze. How had he managed to make you feel so silly was beyond even you. Because he was right. Red wasn’t so common for greens were usually the chosen Mirkwood shades.

His stoic expression broke with an innocent smile, “Indeed it is. He will like this dress on you Lady Y/N.” Your father cracked a grin from beside the king seeing your dumb expression. He too was tired of watching you pine from afar and wanted to see you happy and in good hands before he departed.

You coughed trying to think of anything to say to him. You eyed your father for help, but he simply shrugged leaving you high and dry. He was enjoying this interrogation far too much, “Oh, my king, this is not meant for Legolas…”

He held a hand up to you letting you know to quiet, “Be that as it may. Which is a lie. He will be most happy to see you even more so in that dress.” You dared not disagree with the elf as he was in a chipper mood. Surely his sons return had something to do with it.

“Aye.” Your father agreed which earned a laugh from the normally stoic king. Were they drunk? They had to be. But you didn’t see any wine on the table nor smelled any alcohol on their breath. So, they were just enjoying seeing you squirm? You’d have a word with your father after it was all set and done.

The kings gaze softened seeing you truly so dumbfounded at his conclusion, “He will be here within the hour Lady Y/N. Take a stroll in my private garden after dinner. Galion will escort you after supper. I will see to it that he meets you out there after his arrival.”

You gulped. Was King Thranduil trying to get the two of you together? It seemed as if you were not as sneaky as you thought yourself to be, “Oh, I would not want to impose my king.”

“I insist.” And that was that. He had you escorted through his chambers to the garden even you had yet to see. It was small but truly, one of them most beautiful spaces you’d ever had the pleasure of stepping into. You walked around admiring the roses and flowers that seemed endless as they tangled with the grass and trees. You had sensed why he had kept it to himself after all of these years.

“My father was right. You are a vision Lady Y/N.” The familiar voice of the man you loved snapped you out of the trance the dancing roses captured you in. For the second time that night you had been snuck up on. Most unlike you.

Your face broke into a smile seeing the blonde elf in person finally, “Is red really your favorite color?” You asked not fully believing the king.

He bowed to you, “It’s been over a year, almost two and that’s the first thing you ask me?”

“It is. Is that an issue my prince?” You gave him a dramatic bow in return. That was just one of the many things he had grown to adore about you. You never really gave care in the world of his title. To you he was always just Legolas your friend. For he hadn’t a clue of how you felt about him.

“Hardly. Indeed, red is my most cherished color. This color precisely.” He stepped closer to you grabbing at the extra fabric on your arm. If your heart could simultaneously stop and explode all at once that was what was occurring. He was so close so suddenly. Was Legolas flirting with you?

“Well,” You cleared your throat trying your best to respond to him as your brain tried its best to keep up with him, “Hopefully I wear it all right.” You joked around trying to shift the growing tension between the two of you.

His hands did not drop from your arm as his eyes snapped up to yours, “My lady, you wear it finer than any elf in this kingdom and all kingdoms beyond.”

What was he doing? Your face paled before your cheeks exploded with color. You were usually so good at hiding emotion such as this but his outright honestly instead of the joking he would normally play in had taken you off your guard.

He smirked now knowing his father’s push was really all he needed. You would not blush so had you no feelings for him. He did not wish to ruin the grand friendship he had with you for it was the most cherished thing in his life. For in his mind, you had no feelings for him.

“Oh, thank you Legolas.” He noticed you flexing your hands. He had long since learned that was your tell for being unsettled. He’d often caught you doing the same before an attack would commence or when you had a terrible feeling of something.

“There is no need to be nervous Y/N. It is just me, Legolas.” He hid his smirk away for a softer smile. He held his hands out for you to take.

Slowly you placed your much smaller hands in his, “Indeed. That is what’s making me nervous.” You admitted out loud before your brain could stop you.

“What do you mean?” He turned his head to the side just so as his eyes scanned over your face searching for something, anything.

“You have occupied my thoughts every day since you left.” You spoke quickly before you could decide it would be a bad idea letting him know you had feelings too, “Are you being sincere?”

He stepped forward placing a tentative hand on your hip, “Aye, my lady. I would not lie to you. You look beautiful tonight.”

You placed your hand on his face making sure he really was back, “I missed you Legolas. This had been the longest year of my life. For I did not know years could take so long.”

He tested the waters by bring you closer to him. He fully wrapped an arm around your waist. You thought your heart was going to leap out of his chest as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I survived out there because of you.” His hair tickled your neck, but you could hardly care as you processed this information he had just told you.

“Pardon?” You had asked him to expand on that ever so bold statement.

He brushed your hair behind you ears, “When we wanted to give up, when all hope was lost, when I surely thought this life was over…” He paused seeing the horror in your expression. You must not have known how dangerous the quest truly was. But he continued trying to get to the point, “I thought of you. Coming home to you in Mirkwood kept me going.”

He surely heard how fast your heart was beating now, “I am glad I could provide you the strength to come home to me. For I do not know how I would fare middle earth without you.” This moment in the garden was the most intimate the two of you had ever been with the other. The most truthful too. You would have to thank his father later for the push the both of you needed. He must have been planning to leave soon as he never meddled so obviously before.

“I could not let that happen. I have made sure of that.” He smiled, eyes gazing down lovingly at you. You’d seen the gaze before but told yourself he meant something else. You were mistaken clearly.

“Legolas.” His name slipped out of your mouth so effortlessly. By Eru were you thrilled you could speak his name out loud because he was actually in front of you.

Ignoring your soft plea he asked you, “May I ask you a very important question?”

Your eyes piqued in curiosity as you nodded, “You may.” Wondering whatever he may ask you.

He took your hands in his gently rubbing his thumb along your much softer skin, “I wish to court you. I want to spend the rest of this life together, meleth nin. Would you do me the honor?”

You repeated his words slowly, “Meleth nin…” You repeated back to him before continuing in your disbelief, “For am I dreaming right now Legolas?” You asked not sure if you were truly in reality any longer. For as long as you pined for the blonde elf from afar this was happening faster than you had imagined.

“I certainly hope not, it took me far too long to work up the courage to ask you.” He grinned feeling like he could do anything in the world. His love, you, had said yes to him. He was going to have you as a partner, lover and more for the rest of his life. He could not wait to start the next part of his life with you. A youthful pang of excitement went off in his heart as he felt a new sense of adventure in the near future with you.

You laughed giving his hands a squeeze, “Then it is my greatest honor to accept. May I ask for how long?”

This time it was his turned to blush. It was a rare sight to see the kings son so squirmy in any sense, “Give or take a few hundred years?”

You smiled, “I have you beat then my prince. I had a growing crush nearly a thousand years ago. I thought it would go away so I just buried it deep down. See what good that got me.”

“Half our lives?” His eyes went wide as if he was finally seeing you for the first time.

You nodded you head trying to hide the embarrassment of hiding yourself away, “I suppose it is then half our lives so far. It was when you got back from Minas Tirith with your father. I had missed you far too much for the feelings to be simply friendly.” It wasn’t so bad admitting it to him for it felt more of a relief. He was going to know your truest feelings finally.

He placed his hands on your uppers arms, “I am nothing but a fool. I did not notice.”

You half laughed, half groaned, “I did not give you a chance my prince.”

“Why did you hide away from me?” He asked sincerely as he took a handful of your long straight hair in his hands. He was certainly more comfortable getting more handsy with you after you had accepted his proposal. It was no question to you. He was the only one you would say yes to.

“I am nothing but a Silvan Elf.” You spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. When Legolas’s face turned to nothing but confusion you continued, “I heard the king talking, years ago now, about how lowly he view the Silvan elves he presided over. I would never have the approval.”

“What are you talking about meleth nin?” He sounded genuinely confused, “How long ago was that?”

You shrugged, “A long time ago.” You didn’t want to admit it was nearly two thousand years ago you heard his decree. Even by elf standards that was some time ago.

“You know even stubborn kings can change their minds given some time.” He pinched your side lightly letting you know your thoughts were mistaken for the king had all but forced him to tell you this evening.

He held his hand out after he admired you for a moment longer than needed. He could not help it though for he couldn’t believe that you were his, “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” You asked curiosity getting the better of you as you placed your hand in his.

He sighed turning back to you with that glimmer in his eye, “We may have an audience on the other side of the door waiting to see if you said yes.”

You let out a hearty laugh, “Unbelievable! Who is there then?” You followed him as he began walking.

“Your father and mine… and Galion” He smiled sheepishly almost afraid to see your reaction.

But your laugh let him know you didn’t mind, “Those meddling older elves. They need to mind their own business.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, that adorable blush forming over his cheeks, “I am thankful for their meddling for I never would have had the courage to ask you my lady.”

You gave his hand a squeeze before you walked through the thick wooden door, “I would have waited another two thousand years for you Legolas.”

He looked down suddenly bashful. You were beginning to adore the far more emotional side of the man you had grown to love truly throughout the centuries. It had made falling even further in love with him a less daunting task. You were more than excited to explore life as a courting couple. You’d make big decisions in this stage of life. How many children did he want? Where did he want to live? Was Thranduil going to give the crown to his son? Would he accept?

“You have always had such a way with words meleth nin.” He brushed the side of your face breaking you away from your thoughts.

You grinned at his kind words, “Meleth nin.” You whispered back to him for the first time. You could get used to calling him that. Your love. Your lover. Your everything.

He put his hand on the door before turning back to you, “Are you ready to deal with them?”

A smile broke out on your face in consideration of his actions, “With you? Always.”

He gave your hand a squeeze before opening the door before both of you. Sure enough not a second later both King Thranduil and your father pounced on the both of you with questions while Galion stood back with a relieved expression on his face. You laughed with utmost glee as Legolas pulled you into his chest shielding you from the questions and answering them all. If this is what it meant to be loved by him then you could surely get used to this.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891

[marzipanandminutiae]

Madame Marzi I must defer to ur wisdom

Recently you rb’d a painting with some younger ladies and in the tags talked a bit about short hair in Victorian Times

Do you have any reference for how shorter hair was styled at the time? I’ve seen plenty of paintings and such with VERY short hair (post illness or perhaps childbirth) where all you can really do is smooth it back, but what about that awkward, past the shoulders sort of stage where it’s too long to just brush back but too short to do much to? Surely they had some styling guides..?

(Also, a side question— how old would one be before going from shorter skirts to adult/full length ones?)

The two little girls in the garden (probably preteens-young teens)? Yes, I did!

It's hard to find images of women with in-between hair lengths, and I'm not sure why. Possibly because they'd find ways to put it up with false hair, whereas hair too short to put up is more obvious in photos. This could also have to do with the type of woman who has pixie- or bob-length hair voluntarily vs. mid-length: the latter is more likely to be attempting a grow-out, and thus to try her darndest to do The Culturally Accepted Long Hair StylesTM where a lady who chose a much shorter look wouldn't care. If that makes sense? Because, indeed, some of the women with very short hair were not ill or postpartum: ladies could, and did, choose to eschew long locks back then. It wasn't very common, but it happened.

(Nicole Rudolph has an excellent video about localized short hair trends for ladies during the Victorian era.)

You see a lot of these bob-type looks in photographs where the hair is center-parted and either naturally curly or curled on purpose, around the mid-19th century:

(1850s or 60s)

(Author, feminist, and abolitionist Anna Elizabeth Dickinson- no relation to Emily that I know of, though Anna was also a queer female writer around the same era -c. 1860s. She wore her hair short all her life, so it was voluntary in this case.)

(Also 1860s.)

Pre-Raphaelite muse Fanny Eaton frequently appears to have chin-to-shoulder length hair, though given that she was Black with a corresponding hair texture, it's hard to tell what the actual length is- it may be long and looped up in the 1850s-60s styles popular when she was most commonly painted (most free Black women in England and the US wore styles also popular with white women, to the best of their abilities given that fashion plates assumed European-textured hair as the "norm"):

(Fanny Eaton, 1861. Also worth noting that we have no images of what her hair looked like when she wasn't posing for fantastical paintings.)

I've never actually seen an image of a Victorian woman with mid-length hair outside the context of theatrical or artistic images from the end of the century, now I think of it. Huh. It's a mystery, I suppose!

As for skirts, while in earlier periods children had basically worn miniature adult clothing, it became fashionable around the 1830s-40s to dress girls in short skirts and boys in short pants. The usual rule was knee-length until around age 10, then mid-calf-length until somewhere between 16 and 18 when skirts would be "let down" and the girl would start wearing her hair up, becoming a young adult in the eyes of society. (Contrary to popular belief, this had nothing to do with marriage- while you were theoretically eligible for it when you started dressing as an adult, girls/women younger than 20 were still often considered a bit too immature to marry. It wasn't forbidden, but many people thought it unwise. And yes, unmarried young women did still wear their hair up and their skirts long.)

...unless she preferred her hair short, which as you can see, was an option!

[picnokinesis]

flux adjacent fic recs

in media res by wreckageofstars (3k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: “Well,” she said. “Now you know what the mattress is for.” Dan shifted. “And the trampoline?” “Best not ask about the trampoline.” //I think this is probably the first Dan pov fic I ever read, and it’s absolutely brilliant. This author gets the character voices down so perfectly it’s unreal, and the whole thing is just so wonderful to see from Dan’s outsider perspective. It’s set in the immediate aftermath of Once, Upon Time, and it does a fantastic job of exploring the impact of what happened in that episode – both from a whump perspective and an emotional one. Angsty, but also funny in the worst kind of way – someone please go give Yaz a break, she REALLY needs one. Anyway, it’s great, everyone go read it right now.

Hearts of Stone by weirdpug (previously xhonia) (1k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: The Doctor loses herself. The Master finds her. //Ohhh this one this one, it’s SO awesome – it’s one of those fics that does really cool things with the formatting? Which works great here, because it’s a weeping angel!13 fic and wow, wow! Extremely awesome indeed, and just beautifully written – the prose is just so full of character, even when the Doctor is losing herself and it’s so well done.

Divination by WalkerLister (6k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: “There was a name for someone similar to me once. They called them the Valeyard. You can call me that, if you like. I quite like it, it’s suitably eerie. Little bit of drama never hurt anyone.” //Right, so we all remember what happened when War of the Sontarans aired…we got that ‘next time’ trailer of Once Upon Time…and all collectively lost our minds over the inverted dark coat. Since then, I feel like everyone has been finding really creative ways to get it into fanfics, and this is a wonderful example. And, well, if the promise of dark coat!13 wasn’t enough, this fic is just an absolutely fascinating look at the concept of the Valeyard in the context of the fobwatch from Flux, but focused on Yaz and her relationship with/perception of the Doctor. It’s such a good concept and so so wonderfully done! (also, if you’re a fan of thasmin, this author has a ton of stuff, so definitely go check it all out! For the less thasmin-inclined folks, I highly recommend Ipesity, which is one of my favourite post-TTC fics)

three points where two lines meet by Ymae (4k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: The Doctor tries to get those memories back, and breaks herself, bit by bit. //Oh man. This fic. I still remember when this one first posted and hoooooo boy, it is a hell of a gut-punch and absolutely wrenched my heart right out of my chest but HHHHHHHHH wow!! WOW. Genuinely, I think this fic rewrote my brain a little bit. It's set in the immediate aftermath of Once, Upon Time where the Doctor makes some very unwise decisions about trying to tug at her timeline and it's absolutely incredible. Very angsty, very whumpy, and full of a HUGE amount of the Doctor messing with timelines and very visceral, tangible descriptions of her timesense. It is such a treat, guys. And if you like this one and want something with similar vibes, I also highly recommend this post-flux fic by the same author!

Sheer Poetry! by Papapaldi (57k, 5 chapters, gen) summary: Trapped within her own mind, the Doctor travels through an impossible house, with everyone she has ever been locked inside. Her body is an unresponsive, useless bag of flesh somewhere far and away in reality. The part of her brain that she knows, where her past resides, sits somewhere else entirely within the old machine. The Ravagers eat, buried memories beckon, and the Doctor's faith is shaken to its core. She will never be the same – but that's what she's all about, right? Incredible change. //oh my days. THIS FIC, guys - look, I see the word count, I know, I know. This fic is a serious undertaking, but like so many things in life it is soooooo so worth it. Bucket loads of absolutely ASTOUNDING imagery, more references to Lungbarrow and Timewyrm Revelation than you can shake a stick at, BUT you don't need to have read those stories at all to enjoy this absolutely fantastic saga (put it like this - I've not read those books, and I had a whale of a time). Incredibly poetic, a little nonsensical in the best kind of way (it IS a mindscape fic) but startlingly funny and so beautifully in character. I laughed, I cried. This fic is just a love letter to everything Doctor Who, weaving all of canon into this beautiful, cohesive tapestry. I highly recommend. (and, if you're hungry for more and want tpotd content, there's an excellent sequel as well)

every step i choose to take (begins to set the world aflame) by SleepyMaddy (12k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: In a spaceport lost in a remote quadrant of interstellar space, a Doctor who doesn’t know herself anymore runs into a Master who doesn’t know himself yet // Ok so the sheer concept of this one ALONE is absolutely brilliant – the Doctor, escaping from the Division and half out of her head, bumps into the Master, who’s not long regenerated from Missy. And, guys. It’s fascinating. Seeing the Master right at the start, before he finds out everything that comes to define him in this era, and then having him meet a version of the Doctor who is quite a lot further along than him and just completely out of it? It’s like catnip to me, guys. And, of course, it’s all helped by the fact that the writing is absolutely brilliant – the characters are just absolutely spot on, which is quite an incredible feat seeing as they are both in very different places to where we see them in the show, yet they still manage to ring true throughout the whole thing. And also the mindscape imagery? The psychic whump? The emotional gut-punch that is the entire fic? Absolutely unparalleled. (also, if you’re a spydoc fan? Just help yourself out and read this author’s entire set of works, because it’s all fantastic)

see me bare my teeth for you by picnokinesis (16k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: “Do you know your mission?” //This is a bit of a cheeky self-rec, but, in my defence, if you're looking for flux fics, then I think you'll enjoy this one. I wrote it in the week after Village of the Angels aired, and it's basically all my thoughts and theories about what was going to happen in Survivors of the Flux thrown into a 16k oneshot. I was...mostly wrong HAHA but I’m still really proud of it. If you like division!doctor, then this one is for you

we're only dreaming (tell me who i am) by SpaceBetweenGalaxies (2k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: more the-memory-house-is-Lungbarrow clowning //ok, so if you were like me when flux was airing and absolutely lost your MIND over the illogical house which was a bit too on the nose regarding Lungbarrow related things, then THIS FIC IS FOR YOU. Absolutely brilliantly done, with some gorgeous imagery that I'm still thinking about to this day, and just a wonderfully unsettling exploration of the Doctor and how she picks at those cut off memories in the aftermath of the Flux

the stars are bound to change by emptypockets (9k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: Being trisected across the universe has unexpected consequences for the Doctor, and Yaz is tasked with the responsibility of keeping her awake. //ohhhhhh this fic is so wonderful!! It's that weird sweet spot of 'soft angst', where it hits where it hurts but at the same time the whole thing feels like it's wrapping you in a warm blanket. Augh!! Such a lovely portrayal of the Doctor and Yaz's dynamic - I adore how this author writes these two so much. An absolutely lovely (but angsty!) character exploration, with a healthy dose of whump and sleepiness on the side. What more could you want?

Everything by rowanthestrange (24k, 13 chapters, thasmin) summary: In which Yaz wants to know everything, and the Doctor finally wants that too. //Ok, so full disclosure, I don't read that much thasmin, but this fic, guys. It's just gorgeous. A beautifully written exploration of Yaz and her relationship with the Doctor in the aftermath of Flux, which explores the years Yaz spent in the past and how that changed her; the Doctor grappling with her identity issues and how that's changed her; as well as all sorts of other wonderful things besides. Another fic that had tears streaming down my face (the TARDIS chapter got me...). It's such a poignant, emotional fic, and it's very focused on character in a way that I really adore. If you like thasmin, this is an absolute must-read. If you're not a fan of thasmin, I recommend it anyway (- signed: a thoschei shipper) because it's just such a brilliant portrayal of these two.

[sapphire-writes]

Dragon's Bane (part 3) ~ Aemond Targaryen

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language, sensual themes

note: the long-awaited part 3! I think I shall do part 4, I really want to see their wedding! thanks for being patient and for all the love I read every comment I get! hope you enjoy 💚

masterlist

Dowager Queen Alicent’s eyes are wide when Aemond presents you to Aegon in the throne room. Aegon smirks at the sight of you, his eyebrows lifting in amusement. 

“How did you manage this, brother?” Aegon asks, his voice full of curiosity. 

“Our niece is desperate to wed me,” Aemond announces, causing your neck to whip around towards him. The look in your eye is murderous. There are murmurs throughout the crowd at Aemond’s statement. 

“Is this true, niece?” Aegon asks, the crown of the conqueror atop is silver head. His seated position is lazy, limbs spread out across the Iron Throne. 

That is my mother’s chair.

Anger courses through your limbs, causing your hands to shake. Aegon frowns.

“Have you taken her tongue, brother?” Aegon asks, “I do not recall her so quiet.”

“That would be unwise,” Aemond says, shifting from one foot to the other. Aegon nods in agreement.

“Ah yes,” he says, biting his lower lip as he observes you, “would be a terrible loss for such a pretty girl.”

You do not trust your voice, contending to glare up at your uncle. Aegon’s smile only grows at your continued silence. 

“Kneel before me niece,” he commands, gesturing towards the floor. Your lip curls into a snarl.

Alicent watches you, your unwavering defiance, how your knees shake where you stand. You remind her so much of Rhaenyra it feels as though a fist has wrapped itself around her heart. Aegon tilts his head to the side. 

“Kneel before me, and I shall grant what you desire,” Aegon tells you, “you may marry my brother.”

You bite your lip, tasting copper. You refuse to cry. You will not give the greens the satisfaction of seeing the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen cry. 

You glance toward Aemond. He is looking straight ahead, and does not meet your eye. Gritting your teeth, you relax your body, letting yourself sink to your knees. You bow your head, avoiding Aegon’s smug grin. 

“A pretty sight, I’m sure my brother shall enjoy it,” Aegon says, glancing towards Aemond. Aemond leans forward, nodding at Aegon’s words. He glances at you only then, watching the blush blooming on your cheeks. Aemond is sure this is due to the anger you are holding inside of you, threatening to spill over. The blood of the dragon is strong indeed. 

“Surely, we need to keep her under watch,” Otto Hightower says. He stands next to his daughter, watching you kneel. 

“A black cell is certainly no place for my niece,” Aegon says, pouting, “much less so my brother’s wife.”

“She shall stay in my chambers,” Aemond drolls, walking over to you. You let your eyes move from their spot on the floor, sliding up towards his face. Aemond holds a hand out to you, his face revealing none of the emotions he feels. Though he cannot help the thrill that runs through him, the stiffening of his cock, at the sight of you on your knees before him, glassy-eyed and full of rage. 

It ignites a feeling of desire inside of him he did not deem possible. 

You reach up and take his hand, rising to your feet. 

“Keep Prince Aemond doors heavily guarded,” Otto commands a goldcloak who stands near him, “and what of her dragon?”

“What about her?” you snap, breaking your silence. Otto’s eyes meet yours but Aegon breaks into applause.

“She speaks!” he says merrily, clasping his hands together. You feel your hands curl into fists. 

“Confine the beast to the dragonpit,” Alicent says, fiddling with her fingers. You’ve seen your mother perform similar compulsions, twisting the rings that adorn her fingers. It sends a sharp pain piercing through your heart. 

“Come,” Aemond says, wrapping a hand around your forearm, “let us return to our chambers.”

Aemond begins to lead you from the throne room, Aegon chuckling darkly behind you.

“Do not do anything I wouldn’t do, brother,” he says, sending a shiver down your spine. Aemond keeps his hand on your arm the entirety of the walk back to his chambers. Your chambers. Your prison cell. 

Two goldcloaks trail behind you and position themselves outside of Aemond’s doors, closing them behind you both. You turn to face him.

“That served no purpose,” you snap, irritated beyond belief.

Aemond presses a finger to your lips, silencing you.   

“The walls have ears,” he murmurs. The goldcloaks are right outside. He ushers you through the antechamber, deeping into his bedchamber away from listening ears. 

“We received approval to wed,” Aemond says, pouring a glass of wine, “that serves quite a purpose, if I recall our previous conversation.”

Your mouth twists into a frown.

“When shall we be wed?”

Aemond shrugs at the question. 

“Aegon is always in the mood for a feast,” he says, taking a sip from his cup, “soon, I would believe.”

He motions to the furniture around the room. 

“You are free to make yourself comfortable,” he says. You remain standing. He shrugs, dropping his frame onto a chair. 

“We need a plan,” you tell him, crossing your arms. He lifts a brow at you. 

“We have a plan,” he tells you, taking another sip from his chalice, “we are to marry.”

You scoff at him. 

“And then what?” you ask, incredulously.

“Surely your mother has explained what lies in the marriage be-” he begins before you wave his hand to shush him. 

“I know what happens,” you grumble, cheeks flushing. Not that you planned on actually doing any actual marital duties with Aemond. But the thought sent fire coursing through you. 

“We need not abide by any of that,” you snap at him. Aemond wets his lips before rising from his chair. He walks over to you, standing face to face. 

“There shall be a wedding,” he murmurs, moving a strand of dark hair from your face, “there shall be a bedding.”

Your stomach churns with nerves. You gaze up at him. Your mother had explained what lies within the marriage bed, an idea that sent fear shooting through you once you were in the presence of your previous betrothed, Cregan Stark. The idea of laying beneath a man as he had his way with you sent terror racing through you veins. 

But standing in front of Aemond, something different pooled in your stomach at the thought. Something warm, curling inside of you. Desire. 

Aemond kept his hand on a strand of your hair, running the dark lock through his fingers. His violet eye met yours. 

Suddenly, you wondered if he felt it too. Through the hatred and disdain, did desire for you reside in him as well? You felt your stomach sour as you gazed upon him. Luke.    

How could you think these things, feel these things about your brother’s murderer? You pull away from him, tearing your gaze from his, and walk towards the fireplace.

“Does that frighten you?” Aemond asks. 

“What?”

“The thought of our bedding,” he tells you. You shake your head. 

“We shall do our duty,” you tell him, watching a muscle in his jaw clench. His eye rakes over your body, as though seeing through the gown you wear. It is one of Helaena’s, a pale blue. Aemond enjoys the color on you. 

“Aemond?” you call, and Aemond blinks his eye back toward your face. Your lips are parted, cheeks flushed. Aemond hums in response. 

“Come here,” you beckon. Aemond does what he is told, before you once more in a few strides. The heat from the fire kisses your cheeks, the golden light dancing in your dark eyes. Aemond feels bewitched as he looks upon you. 

“I would like to try something,” you whisper and he nods, a look of confusion on his face. 

You lean forward slightly and Aemond recoils, as prepared for you to strike him. Your eyes widen, the blush on your cheeks darkening. You look towards his lips and he realizes what you wanted. 

Slowly, Aemond leans down towards you, and you reach up behind his neck to assist him with connecting his mouth to yours. Your hand tangles itself in his silver locks, grasping at the nape of his neck. Aemond’s mouth is gentle, he kisses you softly. He wraps a hand around your waist, pulling you closer and angling his head to deepen the kiss. When you feel the smooth muscle of his tongue enter your mouth, your lower stomach erupts in butterflies. 

A content noise leaves your lips as Aemond’s other hand pushes against your lower back. You continue kissing, silhouetted by the fire roaring beside you. You finally pull away, staying closely wrapped around Aemond, breathing in each other’s breath. 

“I still hate you,” you murmur against his lips. Aemond’s lips curl into a smirk.

“I hate you right back.”

taglist: @bellaisasleep, @the-phantom-of-arda, @polireader, @savinasavers, @maylaysia109, @tempt-ress, @m00n5t0n3, @writemeoutofreality @krispold @lonadane, @happinessinthebeing

[forgottenliv]

—Some have already proven that they believe our actions to be unwise. Their conviction may only grow stronger with time.

—So we prove them otherwise.

No joke I think about this fic by @cmyksky just about every day, and today I felt compelled to draw this exchange. Among countless other things, I love the subtle implications that they know and work with each other well, coupled with the rising tension. A portent of darker times to come indeed.