#viridian mercy

[tazlov]

Viridian Mercy: Chapter 1

“...Hello…? Can you hear me…?”

I breathed in deep as my senses started to return to me. Something bright shone in my eyes; I shied away from it, turning my head with a groan.

“Can you tell me your name?”

The light went away suddenly, and a gentle hand guided my head upright again. I did not recognize the person tending to me, but they had the universal sign for medicine embroidered on their uniform.

“Hey, can you tell me your name?” They tried again to get me to focus.

I tried speaking, but coughed instead. This time I was good. “...Samantha Down.”

“Okay, good. Do you know where you are right now?”

I glanced around for clues. Nothing really came to me… there was a mask on my face, and little bugs crawling around my person. It was nighttime on this planet… last time I was awake, it was broad daylight.

How long was I out for? How long had I been dying?

“...Don’t know…” I eventually croaked out, trying to move away from this stranger.

“Alright. My name is Veth, I'm gonna be taking care of you, okay?” The medic strapped something to my arm, and waved someone else to join her. They worked together to hoist me onto what felt like a bed but I could only assume it was a stretcher, then hovered me to somewhere cooler and with less bugs.

In my delirium, I could only see shining lights and cold metal. This girl was kind of cute, though. It was only a passive thought as I stared at her… I wasn’t really myself at that moment.

“Doing okay, Samantha?” The medic tied a tourniquet onto my arm, found a vein, then swabbed the arm with a cold alcohol wipe.

“...Just Sam…” All I could think to say was correcting her on my name. I hated the name Samantha.

“Alright, Sam, you're gonna feel a little pinch.” And a pinch I felt. Didn't hurt that much, compared to how the rest of my body was feeling. Aching, bruises, maybe a broken bone somewhere. 

I don't even remember how this happened. Or how the Viridian Alpha-Hotel team found me.

“Human female in her twenties, BP 90 over 75. Pulse 48. How are you feeling, Sam?” Clearly an attempt to keep me awake as the world drifted and blurred. 

I tried my best to keep my eyes on her. But she definitely injected me with something. “...Fine.”

She smiled a little, looking confused. She glanced up at her partner. “...Pretty impressive.”

“Yeah,” the other one chuckled. “If that were me, I'd be crying on the floor right now.”

“...I'm good like that.” I smirked, attempting humor. It worked.

“Alright, Sam,” the medic refocused, untying the tourniquet and keeping an IV in my arm. “We're gonna take you somewhere safer.”

“Cool.”

“I want you to count down from ten for me, okay?” The medic found another needle, checking it for air bubbles before injecting it.

“...Okay. Ten… nine…”

I don't remember anything after that.

---

Viridian Alpha-Hotel were some pretty slick dudes, that was for sure. I was patched up in no time.

I woke up again in a small bed, somewhere sterile, somewhere white. Really white. Somehow my own skin didn’t even compare.

They decided to keep that girl near me, checking things like vitals and noting down my condition. She must have been a doctor on-call or something.

“Hi, Sam!” The medic looked up as my heart rate quickened, and it was detected on the monitor. She stood from her seat, setting aside her tablet. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty… pretty slow.” Slow was the right word. I felt more awake, but somewhat groggy, and everything else somehow moved faster than me.

“Any pain or numbness?”

“Hurts, yeah.” I tapped my left arm to my head, then my chest.

“You took a few hits in those places, yeah. Bruised up pretty good.” The medic nodded slowly, keeping her hands together out of politeness. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I… I think…” I closed my eyes, trying to sort through the fog. I took a few seconds. “...I got jumped by some wild animal. I'm good, you know, but I'm not that good. Killing tigers is way easier than whatever I killed.”

The medic nodded, collecting her tablet again to write down some notes. “So, Sam, it looks like you sustained some lacerations and deeper cuts that needed stitches, so we went ahead and did that. I wouldn't recommend going back to work anytime soon, at least for a couple of days until you've healed up.”

“...Eh.” I rolled my head to the side. “...It was a shit job anyway.”

“You…” the doctor paused for a second.

I decided to clarify. “I'm a privateer, actually. I take whatever odd jobs people give me. Shit like treasure hunting and studying animals and stuff like that.”

“Oh, I see. So you mean this job is not…”

“Not worth it, no.” I rolled my eyes. “Didn't pay me nothing, and for what? Getting my eyes gouged out by a giant dinosaur? Hell no.”

The doctor laughed at that, and wrote down something else. “Understood. Well, I'm going to let you rest for a while. If you need anything, just press that button over there.”

She stood up, and gestured to the button. I glanced at it, then decided I wouldn't use it. Too tough for that.

The doctor walked off now, sliding the glass door over, and made sure to keep the curtains closed before leaving. I was alone with myself, again… 

…Running out of options.

Not like I was gonna be able to job search any time soon anyway.

---

“Miss Down?”

A new voice, deeper and masculine. I blinked awake from my nap… or perhaps it was already tomorrow. No windows in this place, so it was hard to tell without a clock.

I glanced around for the voice, and it came attached to this large-looking fellow, a familiar reptilian face. I was having a hard time placing his name, but judging by the dark green suit and luxurious tie, I figured he seemed important.

“Ah, I'm sorry to bother you…” he took a seat in the chair nearby. Tried keeping it casual. “...But I was just wondering if you would happen to be looking for work at some point soon.”

“N-now?” I sputtered, trying not to laugh. “Sir, respectfully, I just got my shit rocked.”

“I know! I know that.” He laughed a little, raising his hands. “I don't mean right this second. But when you've healed a bit, I mean.”

“Well…” I shrugged as best I could. “...I mean, I guess I'll need to look for work anyway… but it depends on the job.”

He laughed again, as if I had said something stupid. Even if I had, I was drugged up on dope and morphine. Can't exactly blame me.

“...My name is Re’lio D'varaas.” He took a second to properly introduce himself. “I’m one of the spokepeople of Viridian Corp.”

“Oh.” Now I understood. Dude was fishing for workers for his own company. I let out a sigh, and he caught that.

“I understand you may not be interested or, uh, you might be too out of sorts for a proper answer…” He shuffled around to find something in his pockets. “...But at the very least, I just wanted to chat about it. I'll give you my card…”

He finally found his card to contact, in a lustrous green with white writing on it. The card looked pretty cool, I had to admit that, at least. But I took offense to the fact that he was looking for workers in a goddamn hospital.

He must have sensed my annoyance. “...Miss Down—”

“Just Sam is fine.”

“Okay, Sam… they just happened to pull your record of jobs, and I happen to have access to those records. I came to you because your streak of finished jobs is near perfect, and the feedback you've gotten is astounding! I would just like to say, if you were interested, no interview would be required.” He gave a smile, with a lot of little pointy teeth. I always thought those were fun. “Just take some time to think about it, and if you want to join Viridian, just give me a call.”

“...Okay.” I brushed some of my hair around. Happened to bump into a sore spot. “...I'll let you know.”

“Fantastic. Get some rest now… and again, I'm sorry for the intrusion.” He stood up now, sorting all of his things, and gave me a little wave as he exited.

That was… really weird to me. I have never gotten a sudden job offer like that, especially at a hospital. But if he snooped around the way he did, and found my records, I suppose I would jump at the chance too.

I shone the card against the light of the room. A beautiful color, the edges tapered, and his name on the back. 

Part of me wondered… what it would be like to work with that doctor.

I rolled my eyes, quickly dismissing the thought. There was no way I would be assigned to work with her anyway. Unless maybe I asked.

Ain't no way in hell am I doing that.

I placed the card onto the table next to me, and tried to quiet my thoughts until I fell asleep again.

[alackofghosts]

did the real artist thing of swatching my paints for once... can this magically make me good at mixing colours too? please?

[magistralucis]

what happens in the sanctum stays in the sanctum... maybe 😳 [Trazyn/Orikan snippet]

(Excerpt from the second chapter of Viridian. Simple and straightforward, two lovers getting down to business after thousands of words of foreplay. Chapter is mostly done; I've not been very well recently so progress is slow, but we're getting there.

Literally nothing about this snippet is SFW. Please be mindful reading 😆)

-----------

In hindsight, the Way had not been his finest choice in life as an oracle; when Orikan broke his vow he suffered little as a result, but he truly hadn't sworn it with the intent of breaking it. He had looked out for himself, he had tried to be indifferent. But fast-forward two decades and Orikan was regularly making love to an overlord, guiding his hot flesh inside his body until the lord was begging to spend, so suffice to say that part of his life plan had been nixed for good. Oh, the soul's ironies, the curious twists of fate.

"Trazyn…"

As soon as the archivist was made comfortable Orikan fell upon him again with kisses, his lips roaming from throat to lip to forehead. Trazyn's hair was most exquisitely mussed about the temples and he kissed that too, nigh clutching the lord's head to his chest. By this point Orikan's inner robes were barely hanging on from his shoulders, and he laughed breathlessly as Trazyn rifled and sucked his bare bosoms, leaving the tips glistening when he finally pulled away. "The lord archivist asks me to take a seat." He said, panting slightly as he felt how firm and keen Trazyn was beneath his hand. "Shall I take you now, then? Should I lead on?"

"Yes, do." Trazyn's eyes were fair glazed with lust. His index traced the metagold glyphs on Orikan's chest, toying with the hardened tip of one nipple. "You can do anything you like with me, dear one."

A smile quirked the astromancer's lips. "A dangerous thing to say to a cryptek, my lord, you'd risk anything?"

Trazyn nodded, too short of breath to speak. Orikan bent down to kiss him again, linking the fingers of both their hands and gently pinning Trazyn in place. He was just raising his hips to get into position when he spotted a slip of cloth trailing from his pocket - Trazyn's blindfold, quite forgotten since they'd stepped foot into the sanctum - and a refined desire bloomed in his heart. "Allow me."

He gently guided the overlord's wrists above his head. "Now what's this?" Trazyn laughed muzzily, glancing upwards as Orikan began to bind his wrists with the cloth. The posture made him arch his back further, his robes sliding from his chest and accentuating the hollow of his sternum. "Keep my hands to myself, I see. Have I been too eager, little one, is this a punishment?"

"You made a promise and I hold you to it." Orikan deadpanned, though his eyes glittered with mischief: the knot was so loose that Trazyn could escape it with a tug, they both knew it was just play. His fingers paced slowly down the dip of Trazyn's chest. "No, it's not. You've been very good, actually, I didn't think you'd hold out for so long."

Trazyn puffed out a laugh. Oh, ye of little faith. He held back the faintest moan as Orikan's hand slid down past his belly, stopping just short of his quivering arousal. "There's one thing in this sanctum more precious than anything else inside it, and he already belongs to me. Why would I stray to anything else?"

Orikan felt a great tenderness overtake him. "Trazyn."

There was no reason to delay any longer. The Diviner moored a knee beside each of Trazyn's thighs to straddle him, then sat back to show off his sex, parted like a seashell and glistening. Primal heat radiated from it, his small opening clenching and unclenching with anticipation. Trazyn blushed and struggled weakly against his bonds, wanting to caress the taut muscles of Orikan's thighs. They were his only Immortals' inheritance, but how lovely and powerful they were, how well he wrestled with them indeed. "Orikan, sweet Orikan. Pray have mercy on an old man."

"Not that old." Orikan coaxed as he slid himself slowly over the erection, his juices slicking it in slow hot drips. (They had a slew of other lubricating products - scented oils, warming balms, salves to tighten or loosen as desired - but they never actually remembered to use them, so easy they were to arouse.) The nether lips brushed against the leaking tip in a kiss, paused to let their fluids mingle; Orikan then grasped the arousal and guided it to his entrance, and embraced it with a steady plunge, savouring the lord's heated moan as they were finally united. "Oh, oh."

Trazyn normally liked to take his time with this part, nudging the tip of his member again and again between Orikan's lips and smiling leisurely at the other's frustration. Oh, how the tables were turned, and how sweetly did the overlord sigh, breathless and languorous and luxuriant. "Darling."

They had missed this so terribly.

[drconstellation]

More Half-and-Half-A-Miracle Thoughts

Part 2: The Dark side of Aziraphale

Updated 10 Nov 2023

Part 1: Miracle Power Ranking is here. Part 3: The Third Archangel is here

There was one that thing that struck me about the miracle working scene: why did Gabriel offer crossed hands to the duo?

Gabriel offers his right, his good, heavenly angel-sided hand to Crowley first, and his left, his sinister-sided demon hand to Aziraphale.

And this is NOT an accident.

Its been observed that Gabriel, in his amnesiac state like this, has reverted back to a more base-state angelic being, one of joy, and love, and curiosity. He's acting on instinct here.

Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. The demon has more light in him than the angel, and Gabriel and can feel that instinctively. This really shouldn't be a surprise to us, its been in our face all along. Now don't get me wrong - Crowley is still a demon, and Aziraphale is still an angel, I'm not saying that they aren't. Mostly we talk about how Crowley isn't all that much of a demon at heart, just "going along with Hell as far as [he] can," but we don't really talk about much about that other side of Aziraphale other than wishing to see more of his BAMF! side.

You know what - its a side that thanks to all of the rest you ops and meta-ists out that that I've come to both fear and appreciate. And let me tell you, if I found myself in a dark alley on a bad night I would hope to God it was Crowley I bumped into , because I feel he would at least give me the choice to walk out alive. I don't think Aziraphale would, I would be at the mercy of how ever he decided he wanted to manipulate the situation...and I find that rather chilling.

Crowley might be the charred demon with a heart of gold, but Aziraphale is the two-sided bastard of an angel he loves. All bright light casts a shadow. Its easy for us to be blinded by the shining light of goodness and right and the side of God (er, hang on, isn't the GO God an eldritch horror in disguise...?) and not be able to see what is hiding behind it.

We rarely see the back of Aziraphale's waistcoat, because he is rarely seen without an overcoat on, a covering of social propriety. There is the noticeable occasion in S2E1 when Crowley comes back to do the apology dance then they perform the hiding miracle (see screenshot below, and it was still hard to chose a good angle for all it went on for several minutes!) and perhaps in S1 when he spends all night reading Agnes Nutter's book. Both times its only in the privacy of the book shop, under the cover of night. So its easy to miss that the color of the back panel is a most un-angelic color: a dark viridian green. I know I keep banging on about this, but its important, and in more ways than one.

[Edit: Since I first wrote this, I've written a mega-meta on all the colours in GO, and some of the following interpretation has changed a little - but the significance of the green still stands!]

All the angels wear some form of a pale colored neutral palette, ranging from white to beige to taupe (white, off-white shades and shades of brown,) with dove-grey for the known in-show seraphim, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel and Saraqael. Gold and blue are also associated with Heaven. But Aziraphale is the only angel to wear green and shades of blue-green. He's quite unique in that department.

The colors of Hell are completely different. Black, lots of black. And red, different shades of red. The demons are actually quite a colourful lot, but do tend towards the darker shades. Red is a colour of passion, not just a demonic colour, although it can be associated with the demonic sinister left hand side. The main colour of Hell is actually green - the thick green light that you almost of have to swim through in the crowded halls of Hell, and examples like the green stag on Furfur's sash. It represents chaos, in competition to the rigid lawful nature of Heaven.

So while Aziraphale mostly presents a socially acceptable angelic front, its telling only Crowley has properly glimpsed that dark, shady, bit-of-a-bastard unpredictable side to him - and likes it. (More from Cobragardens about it here in 1793 Paris and 1601 at the Globe.) I mean, come on - this is a being that sent a man to his death so he could go on lunch date? A lunch date he practically concocted just so he could see Crowley. wtf? A being of love who was about to shoot the Antichrist to stop Armageddon? A being who quietly and efficiently discouraged the mafia who threatened to set the book shop on fire from ever returning? (See, told you I didn't want to meet him a dark alley...) Plus we saw him mind-control a whole roomful of people for his Jane Austen-themed ball, just to woo his beloved demon, with no thought of the possible collateral damage. I'm sorry, is this the same "guardian angel" we were all glowing over earlier?

The coat lapel as wings theory adds some weight to this hidden dark side of Aziraphale as well. Aziraphale's lapels always point downwards, towards Hell. Particularly when he has been discorporated and returned to Heaven, where frustrated about being told he has to gear up for war, he instead wonders out loud if he can return to Earth to a possess a body, reasoning that if demons can, he must be able to as well. lmoa! You are so not an angel, my dear! Yet...he isn't a demon either. He's almost...a bit of both. Two sides to a coin. A blend of light and dark. Shades of grey...although he doesn't like to admit it.

Image by lomiel

Back to the shadow-like green panel on the back of the waistcoat.

Actually, on second thoughts, I'm going to put that in Part 3.

[help-an-alter]

we have three alters who need help with their identities.

one is very cutesy, hyper femme egirl. she's been here for a little while. she wants things related to lovesick, gorey, and video game themes! she would like names, pronouns, and things she would enjoy.

the one is a bit confusing. they're not a human, they mimic humans. they don't talk often. they're very much connected to liminal horror. they want names and things to do. neutral names preferably.

the last one is connected to the umbrella academy. they're sourced specifically off of klaus and five. they want neutral or feminine names related to mystery, tarot, spirits, and time travel. they also want things to do, comforts, and pronouns.

Hello! I did my best with this one, and I hope it can help! However, I highly recommend googling the trigger warnings for the enjoyment recommendations. Particularly with the first alter, many of the things listed are either quite heavy, gorey, or just generally has potentially triggering content. Be safe and have a good day! :]

1

NAMES: love, aimee, cerise, cherry, cordelia, vevina, esme, carina, adora, amorette/amoretta, avila, carwen, amara/amora, cher, venus, kaira, evie, maisie, lottie, lacey, mimi, rose/rosie, rosanna, winnie, minnie, treasure, admire/admira, willow, veil, annette, ameri, aerith, mercy, mei, sora, techna, mochi, bunny, blossom, evangeline, eleanor, clementine, vivienne, juliet/juliette, nadine, arachne, ariadne, circe, calliope, ambrosine, narcissa, melancholia, grimoire, bite, minerva, miriam, mana, mania, crave, desire, passion, wrath, ophelia

PRONOUNS: ei/eir/eirself, love/loves/loveself, love/sick/lovesickself, heart/hearts/heartself, gut/guts/gutself, rot/rots/rotself, blood/bloods/bloodself, sla/slash/slashself, exe/exe/exeself, vi/vir/virself, vae/vaer/vaerself, do/dove/doveself, ro/roes/roeself, ro/tic/romanticself, cu/pid/cupidself, er/eros/eroself (alt. eris), cru/crush/crushself, stab/stabs/stabself, yan/dere/yandereself (can be done with any archetype), rip/rips/ripself, fle/flesh/fleshself, joy/stick/joystickself, ga/me/gameself (alt. gaming), gli/glitch/glitchself, vid/video/videoself, cli/click/clickself, pix/el/pixelself

THINGS TO ENJOY: doki doki literature club, yandere anime’s (mirai nikki/future diary, happy sugar life, etc), classic horror movies, just cutesy but darker anime’s in general (when they cry, made in abyss, higurashi no naku koro ni, etc), omori, one shot, yume nikki, irisu syndrome, you me and her: a love story (steams version has tons of removed content, but there are sites that provide the full game), katawa shoujo, danganronpa, pony island, school-live, fate/stay night, muv luv (the first is relatively normal, the second is where it gets interesting)

2

NAMES: scratch, scream, ghost, hyde, corner, ephemeral, mystic(al), surreal, dream, evanescent, kaleido/kaleidoscopic, cthonic, cthulhu, hypno(tic), eerie, vapor, vaporwave, anomic, dim, nocturne, null, veld, nim/nym, nox, quill, carbon, vale/veil, peregrine, sal, maris, lux, poet, cove, vesper, rook, elixer, glow, soul/sol, naren, endelian, viridian, aether, zenith, shrike, heath, crypt, hex, styx, dread, vex, howl, fable, hale, shade, vaughn

THINGS TO ENJOY: lots of roblox games (evade, doors, 3008, apeirophobia, etc), studying the backrooms, looking into architecture related to older buildings, found footage, lost media, the movie don’t worry darling, the movie skinamarink, short films on youtube, learning about folklore, exploring google maps, weirdcore tiktoks, weirdcore games, superliminal, mirrors edge, scp, stanley parable

3

NAMES: leto, haze, enigma, veil, rune/runa, mystique, wulfrun, calypso, calliope, raven, aradia, blair, sloane, genesis, maze, mazikeen, lilith, medea, elspeth, tamsin, lydia, shiloh, tatiana, lucina, anima, banshee, sybil, cerelia, neander, signe, evening, millennium, lustrum/lustram, sunday, mist(y), gloom, seraph, sera, shade, gargoyle, loom, moon, paige (page of ___), ace, empress

PRONOUNS: tar/aro/tarotself, arc/ana/arcanaself, maj/major/majorself, my/ster/mysteryself, haunt/haunts/hauntself, spi/rit/spiritself, ti/ime/timeself, clo/clocks/clockself, er/era/eraself, dec/ade/decadeself, year/years/yearself, hour/glass/hourglasself, ma/gic/magicself, mana/manas/manaself, gho/ghost/ghostself, sand/sands/sandself, thon/thons/thonself, card/cards/cardself, div/divs/divinityself (alt. divineself, divself), coin/coins/coinself, cup/cups/cupself, wand/wands/wandself, pent/acle/pentacleself, sword/swords/swordself, tar/taro/tarotself, ture/future/futureself, pas/past/pastself, ca/calen/calenderself, cen/centuryself, ve/ven/venself, a/ages/ageself, eni/enis/enigmaself, cry/crypt/cryself (alt. cryptic)

THINGS TO ENJOY / BRING COMFORT: practice several forms of divination (tarot, runes, bone throwing, even playlists can be divination, etc), look into witchcraft and/or paganism, watch time travel related media, explore a graveyard, respectfully clean gravestones, leave offerings to your ancestors (i recommend doing research into this first), create a way to show your identity (ie. bracelet, necklace, etc), cleanse yourself/your home, read mystery novels

divider by strangersgraphics-archive

[yaaadooon]

I must know your headcannons on Kantrio and Johtrio interactions

OKAY!!

i think i'm stating the obvious here and i hope that's alright!

in this scenario i consider red and ethan to be the protags, they are the heart of these relationships.

The kantrio consider the johtrio their juniors, for a VERY long time but eventually as they get older they see each other on equal terms, for the most part.

ethan was the first one to meet red and blue, red sees him as his energetic lil kouhai for the most part, they get along swimmingly because ethan is a nice, sweet guy, but not a doormat. i think when it comes to training pokemon, they're a 50/50 split. but people tend to remember red more than ethan. ethan is pretty okay with that, except when you annoy him enough.

blue however doesn't gel with ethan's personality, blue is flighty, impulsive and ethan is a bit grounded, wholesome even. also ethan did not like being the go between for red and blue's Weird shit when they were teenagers.

this is probably why he gels with leaf. they pretty much bond over their shared Dissatisfaction with whatever blue is. except leaf actively trolls blue. ethan is way more passive aggressive about it.

and leaf has lots of money, mysteriously. nobody knows what she does for a living but she is generous with money, funding her little besties ventures. she's like the wine aunt with the ekans around her neck and a glass of merlot in her hand at all times. she's a bit of a schemer, but it all works out for her.

i'm still trying to figure out lyra, i think pokemas does a bit with her as a musician? i like that, fits her name too. she's down for anything essentially, blue is her bestie for real actually. if ethan is too much of a wet blanket then lyra's the opposite.

i also think red and ethan are just. whipped. maybe. oh sure they are powerful trainers but they live at the mercy and whims of their partners.

silver might require a whole separate thing, she's trans femme in my head, as an adult. i think it would be REALLY FUNNY if ethan was the one who came up with her name because he didn't get the chance to process what was on her trainer ID and came up with "Silver" when put on the spot.

red likes silver a lot, she's easy to work with, minds her own business, and is a really strong trainer. blue was the one who recommended her to become viridian city gym leader after him. leaf and her have a really funny relationship where leaf sees her as her little sapphic junior that she imparts all the lesbian lore onto and silvers like "you're only like three years older than me wtf?" silver sees right through her lol.

I THINK thats it for now, all a WIP really but i've been thinking about it for weeks. i just hope it all makes sense!!

[sweetmyrrhs]

i have been loved but i cannot love.

I have my first lover's tongue; she taught me how to run my mouth like a sailor. It was a sneaky virus, one that planted curses and insults and swears into my spine where it lies dormant. Through her breath I have been infected with her tongue — and it spreaded to my eyes too, she never turned her head — I eye people with disdain, glaring at them sideways — I have no care in the world. She rammed a wooden chair against the classroom window once, her wrath extending to the shattered glass that lay like a butterfly's broken wings. Her tongue speaks of rage and bitterness and hurt, and through it I can taste the way she cried in her room, helpless as the only person who loved her in her childhood left, the way she speaks of her alcoholic mother who spends her money on amethyst beds and private jets instead of even casting a loving glance at her. She is broken, her tongue is sharp — I break, I sharpen my tongue.

I have my twin's eyes, she guides me with my pen — my pen is hers, and hers mine. I see the world partially in her saturated lens, the leaves shades of lime and chartreuse and viridian green, her cheeks pink like the light stain of cherry juice on someone's fingers when she smiles awkwardly, her lips twitching a little. Nothing is dull with the way she sees the world; in each corner of the street, where a sparrow is perched on the overhang like dust clinging to wool, or where a dove is nested in the twisted embrace of the branches, I can hear her point and say "that's a ringneck dove" or "did you know that house sparrows could swim?" She knows I see her in a stray cat wandering the pavements, staring at me with wide, knowing eyes, a glint of mischief reflecting off the amber. Light twinkles in her breath. She is quiet, but she sees, she watches, she knows, and her pen runs on paper like water on rocks.

I have my best friend's heart. Through her my arteries sigh and blood circulates in them — she is brilliant, a miracle the way humans should have never existed according to the laws of entropy, but she does. There is a halo tangled in her once-black-now-blue hair that feels like lemon mint lollies and glows like a sweaty summer sheen, one that I never ran my fingers on. They manifest like horns, like a gentle crescent — like an angel, a peregrine, she spreads her wings and let meteor showers pierce them instead of me. The safety of knowing I could always depend on her, the safety of knowing I could wander and roam and be lost and be free and be found by a lighthouse by the water — it thunders like a steady heartbeat, and a gentle heart thunders.

I am pieced together by so much love, love that was fresh rain, love that was a dwindling flame, love that went far and wide and always became — love that was a forgiving thunderstorm, love that was an arsonist's lullabye, love that cradled nothing but void and never came. Love rolls off me like sweat and oil, yet I love like sandpaper on skin, like an old farmer's callous palms. I cannot trace my fingertips on someone's skin without scraping them with my sharp nails. I cannot give a tender compliment without a sharp retort — I know I am not a lover, because I have been loved with cruelty and mercy and suffering and bliss. I have only loved with me, and me alone.

Like a tumultuous sea I am no lover. I punish with harsh waves, I overthrow boats and ships until canvas sails lay tattered on the blue. I love with my hands, the part of me that was always mine, rough and untouched and never softened, and I rob the breath from their lungs until I become oxygen itself. I am not God, but oh, would I love by nailing myself to a cross, I would love angry and gory and bloody and mean if it would mean anything more. Forgiving is the word I would look for, and love is nothing but ruthless, and I am everything but ruthless.

[badwitch-if]

“I desire you. I burn for you. I can’t sleep at night for wanting you. Even when I didn’t like you, I lusted for you. It’s the most maddening, beguiling, damnable thing, but there it is.”

While she was pregnant Viridian's mother, Tabitha,  swore up and down that she was cursed. In her prophesied dreams, she saw herself in the deep belly of a cave during the Worm Moon. She was laying on a pile of bones and among them were her own, and those of her child. But she also saw herself begging any creature that might hear her calls, to grant her mercy and slay her and the babe she carried, putting an end to her curse. 

When she emerged days later, covered in blood and green ichor and carrying a silent wrapped bundle, her family and the local witching community assumed the worst. But then the raven-haired Poe let out a foundation-shaking cry and all was seemingly well. And soon after all that commotion, Tabitha was spotted back in the company of her academy coven; the very same she'd been trying so desperately to escape. The Witches she claimed had cursed her. But once she’d had Poe, she couldn't be around them enough, especially MC's mother, Keena. 

Because those that knew better knew that the two Witches shared a powerful and vicious rivalry, so whatever was bringing them together must be very important to them both. Whatever it was that had them toiling away in the dungeons below the castle's inhabitants was secret enough that it was kept from the rest of their trueblood coven. 

And so it often was that Viridian Poe was alone, or else in the company of one of the many nannies and other staff. They cried and screamed for nights, weeks, months, until they realised it was all terribly in vain. There was one kindly nanny who took pity on him, a humane named Franklin. Frank had big, ruddy cheeks and white-blond hair; he was quick to laugh and unlike the others, still believed that laughter and good things could be coaxed out of young but sour-faced Viridian. 

The two of them spent countless hours alone, reading or trying various instruments, countless pastimes, until Franklin was invited to a Demonhall match one evening. The sport had only been around a few decades at that point and was still struggling to find its niche. They had only recently started allowing entry to Humanes in an effort to boost ticket sales. Franklin brought Poe a flier, and they couldn't stop tracing their chubby little fingers around the cartoon for covens, so it was settled. 

And entering the Demonhall arena that night,  Viridian Poe came alive. They finally felt the magic in the world, and the same magic, running through their veins; and they felt what happened when they squeezed their little fists, and the magic pooled there until it made their fingers feel funny and they had to let go. But when they finally looked back up and rejoined the action of the game, it was just in time to witness a Witch transmuted into a small boulder. They’d just fallen in love for the very first time. 

The next time Keena and MC returned it was for a much longer stay, and the two young Witxhes were thrown together a considerable amount. MC's mother didn't insist on a nanny for the little Witxh, so Franklin often spent this time catering to both charges. So this often meant afternoons spent [REDACTED] and evenings in the [REDACTED]. Viridian didn't entirely hate their life when it looked like that. 

Mostly, Tabitha had as little to do with them as possible. She tutted in during official holidays and posed for photos, but that seemed to be the extent of her requests. Much unlike MC's mother, Tabitha wasn't knocking down the door every few months to take unknown quantities of Poe's blood. So they had that to thank their mother for, at the very least...

As always, Franklin worked tirelessly to keep their mind happy and occupied, as it was often prone to drifting towards the darker corners of the room and life. They were quickly growing up with a dark, sardonic view on life, even with their nanny's best efforts to keep the grisly at bay. They devoured books at a level and pace that was leagues ahead of most of their peers. 

From the moment Poe arrived at the assessments, it was like all of the anxiety they'd been carrying for the last decade coalesced in the pit of their stomach. They knew something was terribly off, horribly wrong. It didn't feel like they were expecting it to. Not knowing what to do, they desperately started pushing through the crowds of loud kids, looking for MC. 

They don't find MC that morning but when they eventually do, they're already congregating around a small group of kids, and Viridian knows that everything their little hearts had planned together was not meant to be. Those had been the foolish dreams of children stuck under the heels of their mothers. It was silly to think that once they were really and truly free, that those dreams would hold any stock in the real world. That was a hard day in a lifetime of hard days for little Viridian Poe, and so they hardened themselves just a little bit more. 

But as it went, Viridian was placed in Golden Hills [the Golds, isn't it swell?] which, as the name so coyly suggested, was the supreme ranked coven. But even a victory that sweet couldn't quell the anger in their young spirit. And so they recommitted themselves to knowing all that there was to know; to being the absolute best Witxh that had ever existed. Hard magics, especially spells and potions, came to them with an almost natural ease. Poe wrote to his retired nanny at least once a week, asking his advice on certain things and generally keeping him updated on their academic progress. 

For the first few years at the academy Viridian would interact with MC as little as possible, even if that meant having to accept a detention for refusing to partner with them during class. But all of that would change once they both started competing in Demonhall. And just like they'd come alive in the arena all those years ago, a part of Poe changed the first day the Golds really competed against the Silverlakers. The thrill of the game took over, and every little thing they'd meticulously read and filed away, was suddenly being called to service. It was all right there, at their fingertips and they were unstoppable!

There was suddenly an over-confident swagger, an air of bravado that swelled to the surface. What was once a sullen silence had, almost overnight, turned into a mysterious angst, and a lot of the Witxhes around campus took notice. For their part, Viridian enjoyed the feeling of being wanted and pursued; it was all very new to them but it felt right. 

In the final years at the academy Poe would join the [REDACTED] club... along with MC. And as Fate would have it, when the group took a trip to the Montreal Ossuary in their final year, Viridian and MC [REDACTED]. It changed absolutely [REDACTED] and set off a world-shaking chain of events, that ended with the Golds taking the pivotal Demonhall championship. 

Following graduation, Poe was recruited by the current defending champions, the Ocean City Sirens. They went on to win back-to-back championships for the club before retiring from the sport at 23. After that they spent a couple years leisurely traveling the world with Franklin, before finally heading off to university to study Somnosophy, the philosophy of the fabled dream realm. 

Poe favours everything Alexander McQueen, Elie Saab and pieces that exemplify New Gothic, high fashion. Lots of black & dark jewel tones, luxurious fabrics & opulence

Poe has a pale complexion with olive undertones, and enviable bone structure. They're considerably taller than average and especially loves when that's pointed out to them. They have a lean & wiry frame; their arms & legs (at the very least) are covered in a complex tapestry of tattooed runes.

Viridian has long, straight black hair that hung in curtains around their face during school. But now they tend to wear it pulled back from their face, or else in an intricate braid atop their head.

Their eyes are indeed a dark viridian green, as Poe's mother had more irony than she knew what to do with. They sometimes wear thin, gold wired glasses – but only at home (in the early morning/late night).

*disclaimer, as always! I don't own any of these images, and the header quote is from Bridgerton queen, Julia Quinn

[alexius-fr]

"From the first nest of our Queen shall crawl three heirs, each strong and with the power of the Veridian Forest flowing in their veins. Their blood will run green, as a true heir of the forests' would. Your first child shall beget enormous ambition and drive, he will strive for dominance and accept no less than that. As the Promised Prince, it is his right. The second child shall possess the warmest of hearts, the patience of saints, and the mercy of angels. Gladekeeper blesses her favourite child with magic of the hearth. The third child will be granted the wit of the gods, and the gift, or perhaps curse, of knowledge." Such was the prophecy for the first nest of Queen Athabaela and her consort, Karaelas. The witch that spoke the prophecy had been sinister in appearance, his red eyes eerily peering from beneath a heavy hood, the scent of incense stark around him. But his words had become true indeed. Before Athabaela dawdled three younglings, each pulsing with the magic of the Viridian. A Prince, the firstborn, with a dark hide and darker eyes. A princess, who carried herself with grace already, and another girl, scrawny and scrunkly, with piercing eyes. Athabaela should be glowing with pride, it was after all her first healthy clutch, her progeny, her children. Her successors. Realizing this, she felt a twang in her chest, of hurt, of jealousy. These dragons were mere hatchlings, with no knowledge of the world, of life. She was a thousand years old, and had ruled these lands for most of those years. Why should she make way for these young ones? Was she not doing a fine enough job as Queen of her domain? Why should she bow to this.. snot nosed Prince she had birthed? No, she decided. He will not rule. Not while I breathe. I am the child of the Well Bearer, and this land is mine by right of blood.

[melmedardasworld]

Bonnie's funeral was months ago, so how come Klaus finds her in New Orleans?

Klaus suddenly stopped mid-stride of the masses. He tilted his head as if listening to something, but his preternatural senses zeroed in on the mystical energy nearby. The air was charged with it. Klaus couldn't put his finger on the familiarity of the mystic signature, but it was, without a doubt, magic. His thoughts drifted to Mystic Falls, but he locked the bleak recollection.

Klaus slithered between the crowd and dissolved from the people. He let his senses guide him toward the one who dared to ignore Marcel's rules. This witch was either desperate, a fool, or both. Klaus hadn't discovered his sire's secret weapon, but he would find out. New Orleans was his home in the past, yet Marcel acquired everything Klaus had yearned for centuries. Klaus clenched his jaw as an irrational fury simmered within before speeding off.

Klaus's skin rose in goosebumps when he rounded the corner of the side alley. The dense magic sucked in all the warmth and compacted it within this area alone as a steep cold. When the witch fell in sight, Klaus's arctic blue eyes dimmed like flinty beads. His body immediately locked out of instinct at the impossible symptom. Vampires didn't experience cold, let alone having that sensation manifest into goosebumps. Klaus watched the witch with narrowing eyes. Voluptuous inky-black coils pulled back and cascaded down a slender back. She was crouched in front of a salt pentagram on the floor with a hand hovering above.

The slow grin twisting near the corners of his mouth manifested a sinister overtone around Klaus. "You know that people around here have died for less?" Besides lowering her hand from the salt circle, the nameless witch didn't turn. "Yet here you are, breaking the one rule that has so many of your kind quaking with fear. It is quite bold of you to call upon your executioner." Klaus mused lazily, "I have a sibling with similar self-mutilating tendencies. As a good brother, I put him out of his misery with a dagger, and now he enjoys eternal sleep." Klaus tilted his head and asked, "shall I extend the mercy by offering you a quick death or let Marcel torture you instead?"

A soft sigh left her mouth, but she finally rose. Klaus kept a well enough distance that was perfect for offense and defense if needed. This witch expected- no, she wanted to be found, and an itching underneath Klaus's gums told him this act was deliberate. His fury spiked. The dark veins around his eyes rippled to life. "You dare lure me here, witch?! I already told your pathetic coven that I not will be commanded or manipulated!"

"It's not surprising that you think the world revolves around you." Klaus tensed, not by what she said but by who said it. Klaus followed her movements with eyes that slowly stretched as they drank in her presence. The intensity of her viridian eyes was the first thing that garnered his attention. Tension twisted at the base of Klaus's gut, and his breath quivered. Questions jostled through his mind, but all Klaus intended to ask was enunciated as a name he didn't think he'd ever utter again.

"Bonnie?"

☽🔮☾

Six months ago

The path was brief but felt long and heavy. Klaus's feet led him through the family burial ground. Stone-faced, he stopped in front of the recent tombstone. Klaus did his best to ignore the weight cementing itself in his bones. The ceremony was small and with family and friends. Klaus wasn't invited, but he watched the funeral proceeding, with a dark face, from the shadows.

Klaus Mikaelson lived for 1000 years. For centuries he never cared for anything. Yet, here he was, like a sentimental fool showing respect to the dead. This death didn't need to but did because of blinding loyalty and a lack of preservation. Klaus clenched the bouquet when his eyes finally swept along the name carved into the stone by her estranged parents.

Bonnie Sheila Bennett.

A breeze kicked the fallen leaves around Klaus. He raised his head, and an unlikely shiver crept along his skin. There was nothing there, but Klaus felt the wisps of magic. However, it didn't ease the scraping against his chest. No melancholy or peace settled. Klaus became restless as he stared at Bonnie's name. "This accursed town should count itself lucky that it will be spared from my wrath. You needn't worry, little witch, as you did your part." Bonnie did more than that. The words left an acrid aftertaste in his mouth. "I will do mine and leave Mystic Falls. Be proud, Bonnie Bennett. You successfully chased me out of this horrible place and saved the ingrates who didn't deserve you or your power." His mouth twisted, and a scowl blossomed. Bonnie Bennett would no longer be a thorn in his side. Ironically, there was no joy in saying these words to a dead enemy. "You prevented the prophecy hell from being unleashed upon the earth, your father and Jeremy live once more, you cured your mother, and your friends are safe." When the wind and Bonnie's magic settled, Klaus bent through his knees and set the flowers down. He ran a hand over the stone with wonder. "You can be at peace, little witch."

☽🔮☾

Klaus wasn't sure how long he stared, but his wide-eyed shock prompted an unimpressed frown from Bonnie. Despite the many questions ringing through his mind and the chaotic emotions rearing, Klaus's reaction was an explosion of raw impulse. In a split second, he sped forward to attack her. His sudden action caught Bonnie off-guard. The impact of the brick wall colliding with her back shuddered down her spine, and a firm grip squeezed down her windpipe. Through her glower, Klaus's distorted face drew closer and yelled, "you dare fool me with parlor tricks?!"

Bonnie's magic thrust outward to protect its mistress. The shockwave of pure mystic energy belted into the solid threat. Klaus propelled back like a puppet pulled back by its strings. He crashed into the concrete surface but swiftly picked himself up, ready to charge against this cheap illusion.

Bonnie stretched her arms, palms facing the ground, and flicked them down. Klaus howled when the force of her power brought him to his hands and feet by fracturing his bones. Bonnie coldly watched how he wrestled to break free. His double fangs were ready to tear through flesh like some frenzied beast. "The more you struggle, the easier it is for me to keep you down and break your bones."

"Then make sure to keep me subdued for your safety." Klaus sneered, his golden glower never breaking contact with her green irises. His face twitched heavily, but it wasn't just from the witch's dense power keeping him bound. She dared to bait him with her face and perceive it as his weakness?! "Is this your coven's grand plan? Luring me to the city to do your dirty work failed, so now you con me with the face of a dead enemy, proving again that all who stand against me turn into dust." Klaus ran his nails along the broken stone and swallowed the growl of pain when he pushed against gravity, pushing him down with each toil to rise.

Bonnie raised a brow before a snort left her mouth. "First of all, this is all me. I'm not part of the French Quarter Coven." Bonnie lowered her arms to her sides and started to walk. Bonnie's extraordinary power still subdued Klaus. "But having them lure you to New Orleans was my idea. I convinced them you'd be the perfect smokescreen in this war. I was right." Bonnie smiled and tilted her head. "Given your history with Marcel, knowing how power-hungry you are and your habit of taking things that aren't yours, you're the perfect distraction." The longer Klaus listened, the more the veins in his face rippled. The arteries near his temple stood out against his distorted features. The low rumble in his chest was feral and on the wrong side of sanity or reason.

Bonnie closed the distance, crouched through her knees, and crossed her arms over them. She rested her chin on her hand while staring at the fuming Klaus. "Just to be clear, I am the enemy that came out on top after going against you." Bonnie said the following words with such nonchalance that it took Klaus a moment to register them, "lastly, the funeral was fake, Klaus. I was very much alive and have been this whole time." The revelation stuttered Klaus's thoughts to an abrupt halt.

If you haven’t read Witch Bargain, please do. It’s related to the prose that I have in mind of Bonnie in New Orleans and getting involved in the war between the vampires and witches.

Happy Holidays!🎄

[another-corpo-rat]

Run Rabbit Run

A little something for the lovely @theviridianbunny 💕💕 Thank you for trusting me with your darling girl! She was a blast to write 🥰

Jackie Welles/OC Summary: A simple job for Wakako almost paints a target on Viridian and Jackie's back.

She loses herself easily in the lines of codes. Old habits raise their heads; her fingers move quicker than she can think. Eyes darting back and forth, back and forth.

It’s taken longer than usual to spot the pattern, to follow the threads to the knot where she can pull it loose and the laptop’s systems open themselves up to her fully. This one has been full of dead-ends, starting her with an immediately impossible grid more often than naught.

The only constant has been the employee ID on the top left of the screen. Arasaka undoubtedly, but she didn’t make a habit of memorising them. Yet as she sits back, narrowing her eyes at that series of numbers, something about it strikes her as familiar. Dangerously so.

Her fingers pause in their relentless tapping of the keys, hovering over the board as the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. There’s no one behind her aside from Jackie, but she still glances over her shoulder just to be certain. She catches his concern when she does; it wasn’t often that she would stop in the midst of an ICE-break.

“You good, V?”

“I’m—” an easy lie almost slips off her tongue, she catches it between her teeth. “No.” She admits instead, quietly pleased with how easy honesty is with him. It wasn’t like pulling teeth anymore, she didn’t have to worry about him sheathing it like a knife to drive into her back.

But that was a paranoia eased around Jackie and him alone, one she was working to extend to others in her new life. It’s difficult, but she’s trying. Still, she can’t help but ask: “Did Wakako tell you who the client stole this from?”

His lips get that little thoughtful twist to them, one that holds her gaze as he pokes through memories. He’s not happy with what he grasps, she can see that in how those lips press tight before he speaks. “Some self-important corpo, think they had the name of a bird? Can’t ‘member for sure, but she was waxing lyrical ‘bout them being a symbol of luck or something.”

Lead settles in her stomach, the heavy weight threatening to urge her lunch upwards as a chill curdles her blood.

‘Always stay two steps ahead, my dear.’ A rasp of a voice croons, low in her ear, deep in her memory. It wasn’t too long ago, two years, maybe three, that she worked with that woman. Arasaka’s Red Rabbit was known for an efficient brutality, feared for it, but if there was one who could claim the podium for cruelty it was her.

Viridian had delighted in it at the time, having an equal in skill and ferocity. In working alongside another who spared no consideration for things like mercy or morality; there was no right and wrong, just what needed to be done and who they had to cut through to do it.

Two of a kind, sharks circling their hapless prey.

“Crane?” She chances, grasping desperately to the hope she’s wrong.

But Jackie’s eyes alight with recognition, clicking his fingers as he confirms her fear; “Crane! Yeah, that’s the one.”

The name doesn’t coax the same delight it once did, taunting her instead as she slams the laptop shut. He straightens at the action, the light in his eyes gone as his brow furrows. His hands reach for her but hover, palms up in a placating motion. “Cariño?” He says gently, “You know them?”

“I- I know her. I know—” The smell of burning flesh, met with a simple click of the tongue. A dying man’s screams faltering into little more than desperate, rattling croaks.

‘It smells quite a lot like bacon, doesn’t it?’ It was different when she was in the chair. It allowed her a distance, in and out. The rabbit never lingered in fields it set aflame.

But the viper relished, and it made the rabbit look upon the violence it had helped create.

“J-Jac, we- we can’t. If we do this and she finds out—” It would be a rage Viridian might be able to weather, but it’s not her that Crane would target. It’d be Mamá Welles and Pepe, or Viktor and Misty. They’d be the ones to pay the price, a hefty thing only paid in full when they lie dead.

And for what? Some outdated data? A shard of blackmail that’d achieve nothing?

It wasn’t worth it; no amount of eddies would be worth it.

She struggles to get that rationale out; the words sit on the tip of her tongue but refuse to press forward. Jackie knows her well, sees the desperation and rests his steadying hands on her shoulders. The weight of them is familiar, comforting.

“We’ll call Wakako,” he says simply, voice calm to ease her anxieties, “tell her we can’t crack the ICE and hand the thing back.”

And it’s— simple. A reasonable excuse as any, even if she knows Wakako will meet the news with her cutting disappointment. “But you said every gig was a step towards making it big, won’t this be a step back?”

“Eh, could be,” he shrugs but his eyes are warm and a calloused thumb gentle as he trails it across her golden cyberware, “but we’ve no chance of getting there if we piss off the wrong people too soon, y’know. Ain’t gonna hurt if we err on caution now and then.”

It eases her enough to quell that sickening lurch in her stomach. “Alright,” she breathes out, trying to will the tension through her away. It vanishes completely as Jackie smiles and draws her in, tucking her head below his chin.

It’s alright. They’ll be alright.

[tazlov]

Queers

[sitp-recs]

Good evening!! thank you for all you do for this fandom you are a gem!!

it may sound odd but do you maybe have some recs on Harry/Blaise? Got curious all of a sudden and i can't seem to find any :(

You’re very welcome, anon! I don’t know many fics but I hope you enjoy these. I’ve also found this reclist on LJ and it looks great!

Harry/Blaise:

The Future Is a Timeless Mirror by Chromaticism (E, 1.5k)

Blaise’s arm snaked around his waist. “Stay with me?” Blaise asked. There was a quiet expectation in his voice, and Harry couldn't really think of a reason to say no. “Of course,” Harry said.

Hell is Empty by fantom_ftnoise (E, 2.7k)

Draco needs Blaise to get close to Harry to see if his feelings might be reciprocated. But Blaise gets too close and things get complicated. Pre-Drarry

Work Your Shit Out, Harry by kedavranox (E, 2.8k)

Harry really fucking wants Blaise. He just needs to work his shit out first.

A Change To Set Us Free by RoonilWazlibMalfoy (E, 4k)

With all that he went through, Harry learned how family and friends should treat him. Making some changes and connecting with some Slytherins turned out to be the best thing that he could possibly have done.

Slytherin Party by Vorabiza (E, 5.2k)

Technically based in my Malfoy Child universe, I briefly entertained the idea of pairing Harry up with Blaise while Draco was still a child. Obviously, I chose not to go in that direction, and this is now just a one-shot with Harry and Blaise at a Slytherin party.

The Not-Quite Birthday Cake by Bickymonster (E, 8.4k)

After a late evening in the Hogwarts kitchens, Harry bumps into a drunk Blaise and his evening takes an unexpected turn.

Vellum Voices by Lomonaaeren (T, 16k)

AU. Voldemort cursed Harry in the graveyard so that he can only speak Parseltongue. Harry embarks on his fifth year alternately furious and despairing and trying to learn faster writing, British Sign Language, and nonverbal casting all at once. It turns out that not all Slytherins are Malfoy or Snape, and not everyone is frightened of Parseltongue.

At the Mercy of Love by ArielSakura (E, 17k)

As an Apprentice Curse Breaker, Harry must pass one final test before he graduates. Unfortunately, he’s paired with the one person that could ruin it all. If they pass the test, Blaise Zabini will be his partner for the duration of his career at Gringotts, much to Harry’s dismay—because he’s had a crush on the man for years.

Harry/Draco/Blaise:

A Shower Surprise by articcat621 (E, 1k)

Draco finds quite the surprise in the Slytherin Changing Rooms.

Viridian by @wolfpants (E, 1.3k)

There’s just something about Draco. Blaise can’t quite put his finger on it, but it’s—an impulse. To poke, to prod, to pick his delicate wings off. To teach him some humility.

Can't I Have Both? by @nv-md (E, 1.8k)

Werewolves usually only have one mate, but of course, Draco has to be special and have two Alphas chasing after him. And he makes sure they always want him...especially when he can drag them into the loo of a club.

Landslide by dreamkiller (E, 24k)

“I’m sorry” Draco said. He dabbed at his mouth from where he’d almost spat out his drink. “Did I just hear you say that you have a boyfriend?”

[vodka-and-ocs]

WELCOME TO MY PERSONAL OC HELL

Abby Idris

Ada Amakiir (later Galanodel)

Adel Weiss

Alexana

Amber

Andromeda

Andy

Antares

Arbus Lawrence

Ari

Ariane Serta

Aster Nordström

Audrey

Bajern

Basil

Clarabell "Bell"

Barnard "Bernie"

Bleuet

Nathaniel "Brownie" Brown

Calliope

Camille James

Canopus

Cantique

Cassandra

Cecil

Cepheus

Cerys

Charlie

Cirrus

Claudia

Cobalt Nightingale (formerly Song)

Corbin

Dante

Daryl Galanodel

David Ceese

Decarabia

Deneb

Dust

El

Elaine

Eris Winberg

Etna

Eugenia

Eve

Fireweed

Narangerel "Gan" Purev

Gary Khan

George

Grace

Halley

Hazel Brown

Hedd

Helen C.C. Kobena (C.C. stands for Craterellus Cornucopioides)

Hemlock

(The) Hero

Herophilus

Hillen Eke

Himari Fujimori

Hortense

Hyacinth

Hyo

Irina

Isabelle de la Tour

Jak'raadun'zaerazylym "Silver Jack"

Jackie Lantern

Jessica

Jupiter

Kal Idris

Kamon

Keion Galanis

Kohaku

Kris "Krill"

Lakar

Laurel Walters

(Idris) Lavellan

Leco

Levi Eke

Lewis Glory

Lian

Linus

Liz (short for Lizard, allegedly)

Loveshot

Lyr Galanodel

Malachite

Marcus

Marine

Marisha

Mars

Mashael

Maul

Mavra

Megrim

Mercury ? (later Lawrence)

Mercy

Merryweather

Messier

Miel

Miracle

Mirage

Moira

Mournblade

Mushi ? (later Skoll)

Nadeem

Narcissus

Neptune

Nero

Nora Eke

Nur

Octave

Opal

Ophélie

Orpheus

Ortica

Ouroboros

Owen

Pea

Pendula

Persimmon "Percy"

Philomena

Phoebe Hobbes

Pickle

Pluto Cedeño

Poe K. Amon

Poem

Polaris

Priscilla

Prisme

Proxima

Rat

Ravi

Rena Idris

Rigel

Robjorn "Rob"

Sanctity

Saturn

Scylla

Sedna Ramanantsoa

Sepsha

Shrimp

Silas

Sinistre

Sirius

Sol Nordström

Swift J1818.0

Sylvia

Teeth

Temperance

Thej Mahariel

Tobias

Turmoil

Ulysses

Valerie (Valentine, Raphael, ...) Heart

Vega

Vell

Vincenza "Vinny" Fontanelli

Violet

Viridian

Will Frey

Willow

Wisteria

Yori Kamiya

Zelda

[lonely avatar]

[bubbly-art]

Bakudeku as Kids

"Did anyone tell you how your freckles look like stars?" The younger version of Katsuki asks to the viridian boy laying next to him.

"You really think so?" Izuku asks touching his own cheek, a small embarrassed blush covering his face.

"Of course!" The loud blond grins confidently.

Izuku giggles making the other's chest fill with pride.

"And your eyes it's like big gems! I think it's called emerals!" Katsuki grins at the other boy.

"Mmhh.. And Kacchan looks like... A Pomeranian! It's fluffy like your hair and you can act all tough like one, but sometimes you can be all nice! Like right now!" Izuku giggles and Katsuki smirks going on top of his friend and tickle him which made the other go on a laughing spree.

"HAHAHA- K-KaChANn! S-sTop iT tIckles!" The greenette tries to beg for the mercy of his friend who was already having a blast.

"I compare you to beautiful things and I'm a dog?" Katsuki asks teasingly.

"B-But A Pomeranian is c-cute!" Izuku manages to say between laughters making the other stop letting the other finally catch his breath.

"You think I'm cute? I'm handsome not cute! You're cute!" Katsuki pouts going back to laying next to Izuku again.

"M'kay, so you're a handsome Pomeranian!" Izuku grins proudly making the other laugh and soon enough they were both laughing like there was no tomorrow.

[rustbeltjessie]

Chicory illustration by Leanne Shapton; “Tender Mercies” poem by D.A. Powell, from American Wildflowers: A Literary Field Guide (Harry N. Abrams, 2022)

Tender Mercies

The dandelions, ditch-blown brood,                 the evening snow and dew-soaked phlox, the Brewer’s pea, the Jepson’s pea (these, the bright eyes of the viridian fields) in chaparral, the hillside pea and angled pea,                              intensities of light and pomp                that distress the easy upswept grass. The smack the rain plants as it smudges past                             and penetrates the canvas.

The smattering on field and railroad tracks,                both hardy blooms and dainty flowers, the judge’s house, the chicken farm, a migratory camp, a flesh motel,                             a stucco digs where all that mitigates the August swelter                is the swamp cooler’s immutable burr,                a straggling house that draws its water from a hard-water well and flushes out                with the help of a crude sump pump.

                           Before the flatland is occluded by the staunch of light at end of day, I wanted to be content with all its surfaces:                            weed, barb, crack, rill, rise... But every candid shoot and fulgent branch               depends upon the arteries beneath. The houses have their siphons                           and their circuit vents. The heart—I mean the literal heart— must rely upon its own plaqued valves; the duodenal canal, its unremitting grumble.                           The brain upon its stem, and underneath, a network, vast, of nerves that rationalize.

The earth’s a little harder than it was. But I expect that it will soften soon,              voluptuous in some age hence, because we captured it as art                          the moment it was most itself: fragile, flecked with nimbleweed,                                          and so alone, it almost welcomed its own ravishment.

I was a maiden in this versicolor plain.             I watched it change. Withstood that change, the infidelities of light, the solar interval, the shift of time,                         the shift from farm to town. I had a man that pressed me down into the soil. I was that man. I was that town.

They call the chicory “ragged sailors” here:            sojourners who have finally returned and are content to see the summer to its end.            Be unafraid of what the future brings. I will not use this particular blue again.

                                                                                 —for Betty Buckley