#<-chose the name because of the fucking CONTRAST with her design

[jimmerzz0905]

uhhhh title here

ANYWAYS, it’s been a little while since I last updated my MLP NG AU, but here’s one of Pinkie and Cheese’s kids!! her name is Sprinkledrop Pie and she has an obsession with skeletons and the macabre

her parents are kinda weirded out by this, but support her!! she’s also 18, and struggles to live up to her family’s pretty high positions (with her sister BB being a famous trombone player on tour with her band). she also likes baking, and writes some scarily intense poems about mundane things. she also can NOT take Sugarcube Corner’s aesthetic and would actually rather live in the middle of the Everfree Forest with a collection of pristine pony skeletons instead

(she also doesn’t actually have a cutiemark yet due to a condition)

[moreausposts]

EXORCIST/FALLENWINGS LORE I PULLED OUT OF MY ASS

this is all my personal headcanons and just shit i made up, but viv if you wanna hire me i’m not complaining

first: i see the debate constantly on whether or not exorcists are heavenborn or human souls, and personally i think them being heavenborn is just objectively cooler. it puts a good contrast between the exorcists and the sinners, y’know, since if they were never on earth they never would have met any sinners to gain sympathy for and would be easier to brainwash. that being said, no i don’t think they were ever technically “born” as babies, but i don’t think they spawned as full grown adults either.

because all of the angels’ designs are based on birds, i like the idea of them hatching from eggs. it’s just so silly to me to imagine, i love it sm. so in my head they all hatched from a nest of eggs adam had sera poof into existence once they settled on the agreement that he was permitted to raise an army for the betterment of heaven (he was their mama bird <3) as probably around 3-4 biologically? going off of human years. because while kids would be easier for adam to train, thirty something screaming babies wouldn’t be of much use to him.

all of their names are stupid as fuck, vaggie just got the shortest end of the stick. lute’s full name is literally just lieutenant. half of them are just body parts (wings, legs… vaggie), some get random words that just barely suit them (tall one is tree, short one is pipsqueak), and some of his favorites get instruments (guitar, drumstick, trumpet, and lieutenant gets shortened to lute when she’s not annoying him)

adam chose his favorites before they even hatched btw. he picked all of the coolest eggs and put them into a little pile. (vaggie’s was slightly cracked and a weird shade of pink-ish purple compared to all of the other black and white eggs so he decided she would be vagina right then and there)

also just because of how bratty lute is in canon, she doesn’t give “spent years working to earn her position” to me (don’t get me wrong i love her that’s my bbg) and because her name is literally just lieutenant, i like to think that her egg was the one adam felt the most protective of which is why she was deemed lieutenant before she had even hatched. i also just don’t think he’d want to go through the headache of raising all of the girls equally for them to fight over the position of being his right hand when he could just have one pre-guaranteed and train her separately.

unfortunately, this backfired tremendously! because once the girls started growing up it was pretty clear that lute was the weakest and smallest of them all. yeah, i said it. she was a wimp. it took her like three years just to learn how to fly.

relating to the art above ^ this is how i think lute and vaggie became close!! because while she was pretty strong (honestly probably one of the highest ranking) she also didn’t have many friends. i love the fact that once she’s in hell she starts dressing more feminine and grows her hair out to break away from who she used to be, but while vaggie was younger, especially as a tween-teen she was super super tomboyish. she was seen as kind of aggressive, the troublemaker of the group. but one thing she never did was pick on lute for being weak. i see here protecting her a lot when they were kids.

because it really wasn’t fair to the other girls that adam favored lute so much from day one that her position was guaranteed, and that while they continued to grow and train they still had to take orders from someone so much weaker than them. there was a lot of animosity in their earlier years, especially before the exterminations really started (they were like 14 when the first one happened) and lute got pushed around a lot.

because adam and vaggie were the only two that were nice to her, she developed a super unhealthy attachment style to both of them. while vaggie genuinely cared about lute and wanted to protect her (this isn't me saying adam didn't care about her btw because she was probably the only person he ever actually loved), lute was definitely a moral dilemma for adam. because on one hand, here was this kid that looked up to him so much and he really did feel bad for her, but man was she fucking incompetent at times. still, he didn't boot her from her position as lieutenant, but he didn't do anything to help that unhealthy attachment either. he instead just used it to brainwash her even worse because it's adam and he doesn't know how to express love whatsoever. 😭 he was like a narcissistic parent, basically. if she did everything perfectly just the way he wanted it, she'd be praised and reminded why she was the favorite, but if she made one mistake... it was like a whole other person. and it was overwhelming, but lute did EVERYTHING she could to be what he wanted her to be because she craved validation so badly after being bullied so much. which is exactly why adam kept it up.

I picture her really starting to get it together at around, eh, 15-16?? something like that. old enough that she was beyond sick of being kicked around and desperate to do something about it. it was like an overnight switch. she stopped sleeping and started training on her own time, pushing herself to her limits, putting on a mask. and all of a sudden she was a mini adam without the humor and guitar solos. she was cold, she was viscous, and she was tired of letting other people take advantage of her when she was the one who was supposed to be in charge.

this definitely put a rift between her and vaggie, because the suddenly heartless leader was absolutely not the little kid vaggie took hit after hit to protect. lute didn't understand why vaggie hated the new her when she was so obviously better than she was before, right? but vaggie just wanted her friend back.

that being said, I told y'all these would be fallenwings hcs too. I don't see them being anything more than a situationship, at least pre-canon, but man was it rough. this was THE toxic homoerotic best friend situationship every repressed lesbian teen goes through, except with murder and betrayal!

like were they dating? not officially. but did they make out covered in blood and bruises after fist fighting in the middle of trying to have a conversation about what they were to each other? well well well... 😘

I feel like vaggie really wanted something more with lute, but lute was so in her own head with her own internalized homophobia and newfound fear of being seen as weak as she used to be that the second things started getting too far she got scared and ran. and what was the only way to get vaggie to stop trying to make her feel feelings™ again than to just... make her hate her altogether. it's easier that way, right? vaggie sparing the sinner was just the perfect excuse to justify herself.

though, who am I kidding? lute spent the next three years crying herself to sleep using her ex situationship's shirt as a pillowcase because her dumbass tried to kill her... and as soon as vaggie crashed back into her life alive and with a girlfriend... well, if at first you don't succeed!

thank you for reading this long ass ramble 😭 here's a baby lute as a bonus:

[apphiarothowrites]

Mech Pilot AU thoughts

I'm leaning between Pacific Rim and Titanfall with this idea-mostly because Titanfall is the nicer end of "the mechs are/can become sentient" without the horror elements that NGE introduces

Marco's mech is a compliment to his father's.

Whitebeard, legendary mech pilot from back in the day, piloted a massive and fucking heavy beast of a mech unit that was wholly designed to level a battlefield and everything on it. When Whitebeard went to war, his side had to call active retreats on all positions in the ground assault because when he showed up he was absolutely going to reduce even their allied positions to pancakes. Rare was the day that Whitebeard left enemy survivors. The weakest points on Whitebeard's early design mech was the joints but unless you destroyed the cockpit (the most well protected point inside the behemoth), she could still move even with near critical damage to the joints. His big girl was made to keep moving and the only way to stop her was to destroy the legs and even then unless you also destroyed the arms this bad motherfucker was going to destroy everything in range anyway.

Marco's in contrast, was built to fly. Fast, light, and equipped with jet wings. Still well armored, still equipped with some gnarly guns, the weakpoint of Marco's bird was in the wings. The attachment areas to the back were designed to be easy to remove-pop in and out. If Marco is grounded due to wing damage, he can pop those suckers off and still jump fairly high and have high mobility on the ground. His was designed to work behind, physically on, and in tandem with Whitebeard's giant-a buddy to focus on destroying incoming missiles intended to stop Whitebeard in his tracks. With Marco around, he never stopped moving. With the whole Whitebeard fleet behind him? They never lost a battle and only the more-feared Rogers fleet could draw them to a standstill.

The Mechs developing sentience was unintended but welcomed. Whitebeard's chose the name Moby, was a jovial and gentle giant off the battlefield much like her pilot. When Whitebeard retired, his body unable to bear the strain in his mid 60s, Moby was devastated. They both knew it was coming, they both acknowledged it was needed in order Whitebeard to not just suffer a fatal heart attack or brain aneurysm inside the cockpit from the strain, and both hated it. Moby refused every attempt at a replacement pilot. Phoenix, in contrast to both Moby and Marco, is catty and moody and and elitist to the point that they rarely speak to anyone who isn't a "ranking officer" on par with Marco, Whitebeard, or Moby. They much prefer being left to themself, and on the battlefield typically treats other mechs and their partners as part of the scenery-to be climbed on if large enough or otherwise ignored unless they need assistance. Phoenix also is not immune to flattery, but is often suspicious of it unless Marco gives it his blessing.

Marco's chose the name Phoenix, he liked the imagery and the meaning. When Pops retired, both were nervous of the idea of stepping up into the lead. Sure, Jozu and Atmos and Blamenco all had physically larger-than-average mechs but they were still smaller than Moby and none could hit as hard. Pheonix was a heavy-hitting support, without the buddy he was designed to help. Both floundered a bit in the first year of their new leadership role, but upon finding their ground-with Pops leading logistics over their communications lines-they were somehow even more formidable than before (perhaps, some whispered, so they could make up for the lack of their greatest weapon no longer being in play).

Then came Ace, and Fire Fist. So named for experimental technology; flame throwers and a super-heated retractable sword that often just set the mech as a whole on fire. Ace, safe inside an airtight cockpit that's externally doused with all kinds of flame retardant, would cackle and Fire Fist would echo a laugh of their own. Small, fast, and lightly armored the mech would often take damage during fights-and just as easily shrug them off to roast enemy pilots alive inside their partners. Not every pilot even considers fire damage, let alone takes the measures that Ace and Fire Fist have to ensure their own safety with their equipment.

The audacity of these punks is beautiful, and Marco's smitten within a week. Phoenix takes a little time, but one compliment about their rockets setting a building ablaze is all it takes for them both.

Other idle thoughts: -Moby had, to begin with, a very stark white and gray paintjob. It faded over time and got all kinds of chips and wear/tear. Whitebeard's jumpsuit was navy blue with white highlights. -After retirement, Moby mostly hangs out at base and plays defense on the very few occasions someone attacks the WB directly. -Moby, appropriately, stands at 76 meters/250ft (PR jaeger height) -Phoenix is painted sky blue and usually enters battle from a high altitude-they match their surroundings and is difficult to spot visually and on radar. They much prefer it that way. The gold highlights were Marco's idea, as is the yellow/gold jumpsuit he wears when piloting. -Phoenix is much smaller than Moby, just about 9 meters/29.5ft (8.5 times smaller than Moby). He used to enjoy climbing all over the big guy, but after Whitebeard's retirement he now climbs all over Jozu/Blamenco/Atmos' mech's instead (each of which stand about 70-72 meters or 229-236ft) -Fire Fist is 8 meters/juuust over 26ft. He demanded that he be painted red and orange to match the fire laden equipment they use (he's a stickler for thematic matching). He's happy, fiery like Ace, but is easier going and prone to wanting to de-escalate rather than feed into an argument. Ace's jumpsuit, to match FF, is orange with red highlights.

[pixl4ted]

IM PROBABLY NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO DECIDED TSPUD AND GENLOSS WOULD BE NICE TOGETHER mostly becuase god i love adding two of my hypfixes together its the best thing everas you saw with the akito parable doodle (why is that getting so much ATTENTION IT WAS A 1 HR DOODLE PLEASE) BUT HERE IS MY THOUGHT PROCESS SO FAR. its 3am i didnt think TOO much into it but like.. likeeee......... this si what i have down. things are most definitely subject to change dont interpret this as a promise

im not sure if there are other genloss x tspud aus out there if so i am happy to credit for having the og idea and if possible talk about the ideas of how showfall parable lore would work becuase GOD my creativity has limits. it has limits guys

[ keep reading for a spiral of me rambling on abt this + initial doodles! ]

im dragging the whole bucket lore bit into this. i also want to note charles is there for narrator’s ep2/ep3 name because i realized it would be perfect for the whole thing of charlie being credited as slimecicle/patient charlie/charlie, but that meant he needed an actual name instead of narrator, resulting in narrator/(???) charles/charles. and i chose a name ive heard a few times be used for them i didnt want to put my whole life savings worth of thought energy at this late into it

next up i acutally had no fucking idea what hetch/founder/puzzler was going to be and i ended up on those. puzzler goes to curator becuase, although museum ending did imply that curator is on a higher power compared to narrator, her being the founder and narrator being part of the cast is kindof a huge shift imo??? i think the contrast of curator being puzzler and narrator being cast does show the whole power deal but not a HUGE amount

i dont really have a good ramble explanation for hetch being gambhorra’ta and i dont feel like playing the bucket endings right now i will tomorrow though, this is just thinking.. i did think of gambhorra’ta being puzzler becuase yk. frank being bucket. it would be funny guys please i watched the same comedy video as narrator i know my shit !!!

the boss being the founder just makes things easier for me becuase i wont have to draw that for a litlte seeing as the founder never popped up in the main 3 episodes hashtag work smarter not harder

VINNY HAVING FERN WAS KINDOF A JOKE BUT I AM WILLING TO DESIGN A HUMAN CHARACTER FOR FERN IF NEEDED I WAS RUNNING OUT OF OPTIONS

overall this is a very rough draft people can and probably will be switched around for different roles the more i think into this, i have ideas for lore aswell but this is getting suuuper long. here are some very quick doodles i made on whiteboard when i first had the thought!! 

[griled-chese]

okay magic art time now. they are in the order I thought of them. #5. Colossal Dreadmaw. I'm a basic bitch big fantasy monster enjoyer and Jesper Ejsing is the master of those in my opinion. this whole list could be Jesper Ejsing to be honest, his style just hits for me it's exactly what I picture when I think of "high fantasy". I chose Colossal Dreadmaw specifically one because I find it funny but also because I think it really exemplifies what I like about Jesper Ejsing, namely strong composition, light and color in all the right places, and character/creature designs that feel like exciting glimpses into living stories.

#4. Brilliant Restoration it was a toss up between Brilliant Restoration and Decadent Dragon, two big beautiful Wylie Beckart dragons. Brilliant Restoration barely won simply because a divine serpentine dragon with an underbelly made entirely of hands clasped in prayer is an all time great design choice. not much else to say just superb work from Wylie Beckart as usual.

#3. Hazoret the Fervent Hazoret is one of my favorite magic characters, certainly my favorite magic god, and this art is a significant reason why. something about the more abstract imagery of her mask and the sky behind her contrasted with the realistic rendering of especially the cloth and gold. along with the dramatic composition it feels both like a real grounded scene and something I would absolutely worship for the rest of my life were I to view it myself.

#2. Massacre Wurm this one is simple, the near monochromatic palette contrasted against the pink of the gums making the teeth positively shine makes for a wonderfully horrific monster design that I can't help but get hyped as fuck for every time I see it, especially in card form.

#1. Overcharged Amalgam I got to the end of this list for too fast there are still dozens of cards I would love to include, but perhaps next time they will get their time to shine. anyway Overcharged Amalgam just hits for me. It has it all, badass monster design, dynamic energy, gender envy. It feels like the dramatic climax of a story perfectly encapsulated in one piece. I can't take my eyes off of it and it is utterly, for lack of a better phrase, electrifying. I hope Mike Jordana continues to make many more magic cards in the future because I am in love with them all. only not is that they changed the art in the actual card printing for some reason and it makes the composition shittier, also the lower resolution doesn't do the art justice, so the card unfortunately looks much worse in person.

anyway thanks Jupiter for letting me yap. also I realize now that these all depict giant monsters that wasn't intentional I have interests other than big beasties I swear.

[selinakidreams]

here’s a lil something for baku (and you) to enjoy on his birthday <3 all apart of the bakugo birthday bash hosted by the lovely @jodrawssmut @phasmwrites @katsukikitten @bakugotrashpanda @lady-bakuhoe @ramen-rambles ! !! thank you guys so much for letting me be apart of this <3

pairing: (established relationship) QUIRKLESS AU kiribaku x fem! reader

word count: 3k+

warnings: alcohol consumption but sober sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of throat fucking, mentions of spit roasting, lots of mentions of spit <3 (and exactly one spit into a mouth), very light degradation, praise

a/n: this is my first time writing with three characters kdjdkdk it’s way out of my comfort zone and I only had 6 days to write it,, but I did it!! trust me I wanted to write more but I actually wanted to make it to baku’s birthday so !! don’t be mad at the endiiiiiiinnnngggg <3

The jazz wafted throughout the empty bar; your silk dress falling from the edge of your seat. It has been a slow night for the bar. You leaned your head into your hand, elbow keeping you sturdy as you swirled the drink around it’s glass cup. 

Your friend's party became a bit too feral for your taste, but you kept your word and stayed as long as you could for the sole purpose of seeing her smile, but then they showed up and you saw yourself out. 

The dim lighting made your eyes droopy with no action to keep your brain going, so you take another swig of your drink before swiveling in your chair to face the other side of the bar. 

Floor to ceiling windows greeted you, giving you the perfect overlook to the twinkling city lights below. It was incredible how your friend could afford a room in this hotel for her party. 

You noticed a movement in the corner of your eye; someone had entered the bar. 

You turn back to face all the expensive drinks displayed on the shelf, the perfect excuse to catch a quick glimpse at him. The contrast of his hair against everything else in the room almost made your eyes pop out of their sockets. 

Platinum blonde hair tufted out like an explosion, a satin red shirt that danced with the warm light of the room, black slacks and from what you could tell, some expensive ass shoes. Too dressy just to be here for some drinks.

Wanting to see more but not willing to fully stare at the man, you signed and waited until it seemed like he got settled on the bar stool before saying, “Is it your party that’s on this floor? It seems like quite the... experience.” 

Your voice came out smooth and velvety to bakugo’s ears, not that he would ever admit it. He scoffed before taking a second to look at the stranger who was daring to talk to him. His first thought settled in his mind and accepted it, almost prompting for silence- waiting to see if you would push to talk to him again.

From what you could tell, he was scanning you up and down. He opened his mouth to say something; his pink plush lips looking extremely inviting as they began to mouth something.

No sound came out for the next few seconds, showing he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He closed his mouth and took out a phone from his pocket, the screen illuminated his face as he began typing something out. 

With this newfound light, his features became even more alluring- which couldn't be said for most people. Perfect porcelain skin, his profile pointed and devilishly handsome.

He’s well aware that he still held your attention, so when he slid his phone back in his pocket, he responded to your previous question, “yea, that’s the one. I’d rather stick it out instead of hearing them complain about me not going to my own party  for the rest of the week.”

By the end of his sentence, he had a glass of something amber in his hand that seemed to look a lot like whiskey. He didn’t spare you another glance but you could tell he expected to hear a response.

You hummed, slightly nodding your head, “The party I had to go to is upstairs and it’s… a lot. They're all just talking about expensive this and designer that and I couldn't listen to another word so I had to get out of there…” you trailed off at his silence. Noting that the conversation wasn’t going anywhere, you introduced yourself in hopes to continue interacting with him. You knew his type, and you knew in some way, he was going to surprise you. 

“Bakugo Katsuki.” He said in turn.

You slowly nodded before posing another question.

“So Bakugo, not really a party goer?” You attempt to ask, only to get a huff in return.

“not one for small talk either, i see?” You add at the end.

Another few quiet moments go by before he responds

“If I was a party goer, I’d be at my own party wouldn’t I?” He quipped back and your eyebrows shot up as you raised your hands in defense. 

“Well hey, I dunno ! For all I know you could have had a really rough night and this specific bar could be your saving grace. Could possibly use this night to drown your sorrows away behind a whole bottle of what… whiskey?” You say, ushering to his drink before turning to face your own, knowing he probably didn’t like being pegged as such.

“but you wouldn’t do that. You’re a strong man who knows what to do when things get bad, huh?” you continue, sprinkling praise to his dignity. He seemed like the type to prioritize that.

He didn’t do or say much in terms of a response but a small smile grew on your lips seeing how his body suddenly released a bit of the physical tension that was winding up.

You moved a few seats closer to him. If he didn’t like it, he hadn’t said anything. 

“So-'' Interrupted before you could continue the line of questions, Bakugo surprised you by asking, “you think you’re better than your friends? Leaving them and comin’ here to drink alone?” his voice coming out gruff and low.

“No, not one bit. I was the one who planned the whole thing for my friend, it’s just unfortunate that she had to invite all those people who aren’t all that nice to her. I can’t stand them. I’ve told them off more than I can count, but they just brush me off. A group of bullies is one thing, but a group of people who pretends to be friends with you then talks behind your back is another.`` 

Bakugo was quiet, not by astonishment or anger; he seemed to be expressionless as he piped up, “fake people are some of the uglies nobodies out there.”

You turn to look at him before sipping your drink and moving a seat closer. This time Bakugo glanced your way but continued to stay silent. 

“You ever beat someone up?” you ask, resting your chin on your palm, tilting your head towards him.

Your second surprise that night, he chuckled. It was soft, the complete opposite to the demeanor he'd been holding.

“Why? You want me to go in there and beat a few of those assholes up?” his eyes were relaxed by this point, no longer sharp and heavily guarded.

“Only because they don't believe I'm intimidating enough.”

“Maybe because you're not.”

You fake gasped, bringing your other hand up to your heart. “Excuse me sir but I'll have you know that I can be quite the fighter.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You hadn’t realized you got so close to Bakugo until you heard the footsteps nearing you both.  When a handsome voice called out bakugo’s name, you slightly jumped. Putting as much space between the two of you as possible, you looked to the source of the voice. 

Handsome would be an understatement. 

With red bangs that framed his sharp toothy smile perfectly and the rest of his hair tied back in a messy ponytail, this man looked a bit taller than Bakugo with a much warmer aura... but radiated the same type of... manliness. 

“Bakugo, I just got your text- Mina has been dragging me everywhere to make sure your party’s going well. Is this her?” the handsome man asked, a slight indistinguishable gleam flashes in his eye when he looks over to you.

“Yeah, ‘nd i wanna leave now.” he almost pouted before looking over to you. 

“You comin’?” 

Your gaze snapped between the two men, only slightly putting two and two together. 

Red hair spoke up, “He probably didn't explain it well but I'm his boyfriend, Kirishima Eijiro!” he held out his hand cheerfully, listening to your introduction. 

“Not to sound too forward or to make you uncomfortable... but do you wanna come home with us? He texted me earlier saying that there was this hottie in a silk dress and… well…” he trailed off licking his bottom lip as his wandering gaze slowly shifted hungrier, “he wasn't kidding.”

There was a lot happening at once but all that you were thinking was that these two hot men wanted you, and the happy buzz that was coursing through your system couldnt object the offer, so with a quick nod of your head, you were handed a water bottle, guided off of the stool, and into the back of the next taxi they could hail. 

The ride was filled with wandering hands and mischievous looks. Kirishima was whispering naughty promises in Bakugo’s ear that you couldn't quite hear, while your attention focused on the big palm that was making its way to the most heated part of your body. The quick inhales that the blonde took went straight to your core, making you incredibly excited for what the night had to offer. 

As soon as the door swung open, lips were on lips and clothes were coming off. The rush to get to the bedroom was heated and messy but once you all entered the room, there was an intense shift that even you couldn't predict. 

Kirishima spoke first, “So what does my birthday boy want? Does he want to fuck or be fucked?”

With a suck at his teeth, Bakugo knew if he didn’t give an answer soon he’d be met with-

“Better hurry up handsome, or I might just choose for you…” Kirishima hummed, bright crimson eyes hopping on over to meet your gaze, “better yet…”

He was by your side in mere seconds. His huge figure towering over yours, you almost flinched when his bulky fingers grazed up your arm. 

“What if you chose for him?” He purred in your ear loud enough so Bakugo’s ruby eyes found yours. Your name rolled off the red-haired man’s tongue like sweet honey, “go ahead, what do you think he would want more?”

Your gaze flickered between them, you couldn’t tell one or the other’s preferences but if they wanted to use you, they could. 

“How about… Eijiro… you could fuck my throat and Katsuki… could fuck whatever hole he wants?” You ask, the question raising an octave out of uncertainty. 

Kirishima raises an eyebrow towards the man of the hour, slightly amused and completely aroused. 

Bakugo is already smirking,“Atta girl, knows exactly what to say.” 

Kirishima starts to kiss your neck as Bakugo stands in front of you, occupying your lips for the first time that night. 

With one arm wrapped around your waist, he seemed to have rubbed on his boyfriend's bulge before reaching for the zipper of your dress. In turn, the feeling of the Eijiro’s bulge humped your back. 

Whether it was your dress hitting the floor or Katsuki’s tongue slipping in your mouth didn't matter, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, causing Kirishima to chuckle and whisper, “get on the bed, princess.” while Bakugo pulls away from you, a string of spit keeps you connected.

With your gaze lustly hazy, you dreamily make your way to the bed, but not without a little show. Before splaying yourself out on the mattress, you stretch out- almost in the child's pose of yoga except you add a deep arch in your back for the sole purpose of showing off your pretty seamless thong. 

As you reposition yourself, you glance over to the side to find that both men are now only in restricting briefs, eyes glued to your figure, both palming themselves over their boxers. 

Eyes half massed and back flat on the bed, you begin to pout, feeling almost bare without anyone’s hands on you. 

As if on cue, they began to make their way over to you, looking oh so hungry. 

You immediately sat up and swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, pulsating at the prospect of having two seemingly thick dicks at once… but they were still in their boxers. Why?

“Ya have to ask nicely in order to get a treat, you ungrateful slut.” Bakugo growled before taking your jaw in his hand, squishing your cheeks with his fingers. 

“Better yet, beg.” he said with a coldness that heated your core and had your eyes going wide.

Whimpering when he let go, you kept your innocent doe eyes as two sets of starved eyes stared down at you.

“W-wanna get fucked, please. Wanna feel both of you everywhere…” you say as you reach both hands out to palm the silhouette of their bulges. “Please…?” 

There was a “christ” that was muttered out before you were pushed back on the bed by Bakugo, then kirishima manhandled you so that your neck was supported by the edge of the bed, your head mostly hanging off.

Even in the midst of the binding tension, Kirishima didn't hesitate to instruct Bakugo to put a pillow under your hips, the blonde eagerly following through with the demand. 

“How’dyou want Katsuki to prep you, baby? He’s skillful in every sense but he really enjoys using his mouth.” 

The bed shifted and before you could string a thought together, you looked down and lost all ability to think. The sight in front of you was downright sinful. A smirk was pulling at the left corner of his lips as he sunk closer to your clothed pussy, his red gaze now a deep wicked crimson as he watched for your reaction.

You didn't have much time to analyze before a thick hand laced through your hair and ushered your view back to the red head’s now exposed cock. You gulped. 

Not incredibly long, a moderate size but with a juicy girth, Kirishima’s cock had a thick vein trailing up his underside. 

If you could make heart eyes, you're sure that you'd be doing them by now. 

Focused on paying attention to his pretty pink weeping tip, you felt your panties being pushed to the side. As tempting as it was to look down, you kept your sights set on the task at hand. Licking and kissing his cock, mixing your saliva with his precum, you earned a guttural groan from the big man above you, encouraging you to do more, please him more- until a warm muscle was met with your sopping core, causing a high gasp of a vibration to hit Kirishima’s head. 

Your mind stopped reeling for a second- it stopped doing anything to be frank. Your hips mindlessly thrust up in attempts to get more of Bakugo’s mouth. He chuckled against you in response.  

Moans bounced off the walls the deeper you guys got with each arousing movement; slurps coming from your’s and Bakugo’s mouth were the loudest noises in the room- that was until you moved down to pay the much needed attention to Kirishima’s balls. He couldn't seem to take it when you began sucking and fondling, moaning about how full he looked. He let out an obscene whine that you couldn’t believe came from him but when Bakugo pulled his lips from around your clit, you followed the noise with a similar one.

Unlike Kirishima who had stayed still, you tried to push Bakugo’s face back down out of lack of patience. Somewhere along the lines, the dominating rolls have switched, but you couldn't really find it in yourself to trace back to when that happened.

 “You really are a fighter, huh?” he chuckled out before adding, “quit whining shitty hair, you’ll get to fuck her throat once I’m done eating.” 

And with that, he dove right back in, causing you to clench around nothing yet and arch your back to get impossibly closer. In turn, your gaze caught the big desperate pleading eyes looking down at you, nearly begging you to do something... 

You were so dizzy with pleasure that you murmured  a mindless, “I didn't forget about you Eijiro.”,  before using your hands to guide his cockhead back into your mouth to coat it in your saliva then pulling off and spreading it down the rest of his length. He bit his lip and let out a cute “mmph!”, which went straight to your abused core. Wanting to hear more, you began to pump his shaft with your messy fist. 

With everything going on, you didn’t realize how built up you were. At an astounding rate, your climax crashed over you, making you shriek against Kirishima's dick as you attempted to cage Bakugo’s head in with your thighs. What pushed you even further was the death grip Katsuki had on your thighs and the sinful sounds he was making while lapping away at your juices. 

Your hands shot from Kirishima’s cock down to grip Bakugo’s hair, freeing your mouth to pant out breathy praises and a whiney “Katsuki!”.

“Fuck,” Bakugo groaned as he came up from your pelvis once you’ve relaxed, whipping your juices from off of his chin with the back of his hand. 

“Kiri, c’mere, you gotta try this,” he said before pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss over your slumped body. Watching their lips meet and seeing Kirishima’s tongue slip into his lover’s mouth sent a dull throb to your core, even moreso when Kirishima sighed into the kiss while his cock twitched upwards, close to your face. 

When they pulled away, Bakugo gave one more little peck to Kirishima before looking down at you with a mischievous grin. You mentally gather yourself and sit up, already ready to be told what to do next.

“Open up, sweet cheeks.”

You did as you were told with your tongue out on display, unintentionally closing your eyes as a sweet little “aaah” came out on instinct. 

The spit hit your tongue dead on and you had to refrain from automatically swallowing. 

A low whisper about how good you were to Katsuki pulled him out of his daze, his eyes darting away from the new wetness on your tongue. 

“Swallow, slut.” and so you did.

“You're right Kiri, she is such a good girl…  Are you ready to get fucked stupid as your prize?” was the last thing you remember before both of them did exactly that.

[lespritdekin]

gone with the wind.

heeseung wasn't the creator of the universe, but he was your entire world, and you were willing to turn a blind eye to his disloyalty if it meant that he'd stay with you.

pairingㅡ heeseung x fem!reader (ft. jay).

genreㅡ angst, fluff.

warningsㅡ heeseung is an asshole, and a fuckboy.

word countㅡ 2.6k

disclaimerㅡ I am not knowledgeable within the business world, and i certainly am not a witness of how employers promote their employees.

The shadows that followed your form like a Pied Piper produced a wary rhythm that scattered across every corridor of your veins, the nightly breeze that stung your face held your heart in its grasp, squeezing, extracting your sense of pugnacity, forcing you on your knees, calling, whispering in your ears,

Why do you desire what you cannot acquire?

Why do you long for someone's touch? Someone that only desires himself?

It wasn't your first encounter with Ethan's straying eyes. Beautiful orbs as dark as ebony, gaze as sharp as tungsten, behind the curtains that dangle from his sinful truth, there lies a hunger that can never reach satisfaction, yearning for the taste of one more kiss for the night, one more body to hold in his sheets.

The number of opportunities the world gave you in order to keep your head straight, keep your chin held high, mind persistent on your own necessities, like your career that recently had been at the top of the pedestal, your home that had become a penthouse suite a week ago because of your intelligent hardwork.

At the back of your mind, you chose to discard these thoughts. Everyday, you could achieve another line of recognition in your work, the field you were most passionate about. The royal blue mermaid gown didn't entice Ethan enough to form a song with solely the thought of you. No lingering lips from another woman, no repeated amounts of second chances, just you and your sweet melodies. None of that occured.

That apex of the night, you shone brighter than the stars, glowed stronger than the moon.

You were dazzling.

Your skin could rival the smoothest gold, the details of your dress twinkling under the large chandeliers that hung atop your silky, beautiful hair. The Sapphire jewelry set you had just bought with full paper the day before brought out the alluring beauty of your eyes, the most tantalizing part of you, according to Ethan.

But, not even your most desirable features could bring the source of your pain on his knees. The dysphoria that etched itself onto your face magnetized his eyes for a split second.

Was it that difficult to properly look you in the eye?

You were beautiful, of course. Albeit, the most beautiful goddess that Ethan ever held. The confidence that ambushed your throat vanished as Ethan's arm snuck around the woman's waist, his lips that was once kissing your ear last night were now on the woman stuck to his form, well aware of your eyes on him, well aware of the hurt that formed in your chest, well aware that the tears you have been holding back the entire event would come crashing down any minute soon.

"I love you, [Name]." He used to say after spending the night in your bed. You were too naive to care, too timid to dig deeper into the honesty of his words. To you, he was flawed, but never in your favor. He was the ice cream that encircled around your tongue whenever you felt conflicted, the peaceful serenity that embraced your ears when your world was close to collapsing. That was your biggest mistake.

Ethan was a jerk. A bastard that continued to disregard your feelings, a monster that claws at your emotions until you fall into an abyss of darkness, shrouding over you until you suffocate.

You closed the door to your penthouse, your tall shoes thumping across the polished marble floor, tears now cascading down your pretty pink cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, Jake was right. You were a fool for wanting Ethan. You were a fool for allowing another fool to brush you off his shoulder. He was a puzzle you were never meant to fix, a maze you were never destined to enter. You were now nearing the end, your tiny feet scrambling to leave this labyrinth you've been caging yourself in.

Ethan wasn't the only man on Earth.

And, you bet he wasn't the only man you'll ever love.

"How was the ball, cupcake?" The man within your pallet had asked, voice deep and raspy, but still curious and soulful. He was rubbing his eyes, ripped muscles and evident veins littering his skin, eyebrows scrunched up as he forces himself awake. You wiped your tears away, taking your heels off as you allowed the coat to slip past your shoulders.

You sat in front of your looking glass, gentle fingertips removing your earrings. Two large, calloused hands slipped around your shoulders, kissing the exposed skin before disassembling the lock in your necklace.

"It was, hmm, how do I say this... Quite eventful?" You chuckled softly, fingers coming up to rub the hand resting on your shoulder. He bent down to kiss your cheeks, mumbling about how courageous and strong you were for facing the most afflictive quandary in your life. All alone, you've watched Ethan kiss another girl, make love to another girl, all alone in your little daydream of pursuing yourself that Ethan was a man that has been damaged, a man that needed another person's warmth.

Fully aware that you were deteriorating slowly, fully aware that you chose to ignore it, so long as Ethan still came home to you.

"Thank you, Jongseong." You sighed, the kisses that were scattered on your neck lulling you into sleep.

"Princess, don't sleep on me. We still need to take your makeup off, and take a bath." He warned you gently, applying micellar water on your face with a cotton pad. You smiled, your heart swelling from the undivided attention, something Ethan couldn't give you. After he had finished wiping off the last bit of your lipstick, he pulled you up and unzipped your dress, allowing you to step out of it. He gawked at you, eyes ogling up and down your figure.

You were marvelous.

The faint dimples on the small of your back, the little lovehandles you had, the cellulite that cluttered on your thighs, the little stretchmarks that had formed on the sides of your tummy. They were all so gorgeous, so, so breathtaking in the eyes of the man before you, eyes twinkling with unrealistic amounts of love. "All for me?" He asked cheekily, causing you to slap his chest lightly. You sweet laugh grazed his earlobes, kissing him, shrouding him.

"You're so beautiful. I hope you know that." He spoke, hands rubbing up and down your arms. You looked up and smiled at him, your cheeks heating up from the confession. "I know, you remind me everyday."

The morning came and greeted the both of you like a happy little kid, it reminded you of Sunoo. Bright, innocent, and hard-working. He was the sweetest little angel, so pure that you were almost fooled he was your long lost little brother. "Good morning, beautiful." A groggy, raspy, deep voice resounded from behind you, muscular arms wrapping tighter around your chest, nose shoved at the nape of your neck, inhaling your sweet, mature scent.

"Good morning to you, too, handsome." He sighed exasperatedly, nuzzling the tip of his nose into your scalp. "I adore the aroma of your shampoo."

You pushed his shoulder away, opting to turn around and face him. You gave his nose a kiss, your thumb rubbing smooth lines across his cheekbone. "Let's get up, big boy, work starts in an hour and a half."

After finishing your breakfast, which was done by the both of you (of course, your pancakes were with maple syrup and his with an entire jar of honeyㅡ) got dressed, but not after a quick occurrence of love making in the bathroom. For the first time in your entire being, someone brought you to work. Jongseong himself let himself in despite the rivalry between your companies, greeting the workers and staff as they pass by.

He brought you to your office, kissing you tenderly before leaving shortly, engaging in a little warfare of who could declare their love the deepest.

Of course, your competitive boyfriend won.

You could still feel the delicious warmth of his lips on your as he says "I love you more than Heroes of Storm." You could still feel his hands on your waist as he sits you down your desk, his tongue prying.

Lost in your little daydream, your secretary knocked on the door, informing you that the Chief Executive Officer longed for your presence in the conference and room. You arrived shortly, all eyes on your gorgeous figure and miniscule, flawless face as your PA closed the door in your tow. Expectedly, the man of your nightmares was equally as daunting in the presence of the room, the gentle humming of the air-conditioner reminding you that you were in a place of professionalism, not your personal escapade.

You sat in the only seat available, parallel to the CEO, right next to the left of Ethan. Your PA stood behind you, fiddling with the folders and papers in her hand. You tugged at the ends of your maroon blazer, your skirt the same color. Your pencil skirt and tall heels were black, pearl earrings a bright contrast to the black onyx of your designer shoes. Your cheeks were pink, lips adorning the same color, eyes sparkling with casual confidence, causing Ethan's eyebrows to furrow.

Weren't you just on the brim of crying your eyes out yesterday?

Why the fuck were you glowing?

"Good morning, ladies. Good morning, gentlemen." A series of polite responses welcomed the ears of the chairman, standing up with his hands clasped together. "The following six months were quite the effort, weren't they? The panel and I have discussed the possibility of a President, soon to replace the retiring Mrs. Min."

Murmurs of who they wanted to lead them hollered around the crisp air of the alcove. Your name came in the picture of gossiping workers, but the smile on your face soon turned sour after hearing Ethan's name in the air. Your smile could have faltered if it weren't for your newfound strength to face challenges head on, to face the fresh antagonism between you and Ethan.

A sly smirk graced Ethan's unbelievably handsome face. You've missed the cheeky quirk of his eyebrow, the serrated glint in his eyes, the burning touch of his fingertips, and his gorgeous face. You've craved for them more than anything in the world these past few days, but not even Ethan's remorseless persistence could govern Jay's latency in your life. Ethan was a pest, Jay was a miracle that was given to you.

The exemplification was enough.

The Jay Park, the CEO and President of Park Enterprises was the one that held your heart.

Not even your past with Ethan could compare to that.

"We have come to a conclusion. It was quite the handful to decide, but our verdict was unanimous." The chairman concluded, causing everyone's blood to stiffen, curious, biting, curiously waiting, demanding for the designated name to be called in their seats, eyes boring into the man in front of them. "We have decided, that, from this day on, Ms. [Name] Yang will be your latest luminary."

The crowd squealed in delight, inappropriate within the occasion, but appreciated, nevertheless. You stood up to bow to the chairman, your new position in the company greatly satisfying, justifying your hardwork. The image of vengeance never crossed your mind, but with Ethan, dumbfounded and in disbelief of your success, being here, on the time of your prosperity, was breathtaking, to say the least.

The gentle monikers you've given him proved worthless as you bowed in front of him, the red that clouded his vision powerful enough to physically manhandle you, force you into submission, force you below him. His hands itched to paint your skin red, stain your mind with him and his rough palms, make you feel the anger and dissatisfaction you've caused him. His head was in a swirl, the radiance of your skin and your smile pushing him off a cliff, your elegance draping him with your beauty.

But, why?

Why was he feeling this way? You were just another whore that fell in his mousetrap.

Why were you suddenly the only prize he wanted to win?

As soon as you informed Jongseong through the phone at lunch time, he swore he could make love to you then and there. He was more than gleeful for you and the steadfast dedication you had in your field. All the nights you spent at the office in your home, all the coffee lattes that you would open the door to, all the fast-food meals you would consume just to finish your line of work finally paid off. To celebrate, Jay booked a dinner reservation in one of the 7-star hotels him and his father owned.

That night, Ethan's very own eyes discovered Jay Park's form, leaning against his black Mercedes, seemingly waiting for someone. His speculation that it was you soon pummeled him in the face as your little arms wrapped around Park Ent's CEO, shoving your tongue down his throat out in the open. The moment you entered Jongseong's car, he slammed his beer glass on his desk and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt past his elbows, the veins and muscles that flourish his arms more enticing under the moonlight.

Ethan's plan was meant to be successful. You were his opponent. Opponents of that of Lee Heeseung deserved to be humiliated, emotionally distraught. His loving past with his object of rivalry is all but impractical. The voice that called him in that dark night, your voice that felt like an early summer sunshine was valueless. The love that you so willingly gave dripped down his face. He licensed them to fall. Everything you shared with him, all of them were mere acts of kindness.

So, why were the veins in his temples protruding from under his skin?

Why did his eyes burn when your lips kissed Jay's?

Why did something in his guts wreathe when he reminded himself that you weren't his anymore?

Why were you such a bitch in the first place?

Of all the queries, the interrogations, the questions, and all the answers, responses, replies, all of the truth Ethan indulged in, it was always you that burglarized his mind. The most horrifying part was, he was in pain. His hands itched to be on yours, entangle your fingertips, kiss your palms, he wanted your lips on his fingertips, like you used to do when he was in distress.

He felt like he was granted to finally grasp the moonlight in his arms, cradle it until his retinas burn with luminescence, listen to your soft, breathy voice, telling him, urging him, singing him lullabies, moaning for him, whining, whimpering, shuddering, trembling for him.

Classical music devoured his sour ambience, the bitter taste of your dispossession of him made Ethan's chest tighten, lungs burning, limbs numbing. His mind was in a whirlpool of your graceful exorcism, your deportation like a gun against his head. His palms met the glass wall where he witnessed your happy smiles and soft giggles, the ones you used to make whenever you were with him.

The classical music that you used to listen to kissed his ears, and for once in his life, he cried and longed for someone. He would soar through the stormy clouds if it meant to have one more minute with you in an apocalypse of pandemonium.

That was Ethan's mistake. The long yesterday was the last time he could ever feel your skin on his. Your kisses would be nothing but a dream, your words nothing but a song he used to sing, your laugh nothing but a faint melody, your love nothing but whispers in the air.

Ethan was the one who left, but he wasn't the one who disappeared. He was left high and dry.

And you?

You were simply gone with the wind.

[abbysfrenchbraid]

hi! i love all of your writing, especially your abby fanfics. i know you’re in the middle of your eivor series right now, so pls disregard if you don’t feel like writing this request or don’t want to write for abby, but i was wondering if you could maybe write a hurt/comfort type imagine where abby either comforts the reader when they’re sad or after they have a nightmare. i get really frequent nightmares and love to read fanfics like this but totally understand if you’re not into the idea. all the love and i hope you’re doing well; merry christmas if you celebrate!

so this is half a year late, but I finally have a little more time to go through my requests so here it is! this is also the first time I've actively avoided gendering the reader as I've gotten a few requests for a nonbinary or genderfluid reader. This is not a cop-out on that, I definitely want to write an explicitly nb reader but I figured this would make the reading experience better for quite a few people!

Summary: The reader has recently lost a family member and stranded with the WLF. They struggle with frequent panic attacks and nightmares. Abby notices and tries to take care of them.

CW for loss of a family member (sibling), death and grief, heavy trauma, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares, and struggling to breathe. The nightmares are also fairly violent and creepy so please watch out for yourselves and only read this if you're in a good state of mind <3

I've Got You

The truck rattled as Leah drove it up the road to the WLF stadium. It had been a particularly rough day on patrol. You and the other wolf had run into a group of freshly infected that seemed to have been three families once. The children had been the worst. The youngest had probably been about ten years old before she had turned, her eyes bright blue and her blonde curls matted with dried blood. You had taken care of them all, of course you had. But it had been horrible. You folded your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.

You had joined the WLF a few months ago after losing your team and your little sister in a clicker-infested cellar you had set up camp in. It had been so fucking stupid, so careless. But everyone had been tired, you hadn’t seen any infected in days, and so only one of you had kept watch. He barely had time to scream before the clicker had ripped out his throat. It had been chaos, madness, everyone scrambling to escape into the network of damp corridors and storage rooms, more and more clickers being drawn to you by the noise.

Leah raised her hand at the armed guards at the gate and they opened for your truck. The sun was setting behind you and most people were inside the stadium now, eating or spending time with friends. Both of you were quiet. Leah’s legs were covered in slowly darkening blood and the smell was nauseating. The tall wolf pulled the truck into its designated spot and took a deep breath.

“Y/N?” You looked up at her. The circles under her eyes could compete with yours, but her face was still as kind as ever.

“Yeah?”

“You take care of yourself today. Take a long shower, get something to eat. I’ll let Martha know to give you a double portion for dinner.”

You smiled faintly at her. This was how it was here. All the wolves had seen terrible things and probably done even worse. They all chose to let it out in training and then leave it behind them. No sense in holding on. You nodded.

“Thanks, Lee. See you in the gym tomorrow.”

The brunette grinned and patted your thigh.

“6 am sharp!” She jumped out of the car and gave back the keys at the checkpoint, then she vanished inside the stadium.

You stayed in your seat. Your fingers had cramped up and you were scared to unfold them, scared you would never be able to stop them from shaking again.

Sierra had held your hand all the way, not letting go as you dragged her through the darkness, fought off four infected, stumbled up stairs you had not come down on, and found yourself in a ravaged theater. You had run all night and only stopped when you were unable to go a single step further. When you had found a small pawnshop that you could lock up safely, you had made a bed of your jacket and a moth-eaten blanket from the theater. Sierra had started to cry. You would never forget the way dread had started to creep into your limbs, seeping into your skin and stretching dark tendrils toward your throat. You had rolled up Sierra’s sleeve and there it was. A relatively small mark, just the puncture wounds from two teeth turned into mean scratches as Sierra had pulled her arm from the jaws of a clicker and kept on running. But it had already begun to fester, the edges of the wound an angry red contrasting the white blisters forming around the site. It felt like the ground had been pulled from below your feet. You fell and fell, unable to speak, to do anything, just staring at the thing that meant the end of the world. The end of your baby sister.

A shout caught your attention - another car had returned to the stadium and was pulling into a spot a few paces away. It was Manny and Abby, everyone’s favorite duo. The attractive joker and the stoic warrior. They were among Leah’s best friends and she had introduced them to you a while ago, all of them welcoming you warmly. It had been strange, being part of a group again, a team. Your heart was still too sore.

So you had quietly pulled yourself out of most of the group evenings, the film nights and game nights and arm wrestling tournaments and what else there was to do. Manny had tried his luck flirting with you a few times and one time you had even joined him for a dance, but after realizing he wouldn’t land with you he had respectfully backed off and now treated you more like a little sister. Mel and Owen had been nice, too, both very secluded when they turned up together, but Owen was funny and enthusiastic and always yelled your name across the cafeteria or the training course when he saw you. He was one of the few people who could make you laugh no matter how hard you tried not to.

Nora was a whirlwind, the smartest person you had ever known and unfaltering no matter what the universe threw at her feet. She liked poetry and hard rock music, big men and even bigger women. You had often wondered whether she and Abby had ever hooked up. But you weren’t sure of anything concerning Abby. Always the stony face, the impenetrable wall, the arms-length smile and polite nod in the hallway. It could be infuriating at times. Especially because despite it all, against all your better judgment, you could feel yourself growing more and more interested in her, constantly looking for her in a crowd and sneaking side glances to see if she was listening to you or laughing at the same things.

The car doors banged and the sound echoed through the small space. Manny was laughing about something Abby had said and walked with a bounce in his step as he approached the counter to hand back his keys. Abby looked like she always did, khaki cargo pants and a black cutoff, her green backpack slung over one muscular shoulder. Some strands of hair had escaped her braid and curled up at the back of her neck, slightly damp from her sweat in the hot summer air. Trying to calm down and distract yourself, you let your gaze wander up her strong build, freckled biceps flexing as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. And then she looked straight at you. You didn’t move, stayed frozen as you had for the last few minutes, wishing you were invisible.

Your face felt hot and suddenly there were tears blurring your vision - what was happening?! Your knees started shaking as well, bouncing uncontrollably as your nails dug into the backs of your hands. Your throat was closing up and your bottom lip was quivering. All you saw were specks of grey and green, all you felt was your body resisting every command and rebelling against you, trying to hold you in place and suffocate you silently.

Suddenly the door opened beside you and a soft, deep voice said your name. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision wouldn’t clear up, panic blinding you further. You began shaking your head as your chest convulsed in a desperate attempt to draw breath.

“Fuck, Y/N, okay.” Abby’s voice was determined and suddenly her hands were on your wrists. Her skin was warm and dry, her grip firm. She softly shook your clasped hands and somehow moved so her face was in front of yours, a mess of green and brown and there, soft pink where her lips moved, speaking quietly and telling you to breathe with her. One hand stayed on your wrist and her thumb massaged the cramped up muscle there, digging painfully into your flesh but pulling you back to her slowly. One hand came up closer and a calloused thumb brushed the tears from your cheek before her hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing into your upper back.

“Hey, look at me, look at me, Y/N, you’re okay, I’m here. Can you try to breathe in with me on three? Just stop fighting for a moment, count with me and then we’ll breathe in together. Okay? One.”

You tried to sit up straighter and stop the erratic twitching of your chest, still choking on your breath as you waited for her commando.

“Two. Three.”

Her hand pressed between your shoulders from behind and suddenly you could breathe again, a loud gasp that turned into quiet sobs as you fought to release the air from your lungs before breathing in again.

“There we go, you’re doing so good,” Abby’s hand was on your cheek again, “so good, Y/N, breathe with me, that’s right.”

Your vision slowly returned to you now, though it was still distorted by  tears. Abby had half-climbed into the truck, one foot between yours and one dangling out of the open door, her weight held up only by her right leg as she pressed her back against the dashboard. A wet laugh escaped you. Abby shot you a confused look, paired with the hint of a relieved smile.

“What?”

“You’re gonna get a cramp as well,” you rasped, “if you keep that up.”

You slid further to the inside of the broad seat, making room for Abby next to you. She grinned and sat down, one hand still on your wrist. Her eyes went down to your trembling hands, your knuckles still white from your iron grip.

“Okay, let’s take care of your hands, hm?”

Her fingers wandered softly over yours, then she rested one hand over your tangled fingers and pushed her other thumb between your palms, gently loosening your hold. She pulled back each finger slowly, starting with your thumbs and stroking each one as they relaxed. Finally, your shaking hands lay freely on your thighs.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, don’t worry.” She took one of your hands in her lap and started massaging the inside of your palm. “Wanna tell me what got you there?”

You sighed, breath still shaky with tears.

“Um.. We ran into infected today. Runners. Families, it seemed.”

Abby sucked in a breath and gave you back your hand before taking the other and starting the same gentle procedure.

“Those are the hardest. Kids?”

You nodded and Abby made a soft noise. You took another rattling breath.

“I… I lost my little sister. Back when… before I came to you.”

Her head shot up and she stared at you, shock and sympathy playing over her features.

“Fuck, Y/N, you never said…”

“I know.” You lowered your head.

When you had stumbled out of the woods around the WLF stadium and begged them to let you in, they had stripped you and searched you before bringing you to their leader. After hours of questioning to make sure you weren’t a spy for any other group, he knew about your team and everything you had done in the last three years, but you hadn’t mentioned Sierra once. It wouldn’t change anything anyway. They had brought you to Nora who had patched you up, examined you, and fed you before showing you to your new room. It was a small closet on the base level of the stadium, with only a tiny window letting in some light. You were thankful for a roof over your head and the armed posts surrounding the stadium.

“I didn’t want to talk about her. I didn’t lie to Isaac or betray you. It wasn't anyone's business.” You gave Abby a fierce look. Nothing would change your mind about this. She just nodded, her eyes wide. You sighed, brushing your hands against each other.

“She was bitten. I see her every time I close my eyes. It wasn’t fair.” You dropped your hands into your lap. “I just don’t… I can’t -”

Abby’s hand was on yours again, her fingers sliding between yours.

“Hey. I won’t tell anyone. But I’m here, okay? If you want to talk.”

You scoffed.

“No one ever talks here. You’re all made of stone.”

Abby contemplated this for a few seconds, then she squeezed your hand.

“My dad was murdered a few years ago. Almost all of our families are dead.” Now it was your turn to be shocked. Fuck. You had been so insensitive. “By us, I mean Owen, Nora, Jordan, and me. Owen lost his parents to infected and his brothers to the scars just last year.”

Abby leaned back and stared out of the windshield, the garage now dark except for a few small lamps at the exits.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Of course, I’m in no place to tell you how to deal with it.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, you know. We don’t talk about those things.” She looked at you, her gaze so intense you almost pulled back. “Would you like to?”

You forced yourself to hold her gaze.

“I think I would. Now that it’s all… further away.”

Abby nodded, squeezing your hand again.

“Then we’ll talk. You can tell me all about your sister. And… I haven’t talked about my dad in a long time. I think I’d like to tell you about him, too. He was great.”

A small smile played around her lips and you felt a rush of gratitude for this wonderful woman. You could practically see the memories playing through her head behind those green eyes. She blinked, looking back at you.

“Wanna get something to eat? You must be starving. I know I am.”

“Sure.” You shared another smile and exited the car together, fingers still intertwined as you crossed the lot and Abby held the door open for you.

Dinner was already over, but Leah had kept her word and the elder woman at the counter gave you both gigantic bowls of beef stew with thick, coarse bread. You told Abby about your patrol that day and she hummed sympathetically. She knew what it felt like to deal with infected children. After a while, the door to the cafeteria flew open and Manny came in, sleek black hair still wet from a shower. He grinned brightly as he made his way over to you and sat next to you on the metal bench.

“You coming along tonight?” he asked you, drumming his fingers on the table. You raised your eyebrows.

“What’s happening tonight?”

He tutted at Abby and gave her a theatrical frown.

“You didn’t invite Y/N? It’s Mel’s birthday! Owen got his hands on some prime hooch. You celebrating with us?”

You smiled at your plate. The last thing you needed was to get wasted and completely lose any shred of sanity you had left.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll join you. I still haven’t showered and I had a terrible day. I’m just gonna read a bit and pass out, I think.” You gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Read and pass out? It’s a special occasion! You sure?”

“Yeah, but really, thank you for inviting me. Maybe next time.”

He sighed heavily, then he clapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Abby, you need to get moving, girl. We’re meeting in 20 and you stink.”

Abby just raised her eyebrows and shook her head, finishing her stew. Manny's laughter echoed through the empty room as he left.

“Do I really smell that bad?” There was a twinkle in her eye, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. You smiled back.

“Not at all. He probably smelled me.” You grabbed her empty bowl and placed it in yours. “Go have fun, I’ll clean this up. See you at training.”

Abby cocked her head to the side, seemingly not sure what to do. You gave her another encouraging smile.

“Really, I’m fine. Thank you for taking care of me, I owe you. Go celebrate!”

The tall blonde stood up slowly. She still seemed hesitant.

“I’ll come check on you later if that’s okay. And you can always come over and talk to me if something’s wrong, alright?”

Your chest felt tight all of a sudden, but not in the way it had earlier. It was the feeling of reaching for something knowing you’d never have it, of wanting something so bad and only being able to admire it from a distance. It felt like being homesick. You thought of Sierra again and how she had been your home, the only anchor in your life. Fuck, not now.

You shook your head as if to get rid of your thoughts and gave Abby a brave smile.

“Okay. But I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

Abby gave you a last look over her shoulder before exiting the cafeteria and you made your way over to the kitchen. The cooks had already left and a lanky red-haired boy was the only one still there, washing dishes and listening to music on an mp3 player. The metallic sound in his headphones echoed through the peacefully quiet kitchen. He almost jumped two feet into the air when you approached from the side, bowls in your hand.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me! Jesus Christ.” He pressed a wet hand to his chest, the suds leaving a dark print on his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how not to scare you, music and all. Sorry.” Both of you had to laugh and he held his dripping hands out for your dirty bowls.

“Don’t worry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone this late. You just come back from a mission?”

“Just a patrol run.”

You leaned against the counter and watched him clean the dishes.

“Anything exciting happen?” His eyes were bright and excited. He was even younger than he had looked at first, he couldn’t be older than 15. “My brother is on patrols too. Maybe you know him, his name is Danny.”

You crossed your arms and tried to remember the face that matched that name. Danny had been on patrol with Owen for a while when you had first arrived, but now he was stationed on some outpost and you hadn’t seen him for a long time.

“Yeah, I think I do. He’s not here at the moment, right?”

“He’s at the Serevena Hotel. I may be able to visit him there soon, depending on how my training goes.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Training to be a soldier?”

“Of course.” He stood up straight. “I want to do my part, protect our people. Fight the scars.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that. Even though you were thankful the WLF had taken you in and even though you had also participated in rigorous training from the first day on, soon being cleared for missions, you didn’t really have the same loyalty and faith for the organization. The seraphites were your enemies now, of course, but they were just people. You all were. Sometimes you wondered how it could have come to this - so few people left on this earth and here you were, slaughtering each other.

“I hope you can visit your brother soon.” You let your arms fall to the side and turned to leave. “Thanks for the dishes.”

“No problem,” he mumbled, putting his headphones back in.

You were in no rush to get to your room and so you took a few detours, passing the gym which was filled with quite a lot of people getting their training in after work. You looked into empty classrooms, trying to decipher what was written on the board. Would Sierra have studied here? Sat in the front, eager to learn the things you hadn’t been able to teach her? What if you had come here earlier, before it all happened? Could they have protected her better than you had? She would probably be walking next to you now, telling you about her day.

When you finally arrived at your room, you just quickly grabbed a towel, a clean shirt, and some shorts and headed for the showers. The hot water seemed to help somewhat. You wondered what Abby was up to right now. Probably getting drunk and having fun. Was she the type of person who danced? You had never seen her dance before. Maybe Nora would persuade her. There it was again, that heavy, pulling feeling. You turned the water off, got dressed, and went straight to bed. Enough heartache for one day.

-

You woke up confused, not knowing where you were at first. It was pitch black and there was some kind of noise outside. You reached around you and finally found the flashlight next to your pillow, turning it on and trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes. What was going on?

It had to be after midnight. The lights in the stadium were only on from 5.30 am to 10 pm in order to save power. You untangled yourself from your sheets and got on your feet, swaying a little. There it was again, that strange scratching noise accompanied by a quiet mumbling sound. It wasn’t directly at your door but seemed to come from further down the corridor. There were a few other people living down here in storerooms and sectioned hallways.

Yawning, you walked to the door and opened it ever so slightly, pressing the flashlight to your thigh in order to keep the light down at first. You couldn’t see anything, so you waved the flashlight around the corridor. Your stomach dropped.

At the far end of the hallway, a small figure stood in front of one of the doors, trying to open it to no avail. Small hands scratched at the wood, quiet brabbling reached your ears. This was wrong. Very wrong. The figure hadn’t noticed the light yet. It went on to the next door, trying the door handle and whining in frustration when it didn’t open.

Why didn’t the people inside wake up from the noise? You stood frozen as the figure tried the next door. It was a child, dressed in dotted pyjamas. Its blonde hair was shoulder length and tangled in knots. You slowly pushed your door open wider in order to step out into the corridor. Suddenly, the hinges squeaked and the sound echoed through the hallway.

The child slowly turned toward you. Blood was dripping from its mouth, its eyes were cold. It took a step toward you. You looked down and realized you were holding a gun. Oh. Right. Infected. You were supposed to shoot them.

As the kid made another strange brabbling sound, more blood ran down the front of the cotton pyjama shirt. You raised the flashlight with shaky fingers and aimed it right at the child's face.

Your blood froze in your veins. No. This couldn’t be. You had taken care of her, you had made sure she wouldn’t… wouldn’t turn into one of these… No, you had given her a peaceful ending.

“Sierra.” Your voice was raspy, quiet with terror. “Sierra, what are you doing here, baby?”

She growled. A horribly wrong sound, coming from someone so small and so lovely. Only she wasn’t lovely anymore. She was sick. Infected.

“Sierra!” You spoke louder now, your voice pleading. “Baby, please don’t do that. It’s me, see?” You raised the flashlight to light your own face for a moment. When you put it back on her, she had stopped walking. Her face was a mask of ice-cold fury. When she spoke, her voice rattled like nails in a metal box, rough like chalk on board.

“Y/N… Why?

You sank to your knees.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry Siri, I was so helpless. I didn’t know, I didn’t…”

“You… killed… me.”

She was getting dangerously close now and all of a sudden you could smell her, too. Foul, dead, vile. The smell of sickness and decay. You raised the gun, a war raging between your head and your heart.

“Sierra, stop. Stop.” Tears were streaming down your face. “Please stop, Siri. Don’t come any closer. Stop, stop! Please stop!”

Your little baby sister was so close that you could have reached out a hand and brushed through her hair. You stood up and took a step back.

“I’m gonna have to shoot you if you don’t step back. You’re infected, Siri. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you can’t, please Sierra. Don’t, please don’t…”

She hissed at you and lurched forward. A shot rang through the air and the girl fell to the floor right before you, her tiny body at your feet, blood slowly pooling around her head. You dropped the gun and it clattered on the concrete floor. You clapped your hands to your mouth and screamed into your palms, crying out again and again, trying to gasp for air. It felt like your heart was being torn in two.

Suddenly there was a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around, but there was only darkness. You let yourself fall to the floor and kept weeping into your hands. Someone gripped your wrists and shook them slightly. You opened your eyes.

Abby was sitting on the side of your bed, her face right above yours and full of worry. You shook your head, frantically looking around your room for any kind of danger. The room was almost dark, light just seeping through the crack under the door. It was still early in the night.

“Y/N? Hey, hey. You’re okay.” Abby slowly let go of your wrists. “You had a nightmare. You’re okay now, I’m here.”

You were still too terrified to speak, so you just scooted further to the side and grabbed Abby’s hand, giving her a pleading look. She understood immediately, kicking off her shoes and climbing into bed next to you, holding out her arm for you to crawl into. You pressed yourself to her side and rested your head on her chest, feeling yourself tremble in her arms. She just held you for a while, letting you listen to her heartbeat until your own body began to calm down.

“Hi,” you whispered into the dim room. Abby stroked your hair while she held you tightly.

“Hey there,” she mumbled back. “Feeling better?”

“Not really.” You looked up at her. She smelled faintly of alcohol and something sweet. “How was your party?”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“It was absolute chaos. I had to escape from there before it could consume me. And I also had someone to check on.” She squeezed your shoulder. You cringed at the thought of her finding you like this, writhing and talking in your sleep, crying out or even fighting her without knowing who was in front of you. You had always had horrible nightmares and Sierra had taken the brunt of them, waking you countless nights and trying to stay brave when you yelled at her or shoved her away in the first moments of consciousness, not yet fully back in the real world. Now that she was gone, they were a hundred times worse. You pressed your forehead to Abby’s shoulder.

“Did I scream?”

“Not really. I just knocked a few times and then I heard you talking, and you sounded so panicked that I thought I should make sure… I’m sorry I just came in like that.”

You shook your head.

“No, don’t. Thank you for waking me. It was… God, I hate this.”

Abby’s fingers combed through your hair, massaging your scalp. It was heavenly.

“Does this happen a lot?”

You snorted involuntarily.

“Every night. Several times. I never sleep through and I never sleep enough.” You wiped a hand over your face. “Sorry, I know I’m not the only one and it could be worse. It’s just… hard.”

“Excuse me?” Abby’s tone made you look up at her. “You’re telling me you have several panic attacks in your sleep every night but it’s fine because others have nightmares, too?”

You frowned. Panic attacks? You’d never thought of it that way.

“Y/N, you’re allowed to complain. To me especially. Remember, we wanted to talk about our problems? Be open about all this?”

She was right. You pressed yourself closer to her.

“I guess, yeah. Thank you for… for being here.”

“Wanna tell me about your nightmare?”

You held onto Abby’s shirt, clenching the fabric in your fist as if she might be ripped from you at any moment.

“I don’t know… I mean, why not. Well…” How were you even supposed to explain all this? How would you ever talk about your sister without freaking out again?

Abby pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you felt the tension in your stomach dissolve. You took a deep breath.

“I can never tell I’m dreaming. This time I thought I heard something in the corridor and I went to see what it was. A little girl was scratching on doors, trying to get in. She looked like the… like one of the infected we ran into today. But I made a noise and when she turned around she was... She was -” You gasped for air, trying to keep your calm. Abby hummed softly, stroking your back and giving you time to think.

“She had the face of my sister. Sierra.” You hadn’t said her name out loud in so long, only in the nightmares. Maybe it was time to rid her name of that terror, that fear, and grant it the love and warmth it deserved. “Sierra was my little sister. We ran with a group the last few years, stayed with them after our mom died. But she was bitten and I had to… I had to let her go.” You swallowed hard. Abby’s thumb drew circles on your back.

“So in the dream… the girl turned around and she was her . And I didn’t know what to do. I begged her to stop, to not come any closer because she was infected, she was bleeding, and -” You drew in another breath and buried your face in Abby’s chest. “She asked me why I’d done it, why I had… and she kept coming and then she attacked me and I - I had to, I had to shoot her.”

Hot tears were burning in your eyes and your throat was impossibly tight again. Abby gently placed a hand on your cheek and turned your face up toward her.

“I’m not gonna tell you it was just a dream because I know it's more complicated than that. I get them, too, sometimes. But what I can tell you is that I’m here, that you’re safe now, that your sister is in a better place and that one day you will be able to speak about her without feeling like you’re falling apart.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. And now you're with me. We can heal together. I’m here, I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

You raised your head from her chest and turned a little in order to get face to face with her.

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this? Why now? I didn’t even think you liked me. You don’t have to take care of me.”

Abby’s features softened and she huffed out a silent laugh.

“I don’t know. I really… You were right when you said we keep everything to ourselves. But some of us do it more than others. And I guess I’m the worst when it comes to showing what I want.”

The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Abby took a deep breath.

“I like you, I really do. I just thought you needed more time. I know what it’s like to suffer and to feel like you can’t breathe. I wanted to give you space. But then I saw you in the car and I immediately knew what was happening. And I finally realized that I wouldn’t make things better by staying away.”

She held your gaze and you felt something shift between you. Her hand on your back came to a halt. You smiled softly.

“I always thought you didn’t find me interesting enough to talk to me. I was so jealous of the others for being this close to you and for making you laugh. I wanted that, too.”

“You’re the most interesting person that’s ever walked into this stadium,” Abby said softly. “God, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel left out.”

You rested your head back on her shoulder.

“You made it up to me already. Really, you saved me today. Twice.”

Abby chuckled.

“Just wait until I have my next breakdown and then you can return the favor. Shouldn’t be long, they get to me every few days.”

You wrapped your arms around her torso.

“Well, then you’ll just have to stay close by.”

She hesitated, holding her breath for a second. You waited.

“Do you want me to stay? Tonight?”

You smiled to yourself.

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

You kept talking for a while. Abby told you about the party and about the cook Nora was currently hooking up with, and you told her about the boy in the kitchen. She recalled training with Danny when she first joined the WLF, laughing about how he had boasted that he wouldn’t lose to a girl and how she had him on the ground in a headlock in about two seconds.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were in the truck again, sitting in the passenger seat as the car flew through Seattle at top speed. You looked over and in the driver's seat there was the red-haired boy from the kitchen. His face was determined, a hard mask of concentration. He was panting hard, driving as fast as he could. Arrows were flying around you, soaring through the broken windows of the car and missing you by mere inches. A horse was whinnying. Scars. You immediately pulled out your gun and started shooting at everything that moved outside, hitting at least three people and a horse.

“Sorry,” you whispered as you reloaded. Animals weren’t fair.

You looked up and suddenly there was someone standing in the middle of the street. A small girl, brown-haired and in a red dress. Her back was to you. You screamed at the driver, but it was too late. The truck hit the child and it was thrown against the windshield, making a horrible noise as it cracked the glass and rolled over the roof to the back of the car where it fell to the ground. The truck came to a shrieking halt and you jumped out, gun drawn. The scars had vanished. You and the redhead ran back to where the girl was laying in a heap on the street, so small and fragile. Blood was running through the cracks in the pavement.

You turned the girl on her back and froze when you saw her face.

“Sierra! No, no, no, oh god no, what have we done - Sierra, Sierra, baby, look at me!”

“Y/N!” You heard your name but Sierra’s lips weren’t moving. “Y/N!” You whipped your head around and woke up.

It was dark and Abby had an arm wrapped around you, the other was holding your cheek. You swallowed and struggled for air.

“I’ve got you, hey, just breathe for me, I’ve got you.” Abby’s voice was sleepy and rough, something you'd have never thought you’d have the privilege of hearing. It calmed you down instantly. You dug your fingers into her arm, strong muscle flexing beneath your touch.

“Shhh, that’s right, just hold on. You’re okay.” You melted into her arms, hands and legs still shaking. She made a quiet humming noise in the back of her throat and pressed another kiss to your scalp. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” you whispered and she hummed again in response. You rested your head against her chest and listened to her breaths as they slowly became more regular, chest steadily moving against you. Her heartbeat thumped softly in your ear. Cocooned in the wolf’s arms and serenaded by the quiet symphony of her sleeping body, you finally drifted off to sleep again.

[lochsides]

If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power Review

Where do I even begin with 'If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power'? It is such a good album, it's almost criminal. If I had to pick the best album to be released this year, IICHLIWP would be it. Halsey has always been an excellent songwriter, that was never even in question, but it has been proved once again, in case anyone wasn't paying attention. IICHLIWP is an album that covers so much depth in sound and in lyric. The dichotomy of the Madonna and the Whore, as they said in their announcement of the album, is an overarching theme of IICHLIWP and it is articulated so consummately. The references to pregnancies and childbirth are more subtle than I expected but that's what makes them so genius. This is an album where every lyric is intentional.

My favourite songs are ‘The Tradition’, 'Bells in Santa Fe', '1121' and 'Ya'aburnee'. More detailed thoughts on each track are below the cut. Trigger warnings for sexual assault and miscarriages.

The Tradition — This is the first song on the album and Halsey had already fucked me up so there's that. I got full-body chills listening to 'The Tradition'. The production is masterful. There is this darkness that settles in early and ebbs and flows beautifully, not only throughout the song but the album as a whole. 'The Tradition' already sets up so many of themes of this album, but what a way to talk about sexual assault. I am in love with the entire chorus line but I think my favourite lyric is ‘she got the life she wanted but now all she does is cry.’

Bells in Santa Fe — The transition from 'The Tradition' into 'Bells in Santa Fe' was so smooth I didn't even notice that the songs had changed until I looked at my screen. I don't think I could actually describe how much I adore this song if I took up the rest of my life doing so. The production is absolutely God-tier. Everything from the way it keeps building throughout the song to the percussion to the piano on the second chorus and the distortion towards the end is so perfectly done. You will never hear me rave about production this much. What a fucking song! On top of all that, you have the lyrics that are so powerful. When they said 'cause who the fuck would chose this?' it reminded me of my favourite Manicsong, 'Forever... is a long' where they sing 'how could somebody ever love me?' so that stood out to me. I love the cadence on 'secondhand thread in a secondhand bed with a second man's head' but the lyric 'better off dead so I reckon I'm headed to Hell instead' is probably the one that hits the hardest. My escapist, runaway tendencies felt very exposed by the entirety of the pre-chorus.

Easier than Lying — The way she emotes on ‘you lair, you don’t love me’ is fucking everything. I needed to start with that. It’s my favourite aspect of the whole song. And then there is that obvious callback in the bridge. ‘Easier than Lying’ is the punk sound we were promised of IICHLIWP and they delivered. The Grungy electric guitar, the bass, the production!!! This one goes hard and it makes no apologies of it’s anger.

Lilith — ‘I’m disruptive, I’ve been corrupted, and by now I don’t need a fucking introduction.’ I mean what could I possibly say after that??! Honestly, I love the duality of how this line could be about Halsey but it could also be about Lilith, herself. There is a selfishness to 'Lilith' that I love. When you connect that to the mythology of Lilith preying on pregnant women and the context of this album — it's just got so many layers. Halsey's mind!! I love the sound of this song. The production has a classic rock flare to it. Those drums are so clean and the bass accompanies it perfectly. The smoothness of their vocal on this track is very pleasing to listen to.

Girl is a Gun — I'm not going to lie, this song isn't for me. I get it. The message is right up my street but the overall sound of it just isn't what I personally like. I do love their little laugh at the start! The lyric 'it's a shot in the dark, I'm not a walk in the park, I come loaded with the safety switched off' is my favourite.

You asked for this — This song is really interesting because they gave us a pop punk sound, pushed it to the back of the track, really grungey guitar riffs and all, but their voice is so light and delicate almost, very airy in a way that stands apart from the backing track. I really like it. To me, it's like an emphasis of the message of 'You asked for this'. Young women are oftentimes forced to grow up too soon and 'be a big girl.' Society forgets, I would even say purposely overlooks, that they are 'still somebody's daughter,' one of the few things that is used to give value to a woman. We've all heard people throw the phrase "but what if it was your daughter/sister?" into the conversation when discussing women that have somehow been abused by the patriarchy. 'You asked for this' also calls attention to how when we're younger, all we want is to be grown up but how unaware we can be of what it means to be a woman in this world, the trauma that comes with it.

Darling — The guitar in this song and it’s almost-country sound are what sets this song apart from the rest of the album. ‘Darling’ is a lullaby for their child, but it tells a story of their struggles. It is honest in a way that feels private. Motherhood sounds so good on them!! This song is just a collection of things I love in music. 'Darling' is soothing and it sounds like comfort, in both melody and lyric. 'Foolish men have tried but only you have shown me how to love being alive' is perhaps the softest lyric on the whole album.

1121 — I expelled a heavy sigh when I heard ‘1121’ it absolutely took my breath away*.* This song is a truly moving ode to an unborn child. So many people talk about how they had never known what unconditional love really meant until they had a child. Halsey tells it as such: ‘you could have my heart and I would break it for you.’ I love their vocal styling on this song so much, going between their lower register and those beautiful falsettos in the chorus. The overlapping on the bridge of ‘please don’t leave, don’t leave me in the shape you left me’ and ‘I’m running out of time to tell you, I’m running out of things that I regret’ and ‘you’d never, you told me’ really capture all the wide array of emotions felt by pregnant person upon finding out they are pregnant when they’ve dealt with miscarriage. Her voice emotes the fear of losing another child, the regret of the ones she's already lost, the promise, almost desperate, of the opportunity they have right now. All of these feelings are brought to life further by the production of the song. There is so much depth in '1121'.

honey — Pop punk wlw anthem check. Halsey suits this sound so much. This track, the production, the instrumentation, all of it catered to their voice so perfectly. The sound is so refreshing and yet so classic. I adore the melody. It’s unsuspectingly catchy. I wonder if there are links to ‘Lilith’ with ‘she’s mean and she’s mine’ or if I’m just reaching. Either way, a song about a love that is a little chaotic and wild, sign me up!

Whispers — Whispering on a song called 'Whispers' might be obvious but I'm a basic bitch so leave me alone, I loved it. Lyrically, 'Whispers' was the song that I saw myself in the most. When she said 'camouflage so I can feed the lie that I'm composed,' I just felt far too exposed for comfort. Same thing with 'I do not know me.' And that's what art is supposed to do. The instrumental is haunting and dark. The way they create tension by adding in one instrument at a time. The production is amazing. Top 5 shit right here!

I am not a woman, I'm a god — Not only does this song have the catchiest hook, it’s literally ‘I am not a woman, I’m a god. I am not a martyr, I’m a problem. I am not a legend, I’m a fraud so keep your heart ‘cause I already got one.’ That hook right there tells you everything you need to know about this song. ‘I am not a woman, I’m a god’ acknowledges that one needs not be a woman to create life. They are claiming power to their gender identity through relation to Godliness. Even in the other lyrics, they talk about being ‘a different human in a new place’ or ‘a better human with a new name’ (this line in particular draws direct parallels to trans experiences). Both times, they specifically use ‘human.’ The production of this song is designed to be a single. It’s got the signature darkness of this album, tells the listener where Halsey is at sonically, and it’s a total banger.

The Lighthouse — The way this song just comes in swinging right away with the distortion and the heavy guitars is exactly what I expected from this album going into it for the first time. Very modern punk rock. And the lyric doesn't pull any punches either. 'From a tender age I was cursed with rage,' like c'mon!! I love the melody and her vocal inflations throughout the song. This is the longest song on the album but it doesn't drag. The change up right before the outro really helps with that. I find that outro so interesting. The contrast between the instrumental constantly building but their voices staying so far in the back on the track creates so much tension that is relieved in the best way possible with 'Ya'aburnee'.

Ya'aburnee — ‘Ya’aburnee’ is the perfect conclusion to this album. Halsey said in their Apple Music interview that IICHLIWP is about the power to choose and by the end of the album you realise that they choose love. This song perfectly embodies that. It’s familial. The entire chorus talks of seeing yourself in your kin and the circle of life. The second verse is a clear love letter to their partner and it makes me emotional, knowing their romantic history as we do, to hear them sing ‘wrap me in a wedding ring.’ I love how the lyric ‘you will bury me before I bury you’ is not only a statement of their hopes that they don’t have to live in a world without their loved ones, a statement of how parents should never have to bury their children, but it almost sounds like a protective promise that they will do anything to ensure their loved ones are kept from harm so as not to need burial. The softness of the instrumental on ‘Ya’aburnee’ is feels like unwinding from the rest of the record. It’s such a beautiful song.

[the-beskar-alchemist]

Here we go again with my recap ramblings! Had to do a bit of nip/tuck for this one, it’s a bit lengthy.

My opinions, as I've stated before, are based on my limited knowledge of the Star Wars universe. I have NOT seen anything outside of the movie franchise, so please bear with me...

- First off I would like to express my appreciation for this episode going balls-to-the-wall with Ashoka, instead of spending an unnecessary amount of time working towards her introduction. Considering we spent two episodes just GETTING to her, the fact that it was like "BAM! There she is!" was very refreshing.

- Also I would like to thank Filoni for establishing her badassery UP FRONT, instead of having her do some sort of "Surprise! These are my special skills!" maneuver. The concept hit home on the first try, and it hit HARD.

- I know people are iffy with Rosario Dawson (I'm not that caught up on her to know the details myself), but she does bring a certain......presence, I guess......to this episode, but just as the character, not really HER specifically.  She seems more powerful when she's silent, versus when she speaks, her portrayal of the dialogue seems kinda monotone for my taste honestly. (I think it's worth mentioning that, while I understand people wish for Ashley, it would involve "black face" makeup on some levels to achieve Ashoka's skin-tone, I don't think it would've worked, no matter how skilled the makeup artists are)

- The ghastly forest makes me think of the lighting technique they used for The Half Blood Prince film

- As I've said, I have not seen the Clone Wars series, so I'm not familiar with Ashoka's animated fighting techniques, but I do love how practical she is with the lightsabers in a dark setting, turning them off to avoid too much attention, and only turning them back on right when she's ready to attack to really take her enemies off guard

- Din narrating to the baby has me in my feels a bit, this dude is really going through the motions isn't he? He's trying so hard to keep it together, acting like he's fine that his whole world is about to change in a way he's not fully prepared to handle.

- Can we take a moment to discuss how observant the baby is? He may not know about circuitry to help with ship maintenance, but he has the wherewithal to know when he's headed to a place that's potentially harmful. Episode 7 in season 1, when Din mentions going back to Nevarro? The baby immediately tries to adjust the ships trajectory to avoid going to a place of which his only memories consist of him being experimented on and possibly almost killed. And NOW? Now he recognizes that the name of the planet Din is taking him to will be where they separate, so OF COURSE his first instinct is to, not only avoid leaving Din's side at the pilot's seat, but to also seek out one of the few tangible objects that brings him comfort: THE METAL BALL FROM THE LEVER........baby boi is so smart, we do not give him enough credit

- Baby REALLY didn't want to leave his papa.......also DIN LET HIM KEEP THE BALL PLS

- Din walking through the town reminded me of the Two Towers when the party arrived at Rohan and Gimli was like "You'll find more cheer in a graveyard"

- I have to wonder what was going through Din's mind upon seeing the prisoners in the electric cages. I'm sure he was disgusted, but everything presented in this series is VERY deliberate, ergo Din was meant to see this to IMMEDIATELY establish that this magistrate was someone he wouldn't want to be allied with, a feat that could've been established with the intro into the town alone, but it seems that the best way to really drive home just how terrible these people are is voyeurism.

- The town versus inside the magistrates gated home? Night and day. The contrast is intriguing, how "dead" the town looks but inside the second gate there's life, somewhat flourishing.

- If Din KNEW that the magistrate was referring to Ashoka, than he basically tricked her into helping him find her under the guise of making a deal. If not, than he figured it out during their first fight upon seeing how she maneuvered around him. Either way, we stan one smart cookie.

- Lang reminds me of Number Two from the Austin Powers series

- BATU BATU BATU BATU

- I love the fact that Din is including the baby in his bounty hunting process, not just telling him they've reached the coordinates, but also letting him know to start looking, IT'S BRING YOUR SON TO WORK DAY......(but like EVERYday for him tho.....)

- Okay but like LOGICALLY I KNEW THAT BESKAR CANNOT BE DAMAGED BY A LIGHTSABER BUT MY HEART STOPPED FOR A SECOND

- DIN PACING LIKE A NERVOUS DAD IN THE DOCTORS OFFICE, POOR BABY

- I have to wonder how the baby "talks" via the Force, is it full "sentences"? Clipped "sentences"? Or is it kinda like Renesmee from Twilight where she "inserted" visuals into another person's head? I know they can "feel" each other's thoughts, but I've always wondered exactly HOW they "feel" them...

- I understand people are a little put-off by the lekku, and that cosplayers have done it "better", but we have to remember that cosplayers aren't doing (multiple) fight scenes, the head-piece has to be practical in its design, as well as authentic. There are stunt-doubles, and having to create multiple versions that not only can withstand constant movement, but also won't break easily. Not to mention when you try to do a live-action based off an animated series, it almost ALWAYS looks "wrong" on some levels (live-action anime? it's awkward af, no matter how hard you try...)

- About the Grogu controversy: I'm on the fence, but will most likely come to love/appreciate the name. Is it within the realm of what I was expecting? Nope. Is it possible that we are ALL projecting our own ideas of what name the baby "should" have had, so much so that almost ANY name they would've given him would've sounded "wrong"? VERY distinctive possibility......this is Star Wars after all, names are meant to sound "weird".  Grogu sounds like a Star Wars kind of name, in fact it's kinda fitting for a species that looks reptilian-ish

- THE BABY HEARING DIN SAY HIS NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME, THE WHIPLASH IN THAT HEAD-TURN, BUT LIKE.....I love the slight parallels to Grogu's and Din's name-arc: They both went DECADES without hearing their own names, and the reveal's are so contrasting, Din hears his name during a time when he's in danger, the baby hears his while having a heart-to-heart. I'm curious about how Din was feeling in this moment, thinking about how long Grogu must've gone without hearing his own name, and how Din longs to have someone say HIS name with an almost reverent tone

- YODA NAME-DROP.....but also Grogu looked at Ashoka when she said the name, I wonder if he knew Yoda

- Some people have mentioned Ashoka's lekku not being long enough for her age, I'm wondering if they compensated with the "wrinkles" in it? Can lekku have wrinkles?

- Grogu trying to be good for his papa, but also NOT wanting to use his powers because he KNOWS it would mean that papa has to leave him (and Din's little head tilt to get him to cooperate) I JUST....I CAN'T

- Ashoka telling Din to connect with Grogu, and Din shifting around all like "LOOK ITS BAD ENOUGH I HAVE TO LEAVE MY SON WITH YOU, CAN YOU NOT MAKE THIS HARDER FOR ME???"

- FATHER AND SON GAME OF CATCH AND DIN'S EXCITEMENT WHEN GROGU CAUGHT THE METAL BALL, MY OVARIES CANNOT TAKE THIS MUCH FLUFF

- Subtle Anakin reference, given what happened to the younglings after he went dark, it's a good thing Grogu was taken.......but by WHO???

- Din calling the lightsabers "laser swords" and Ashoka's little grin like, she WANTED to correct him, but she was enjoying Din's dorkyness???

- Din trusted her enough to let her borrow his pauldron??? I HAD A MOMENT

- DIN GUNSLINGER DJARIN

- Did my eyes fucking DECEIVE ME?? DID ASHOKA CUT THE SPEAR IN HALF????? Like this is the second time I'm watching this, the first time I noticed it I was like "No fucking WAY", but I'm seeing it AGAIN, IT WASN'T A TRICK OF THE EYE....so beskar is only lightsaber RESISTANT??

- Lang vs Din was like Johnny Ringo vs Doc Holliday, "You're no daisy!"

- More name-dropping. Did Ashoka kill Elsbeth? They never show her after the exchange.

- Din could've jetpacked his way back to the ship, but chose to walk instead. The way he avoids actually waking up Grogu at first, holding him for a bit, then taking the time to get him ready. Din baby who are you fooling? You're not ready, and you never will be.

- DIN STICKING HIS FINGERS OUT TO LET GROGU HOLD HIS HAND

- Ashoka knows okay?? She KNOWS that Din and Grogu are meant to stay together

- Din calling out Ashoka for trying to weasel out of the deal vs calling out Bo-Katan for changing the deal: No malice in his voice, he barely put up a fight, then sounded relieved after she gave him an alternative, one that could lead to the baby deciding NOT to become like the Jedi and instead choosing to remain with this buir

[illegiblewords]

Notes under the cut!

These aren’t all of my lady WoLs, but they are some of my favorite designs and I tried to specifically show different things with each of them.

I think with design, beyond different silhouettes it’s worth it to be able to look at a character and get a sense of their personality and background. Sometimes lifestyle depending on how realistic you’re going, although Final Fantasy is a bit “fuck practicality we’re running on rule of pretty” lmao.

With these ladies specifically I also wanted to 1) pick fashions that would work well with the body types and proportions 2) create specific tones 3) play with expectations. I also, personally, wanted to explore different forms of femininity in a positive way. I’ve seen some cases where people seem to think the only way to have a “strong” woman is if she’s made traditionally masculine. I have no problem with traditionally masculine women by any means, but I’m really not into demonizing femininity either. So if I have the option to actually explore femininity in a game in positive ways I like to do that!

Nheu/Pink Miqo’te: I wanted to make her a kind of scrappy character, loud and probably a bit obnoxious, a shameless delinquent sort who immediately demands attention with neon color schemes. Going with Keeper of the Moon miqo’te let her have a toothy smile with little fangs too! I didn’t want her to look mysterious or alluring. This is one of my favorite archetypes tbh, I should really use it more.

Lagogeim/Turquoise Roegadyn: I wanted to make a dragoon who tied to Limsa Lominsa instead of Ishgard or even Gridania, who took the concept of Llymlaen with her harpoon and really built into the motif of pirates. So beyond evoking the sea as much as possible, I wanted to use an unnatural skin tone and hair color since people shy away from those a lot. I tried going for a harder fem look too for her--many roegadyn players embrace this angle so I decided to this time!

Eir/Blue Highlander: I’ve seen a stereotype that hyur highlanders have tall, sexy bodies but less attractive faces. I wanted to make a very short, cute looking highlander girl who isn’t the extreme end of curvy, give her a short/cute haircut that still felt strongly feminine, and pair that with a heavier, more traditionally masculine-perceived job like Warrior. I also tried to make her really, REALLY feel Ala Mhigan both in gear and color scheme/features--I drew some aspects of her coloring from Ilberd to be honest!

Asklona/Green Roegadyn: So I mentioned that a lot of people do hard fem looks for lady roegadyns very well, and I’ve seen critics go after femroes saying they have mannish bodies and ugly faces before. I disagree with that a lot, and decided in this case to go as soft and traditionally feminine as I could. I also went with the least saturated Sea Wolf color and tried playing with blushes/hair color combos to help her look a bit more natural (as opposed to blue/greenish) in this case. Another angle I went with was bard specifically to close the gap between Limsa Lominsa and Gridania, playing into siren and pirate themes since this character is a Sea Wolf. Beyond choosing green to fit with my Famfrit team in a unique way, I chose it as that bridge and because the green being a complementary color to red would make any pink hues stand out more!

Osk/Purple Viera: The stereotype I’ve seen for viera has involved them being hyper sexualized. I personally also rarely use brown hair or the color purple apparently so far as those choices go. What’s more, I wanted to make a look for the scholar job that would be a little more versatile, clearly not mistakable for any other job (healing or otherwise) and that would keep this particular character both elegant and more conservatively dressed. I didn’t want the character to feel like she’d hopped out of the woods either given that’s the most frequent angle for Viera--going a more urban direction was something I wanted to do as a contrast to that.

Nivienne/Gold Elezen: Wildwood elezen tend to be pushed with more natural skintones while Duskwights are more likely to have blue undertones that let them feel like drow. In this case I wanted to make a Wildwood elezen who, due to color combinations, felt fantasy-golden and a little otherworldly. I did a lot of designing to foil Emet-Selch in the name of fanfic lmao (use of gray and gold in different places to different degrees, height, etc.) but I also wanted to make a summoner character who, like scholar, felt extremely visually distinct from other casters. The biggest Summoner-specific look involves horns so that stayed, but for the rest I wanted there to be a flowing and mysterious feel. There was a critique I saw in the past that female casters end up looking like magical girls, so I wanted to challenge that. I also was careful with how the face and shoulders were framed to make sure that Nivienne would feel proportional, since that’s a potential risk for elezen.

Acja/Brass Viera: Another alternate take on dragoon! This time, I wanted to make a viera who tied to savanna aesthetics as a contrast to forest ones, and I did look at Sub-Saharan African fashions as influence. I couldn’t get things exact/used some “it’s Final Fantasy people wear five billion belts” artistic license (and offhand I don’t remember the exact country I used, it might have involved Ghana’s historical armor?) but I tried to match silhouettes, materials, shoes, etc. as best I could. Part of this is also that I know African visuals get used less often in video games, which is a shame because they’re incredibly gorgeous and distinct! So Acja is one design where I did try to bring that in.

Kokono/Orange Lalafell: I’ve seen people lament lack of canine race options in FFXIV and honestly, I agree with that sentiment. We have so many cats and it would have been cool to get dog options. Since it’s not an in-game thing though, I figured this was an opportunity to make the type of character instead. In this case, I used the dark nose option for lalafells and combined with pieces from the werewolf set to make a little fox! She has a few different influences to her visuals due to backstory stuff, but I do think there are ways to make more foxes and small dogs for lalafells as well as wolves for Hellsguard roegadyns.

Eshe/Yellow Au Ra: Another African-influenced design, this one tying to Ethiopian historical fashion and armor! Same rules apply though, the top goes hugely with the “it’s Final Fantasy” brand of artistic license. I know au ra are mostly associated with Othard/Eastern regions, so I decided to shift things to a different tone while trying to keep things fully immersive. I made Eshe a paladin because the swords and shields have some options that resemble African sword designs (WHICH ARE SO FUCKING COOL) and I wanted to try a different tone for paladin from the Western knight-in-shining-armor as well. I didn’t want Eshe to feel overly cutesy or innocent, but did want her to feel very graceful and strong.

Mitsu/Red Midlander: A few things hit me in combination here. First, I’d been nerfing myself to a degree with hyur midlanders when I knew there was an approach I liked. Second, I haven’t seen a lot of traditional-looking characters from Othard and I wanted to switch that up. By this I mean that looking at Far Eastern NPCs, often they are midlander hyurs with black, dark brown, or occasionally gray hair. Not a ton of dye. I love that the Warrior of Light could come from anywhere, so I tried to design someone who credibly could have been an NPC in Kugane. She’s a summoner because there is an Othard tradition of summoning, and she wears red because to my knowledge it has symbolism for good luck in both Japan and China besides being pretty. I also wanted to make a very different summoner (and general caster) visual compared to Nivienne.

[leaveharmony]

The Rate My Villagers post absolutely no one asked for: post-Rocket edition (...there is no Rocket edition)

Leopold: 

10/10 The best boy.  Leopold was my first camper, which I have now learned means he could not have been rejected even if I had intended to, but I did actually not mean to say COME LIVE HERE right away!  I was just excited to have a visitor, and also it was a Cool Lion, and he immediately reminded me of Tana.  Also he was eating a doughnut, which made him even more endearing.  I love his entire design, from the green Tana hair that sometimes from behind makes me think he’s just part of a tree and sometimes has resulted in me running up to say hello to an unrelated tree that is not in fact him, to his sleepy eyes, to his big broad nose, to his little wee Lennon glasses, to the fuzzy lil ears that MATCH his toe beans in a dazzling display of coordination that is the envy of people who merely match their bags to their shoes.  No other lions, nor smugs, will ever be required on Kentanna because the positions are 100% filled.  He has never asked to leave but if he slid the dodos seven million bells in the dead of night to fly him away they would know I’d double the fee to keep him, circle the island a few times and land back at the dock, where I’d be waiting to give him a new hat.

(Everyone else under the cut)

Big Top:

10/10 Oh my god.  The first villager I chose, if I remember correctly; when the first three plots opened up after Cobb and Rocket were assigned.  I don’t remember if he was the first one I found, but I do distinctly recall saying “Oh my god, it’s an elephant,” and being instantly delighted.  It’s funny because almost everything that irritated me about Rocket’s design is wonderful on Big Top; wearing hats over his helmets, the little green suit never coming off...I think it’s just because elephants are inherently funny.  Like the other ones on the superhero team...the cat, the squirrel, Rocket, they just look silly, but it works on Big Top because elephants can get away with anything.  Love his laid back eyes and his mouth being off to one side, excellent tail, points for traditional elephant colouring.  He is never leaving.

Cobb: 

10/10 ok listen.  Listen.  I was dealt two starters by the gods, and Rocket was a disaster, but Cobb amused me as soon as I saw him.  He’s a green pig.  That’s fantastic!  I lost my entire mind the first time I saw him sitting under a tree reading and realized that it isn’t his glasses/goggles making him look like he has blank yellow eyes...his eyes are just blank and yellow.  His snout is so enormous that when he looks down I can’t see his mouth and I cannot tell you how cute it is, but I also love how wide his mouth actually is under normal circumstances.  When he does his exercises, his left ear flops...but only the left one.  The first thing Cobb did was give me a hat; my first hat, and he has had my sword ever since.

Miranda:

10/10.  Do you even know how badly I wanted a duck, though?  It was my number one wishlist item, and one day I just crawled through that tent flap and there was a fucking pink duck in there, casual as anything about being representative of all my hopes and dreams.  She has apple cheeks!!  She’s wearing eyeshadow!  LOOK AT HER LITTLE DUCK PATOOT!  It sticks out just like that no matter what she wears 😭 When she walks on stone there are little pap pap pap noises and she prefers elegant little dresses.  I’d die for her.

T-Bone:

10/10. I forget in which order T-Bone came to us, but I do recall I’d just set up the plot and intended to go looking for someone to fill it when I realized it was Sold already.  ‘Sold already!??’  I said.  ‘How can this be, I did not authorize this!  Who the hell is T-Bone!  I shall have a stern word with that loose cannon tanuki!’  And then it was just like.  Oh he’s a bull!  And the first thing he did was compliment my dress.  His place was classy, he sounds like Tenzan which is twice as funny because he’s a bull, I like the blue/grey, his minimalist eyes are very good...I just...loved him instantly?  And I know there are several other valid crankies but tbh I look at T-Bone and it’s...my friend T-Bone, not some strange wolf or anteater or bear.  His head is peanut-shaped and I love him more than I love my own father.

Flurry:

10/10.  My first Normal villager was, and it’s kind of telling that I can never remember how to spell her name, Rhoda or Rhonda, the rhino.  I picked her!  She seemed cool I guess, kinda neat.  She was also the first to ask to leave, and since I hadn’t yet formed an emotional attachment I decided I’d let her, so it was time to go hunting.

It was raining.  Little ears appeared on the horizon, flanking a small rain hat.  She had her back to me.  “Yes, good,” I said.  “Continue.”

Flurry emerged in the gloomy light like Athena springing from the head of Zeus. I had no idea what the fuck she was.  A cub?  A really short bear?  Back then I wasn’t sure I could talk to them without inviting them and I wanted a Normal type, but I did not know her name.  A little googling later, realization dawned.

“Hamster!  HAAAAMMMMSSSTTTEEERRRRRRRR” I desperately pm’d to @breadclubrising​, who justly laughed at me.

Look at her.  She is so fucking smol.  She has no nose!  Her mouth is an inverted child’s drawing of a distant seagull.  In certain moods her eyes turn white, and one time she got mad at Big Top for spoiling her book and she was just...stomping around with steam shooting out her ears in the world’s tiniest tantrum.  Do you know how much effort it must take to stomp with legs that short??  That is my Flurry, full of determination.

Cheri:

10/10.  Cheri preceded Flurry, which was why I thought she might be a weird cub at first.  One of the initial 3 after the starters, so her house is, like Big Top and Cobb’s, all wrong on the inside.  Again, I chose her on the hunt ‘cos she met the criteria of smol and adorable and a type I did not yet have.  I am tremendously fond of her but I think I can let her move on to delight someone else who will also be totally unprepared for a small pink bear with anime eyes to stroll out from behind a tree and declare that they are a Friend.

Clay:

10/10.  I was tired, my arm was sore, I was so, so tired of taking mystery tours.  The types were all accounted for, so whoever I found would end up a secondary.  Oddly, it was raining again.   “Oh NO!” I said, when Clay turned around.

Another hamster.  Oh my god, another hamster.

Listen I want to give Roald a shot to penguin the place up, I really do.  But...the thing is...look at Clay.  Look at him!  That is his default poncho, actually, I think the only default outfit I have apart from Bree’s.  This...hippie lookin’ golem hamster, I love him.  The design is so good??  He’s a little piece of caveman pottery, only a hamster.  I love his dots, and I love that the ears are such a vivid aqua to contrast with all the neutrals.  The slit eyes are very good.  There’s no reaction that makes him do it so I cannot demonstrate but when he sings sometimes his mouth makes a perfect round ‘o’

I have lost him 84 times because he’s short and blends in with trees and cliffsides.

Pinky:

10/10 damnit lol.  Pinky was another “Ok, close enough” hunt gone terribly right.  I love that she is ENORMOUS, like I think she’s even taller than T-Bone.  She’s such a great vivid pink, her toe beans contrast so well with it...she’s a panda, what more do I even need to say?  If I was going to keep an additional Peppy after ordering Ketchup I think it’d be Pinky rather than Cheri, which is wild considering you’d think it’d be the other way around.  But I really dig how tall she is vs how tiny all the other girls are...

Bree:

9/10.  I’m not gonna lie, Bree is a stopgap measure.  It could have as easily been Norma or Judy or any of the other randoms I happened across before I got sick of looking for Muffy.

But as stopgaps go, she is a fucking stellar one, eh?  Look at that tiny little body, I could leapfrog her if I wanted to!  The size!  Of the fucking ears!  Just amazing.  She cannot face the direction of the wind lest it blow her into the sea.  Love the hair, love the big green eyes, the blush, the tail.  She is just...very pleasing overall.  The score is 9/10 only because her head is so candy corn shaped that hats just kinda sit on the top and it looks ridiculous; Rocket had the same problem but had none of the cute that makes up for it.  If I could have like,15 villagers, I may even consider keeping her, but alas she is here only until I get my mitts on some amiibos.  I will enjoy her company until then. 🥰 

[projectshadovv]

Can you tell us more about your fursona?

im gonna assume you mean Blank, my albino white shepherd!

Blank’s original name was Raven. i wanted a “dark” name to contrast her light appearance, like Shadow, or Shade, or Coal, or Smokey, but i went with Raven, i dont know why but i did!

i chose a white german shepherd because i was currently obsessed with Bolt, the disney movie!! its still one of my all time fav movies. 

I made her super plain white, turquoise eyes taken from the anime character Toshiro Hitsuguaya from Bleach (i always thought his eyes were the most BEAUTIFUL shade of blue EVER...)

i was also really into bandanas and camo patterns, specifically gray camo, thus ending up with THIS:

she wasn’t my main fursona then, i had a different character, but she was one of the many i had. i didnt draw her much, cause i liked complicated, fun designs, and she wasnt all that fun to draw. i mostly drew her in vent art cause it was the easiest, and she was more of a serious character (dont let that smile fool you)

When i finally up’d her to my main sona, i added a SHIT load of gear to her. this was during the era of making fun of wolf a boos and sparkledogs. they were major cringe, and i took great pride in NOT having such a colorful, blinding character. but she was STILL boring to draw, so what did i do?

GEARED HER UP BABEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i LOVE wearing hats, ofc i gave her one, including a spiked collar, and her gray bandana. wristbands, a ...bandage? i liked to wear as if i had some sort of wound, gave her an ipod arm band (including headphones), a sticker (it mightve actually been meant to be a TATTOO?) with my favorite number (11), and on her right shoulder an LOL face sticker, earrings, a chained wristband along her leg wristbands cause i played LOZ twilight princess and i liked the chain on Wofl Links leg, AND............A CHAIN...HARNESS?? oh also changed her eyes to red. cause red eyes were badass.

i almost NEVER drew her harness tho. FUCK CHAINS...

i changed my fursona again tho, to a lil fennec fox named Zenka. i made Raven more of a High school persona kinda of character, and also for vent again. i updated her designs but kept a lot of stuff on her still, i was really attached to a buncha her stuff. got rid of the chains and wrist bands and the stickers. combined her collar and bandana, made a camo printed collar, gave her a KITTY HAT i loved these types of hats back then!!! i collected the hell out of them! i gave her a pink nose, green eyes, and black faded tip tail (i played okami recently ghfdk). oh and i actually learned a bit of anatomy, so she looks more like an actual shepherd dog.

(got a tablet recently. did i mention the ones before were drawn with a mouse? its all tablet drawings from here on out)

i drew these only a few years ago for funsies, but this is a side by side comparison

i started to FINALLY become attached to Raven, but i wasnt feeling her green eyes, and i was starting to love pink. minus the black tipped tail, which i forgot (or maybe i didnt cause this was when i got the albino idea), here is when i officially started the process to permanently changing her design to what it is today. i also noticed i had a nick on my left ear, so its been an official staple of all my fursonas designs ever since.

made her a new anthro form that i ended up NEVER drawing after i made this cause i had no idea how to design clothes. disclaimer, ive NEVER smoked but i thought it was Cool(tm) back then, so id draw my sonas smoking. at least smoking rainbows didnt sound or look so deadly. OH and teh declawed design idea comes from when i started working in the job industry and bc of it i have bouts of joint and muscle pain every now and then, possibly arthritis, who can a afford a doctor and official diagnoses these days. and the effect of declawing animals shares the same symptoms, so i use it as a little hidden tid bit.

fast forward a bit, new ref 2015

i finally came out being a lesbian and its just been good designs since then. LOOK AT HER LIL FLUFF HEAD

new ref in 2017, finally new official name!! took getting some used to. i had a childhood friend who was considered a bad influence/bad seed child, but i enjoyed her company, and loved the name she picked for herself Blank.

besides liking the name, its “���”””””symbolic”””””””” as seen in the second pic, a ref sheet i tried making earlier this year

(also ditched the ink stained tail design idea, nvr used it. now its just a silver tipped tail)

and HERE WE ARE NOW!!!!

THE COMEBACK OF THE GRAY CAMO............ anyways thank for hearing me out!!! ilove this girl so much

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Emily's Awakening, Part Three

Following a jolt and abrupt halt in her uncontrolled flight, Emily shot through the air and tumbled forward. Immense heat, so fiery that it threatened her skin to blister, made way to flames licking at her nude body, triggering a visceral response; making animal instincts flare up and drive her to new heights of exertion.

She rolled after hitting the ground, stumbling back onto her feet only to run yet farther—only forward—liberating every aspect of the clashing realities and letting this hell burn to the ground with its own flame.

Running, sprinting, up until she stopped sensing her body itself. Until her entire being had become this valley of fire.

A scent of sulfur and something that reminded her of blood or rust—iron—hit her nostrils like a freight train. The heat that accompanied it was out of this world, radiating from a floor made out of red hot cast iron—but it did not hurt Emily.

She stood before a maze and in the center of that maze stood Emily. Or rather, a glowing image, a reflection of herself, lit and radiating with the dim light of that calm blue flame, contrasting the crimson glow of the inferno and lava all around.

Emily finally paused, finding that she didn’t need to catch her breath. Instead, a strange calm filled her. Smoke billowed out from between her lips even though her last cigarette felt like it had burnt down an eternity ago. Fire burnt on her skin—no, it burnt from her skin, escaping through the pores from her blood within—a raging fire. Her skin had lost all semblance of flesh, now made of pure, living iron.

The other Emily—the other one who stood in the center of the labyrinthine pattern of glowing lines—she beckoned Iron Emily to herself. Blue Flame Emily’s blue light glimmered, glowing in a steady counterbalance to Iron Emily’s red-hot rage.

Focus.

Focus.

“What the jailer does not know, is that they are just another prisoner,” Emily whispered. To herself or to anything within the infinity around her; none of that mattered. Recalling Wise Man’s words helped her calm down.

All that mattered was that her mind still functioned and the words emerged from her core, like the whisper and crackle of a flame, like the mantra that heralded an anchor being cast into the water. It didn’t sound or feel like her self anymore, but it was—unmistakably so. Even more her self now than ever before.

Reborn.

No—something was missing. Something crucial. She was still in the process of rebirth.

Iron Emily approached Blue Flame Emily. Her consciousness trailed behind her by half a step, always following, all entities connected by silver threads but remaining out of sync and catching up in a blur.

The fires would meet. Together they would burn brighter than any color.

A beacon of blinding light.

The moment Iron Emily stepped onto the pattern of the maze to cross the floor, a shock wave jolted through her body and an unseen force pushed her back. She could feel the iron of her feet melting into the searing-hot stone of the maze, making her steps weigh a million tons and slowing her advance.

“Wake up,” Iron Emily said to Emily. The words poured out like smoke, smooth and toxic. She was not appealing to a dreaming self, nor was she urging Emily to wake up from a nightmare. Emily was telling Emily to focus—to shed all things that still held her back.

The first thing that weighed her down was a glimpse of another reality—another timeline? Another dimension? A place where Emily sat inside the bright white confines of a psych ward, rocking back and forth and withdrawn from reality altogether, failing to cope with the horrors of being abducted and raped by monsters posing as human beings.

That image loomed behind her like a dark shadow. That alternate existence and everything else behind her—there lied madness.

Only two ways left to go: to turn back and surrender herself to insanity, or to wander the infernal maze and embrace her destiny.

Iron Emily struggled to move, finally lifting a foot and taking her first step into the circular maze. A familiar presence blinked into existence—felt but not seen, then heard but not felt.

“Gay Chris,” as they always called him back in the day. One of her best friends. He stood, leaning against one of the fiery rocks on the edge of the maze, giving off a casual air and unfazed by this surreal hellscape.

“You always rant about all the shit that’s wrong with the world, but what the fuck are you doing about it but ranting? Shut the fuck up if you’re not going to do anything about it,” he said, repeating the words that had inspired Emily to become the truth-seeker she was now.

Even his expression mirrored the one on his face from that decade past—annoyed by his stoned friend’s idiotic tirades. When it clicked for Emily. When she steered her life in a new direction, one in which she would change the world, and the one in which she became a jaded journalist.

“I won’t shut the fuck up,” she replied, now smiling. Originally, she had been taken aback by his words. Now she knew the purpose she had found, the things she had done, and all the things she still wanted to do. “At least I’m fucking doing something now. Can you say the same for yourself, designing graphics for stupid little video games over in Montreal, motherfucker?”

“She won’t be silenced, son,” Detective Tanner said. The law man had appeared behind Iron Emily, seemingly out of nowhere, born from this fiery hell.

Chris chuckled and his skin melted, sloughing off like pudding. The chuckling gurgled and exploded into a bellowing, booming laughter, growing in volume. From the hideous molten flesh emerged a demonic figure, showing its true form.

Emily’s madness.

“Sure, keep acting tough, little girl. Cuffed to the curtain rod while the Grinning Man sinks the blade into your back,” the demon said.

Iron Emily squinted, pushing back the memories of her trauma. But there would be no avoiding them here. She could feel the infernal fires burning away all uncertainty, peeling away the layers of her flesh like the skin of an onion till all that was left was the stark realities underneath, and the core of who she truly was.

Thing being, Emily was not afraid of that anymore. She was not afraid of her true self. She knew her flaws, her weaknesses, all the rough edges and the inconsistencies that she believed to burden the world around her with.

Part of her true self was this thing—this demon—and she felt no shame about it. No regrets. She was more in tune with who she was than ever before. She remembered it from her drug trip in Rodney’s basement. And here it was again, haunting her.

She let her gaze sweep back and forth between Tanner and the demonic entity that had worn Gay Chris as a disguise.

“What the fuck do I call you?”

“Tanner,” said the entity looking like Detective Tanner.

“Okay. And you? You’re not Chris anymore,” she said, nodding at the demon. “Here’s your chance to pick a cool name, because I sure as hell am gonna give you a dumb one just to piss you off.”

The demon cackled and growled, “I am what lurks at the bottom of each glass of booze you drown yourself in.”

“Alright. Suit yourself, asshole. I dub thee Stinky Jim.”

This also amused the demon, prompting more mad cackling.

A sense of uneasiness returned. It reminded her of the presence of the Grinning Man. Always behind her, closing in for the kill. Murder in the eyes, just watching her.

Emily dared to shoot a glance over her shoulder, peeking at the infernal madness behind her, raging at the edges of the maze. From it emerged Hal, carrying the studio camera, approaching her.

“Clever, Emily. Now show us how much of a ‘highly-functioning alcoholic’ you really are. Not sure you ever managed to pull off that magic trick, you dumb bitch,” he sneered, keeping the camera trained on her. The red light on the camera flashed menacingly, matching the beat of the all-devouring madness, beating to the pulse of this Pandemonium.

Stinky Jim cackled more at this, and melted into a puddle of searing-hot lava on the floor. Emily chose to ignore Fake-Evil Hal and look straight ahead.

Kept her eyes on Blue Flame Emily.

Still she could feel the camera, hovering right behind her. Watching her every move. Some part of her knew this was her own insanity, a part of herself that was judging her, testing her. Prodding her with every single bad memory, and exposing everything she thought or desired.

Fake-Evil Hal reminded her of her self-destructive, self-hating streak.

“You have to keep going,” Tanner said. Emily wanted to imagine that she reminded him of her father, but Tanner didn’t. If anything, he reminded her of what she imagined a father figure to be like, and what such a man would do now. “You got this,” he added on cue.

“Are you really Tanner?” she asked him. Because while everything and everybody else felt like manifestations of her self, Tanner’s presence felt so—off. Out of place.

He turned and pointed to the wall behind him. Instead of the obsidian and granite that comprised the solid structures within this fiery hell, he stood within the confines of his office at the precinct.

A red yarn connected pins on the corkboard there, drawing lines between different photos, maps, and pink Post-it notes. She remembered this “paranoia wall” of his quite well.

“It’s not paranoia when they’re really out to get ya,” he reiterated. “This shit sandwich is made in the top echelons,” he told her, tapping the Post-its with question marks at the head of the maze-like map he had created. She knew what he meant: that it went all the way up to the police chief. “I’ll do what I can, but you need to be careful.”

A presence neared, heavy with malice. As both Emily and Tanner turned in unison to gaze upon its visage, more of the projection of the detective and his office overlapped with the fiery maze. Through the milky obscuring glass on his office door, silhouettes approached. Shadows. Nebulous, faceless, and evil.

Converging on Tanner.

“You gotta go. Never give up,” Tanner said.

Emily wanted to tell him that things would be different now, but the moment she turned to tell him so, Tanner and his office transformed into ashes, like thin sheets of paper burning up in a flash. The violent winds of the inferno swept the ashes away, scattering them in every direction, and absorbing the embers like they never existed in the first place.

Tanner was gone and a pang of guilt hit Iron Emily in the gut.

He was right, she had to go. She strained and tried to lift her legs, but her feet had fused with the smooth stone ground beneath her.

“Welcome to the Emily show, where everybody is rooting for everybody else—yelling at the screen and hoping to see you fail. Because you’re such a vile piece of shit,” Fake-Evil Hal said, still behind her, a presence holding the camera. “Did I say everybody? Hah, don’t let it get to your head. Nobody likes you, and nobody’s watching. You’re the only viewer, you self-loathing, self-involved whore.”

Emily took a deep breath and exhaled more smoke. She flipped Fake-Evil Hal the bird without even turning around or giving him the satisfaction.

Then she pushed forward, pulling her limbs with all her might. Taking one difficult step at a time, her iron legs thudding against the accursed stone with tremendous weight as she made her way into the maze.

Blue Flame Emily looked so close, but felt so far. So infinitely far away. Every step Iron Emily took, the stone ignited and burned beneath her feet, threatening to melt her down and swallow the molten metal that her body had transformed into.

Roaring jets of bright white flames shot forth from the lines of the maze. Where the walls of this labyrinth had only occupied an imaginary space, now deadly fire forced Emily to wander through its forlorn paths.

“Only you can walk this path,” Miranda’s words echoed in her thoughts.

And walk she would.

Thick clouds of ashes and flames exploded from the walls of the maze, dragging deadly fog through the fiery corridors. Iron Emily felt the heat inherent, so hot that it would singe all her hair. But she had not a single hair on her body because iron made up her entire being now.

Even with this invulnerability to the fire, she instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes from the toxic cloud of suffocating ashes. She could breathe smoke but held her breath as if it mattered. Every step she took to move forward she made in complete blindness.

When she dared to open her eyes, the world had changed again.

Unlike in the maze, the smoke she exhaled was born from a lit cigarette. Emily let her hand holding the cigarette lazily droop off the side of the bed in which she now lay. Sweat and the smell of sex clung to her and she glowed. So did the man next to her, with whom her legs were entangled. The legs of her love: Julian.

Just like she remembered, he smiled at her when he plucked the cigarette from between her fingers and snuffed it out in a glass of water.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t need those anymore if it was just that good?” he asked.

The maze faded quickly from the forefront of Emily’s mind and made way for a warm, soft feeling throughout her entire being. It crept across her face, stretching her lips into a warm smile.

“Maybe it just wasn’t that good,” she whispered coyly.

She rolled over and rested her head on his chest, tracing the lines of his arm with the tip of her index finger.

He chuckled and gingerly brushed strands of her hair aside, then fondled the curve of her ear and the back of her neck with his hand. They both radiated with heat—not that of fire and destruction, but a heat of passion and deep-rooted love.

She remembered this night. You don’t forget the ones in which the sex you had stands out as some of the best you ever had. But the inferno and the madness that had brought her back here still lingered, chipping away at the back of her mind.

Even in reality, she found Julian’s apartment incredible. Living there as long as she had always made her think she was dreaming. It never quite matched where she came from and where she imagined to be going in life. And alas, it existed only in a short-lived bubble of time, a sweet memory sandwiched in between harrowing experiences.

One wall of the spacious bedroom consisted of glass, beyond which a twinkling sea of lights sprawled across the horizon of a nightly sky—the skyline of Los Angeles sparkled in warm colors, fuzzy and distant.

Lost in this moment when it had been a reality, Emily wanted to lose herself in it again. Never again, she believed, would she experience a comfort like this in her life. She drank in Julian’s scent, basked in his warmth, and swam in a sea of harmonious bliss.

This was her home.

“I can’t wait till we get married,” he said. He rested his palm against her lower back, hot and soothing at the same time.

And there it was again—the madness, chipping away, scratching at the back of her consciousness. Reminding her that this was not real.

She exhaled sharply through her nostrils but lingered where she lay. She turned her head to gaze dreamily into the tiny orange lights of the skyline, to rest her ear on his chest and listen to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat.

Emily savored this memory and place for as long as she could before replying.

“I’m so sorry, Julian, but that isn’t real. You never said that. I was going to propose to you before Kathryn Shaw killed you.”

She hugged him tightly, holding close to him.

“None of this is real.”

The bedroom door opened. Julian entered, wearing the jogging clothing she had gotten him for his birthday, darkened around the neck and pits where the fabric had soaked up sweat. No less attractive, he brandished a feeble smile as he blinked and looked upon Emily from across the room. His eyes were wet with sadness and concern—and longing. The smile faded from his face once his gaze shifted from her to the Julian she lay with on the bed, upon which he squinted.

The Julian by the door instantly felt more real to her.

“You can’t fool her. She is too strong for that,” Real Julian said.

She pushed herself up, away from False Julian. This one smiled back at her, but his smile had an almost sinister air about it now. His body lost all definition and melted down into a pile of gray ooze, bubbling goo that seeped into the sheets of the bed and vanished entirely, leaving only sweaty stains. Emily felt like she should have been more startled at this, but everything made perfect sense here.

By the time Real Julian had approached, she sat up straight on the edge of the bed. When he cradled her cheeks in his hands, her eyes welled up with tears, blurring her vision of him. With the soft light and her sights a mess, he looked an angel.

How fitting, she thought. Just like the memories blur.

But he wiped the tears away with his thumbs and knelt by her side to match her eye level.

“You have to carry on. Continue on. Only you can walk this path, and only you can do this,” he said. And every word resonated with that sense of natural strength inherent in his being. Everything good about him that she remembered and cherished.

A lump formed in Emily’s throat and tightened, making it harder to hold back the tears, and impossible to say anything.

“I will always be with you,” he said.

His warm, genuine smile forced the sparkling tears from his own eyes.

Before Emily could answer, she had to gulp, rid herself of that lump in her throat. It was the most painful thing to swallow, because she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. Tears rolled down her cheeks like pure little pearls of sorrow.

Before she could say anything, he pulled her close and then melded with her—passed into her, like a ghost, dissolving as they merged. Real Julian became one with her and the warmth that she had always felt in the memories of him filled her, making her soul hum and her essence scintillate. She glowed with light—constant, like a lantern, and soothing; unlike the violently flickering flames of her rage. They flashed in a blue light for a brief moment.

“Goodbye, Julian,” she said, breaking the words as she choked on them.

“This is no goodbye,” he said. His voice was everywhere and nowhere. It didn’t exist, yet it came from deep within. “You will always have me by your side.”

With the tears fully streaming from her weary eyes, she wiped them with her entire forearm, sobbing in silence and this strangely comforting solitude. When she looked down upon her nude body, it was iron again, with her hand clad in the strange gauntlet.

She rose from her seat on the bed’s side, shot one last longing glance at the skyline of Los Angeles—reminiscing on how this represented the one short phase in her life during which she truly knew happiness—and made her way to the bedroom door.

Just twisting the doorknob and pulling lightly on it, a gust of mighty wind blew it wide open, nearly knocking her back, and a flurry of ash and embers flowed through. Flames licked around the edges of the frame, incinerating everything and devouring this place of solace. Rather than succumbing to despair, Iron Emily shielded herself with the gauntlet and marched through, continuing through the fiery walls of the maze.

Her limbs weighed heavier than before, as if she had to grow stronger just to lift her legs and press on. Where she had been moving effortlessly through Julian’s bedroom, she now felt the weight of the iron in her soul, threatening to stop her in her tracks.

“You have to carry on,” Julian’s words echoed in her mind, feeding the pure flames of her will.

And she did, groaning as it took more and more out of her essence to stride forth, doubly so when the walls flared up, trying to discourage her from continuing and instead whispering to her; luring her into a false sense of security, promising an escape that the self-destructive madness behind her might offer. With the growing flames of the maze’s walls, another cloud of thick black smoke billowed out from them and engulfed her whole.

The tears had long dried—burned away by the searing heat. When the plumes parted and her vision cleared, she gazed upon her family life. Times growing up, ghostly rooms taking shape and dissolving before her eyes as she continued to wander through the maze without ever taking a wrong turn or even considering to turn back.

Here, she argued with Willow. There she played with Hannah. Being the middle child of three sisters always had been a mixture of blessing and curse. Willow, older, strong and aloof, always daddy’s favorite. Hannah, younger, sweet and doe-eyed, always pampered and cut some slack. Young Emily had to settle on the hand-me-downs from Willow but never had to feel the jealousy towards Hannah that Willow felt. Teenage Emily was cut no slack, expected to excel wherever Willow failed, and be a perfect example for Hannah.

Little Emily woke up in a panic from a nightmare and wandered into the living room. Dark, save the cold blue glow from the television set on the stand that her father was staring into. Tears streaked down Little Emily’s eyes as she approached him and told him about her bad dream. Mom was out of town on work.

Black rings of exhaustion lined Dad’s eyes from the long hours at work he had put behind him—from the time before he started his own hardware store—and he put most of his attention into the news on TV. Her repeated attempts to earn some comfort or calm from him only added to his annoyance with her that night, gnawing at his patience.

He slapped her. Stunned her. Told her he was too tired for this. Had an apology written on his face, but said nothing to that effect. She cried and went back to bed, alone, sobbing in solitude. He never did apologize, though that was the only time he ever hit her—and to Emily’s knowledge, hit anybody in his family.

Unlike in her raw memories, she suddenly heard a whisper. A thought. Then more, reaching her through the ether. These thoughts were not her own, but her father’s, forming in Iron Emily’s mind like speech, “Fuck, I can’t believe I just did that. Should I say something? I’ll apologize tomorrow. I mean, she really should respect me and leave me alone when I tell her to. God, she looks so miserable and pathetic. I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

Maybe things would have been different back then, had she known his thoughts. Iron Emily then wondered if hearing her thoughts was not just the madness catching up to her.

Iron Emily hardened and pulled her legs up, taking one step after another with renewed vigor, finding yet greater strength to continue. Nothing would be easy—nothing ever was. Though she vowed to not forget those who helped or loved her, she would expect no help from anybody. She left the sobbing Little Emily behind, the little girl who had strangely grown from this bit of trauma.

At a party her mother was hosting, Young Teenage Emily kept telling Mom that she didn’t want to play the guitar. A bunch of grown-up friends of Mom whom Emily didn’t particularly like were there, staring awkwardly and trying to not interfere with the minor drama unfolding.

Sure, Young Teenage Emily could play the guitar a little bit. But despite being a heavy metal enthusiast, she had never really gotten into it. Instead of going to all the lessons her parents paid for, she would rather hang out with Gay Chris, Carlos, Rodney, and Jimmy—getting high and talking about politics and philosophy with the average stoner’s depth of a shallow pond.

She could play a few chords, a few riffs, and had a shaky grasp on rendering some common songs. Just capable enough to softly play a couple of pieces on her acoustic guitar.

Mom haranguing her to perform something she neither wanted to nor thought she was particularly good at embarrassed her deeply, let alone in front of all these people she didn’t even know or give two shits about.

“Mom, come on. No.”

“You’re so talented, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mom hissed at her.

“I don’t wanna. I’m not even warmed up.”

“Come on, Emily, I believe in you.”

“No! I’m not going to play the stupid fucking guitar, alright?” Young Teenage Emily exploded, and Iron Emily could almost lip-sync it word for word; with that outburst having burnt itself into her memory.

Everybody stared. Someone bit their lip in the uncomfortable silence that ensued. Someone else almost cleared their throat, then changed their mind as to not draw attention to themselves.

Young Teenage Emily stormed out of the room. She went to her own room, brooded and paced for a few minutes, then climbed out of her window and went to hang out with her friends.

Iron Emily, however, witnessed what happened after Young Teenage Emily had left the scene.

Was this her imagination? The madness of this maze and her crumbling mind now manifesting in these scenarios, filling in the blanks? Or was the unfettered power of this place bleeding through reality, piercing the veil of time and space and showing her something that Young Teenage Emily had never seen?

Her mother went to the nearest couple and complained about her.

“I just don’t know what to do about her anymore. We tried everything to raise her right, but she started listening to heavy metal and smoking, and I think her friends are just a bad influence on her,” she said.

The guests did not contradict her. They nodded with their awkward, fake smiles, not trying to feed the fires of this conflict or take part in it in any way.

“She is always so angry, and explodes like that all the time. I think we really need to get her into counseling. Or therapy,” her mother said, shaking her head, explaining the situation to yet other guests.

The guests all tried to duck away from this conversation, growing uncomfortable. Emily could hear their thoughts; knew they wanted nothing to do with any of this. Disgust and rage welled up in the heart of Iron Emily, who silently and invisibly watched this unfold.

Foreign memories and minds broadcast their thoughts into her own consciousness; it was the only explanation. She couldn’t just be imagining this.

“You can change this,” Stinky Jim said from behind Iron Emily. He chortled, smoky and sinister. “You can make her pay.”

“For what?” Iron Emily asked. “She’s not all wrong.”

Stinky Jim cackled, “Oh, just wait, then. It’s going to get even better now.”

The guests were not impressed. Emily’s mom didn’t seem to understand that those nearby just wanted this awkward situation to end. They would nod and smile but those smiles were strained and their participation and compassion feigned. Some of them wanted to leave the party.

“She talked her older sister out of her relationship with her boyfriend and into lesbianism,” her mother lied, shaking her head with a theatrical sigh.

“The fuck,” Iron Emily growled. Her teeth screeched like a fork on the chalkboard as she ground them together as a result of the anger welling up in her gut.

Stinky Jim’s cackling erupted into full-blown laughter.

“She wasn’t even twelve years old when she started shoplifting. And that was after we caught her stealing toys from other kids. We did all we could, but she just—she never listens. There’s only so much you can do to raise a kid right, right?” her mother lied.

She kept inventing things to make Emily look bad and garner pity from her friends. Those same friends averted their eyes, exchanged nervous glances, and paid less and less attention to her; not engaging and only causing Emily’s mother to pile more and more brazen lies on top.

“She stole our car when she could barely reach the gas pedals and gave us quite the headache when we had to foot the bill for repairs.”

“The police brought her home one night and let her off easy, you know how it is.”

“I think she tried heroin.”

Stinky Jim’s laughter swelled to ever greater volume each time she lied about misdeeds Emily never committed. All the while, Iron Emily’s insides boiled. She refused to let the rage take control any longer. What if her mind could slice through space and time and change this? Stop this bullshit? But what if that obliterated her mother’s mind? The minds of her guests? Her morals clashed with her wrath.

“You have sworn to expose the truth. You could do that right here and now if you put your mind to it. You have real power now. Even greater power than you’re willing to embrace. You can punish liars. Just gotta use your head,” Stinky Jim said, egging Iron Emily on. He stoked the fires of wrath in the depth of her being. Part of her wanted to give in and test the limitations of her power; wanted to make her mom pay for doing this.

But Iron Emily gathered herself. Breathed. Focused. Took control over the rage. Just like the old homeless man told her to. She wanted so badly to lash out, but she had to get out of this. She remembered where she truly was: inside the fiery maze. Not in this moment.

She would let it slide. The realities of future times slid into being, overlapping and overlaying this scenery.

Nowadays, Emily visited her mother regularly. Mom would talk about conspiracy theories after her long combined shifts of dog sitting, working at her backwater supermarket, and work in a retirement home. Emily would take the time to debunk or confirm whatever nonsense she had picked up from the yellow press and Facebook.

Maybe their relationship would transform, now that Iron Emily knew of this day and what horrible things her mother had said about her in her absence. Still, she wondered if any of this was even real.

Stinky Jim laughed and didn’t even need to say anything.

Iron Emily knew this was real. Realities clashing, connecting; she stood in an intersection of worlds.

The imagery faded away like smoke being dragged away by a gust of wind. As it cleared, only more imagery unfolded beyond it: places Emily had never been. Moments of minds that never reached her, thoughts that bounced around in her skull.

Her mom sat alone in the glow of a TV set in a dark room, when Emily’s exposé on the human trafficking ring aired on national television. She sat up in surprise when she saw Emily on screen, personally delivering some statements, followed by voice-over narration for the segment.

Surprise. Pride. Mom was proud of her now. She cried tears of joy and she was proud of what her little girl had become: exposing those monsters, cracking the veil wide open and revealing those injustices for all to see. She wiped her tears and could not stop listening and watching. The content of the exposé upset her; learning of the personal fates of individual victims—such as Tran—caused her mother to feel sick. But above all the emotional upheaval lingered a profound happiness and pride over her daughter’s accomplishment.

Not only her mother felt this way. As the fiery winds carried embers and whisked away these images as well, they revealed a room in which her father, Sean, sat on the couch next to his second wife, Christine. They, too, watched TV and saw the same exposé airing on national TV.

He stared into the glow of the device, wide-eyed and surprised. His mind swam in the same place: proud of his daughter’s achievement. Sean also regretted how little contact they still had and for the first time in his life, realized how much of that had been on him.

By contrast, Christine’s thoughts circled in different, darker places. She saw Emily’s success on clear display on the television and only wondered how she could help her biological daughter to be more successful than Emily. These pieces of thoughts and feelings did not just reach Emily’s being like spoken words, intercepted by her mind, but they took more tangible forms.

Stinky Jim’s laughter had long gone silent. Though Iron Emily felt his presence, his quiet only spelled out a tense anticipation. A curiosity. Emily stood on the precipice of discovering something new, and the demon of madness could hardly wait to see her experience that breakthrough.

She tasted Christine’s personal vice. Sour and bitter and artificial and unsatisfying, like sucking on a piece of plastic-covered cardboard. Christine’s pride burned brightly, and Emily tasted it as clearly as the aftertaste of coffee and cigarettes clinging to her tongue.

Christine got up in a huff and switched the TV off.

“Enough of that,” she told Sean.

“What if you could burn that nonsense right out of her?” asked Stinky Jim.

Iron Emily shook her head and shut her eyes.

Smoke and fire tore through this memory, tearing Emily away from the insights it delivered. When she opened her eyes again, the memories of her parents had made way for the inferno of the labyrinth once more. Iron Emily had seen enough, anyway. Daddy, for whom she was never good enough, was proud of her. She dismissed the spark of defiance that threatened to arise in her, and decided to embrace this little victory for what it was. She would hold onto that.

Emily could have touched their minds, changed their being, but decided against it.

The smoke billowed past her and violent winds fought her progression. Still she continued on, one deliberate step after another. Every time, the heat threatened to melt her, she forced her legs to lift and take another step, yet again.

“You’re not special,” said the demon behind her. “You’re no better than anybody else, sitting on your high horse. You and your stupid moral high grounds. Fictions you cling onto to make yourself feel better when all you’re doing is looking down on the rest of the shit-stains that populate the world around you. You probably think you’re so great for not using your newfound mojo, not reaching into their petty little human minds and wrenching around in there. So noble I could puke. So responsible. But let’s see just how long that lasts.”

With a thunderclap, a torrent of flames exploded outwards, cascading through the maze’s corridors towards Emily. She braced herself, leaning into the massive weight of her iron body. She clutched her hand in front of her—the iron gauntlet—it pierced her mind, cutting through every thought when she closed her eyes. Always there, even when she tried not to think about it. Now shielding her from these infernal forces.

The maze took her to another place.

“Let’s see who you really are when you stare into the abyss,” growled the demon.

After a double take, Iron Emily knew she stood in Starkford Penitentiary. A different part of it; a section she had never seen with her own two eyes—the mess hall where the inmates ate.

Kathryn Shaw sat in between other women, all of them dressed in their bright orange jumpsuits. The woman who had murdered Julian with a two-by-four. She ate from her tray, stuffing her face; a face deformed by too much plastic surgery.

Julian’s murderer didn’t look like she had aged a day. Iron Emily realized that this must have been some time after she had gone to the prison to get answers from Kathryn. Probably a good deal after, or she would have still been a sporting a black eye or two from when Emily lost her mind and attacked her.

Iron Emily cringed as a sea of thoughts and emotions crashed in on her from every direction. The minds of all the inmates and guards here washed over her, drowning her in waves of despair and contempt and surrender and negativity. The tempest of emotions clouded her with such intensity that her own rage towards Kathryn Shaw had no room to well up again.

“You know you can do more than just read minds, right? You can reach into them and clutch. Grab. Tear. Squeeze. Rend,” said the demon. His growls came through gritted teeth. Emily could hear the sadistic grin growing on his face without even looking at him. “You can kill with a thought, little girl. Just think hard enough and focus your mind like a blade. One precise thought, sharp like a guillotine’s edge. That’s all it takes.”

Iron Emily focused. The world froze for a split second and she pushed all the thoughts back. The chatter, like a million radios running different programs all at the same time, all went silent. Even Stinky Jim choked, unable to taunt her any more for now. All minds blocked out at once—all but one. The screech of microphone feedback died down and all she heard was a faint whisper, coming from Kathryn’s direction. The only thoughts Emily was curious about now.

Sadness.

It hit her like a truck, overwhelming her senses, making her light-headed and dizzy. Iron Emily didn’t feel tethered in place by her iron body at all any more, rather as light as a feather, like she teetered back and forth and nearly fell down.

Stinky Jim’s claws gingerly clutched her by her shoulders and helped her stay standing.

“Why would I kill her now?” Emily asked. It took her a moment until it dawned on her: the same sadistic grin she sensed to be forming on the demon’s maw was now plastered across her own lips. “She’s right where she belongs. Getting what she fucking deserves. Rotting in prison for the rest of her life. Justice isn’t served if I kill her now. Being a husk and withering away in prison would be the right punishment for this crazy bitch. Fuck her.”

The sadness made way to imagery. Emily could see the movie playing in Kathryn’s mind; glimpses of her own little world. A bizarre fantasy that defied all semblance of reality.

Full-on delusions. Kathryn saw herself getting out of prison soon. She had fooled herself into thinking she was some sort of A-list celebrity. Had all the famous directors lined up, ready to talk to her once she was out of here. She would be even more famous than before going into the slammer. Her private army of lawyers would get her out long before she had served her full sentence. Make a mint off of an autobiography book deal, too.

Julian wasn’t dead in Kathryn’s little fantasy world, either. Part of why she’d get out so easily.

Sure, none of it was real. But Kathryn believed it with all her heart and soul.

Stinky Jim roared with laughter.

“Justice, huh? Ten years later, she’ll still be happy in her blissful little make-believe castle. And where will you be?” he asked, egging her on. “Kill her, killer. I know you’ve got it in you.”

Emily rocked back and forth in the padded cell. Iron Emily screamed and willed that image away. Nobody in the mess hall heard the scream. They just carried on with their lives, lips smacking as they ate the slop served up as meals.

“Fuck this. And fuck you, Stinky Jim. Killing Kathryn serves no one,” Iron Emily cursed. The inner fire of defiance exploded outwards, wreathed her in fire. She spoke in multiple menacing voices when she added, “I am being reborn now. And this is what I was meant to do—reveal the truth.”

Iron Emily focused. She breathed fire, like a dragon. Holding out her hand, the gauntlet around her fist was real. She unfurled her fingers, marveling at their claw-like shape. She focused harder, and the world breathed her, sucking her towards Kathryn, pulling her through a vortex of intertwining realities. Iron Emily stood behind Kathryn and reached into her mind with the gauntlet-clad hand.

She tasted the pride in Kathryn’s mind, for it tasted the same bitter disgusting plastic way that Christine’s vice shared. With the gauntlet, she gripped at the barriers inside of Kathryn’s brain with all her might—taking hold of the prison bars and expensive doors and beautiful illusions that Kathryn Shaw had erected around her core self to protect her mind from the horrors she had inflicted and the horror that she had become.

The gauntlet clenched shut into a fist. Crushed, shattering glass and mortar, bending steel like it was nothing. Iron Emily tore away at the walls of Kathryn’s delusions, peeling them back until Julian’s murderer could glimpse reality for just one moment.

She was here for murdering Julian Stone. She was serving a life sentence in Starkford Penitentiary. Her career was over. Her cell mate hated her. One of the cooks probably spit in her food. Her life was hell, and all of it was her own making.

Emily didn’t even need to construct these thoughts. They all came pouring in on their own, the stark and cruel weight of reality crashing inside like a lake flowing in through a breaking dam.

Kathryn’s fork dropped into her food tray. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. The harsh truths of the world outside the fantasy she had created caught up with her.

Iron Emily wept tears of fire and sealed the illusion again. Just a glimpse. Just enough to make her suffer for a brief moment. Just enough to make her pay. But it rang hollow. It gave Iron Emily no satisfaction. Kathryn’s evident suffering even filled Emily with a short pang of guilt. She shrugged it off and screamed into the void again, getting no response from anybody in the prison.

Only Stinky Jim responded—with more sadistic laughter. The inmates and guards all melted away, transforming into smoke and embers. They spiraled upwards until the fiery walls of the maze subsumed them all, and Iron Emily was surrounded by the inferno again.

“How the fuck was that better than killing her? You heartless bitch,” the demon said. “Can’t wait to see what crimes against humanity you’re capable of committing.”

Iron Emily ignored him and swiveled, struggling to find her way through the firestorm. Her heart beat faster when she gazed upon Blue Flame Emily, an unsteady beacon shining out from the center of the maze. The flames grew larger and obscured that vision, but Iron Emily had seen her clearly enough to know: she had gotten much closer. Halfway there.

She refused to be the Emily in that padded cell. She refused to give up now. Just thinking that, realizing that—it filled her with new vigor. Her soul flared up with newfound determination. The next steps she took to brave the maze came much easier; each one of them much lighter than the last.

She would make it. She would see what destiny had in store for her.

—Submitted by Wratts

[emsartwork]

Can I ask why you chose those specific fairy tales/mythological/folk figures for the Mythix redesign? Very much enjoy how unique the designs are and how they draw from multiple different cultures thnx

Yeah so Mythix was a process and had a lot of concept brain work before i ever put anything down on paper. I think I had a few ladies in mind from the very beginning (Scheherazade is one of my favorite folk lore ladies just in general lol) but i wanted to pull from as many different cultures as possible, and have fit the winx girls’ ethnicity when possible. 

So for a character like Musa, who is Asian even if she is technically from an alien planet, I wanted to draw from mostly north east asia(even tho south and south east asia have super cool stories too), and I know a good amount of japanese folklore because of...... anime reasons and at first I was trying to find a japanese figure related to music, voice, or mouth, but I kind of hit a wall with that one because the only one i could think of/find was the tongue-cut sparrow story or the Split mouth woman which, while interesting, aren’t all that fitting for a powerful magic lady. You of course have momotaro, princess kaguya, or, a personal favorite, the boy who drew cats but none of those felt right either so I expanded my range to China and IMMEDIATELY landed on Mulan, I like to think at least some of her story was true, but even if she is just a legend WHAT A FUCKING LEGEND AMIRIGHT. she was perfect for a powerful magic lady, strong, honorable, selfless, protective, and smart. Even if her “power” wasn’t realted at all to music she was a perfect fit. 

With Flora I wanted to draw from Mexican or native american(aztec or mayan) folklore, I actually did consider making her Scheherazade for a hot minute cus I draw a lot of inspo for Flora and Lynphea from Persia/the middle east in general, but ultimately decided against it. La Muerte is another favorite figure of mine, partially because she has such an interesting origin from an anthropological point of view. with the blending of catholic saints and native cultures in Mexico and possibly some influence from what would eventually become voodoo. Also, Dia de Muertos has that whole marigold flower petal association which perfectly links to Flora. 

Aisha was a little more difficult because she’s black, and black people are, ethnically, from Africa, and Africa has SO MANY DIFFERENT CULTURES AND STORIES AND EVEN JUST GEOGRAPHY. and i know from past experiences its stupidly hard to find good reliable references for any of the native cultures in Africa, or america for that matter, because racism and colonialism. So I tried going by Aisha’s name, which is of Arabic and Swahili in origin, but arabic and swahili are both spoken in many countries across south Africa North Africa and the Middle East, so I used her parent’s names Niobe and Teredor which are both Greek sounding so that pulled it towards North Africa/Saudi Arabia(where there was a lot of Greek influence). SO i thought to myself, what about egypt??? Didn’t the Cinderella story originate in Egypt with an eagle and a sandal and a prince or something?????? UNFORTUNATELY THAT’S A LIE(as far as my research showed). So I was mega stumped with Aisha, and I tried applying Scheherazade to her as a last ditch effort because Saudi Arabia, and.,,,....,, it fit???? like weirdly well???? like Aisha and Scheherazade are both BAMFs with unrelenting determination, an urge to protect the innocent, and punish the unjust they just do it very differently, but I liked the contrast between Aisha’s more active aggressive style and her switching to a more subtle story teller’s methods. So somehow I got it to work out ethnically, geographically, personality, and using my lady Scheherazade AND the design + the colors came out fantastic imo.

Stella was easier, I knew I wanted to pull from Greece, and possibly link to Apollo if possible so I looked up the temple of Delphi to see if there were any notable priestesses. Pythia came up right away, and had a gorgeous classical painting to use as reference so that was a snap tbh

Bloom was pretty easy, I’ve based Domino off of Scotland and a lil’bit of China but appearance wise she’s VERY white. But I was already pulling HEAVILY from Scotland and Ireland for Morgana and Tir Nan Og, so I broadened to Europe in general(which means I had a lot to work with because fairytales are so Eurocentric *eye roll emoji*) I decided to go with cinderella because CINDERS come from FIRE(aren’t I clever) and glass making requires a lot of heat. I mentioned earlier that there are theories as to where the “cinderella” story truly originated, The most popular being China, Egypt, or Germany(as far as I researched the Egyptian and Chinese “versions” of Cinderella barely resemble the story?).  Aschenputtle is the iconic one from Grimm Brother’s collections in 1812 but I chose to use the edition that popularized the story in 1698 by Charles Perrault since thats the “classic cinderella” modern audiences still recognize(even tho i am very partial to the more violent german version lmao). Her outfit design was a bit of challenge but I really like what I came up with.

Tecna was..... troublesome. Pink hair doesn’t exist irl unless it’s dyed, so I had only a partial appearance to base ethnicity on. I pull a lot from Russia for Zenith tho, so I figured I would start with Baba Yaga(who is already a villain in world of winx so I wasn’t gonna use her anyways) and see where that lead me. I came across Vasilisa the Fair/Beautiful/Wise, she featured in a lot of Russian folklore and had a lot of different aspects/personalities/stories so I kinda tried to pull from all of them (which gave me difficulties later on in the design process) She was one of the only Fairytale figures I could find that had a direct connection to intelligence (not that other fairytale ladies aren’t smart ofc). Because of Vasilisa’s many different roles and some physical transformations (russian frog princess) I made her the Fairy of Transformations. Tecna is probably the one I’m least satisfied but I’m not changing it lmao 

[yourfaveisyanderematic]

im thinking about that trish/bodyguard so piece you wrote a while back, and all I can think about is trish being so desperate for any sort of affection that she’s just like “okay, time to fake my own kidnapping”

Hm.  I put my Narancia piece down to bang out something for this prompt bc this is, as the kids say, a mood.  Modified it just slightly though, because that’s how I am.

love is just another kind of greed.

Trish didn’t get the appeal of dogs.

They were cute, sure.  Little silky fluffy things that yipped and yapped and tolerated being carried around in purses.  They were also expensive as hell—hundreds of thousands of lire could be invested in premium shampoos, gold-flaked specialty foods, champion breeding (why, again?  You’re not taking this dog to any fucking show, Anastasia, you don’t need it)—and those two things alone should have had her clamoring to get one.

She didn’t want one, though.  Dogs were frail, frilly little things that cried endlessly when you kicked them (even if it was an accident) and whined for attention even if you were busy, and they couldn’t do anything, anyway.  They could posture, sure.  Strike a pose and bark and bark like the silly boys playing at being gangsters she had to tolerate every now and then, but if you pointed a gun at one and pulled the trigger, that would be that.  They’d fall over with a little sigh and get all still and silent, and then they wouldn’t be good for anything anymore.

The reason she was thinking about this, by the way, was because she was bored.  You were taking forever.  Weren’t you taking this whole kidnapping thing seriously?

“How’s your ankle, babe?”

Ugh.  Trish took a breath and pulled a smile onto her lips, gently tipping her head back to look up at the man.  Despite the coiffed hair and designer shoes, he’s nothing special; some dumb kid with good looks and soft hands, partying his youth away with cash that wasn’t his.  A drop in the bucket of young hedonists.  The kind who took a pretty girl’s smile as an invitation and the light brush of hands as a blank check.  More importantly, however, he was the kind she could lure in without too much effort, too eager to get into her pants to ask many questions.

She didn’t even remember his name.  

Trish raised her foot, a languidly elegant motion that let his eyes trace every inch of her delicate skin, and after a moment’s hesitation he rearranged the pillow to better cushion the black-bruised skin, one of a handful of trophies from an ‘accidental’ fall she took down the stairs here.

“I’m bored,” she replied, as if the pain thrumming through the fibers of her muscles didn’t exist (it was that easy to ignore; she’d endured worse for less) “don’t you have anything fun to do?”

He hummed back, delicately rubbing small circles around the site of the bruise, cushioning the movement by keeping his other hand on her heel.  She suppressed a laugh; were those tentative prods supposed to do anything?  Did he think she’d shatter if he touched her?

Despite his arrogance, Rich Boy here didn’t have much initiative; the only thing Trish didn’t have to prod him into doing was getting her back to his expensive loft.  Frankly, it was a miracle the two of them had managed to slip away from you at all.

I’d love to party with you, cutie, but first we have to ditch my chaperone.  Come on, let’s go before they notice we’re not at the bar anymore.

Throwing herself down the stairs in a tangle of Versace and toned limbs had been an impulse, but wasn’t everything tonight?  So what if she’d scraped herself up, or felt a horrible snap inside her leg as she plummeted to the bottom.  It’d all be worth it soon, once you’d realized she’d been made off with and had to go find her.

You really did need to hurry it up, by the way.  Eventually Rich Boy here was going to get his nerve up and actually try to touch her, and then she’d have to just kill him and wait for you by herself.  That would be boring, too.

He probably didn’t even notice she was getting impatient, honestly.  His eyes seemed to be on a rail, tracing a line from her plush lips to the delicate hollow of her collarbone to lower still.  Typical, really.  

Rich Boy starts to chatter, some fumbling innuendo about the things they could get up to with just the two of them, but she isn’t paying any attention to that.  In the space between heartbeats, the air changed, the stale conditioned air suddenly heavy with tension that only she could feel.  The storm had rolled in.  It was coming down the hall.

Rich Boy’s voice registered, asking if she was okay, and it was in that moment Trish realized she’d been sitting bolt upright, abandoning the discomfort of the expensively minimalistic couch as she waited for the storm to draw nearer.

It knocked on the door.  Three short, sharp taps that resounded in the relative silence of the loft, a muted thunder.

“Who could that be?” Rich Boy muttered to himself, and then “Stay right here.  I’ll get it.” as he wandered off.  She didn’t reply, just listened, heart in her throat as his footsteps echoed across the tile, undoing the lock on the front door and drawing it open to meet the interloper.

“Can I help—“ the words weren’t even out of his mouth as something—your fist, Trish thought with a thrill of delight, you must have hit him—connected with a hollow-sounding thud, and his body careened into the dining table.  

“Holy shit!”

“Where is she?”  In contrast to his own panicked scrabbling, your footsteps were slow and measured as you advanced.  You didn’t even shut the door behind you; there’s no need to.  Nobody stupid enough to try to help could stop you.

Trish considers throwing herself off the couch—she wants to watch you work, and maybe seeing her sprawled on the floor would make her seem more helpless—but you’re already in view, poking your head into the doorway after the Rich Boy who staggered back in, and she knows what you’re seeing: your charge, sprawled on some pervert’s couch, visibly bruised.  You opened your mouth to say something, but Rich Boy drew your attention.

“Jesus Christ—don’t come any closer, or I’ll—“ the gun he pulled was just as flashy as the rest of him, and equally worthless; under the gaudy gold plating and filigree was a waste of metal that wouldn’t be hurting anyone tonight.

If nothing else, because the safety was still on.

You didn’t even respond, except to sigh.  The invisible blades of your Stand sliced apart the gun and the hand holding it, showering him in splintered metal as he went down with a high-pitched shriek of agony.  You strode forward, stepping on his leg to hold him in place as he started to crawl away, already deaf to the whimpering babble that might have been bargaining.  Your head turned, pinning Trish in place with your stare.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this, Miss Una.”

Your voice was soft, but with an edge, the one that always gave Trish a thrill of joy when she heard it.  It was different from your normal tone, the indulgently subservient I’m your faithful bodyguard and nothing more mask you wore when other people were watching.  Different, too, from the terrified adoration you held for her in private as she did what she pleased with you.

This was your bite.  Incandescent rage, barely restrained in the taut coil of your muscles and your piercing glare.  It was hideous, savage, implacable, the look that heralded only pain and death as you obliterated anyone who even breathed a threat in her presence.

How dare you, you said with every movement as your Stand opened the man up in a shower of blood, how dare you try to steal her.  How dare you let her come to harm.

How dare you touch my master with your dirty hands.

No command she gave could ever get you like this.  You were a killing machine she could point at anyone she chose with only a glance; you would destroy yourself for her whims, if she let you, but there was no passion in obedience.  

Your voice has turned plaintive, almost hurt, and it puts her back in the moment.  “Do you doubt my devotion?  Were you just bored?  You could have just told me to kill for you.  Look, I’ve even let you hurt yourself.  How can I face your father now?”

Don’t look away, Trish wanted to cry out, seeing you turn your glare back toward the remains of your enemy, get angry with me.  Let me see how love twists your face.

These were the moments she knew you loved her.  The uncontrollable passion of your fury, for her and only her, only shone when something threatened to take her from you.  These were the moments that Trish Una well and truly and fully felt wanted, and they were getting addicting.  Was it cruel to do this to you—to drive you to this edge of madness, repeatedly and on a whim, purely to satiate her cravings?  Perhaps, but it felt good not to care.  

You drew near to her, taking another look at her injuries, and she breathed the smell of blood and smoke that hung around you like it was perfume.  Your touch was delicate, but not gentle, and after a few seconds you pronounced it definitively broken.  She wouldn’t be walking for a while.  She was fine with that.

“Then you’ll have to carry me everywhere,” she declared, crossing her arms.  You met her eyes, searching them for something, and then raised a hand to graze her cheek.  She leaned into it a little, sure that it was a caress, but your hand came away with a smear of blood; you’d been rubbing it away.

“If that’s your wish, Miss Una,” you murmured, and then gathered her into your arms.  Her arms wrapped around your shoulders as she relaxed into you, until her lips were inches away from your own.  You didn’t incline your head in the slightest as you carried her out of the loft, just let your breath ghost across her face until she finally closed the distance and kissed you full on the mouth in the elevator.

There wasn’t any appeal in dogs for someone who already had a wolf.