#But it fades into beige blonde over time

[sunnylolli]

the scandinavian trio having a past just as a trio (before they became the nordic 5) is so special and real to me❤️

also I am just wondering, since this seems to be a topic scandinavians have different opinions about; in your headcanon, who do you think is the oldest, middle child, and youngest? I am norwegian, and in my opinion Sweden is the oldest, Denmark the middle child, and norway the youngest.

The trio means so much to me as well, I really love to meddle with their characters! It has this closeness about it, it makes me feel so warm at heart 🫶

I actually headcanon Denmark to be the oldest, Sweden the middle and Norway the youngest, but Denmark and Sweden I would say have the TINIEST, most unimportant age gap!

I headcanon them to have been born around the ending of the ice age, and since the ice first left what we today know as modern day Denmark and brought with it liveable temperatures, plants and fauna, I see him being (SLIGHTLY) older because of this.

The southern part of Sweden was inhabited very soon after Germanic tribes migrated northwards and settled into community tribes in Modern-day Denmark (Jutland in particular) so I see Denmark being older but he's basically the same age that Sweden is.

Though I'm absolutely sure they fight over who's older and measure it down to the MINUTE, despite neither having any memory of themselves being born.

[byuntrash101]

Girls like me

dom!reader x sub!felix

smut | nsfw | mdni

nerdsub!felix is adorable, softishdom!reader, felix's freckles ♡, pet names (good boy, babyboy), praising, handjob, corruption kink, semi-public (library), edging, begging, cum eating, this is lowkey wholesome dont @ me...

requested | part of my 2023 prompt event [closed]

Felix's heart flutter when he thinks of you but he's not sure if he can be with a girl like you...

[❛ i’m going to ruin you. ❜ + ❛ no ones here. we can be as loud as we want. ❜]

TUMBLR IS BASED ON REBLOGS. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK 🖤

You always liked the library. Not because of the books or the fast wifi but because it was quiet and peaceful. Because it was just a place to catch a quick break of it all and… because Felix was always there. 

Felix the straight As student, always buried deep in his notes. He was in your major so you shared most of your classes with him but you never talked to him in class. He was way too bashful and/or focussed.

But here. You could maybe get his cute nose out of the thick books.

So many nights you closed down the library with him. Exchanging cute glances over his oversized square glasses, his rosy cheeks speckled with small freckles. He was adorable. You loved this duality between his timid demeanor and his deep voice always answering back to you with short answers.

You let your forehead rest on your microbiology book and sighed.

If only you hadn’t made that move yesterday. Trying to kiss him was just foolish of you. You remember how regret crept under your skin when he looked back at you with the round eyes of a deer trapped in headlights. You hadn’t seen him since. Not in class and not in the library. WHich was very unlike him. It was almost closing time and you were the only one left here. And still no sign of your favorite most adorable nerd.

You groaned and shook your head chasing the bitter memory away.

But… when you looked back up. Felix was standing right beside your table. His white shirt and beige pants perfectly represented him. His beautifully long blonde hair framing his face, the ends of it resting on his big square glasses. You instantly started smiling. But that smile faded when Felix didn’t return it.

“Hey…” his deep voice started hesitantly. 

“Felix… I” you wanted to apologize but you couldn’t.

“Listen y/n… I…” he was fidgeting with his fingers, anxiously pulling at his nails. “I like you ok…”

You stopped breathing for a while. This was the last thing you were expecting.

“But I don't think I can… be with you” he whispered.

“Why not?” you asked. Getting up from your chair and taking his hand in yours, trying to soothe him, your thumb caressing his slender fingers.

“Because I’ve never been with a girl… Like… you…”

You both knew what it meant. It meant a girl that liked to be in control. That was going to guide him.

Fuck he was so cute, freckled cheeks painted a light shade of pink. Your other hand went to gently wrap around his small waist. You heard him ever so slightly gasp at your touch.

“Why don’t you at least try first, hm?” you leaned over, lips almost touching his. Felix looked like he was expecting a kiss but when you didn’t progress further he looked surprised. “What do you say babyboy?” you asked again.

Felix felt a strange and unknown quiver in his lower stomach at the word. His eyes fluttered between your eyes and your lips when he finally nodded.

And you kissed him very sweetly, slow and sensual, guiding the dance from start to finish and for a guy that was so hesitant he was so good at being obedient. 

“That’s my good boy” you said, opening your eyes back. Felix didn’t expect to like it that much. The daring attitude, the kiss, the praise, the firm touch on his side. Without realizing he was imperceptibly squirming between your arms, looking for friction and before he could even understand what he was going through he was getting hard. Of course you didn’t fail to notice.

His sweet innocent behavior all the while being a needy little boy awakened something in you. Something rougher, hungrier. Something that you kept at bay for a long time. Maybe too long but somehow you needed to keep it under control for just a little longer.

Your hand dropped to his thigh, nails trailing to his clothed hard on. When you finally laid hands on it Felix was biting down on his lip trying so hard not to explode. You gave it a firm squeeze and that sufficed to pull out of him the most melodious and divine moan you’ve ever heard. Shameful, high pitched. Perfect.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. You forcefully shoved him back onto the nearby shelves, making them shake. Your hand slipped to his nape and you growled in his ear.

“My sweet innocent babyboy” you whispered, cooing and lapping at his ear. Felix shuddered again at the word. “I’m going to ruin you.”

Felix felt himself twitch. It was like every single atom of his will was leaving him. With these simple little touches and words he wanted to throw himself at you. Fuck why did he like that so much? 

In one move, almost magically, you stripped him of his bottom clothes and unbuttoned his white shirt exposing his cute pink nipples and flushed chest. You trailed his abs with your sharp nail, lifting goosebumps on his soft skin. Then finally grabbed the aching member, already dripping with thick, slimy precum.

“Fuck you’re so fucking wet for me already” you whispered firmly grabbing the base. You starting slowly jerking him off, at a pace that was pure torture at least for him because it was bliss for you. You smiled at how his face contorted in need, how he gave pathetic little thrusts trying so bad to make you go faster.

“Is this what you wanted?” you asked, lips pressed to his blazing skin. Felix felt like his heart was consuming itself. Like he would burst into flames if he didn’t get to feel more of you right here, right now.

“Yesss!” he answered without a shadow of a doubt.

“So eager” you teased as you went ever so slightly faster. Felix shut his eyes closed and pushed his blonde head back in the books behind him, the yellow strands of hair clasping his sweaty forehead.

You went faster again, your hand perfectly gliding alongside him, from base to tip, gathering more precum and going down again. Your other hand left his nape to play with his balls. 

At the very second you started to fondle them it happened again. That same moan. His hands flew to his mouth as his eyes filled with shame. He was trying so bad to be silent. It was so pathetic and cute. You had to reassure him. Tell him it was okay.

“No one’s here. We can be as loud as we want.” You said. “ I want to hear the beautiful sounds you make.” you pecked the base of his neck.

It was like you had opened a tap. From that moment onwards he reacted to every touch. Letting his beautiful high pitched voice out. A true symphony. He made a variety of sounds you never suspected him to be able to produce. He was giving himself up to you, letting you string him along like a puppet. A well behaved puppy led by his red, veiny and dripping leash.

“Are you close, baby?” you whispered, nibbling on his red ear.

“Yes… Please… I wanna cum” he cried out, fucking himself off in your hands, matching your rhythm perfectly.

“You wanna cum for me baby ?” you bit on his neck. Earning another melodious moan from the freckled boy.

“Yesss… Please!!” his legs were trembling, about to give out.

“No, not yet” you instructed sternly.

His fucked out eyes snapped back to you, full of misery and despair, eyebrows deeply knitted and sweat dripping down his temples.

“Please Please” he pleaded in short and shallow breaths. “I-I’d do anything… Please! Please!” he started to stutter, whining. You took a good look at him. You smirked at the memory of him being so indecisive a second ago, thinking he couldn’t possibly be with you. But look at him now, thrusting his red and weeping cock in your palm, watery eyes full of anguish. He was magnificent. He was begging you so well you decided to allow him.

“Cum, baby” you ordered. “Cum for me right now” 

It was all he needed. He let out a powerful stream of white cum as a beautiful string of moan was cascading from his plump lips, beautiful soft features twisted by relieving pleasure. A long stream even got all the way to your abandoned microbiology book sitting on the table.

You brought your stained fingers to your lips to have a taste of him as he collapsed to the ground, exhausted. The strong taste filled your head and you savored every drop of him.

You got on his level, linking your lips with his. At first he was surprised by the bitter salty taste maybe because he didn’t see you bring your fingers to your tongue but when he realized what this alluring taste was he quickly returned the kiss. Losing himself in his own taste, completely capitulating to you in this final act of submission.

“How was it, baby?” You asked, finally parting from him.

“Great” he briefly answered out of breath. “I wanna do it again” he said, bashful eyes returning. Like it was a whole different person begging for release, eyes half closed and mouth agape a second ago.

“Today I was nice and gentle with you. Next time I’ll show you what girls like me really do to boys like you”.

A/N: should i do a part two ? idk haha i kinda really liked it lol come say hi in my asks if you liked it too!

PART 2 HERE

[a-revised-history-of-erdas]

Character Designs

At long last, here is the masterpost for the main characters' designs. This is how they appear in my head, and how they will appear in A Revised History of Erdas. So much thought (and research) has gone into this. I've taken a lot of creative liberty here, but I hope you enjoy how I envision these characters!

Conor

For Conor, I drew inspiration from Celtic and more specifically Irish culture.

He has strawberry-blond hair, as shown on the covers of Hunted and The Dragon's Eye. The colour is usually described as reddish-blond or reddish-gold because the term "strawberry-blond" does not exist in Erdas, but for clarity's sake I have named it as such here. It is slightly wavy and long enough to rest on his shoulders. Occasionally, he will incorporate braids into his hairstyle in light of his elevated status after the war. Otherwise, it is left loose. His pale skin is sprinkled all over with freckles; he has gotten a lot of them more since he left Eura, due to sun exposure. His eyes are green as described in Against the Tide.

He is chubby and muscular in equal measures. His weight is known to fluctuate due to the harrowing events he goes through on the daily, but he normally has a generous amount of extra fat all over. He started off on the shorter side, but had an impressive growth spurt during the war and the year after. His final height is 5'6.5", or 5'7" (170 cm) by rounding up, which he reaches by age sixteen. This is a little above average for Euran men.

When his facial hair starts to come in, he lets it grow, resulting in a patchy beard by the time he is sixteen. Shaving is not in a Euran shepherd’s nature.

He is physically disabled in two ways. The first is that he is missing the first joint on his left index finger from being bitten by an unidentified animal in Fire and Ice. The second is the permanent limp in his right leg from a broken ankle in The Dragon's Eye that healed badly. He uses his bond token, Pathfinder, to support himself when he walks.

Many scars crisscross his face, arms, legs and back, but they aren't easily visible against his pale skin. The ones that stand out the most are the burn scars from the fire Kovo unleashed in Sadre, particularly one running along his jaw. The spiral-shaped mark of the Wyrm on his forehead eventually shrinks and fades away to nothing, much to his relief.

His tattoo of Briggan is on his right bicep, frozen mid-run.

While not a physical trait, he has a heavy Euran accent that is comparable to Irish in the real world. At times it can be hard for non-Eurans to understand, but luckily his friends know him well enough to decipher his speech even when it is thickest.

He wears the simplest clothing of the bunch: Just a beige tunic, grass-stained trousers and a pair of warm sheepskin boots from home. His thick travelling cloak is worn over his shoulders, fastened to one side by a wolf-shaped brooch. He rarely swaps out his travelling cloak for a regular one, preferring its weight.

The head of his hand axe is inlaid with silver designs. He covers the blade with a piece of leather and keeps it in his belt by way of a special loop, with his cloak gathered over the arm that draws it.

Abeke

For Abeke, I took inspiration from the people of West Africa, mainly Nigeria, and the Yoruba ethnic group.

Her coily dark hair ends just below her shoulders. It is worn in braids that begin at her hairline and trail down her scalp in straight lines, ending in up to twenty individual braids. She often stacks wooden or green beads on the ends. This style of braids is unique to her tribe. It also denotes her marital status; Yufandi girls and women wear their hair in braids if they are unmarried, and loose or covered if they are married. She only ties her braids back when she is hunting, travelling, fighting or doing some other kind of physical activity, letting them down at times when the group is resting. She has warm-toned dark brown skin with some freckles scattered here and there, mostly on her arms and face. Her eyes are dark brown.

She is broad-shouldered but lean, with toned arms and legs. Her final height is 5'8" (172 cm), which she reaches by age fifteen. This is considered fairly tall by Niloan standards. She has been the tallest member of the Four since the very beginning.

Like many Niloans, she has tribal marks on her face. Three long, thick, vertical grooves on each cheek indicate that she is of the Yufandi tribe, and three smaller ones in the middle of her forehead indicate that she is both Marked and a Rain Dancer. Chinwe cut the latter three onto her skin immediately after she summoned Uraza, as part of the ritual. This is an age-old cultural practice, one Abeke harbours no ill feelings about.

She has a number of other scars, both from the war and from her life as a hunter in Nilo. These are quite noticeable due to her dark skin tone. The most prominent is a mass of scar tissue on her left shoulder from when Tai Li stabbed her in Fire and Ice. The wound left her with permanent nerve damage, and she still experiences mild discomfort and tingling in that area. She also experiences numbness and increased sensitivity to cold in her toes from the deep frostbite she sustained whilst in Arctica.

As a tattoo, Uraza crouches on her right forearm, claws extended.

She speaks with an elegant western Niloan accent, similar to a Nigerian one on Earth.

She prefers light, comfortable clothing that allows for ease of movement. In Nilo, she wore a simple wrap made of handwoven cloth. When she joined the Conquerors and later the Greencloaks, she switched to more practical clothing for the colder environment: A long-sleeved white shirt under a length of goatskin and a pair of light pants. The triangular, tasselled thing at her waist on the book covers is a small bag, attached to her woven grass belt and used to store her personal belongings. She has leather shoes, more like slippers, that allow her to move silently. If the environment demands it, she will switch to hardier, but still graceful, boots. She prefers to wear her regular cloak over one shoulder, but wears her travelling cloak over both so it doesn't trip her up.

She uses a self bow, well-made, crafted from Niloan wood and embellished with subtle yet beautiful carvings. Lenori gifted it to her after the war, with the help of the Keeper. When not in use, it will either be unstrung (for long-distance travel) or left as is (if she needs it at the ready). In both cases, it is carried on her back, secured to her quiver.

During their stay in the Gulf of Amaya with the Conquerors, Abeke and Shane got matching beaded bracelets to represent their friendship. These bracelets are recurring items for the both of them that provide comfort and, later, anguish. Abeke stopped wearing hers after Shane's betrayal, but could never bring herself to get rid of it. Inexplicably, she thought to take it in her bag when she and Rollan set out from Greenhaven in Fall of the Beasts. When she made up with Shane, they discovered, to their shared surprise, that they had kept their bracelets the whole time. Abeke's is gold, white and black with striking geometric patterns, evoking the Huichol beading style of Mexico. It is one of her most meaningful possessions.

Meilin

The Han dynasty of Imperial China is where the inspiration for Meilin's design came from. Central Zhong overall is meant to be reminiscent of this period.

She has tan skin and long, straight, silky black hair which is usually styled in a topknot behind her head, with or without short plaits running down the sides (the hairstyle she is shown with on the cover of Blood Ties). Her eyes are a brown so dark they appear almost black.

Her build is stocky and well-muscled; she could not be called slender. Her final height is 5'3" (160 cm), which she reaches by age fifteen. This is the average for women in central Zhong, and makes her the smallest member of the Four.

It is perhaps a testament to her skill in battle that she has by far the least physical scars of the Four. The most noticeable are the light burn scars on her back that wrap around to her right shoulder from the fire in Sadre, and even then, those are covered up in public.

For her pierced ears, she usually opts for small teardrop earrings made of jade or silver.

Her tattoo of Jhi rests on the back of her dominant hand. She made the bold decision to get more tattoos in Jano Rion after the Second Great War: A sword, modelled after her own legendary Sword of Teng, along her inner right forearm, with a Yin Yang symbol at the tip near her wrist. These tattoos hold great personal meaning.

Though she speaks the common tongue with ease, she has a discernible central Zhongese accent, which could be likened to a Chinese one in the real world.

Her usual attire is a paofu robe (more specifically jiaolingpao) over a sleeveless white shirt and beige trousers, with a belt or sash at her waist and black leather boots. The robes she favours are knee-length, allowing for freer movement, padded for warmth and with fitted leather sleeve-cuffs to restrain the wide sleeves and protect her wrists and forearms. Her favourite robe is made of red silk and embroidered with dragons. She wears her travelling cloak over her shoulders, but is also known to don a green robe instead, especially for regular wear. In general, she gravitates to stronger colours like reds and oranges. She dresses the most vibrantly (and expensively) of the Four.

Generally, Meilin presents herself in a masculine way. Her favoured clothing, accessories and even hairstyle are more typical of men in Imperial Zhong. On top of gravitating to these styles because they are simply the most practical for a warrior, Meilin feels more comfortable and like herself in men's clothing, and enjoys dressing this way because of how confined she felt when conforming to the standard imposed on Zhongese women.

Her sword, the legendary Sword of Teng, is a jian that has been passed down through her family for many generations. In times when she needs it strapped to her, she will wear a belt instead of a sash to hold it in its scabbard.

Her trademark accessory is a small Yin Yang amulet attached to a silk thread, meant to be worn as a necklace, but often just carried by her side. It was her last birthday gift from her father, given to her on the day she summoned Jhi. This amulet later becomes her bond token, Peacefinder.

Rollan

Although the original books made it a little ambiguous, from details sprinkled throughout and especially the description of Aidana, we can conclude that Rollan is the Erdas equivalent of Native American. In ARHoE, this is an integral part of Rollan's character. For his tribe, I was loosely inspired by the Iroquoian peoples.

He has weathered, light brown skin and long, thick, straight black hair. In the first arc, he wore his hair loose or tied back in a ponytail. After the war, when he and his mother had the opportunity to reconnect with their tribe in Amaya after being isolated from them for so long, Rollan adopted many of their customs. He came back with his hair in two braids, a style that had been practised by the Wascow and many other Amayan tribes for centuries. His eyes are dark brown.

Years of malnourishment on the streets made Rollan leaner and lighter-built than the others, and even while living the good life at Greenhaven he remains somewhat scrawny. For the same reason, his final height of 5'4" (162 cm), which he reaches by age sixteen, is below average for northern Amayan men.

He isn't able to grow nearly as much facial hair as Conor -- just a few dark hairs above his upper lip. He scrapes off his thin moustache when circumstances allow it, in accordance with his tribe's customs.

When he was a child, he was caught stealing and had his nose slit as punishment. The scar left behind is one of his most recognisable features. He has too many other scars to mention.

Both of his ears are pierced, a procedure he had done while staying with his tribe. He owns and wears a variety of earrings, but his favourites are a pair of feathers that fell from Essix.

Essix's tattoo is emblazoned on his upper chest, her outstretched wingtips skimming his collarbones. He has a multitude of other tattoos, all of which were done during his time with the Wascow. His whole body is marked with symbols representing his tribe, spirit animal and achievements, including one for every battle he has won. The process was gruelling, but Rollan's ego has soared since getting them.

The subject of his accent is an interesting one, because unlike the other three, Rollan didn't grow up speaking the language of his people. Common is the only language he is fluent in, and, of course, he didn't grow up with a fixed person to influence how he spoke it. The result is his accent being an odd blend of speech habits from the constantly changing cast of people around him -- his mother, the people at the orphanage, the Widow Renata, his street gang and even foreign traders who spent time in Concorba. There is influence not only from different Amayan tribes in his pronunciation patterns, but parts of Eura and Zhong. Conor, Abeke and Meilin have never heard anything like it.

He typically wears a long-sleeved grey shirt, trousers and a pair of deerskin moccasins. Even though his choice of attire is rather simple, it is worth more than anything he ever owned as an orphan in Concorba. Beadwork features prominently on his clothing and accessories, including on his earrings, in patches sewn on his trousers and moccasins, and his treasured sash (which is best visible on the cover of Fire and Ice). His worn green cloak hangs around his shoulders. He doesn't own a regular one, only Tarik's travelling cloak.

The dagger he favours is a straight, mean-looking blade with an ornate hilt. He keeps it sheathed at his belt when not in use.

I thought it would be fitting to give them all a matching item. Something they carry around that reminds them of each other. Of their team. So, while in the capital of Zhong on their victory march after the war, the friends came across a collection of attraction charms and decided to each buy one. They were made of semi-precious stones, small and teardrop-shaped, attached to a little ring with a cap of silver or gold. They each chose a stone with meaning that resonated with them. Conor's is labradorite, which symbolises inner peace. Abeke's is sunstone, which stands for strength. Meilin's is amethyst, which symbolises balance. Rollan's is garnet, for clarity. The kids paired them with charms of their spirit animals and wear them in various ways -- on bracelets, in pockets, on necklaces close to their hearts. Every time they look at them, even if they are a thousand miles away from the people who keep the other pieces of the set, they think of their family.

There you have it, the altered character designs for the Four Heroes! These will be incorporated into the ARHoE masterdoc when it is completed. More pivotal characters to follow!

Part two

[cutiemochiii]

Angel

My interpretation of how the initial meeting between Douma and Kotoha went.

credit to the artist (wish I knew who it was) for the beautiful fanart

————————————————————————

It was no use. No matter how many times she tried to blink, the pain in her face would not fade, and the fogginess of her vision would not clear. Kotoha could still taste the iron of blood in her mouth from when she bit her husband. She cradled a bundle close to her chest, trying to protect it from the elements. The cold bit at her skin through her delicate kimono, like sharp knives on her body.

She must look like a madwoman, staggering around in the forest, running farther and farther from her village home, in a snowstorm as the sun began to set. Kotoha didn’t care, that was no longer a home to her. She could hear shouts, calls of distress from neighbors still echoing behind her. The same voices that had stayed silent during her husband’s many onslaughts towards her. She let out a frustrated cry, bitterness planting a twisted, ugly seed in her chest.

No, this was not the place for anger, she had to stay focused. In no time, her perpetrators would be on top of her, considering how much slower she was moving due to her injuries.

Kotoha shot out her free arm, waving it around in an attempt to keep herself from running into anything. Her feet were beginning to struggle as the snow piled. The sky was darkening fast, and dread pooled in her stomach. She would freeze to death if she wandered in the dark for much longer.

No, no, no. Keep going. Keep pushing. Don’t stop.

The trees were clearing, and she started to feel less resistance against her legs. She ran with all the strength she could muster, her muscles screaming. The sky and the earth all blended together in a sea of white, and Kotoha cursed her eyesight for failing her. But even in the blurriness, she could make out a large temple ahead of her, black with a blood red roof.

The doors were plated in gold. Even the last strings of dusk pulling at the sky in thin tendrils made them shine blindingly. And at the doors that towered high above all else, stood a person, who was turning away to head back through them. Kotoha had no idea what the temple was, how far she had run.

Would she be offered safety there? Or would she be pushed out like the filthy wretch everyone made her out to be? It didn’t matter. Those doors, they were built high and golden for a reason. Only a select few could enter and earn the security of that glowing monolith.

They opened for the person, and Kotoha imagined the pearly gates of heaven probably looked similar. The figure stepped through, slow and elegant. The blessed gates began to close. No…

“Please.” Her voice was a desperate, frozen rasp. Please let her in. Please let her be chosen. Please do not shut her out. If not for her sake, then for his. Please. She continued, stumbling as her legs numbed from the cold. She tried to beg again, but her voice had left her entirely. She was still too far from the temple to catch their attention.

A small misstep in the snow was enough to cause the woman to collapse. She quickly lifted her bundle, crawling with her free limbs. She had to make it, prove her worth. She was deserving of a haven. She was.

To her relief, the person had stopped. The gates did not close. There wasn’t much distance left. The rocks and sticks on the earth tore her palm and knees.

The air seemed to still completely. Time felt slow. There was a shadow looming over her. Kotoha stopped, her gaze following up the silhouette standing in front of her.

A man —in beige pants and a blood-red shirt— watched her with crossed arms, head quirked in fascination. His glowing blonde hair was only surpassed by his glittering eyes. Even with her lack of sight, the young woman gawked. It was the man from the gates.

“You poor thing.” His voice was silk. A gentle caress of warmth in the blistering cold. Suddenly, Kotoha wasn’t shivering as much as she had been. The man looked up, glancing around in every direction.

“Are you alone?” He asked smoothly, as if she wasn’t groveling at his feet. She wanted to respond. To beg for his mercy, to ask for reprieve from her hell. But she couldn’t. All Kotoha could do was hold back a sob as her eyes welled up.

“Angel.” She choked out, voice merely a soft croak. The man flinched, looking down at her. She hoped her eyes could tell him everything her mouth could not.

“You can talk?” He kneeled down onto a knee, at eye-level with the woman who couldn’t stand. “Oh my, look at your face. You’re so young. Such tender, supple skin should not be so mangled.” He brought his hand to her cheek. His touch was cool, the kind of sensation that a breeze would bring on a hot summer day.

It was all clear. The sky, so vast and dark that even the storm-bearing clouds could not cover it entirely. Kotoha felt like she could see every crystal of snow crunching under her weight. Her vision had returned, and as she blinked, the pain too had vanished.

And there he was, clear as day. His skin —almost the color of the snow around them— brought out his eyes. Rainbow eyes, shifting in color like a glimmering opal with each movement of his head. If his eyes were so mesmerizing in the dimness of a stormy evening, she could only imagine what they would look like in the light of day. She knew her voice had been restored, but she was quieted by her awe. All she could do was stare as he stared back, his eyes seeming wider than before.

He pointed a finger, and Kotoha realized how long his fingernails were. “Whatcha got there?” He questioned. He was looking at the white cloth in her arm. Suddenly Kotoha stumbled back, hugging it tighter to her chest. The man stood.

“It’s your child.” He stated matter of factly. He glanced around one last time, before approaching her again and extending his hand. “Come. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” She hesitated, before taking it and slowly letting him help her stand.

Kotoha had done it, she was worthy. “Rainbow angel.” She finally mustered the strength to speak. She looked up at him. Her mouth started to curve upwards, in a smile so true it almost felt as if she had never smiled before. “Thank you.”

————————————————————————

Author’s Note: I really hope you guys liked this! There will be a part 2! We’re not quite done with this first meeting juuuust yet! This is my first real writing post here, I can’t wait to do more.

Here’s Part 2! Part 3!

[creepyclothdoll]

Turkey Day

I didn’t scream when Deb brought out the platter. The dish was large, white, and decorated with little porcelain angels– the ‘good china’ for special occasions. I had thought there was something grotesque about those little porcelain angels before Deb set her masterpiece upon it. 

It was the conflict-avoidance in me that stopped the scream. But it didn’t stop my jaw from dropping. 

“Mom, you said you weren’t going to do this this time,” Derrick said through his hands. 

“Well, no, I told you on the phone, we had a surprise visitor yesterday,” said Deb.

“Bet you never saw a thanksgiving turkey like that in Minneapolis,” Trent grunted at me, before smugly, theatrically stabbing into a roast arm with his fork. He seemed pleased that I didn’t have a response. My mouth just wouldn’t form words. I couldn’t move, or speak. 

“I didn’t–” Derrick finally took his fingers off of his nose. “You said, last month, that you were going to do a turkey this year.”

Trent stuffed an enormous forkful of stringy grey meat into his mouth and chewed, staring at me all the while without blinking.

“No, sweetie, you’re remembering wrong,” Deb, who would not look at me at all, argued in her gentle sing-song voice. She was short and thin with a fading blonde bob and grey roots. She wore a beige sweater over a beige dress. “I said your dad wasn’t up for it, with his hip, and with my sciatica and your brothers gone, I just didn’t think we could manage it this year. But then yesterday, around four, just about when I was unwrapping the frozen turkey, the doorbell rang! Trent, please.” Deb slapped Trent’s hand as it reached for another big forkful of meat. “Wait till I carve some for everyone first, for Christ’s sake. Poor Lexi is sitting there thinking ‘oh, these redneck McCabes, bunch of barbarians raised in a barn.’”

“It’s fine,” I said automatically. This was the first movement of my muscles since Deb brought out the platter. “I don’t think that.” 

“You don’t have to be so nice,” Deb replied. “I can take it.”

Derrick was staring at me now, too. His hand passed under the table to squeeze mine.

“Why couldn’t you just carve it in the kitchen?” Trent huffed.

“That’s not how Thanksgiving dinner works, dear,” Deb replied. Her thin fingers worked to saw thinner slices of cooked flesh off of the bones. The meat seemed to be somewhat tough, because she was going very slow at it. “Anyway, I ask this fellow where he was coming from, and he said Rindley. Lexi, that’s a whole county over. He’s a door-to-door JW, I forgot to say. He’s got this stack of flyers, you should see them, they’re funny. Anyway. I say, ‘don’t you JW’s always travel in pairs?’ and he says, ‘no m’a’am, that’s not a requirement, that’s only for safety.’ And I say, ‘well aren’t you worried about crazy hicks out here in the boonies taking shots at you?’ And he says, ‘I never had a problem out here before.’ And I say–”

“Godammit Deb!” Trent blurted. He let out a long, excruciated grunt as he stood up laboriously, taking great care to make sure we all knew how much it hurt him. He pushed his walker around the table and grabbed the carving knife from his wife. “I’ll show you how to carve a roast. Christ almighty, I swear to god.” He sawed the meat with violent speed, splashing grease on his old navy checkered flannel. 

“And I say–”

“Mom, maybe save it for another time?” Derrick said. He made a big show of secretly nodding towards me so his mother knew why. 

“It’s a funny story,” Deb frowned

“I want to hear it,” I said. Deb only sighed and sucked her teeth. Then she sat down.

“Well, it’s not that funny. It’s dumb, actually.”

“I still want to hear it,” I said. My phone buzzed in my dress pocket, and I pulled it out instinctively. 

I’m so sorry this is awful, the message read. It was from Derrick. He squeezed my hand again. I took mine away. 

“She’s calling the cops,” Trent said. “Told ya.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I just got a text.”

“Surprised you can get texts out here,” Deb said. “Most people can’t. Too far out in the sticks.”

“I can get them through wifi,” I said. I’d gotten the password off of their fridge when I arrived. It was under a magnet that said Never Mess With A PISCES WOMAN Who Was BORN IN MARCH And Is Allergic to STUPIDITY, They’ll Never Find Your Body! “I also think I still have bars, though, too.” 

I was getting sick of Deb acting like this suburban mcmansion was so far from civilization it might as well be the middle of Alaska. We were thirty-five minutes from Grand Rapids, tops. 

“Gals try to call the cops sometimes,” Trent continued, breathing heavy now as he struggled with the roast. He wasn’t doing much better than his wife at it. Sweat dripped from his wispy brown crew cut into his piggy eyes, but he refused to slow or stop. “They don’t last very long. By the time the cops get to our door, we’ve already got a whole new Thanksgiving meal to serve up to them.”

“Okay,” I said. He raised his eyebrows, as if to accentuate that there was an implication there that I should pick up on.

“Dad.” Derrick said. “She’s not calling the cops.”

The thing I didn’t like about Derrick’s dad most was the way he said everything like he’d rehearsed it in his head a lot beforehand. Sometimes, Derrick could sound just like that. He’d say something and raise his eyebrows with a smile like he was expecting a big reaction. He wouldn’t move past it until I gave some acknowledgment that yes, I did “get” the implication. I never realized how much that annoyed me until now. What do you want, a round of applause?

“God dammit!” Trent threw down the knife. “God damn roast is tough, Deb. What about ‘low and slow’ don’t you understand?”

“Well, there was a lot of meat, dear. If you just fixed the grill this summer–”

“Oh, don’t go bringing that up.”

“Men.” Deb tutted. “Nothing is ever their fault. You know what I’m talking about, Lexi. Us women take the blame for all their stupid mistakes. But that’s life. Cleaning up our men’s messes without complaint.” Deb smiled conspiratorily at me, and I smiled back, even though I didn’t relate to or agree with the sentiment. The front door was just down the hall behind Deb, just a few square meters of grey carpet and beige walls smattered with tacky and vaguely threatening Hobby Lobby signage (Grandma’s Shit List: Don’t Say Shit, Don’t Do Shit, Don’t Expect Shit! and House Rules: ACT RIGHT or get a trip to the woodshed!).  I kept glancing at it, measuring the distance in my mind, wondering if I could run fast enough to get to my car before one of Derrick’s parents caught up to me. Or drew a weapon. 

Another buzz in my pocket.

I love you, Derrick had texted me. I could see him out the corner of my eye trying to make eye contact with me and shoot me his own conspiratorial smile, but I did not look at him. Trent slapped a pile of rubbery grey meat on a plate and passed it to me. 

“Breast or thigh?” He joked without smiling. I took the plate. The meat was wet, as if it had been boiled, and the thin ring of white fat and skin around the edge jiggled as it separated from the muscle. I thought I could still see blonde arm hair on the skin. 

Derrick took his plate of grey meat from his dad. As Deb took hers, Derrick leaned over to me and whispered in my ear,

“Don’t forget to say thank you.”

“Thanks, Deb,” I said. 

“And my dad?”

Deb passed a basket of white grocery store rolls around. There was a low white ramekin of canned cranberry sauce on the table, and a big blue bowl of salad with russian dressing. There was an extremely mushy and condensed soup-forward green bean casserole. In an effort to make a good impression, I had brought candied sweet potatoes. 

I took a generous helping of the salad, which was somehow also very wet. The russian dressing water from the lettuce pooled with the unthinkable and loathsome juices of the grey flesh at the bottom of the plate. I also took a generous helping of the sweet potatoes. No one else did, though. 

“Let’s wait until we say grace,” Deb said through her smiling teeth, watching me take a deep swig of my wine. “Thirsty, aren’t we?” She chirped. She poured me some more wine, filling it almost to the brim this time. I think she meant this as an insult, but I was going to do that myself anyway, so the joke was on her. “Would you like to lead the prayer, Lexi?”

“Uh… I don’t really know what to say,” I said. 

“Just say what’s in your heart.”

“Um.” I cleared my throat. I looked to Derrick. He nodded encouragingly at me, a sign he wasn’t going to step in and rescue me. “Thank you, God, for bringing us all together, here.” Deb and Trent both bowed their heads and touched their palms. Derrick followed suit. “I’m so glad I got to meet Derrick’s lovely parents. Thank you for this amazing… meal.” I felt the wine come back up into my mouth a little bit and had to gag it back down. “We’re all grateful to be here, rather than anywhere else. Uh. Amen.”

Derrick wasn’t religious, as far as I knew. But he gave a reverent nod before he opened his eyes and picked up his knife and fork. 

“That was a beautiful prayer,” Deb said. She sniffled. “You picked a good one, sweetie. Don’t let her go.”

“No thank-you for carving your dinner. I see how it is,” Trent mumbled. 

I watched Derrick take a small mouthful of meat. It was sinewy, and had come from the hand. He chewed and chewed. I’d never been less attracted to him. 

My family ate Thanksgiving dinner in the early afternoon. Sometimes my grandparents were there, sometimes my dad’s brother and his kids, sometimes family friends would come. My candied sweet potatoes always killed. Not a spoonful left by the end. But the thing was that we all liked each other. My mom would get a little tipsy and tell crazy college party stories, my dad would burn the pecan pie and laugh so hard he cried, and then we’d laugh so hard we cried, and then we’d watch movies and laugh some more. 

“So, what is it you do for a living?” Deb asked, chewing on her roast. Her teeth scraped the fork as she pulled it off.

“I’m a personal assistant at a pet magazine.”

“Oh, that’s adorable,” Deb laughed. I smiled a little bit. 

“It’s harder than it sounds. You know The Devil Wears Prada?” I asked.

“...No,” Deb said.

“You like Prada?” Trent asked through an open mouth of food.

“No, but, basically, I do what Anne Hathaway does, except for with dog clothes. But if you haven’t seen it, nevermind.”

“We don’t like the Devil in this house,” Trent said.

“It’s not a literal Devil. It’s Meryl streep–”

“Let’s not keep talking about this. It’s Thanksgiving,” Deb snapped.

Buzz.

My mom loves you, you’re doing great.

“You know,” I said, swallowing a bite of sweet potatoes, which I made very sure hadn’t touched the grey meat or any of its accumulated juices, “these candied sweet potatoes are made with real maple syrup and brown butter. I toasted the pecans myself and sugared them with homemade maple caramel.”

After a long silence, Trent wiped his mouth and replied,

“I don’t like real maple.”

“It’s too strong,” Derrick agreed.

“We already have a dessert,” Deb said.

“Regular mashed potatoes are better.” Trent said. “And they’re traditional.”

“To each their own,” I said politely. I poured myself another glass of wine. Honestly, I hoped they did kill me. Anything to end this dinner sooner. 

There was a loud, faraway noise from below us. A pounding, a rattling, and then a long, low wail. Derrick put his head back in his hands.

“Mom.”

“That’ll be our JW.”

“He’s alive.”

“You know how hard it is to break down a whole carcass, son?” Trent spat. “Nobody’s got the time for that. Not when you find out you gotta make a thanksgiving dinner for two extra people last-minute the day before. Now get your elbows off the damn table.” Then, in a moment of brilliance, he added, “Only one set of elbows on this table tonight, and they’re well-done.” He grinned and looked at me for a reaction again. “What, you got nothing to say?” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I said. 

“Say what’s on your mind,” Trent responded.

“Okay. Well… candied sweet potatoes aren’t a dessert,” I said. “They’re a side. But I don’t want to start an argument.”

“You’ve wanted to start an argument since you got here,” Trent said. “Don’t think we can’t see you think you’re better than us. College-educated girl, women’s studies, you probably got all kinds of opinions.”

“I think you want to start an argument,” I said. 

Derrick groaned beside me. 

“See? Knew you think you’re smart.”

The man in the basement let out another agonized wail. 

“It was journalism, not women’s studies,” I said. 

“Like it matters. This day and age, you tell me what the difference is. It’s all women’s studies, gender studies these days.” Trent huffed. He chewed as he talked, and I could hear the fat squeak between his teeth as the prisoner downstairs built up the energy for another scream. 

“When I was a girl, I took a women’s studies course in college,” Deb piped up, attempting to smooth down the hostile tone of the conversation by pretending she couldn’t sense it. “Back then, there were still ladies who would go out and burn their bras in a big fire. I understood feminism when it was about equal rights, but I look around today and– well, hasn’t it gotten out of hand? You know how it is, Lexi– you’re a pretty girl, you don’t shave your head or pierce your eyebrows or anything like that. Do you?”

The Jehovah’s Witness wailed in the basement and rattled his chains. 

“Would you shut him up?” Trent snapped at Derrick. 

“Me?!” Derrick said. “Dad.” He gestured at me. Like that would sway anyone here. Trent’s big lumpy face was stony as a gargoyle’s as he gestured at his walker. He wouldn’t be able to go down stairs with his bad hip.

“I’ll do it,” Deb said. “It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.” She stood up and pushed in her squeaky beige chair.

“No, mom,” Derrick said. “I’ll do it.” He looked at me, then looked away quickly, towards the grey carpet. “I’ll, uh–” Derrick grabbed the carving knife from the roast and wiped it on his napkin. Then he headed towards the pantry door.

“That’s my boy,” Trent shouted, without any real pride. “Sure hope you’re loyal to him, Lexi,” Trent said to me once he was arguably out of earshot. “Most women these days–”

“I’ll go with him,” I said as I stood, almost knocking a fork off the table. I hurried after my boyfriend through the dingey, grey-tiled kitchen (past a hanging wood sign which read In This House We Believe: No Cryin’, No Whinin’, No Back-Talkin’!) and catching him before the secret door behind the rack of very expired dry goods swung shut. 

“Lexi–” Derrick said, four steps down the creaky wooden staircase. The man’s screams were louder and more frantic now. “I’m so sorry about all this.”

“Is this normal for your family?” 

“No– I mean, the ritual cannibalism is just a Thanksgiving thing, I promise. And my mom said she wasn’t going to do it this year. I thought it would be fine.” Derrick smiled wanly. I didn’t like the way that smile looked on his face. Honestly, I didn’t like his face very much anymore. I could see his dad’s meaty forehead and his mom’s thin nose. I could see Deb’s wide cheekbones and Trent’s lipless mouth. 

“You don’t have to do what they say,” I said.

“It’s– not that big of a deal,” Derrick replied. “It’s just family stuff. You know?”

I didn’t. 

“Derrick,” I said. “I don’t like your family.”

Derrick looked hurt.

“I know this is a lot,” he said. “And my dad is being an asshole. But… you don’t choose your family.”

“I mean… why not?” I said, following him as he carried the knife down the stairs. 

“What’s the alternative?” Derrick said. “I turn my back on my mom and dad? No. Never. I believe in loyalty, Lexi. Even when people aren’t perfect. Even when I don’t agree with them. I don’t agree with you all the time, but we’re still together.”

“Well, don’t expect me to come to any future McCabe Thanksgivings,” I said.

“I understand why you’d feel that way after today, but… you might change your mind when they’re your family, too.” Derrick stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up at me with his big, dopey eyes.

“Derrick–” 

“Lexi, this isn’t how I wanted to do this. But you’ve seen the worst of my family secrets, and you’re still by my side. So will you stay by my side?”

Derrick was doing that thing again, that Trent thing, where he said a line and waited for my reaction. 

“Let’s just get out of here,” I said.

“Will you stay by my side?” He repeated like maybe he thought I hadn’t heard. “For the rest of our lives?”

“I just want to go.”

“I’m asking you to marry me.”

“I have ears, Derrick,” I snapped. It was the first time I’d ever snapped at him. I never snapped at anyone. Especially not him. 

His expression didn’t move an inch. He was smiling, for some reason, like this was the happiest day of his life.

“Then say yes,” he said.

“No, I don’t want to marry you,” I said. 

“Because this is where I come from?” He swallowed, shaking.

“No. Because this is who you’re choosing to be.” I replied. 

Derrick hung his head. The knife drooped to his knee.

“Things aren’t that black and white, Lexi.”

I clapped my hands over my ears as another shriek boomed through the basement, close now.

Derrick sighed.

“Fuck,” he said. He hurried into the basement proper, and I followed him. Again, I didn’t scream. 

What was left of the man was chained by the ankles to the wall. He crawled like a caterpillar, the stumps where his arms used to start on his torso haphazardly bandaged with paper towels and medical tape. His face was a pulp, his body bruised. He was naked. An overturned bucket leaked into the drain in the floor. He looked up at Derrick and I with wide, white eyes.

“Help me!” He screamed. “Get me out of here! Oh, Lord, please get me out of here!”

“Sorry, man,” Derrick said, stooping over the prisoner. His knee fell onto the man’s back, pinning him in place. He raised the knife. “Thanksgiving with the family. You know how it is.”

“Derrick,” I said. He looked up at me a second too late to see the bread knife flash under his chin. By the time he did, it was lodged all the way through his neck. His face was stunned, betrayed. I felt bad.

I pulled the knife out, followed by a torrent of blood. Down it went, towards the floor drain. 

Derrick dropped down to both knees. He clutched his neck. He didn’t scream. 

“Don’t make a sound,” I said to the armless, naked prisoner, who had been screaming a lot until then. He’d rolled away to the side as soon as Derrick’s weight was off of him. “If you stay quiet, we’ll be out of here in time to finish Thanksgiving with our own families.”

The man spat bloody drool.

“J-jehovah’s Witnesses don’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” he managed. 

“Yeah…” I said. “I think you’re onto something with that.”

Derrick twitched and gurgled. Then, finally, he stopped. 

I imagined my own family at home, topping off the evening with hot toddies and bad cable tv Christmas movies. 

“Lexi, Derrick,” Deb called from upstairs. “We’re cutting into the pie! Hurry up or your dad’ll eat it all before you get any. As soon as I find my knife!”

“I’ll help you!” I shouted up the stairs. 

My phone buzzed.

Miss you this year lex!! Happy Turkey Day!! Love, mom

I wiped blood from my thumb and texted her back.

Love you too.

I started up the stairs.

[alteredphoenix]

The Talon Trick (StP Card Games AU)(Chapter 1)[WIP]

A/N: So a lot of people seemed to really like this idea I came up with for an StP fic that I'd like to do if the inspiration struck me (featuring the Princesses playing card games in the Long Quiet to pass the time while waiting for the Hero to show up - which shocked me, because I wasn't expecting such a positive reaction), and that provided just enough motivation to write something out. This first chapter is just about done, but as I have a bad habit of leaving a multi-chaptered fic to the wayside shortly after losing steam this isn't something I'm ready to post on AO3 - at least not right away. (And I do feel bad about that, but it's something I've struggled with for years and trying to overcome.)

I think stockpiling a few chapters and then uploading them is a better idea (and probably a much better course of action for me to do in the long run), so have this little snippet for the time being while I force my brain to sit still long enough to finish the chapter and give it some polish.

-

The Princess slowly, heavily, drags herself up into a sitting position, strawberry blonde hair spilling over her shoulder in one big curtain. Her chest heaves, sucking in lost air. Absentmindedly, she reaches one hand up and feels for the tiara sitting neatly over her scalp. One pat, two pats, and she finds it.

Somehow, beyond all reason, it’s stayed on. She huffs quietly and tips it back upright from where it was all but hanging over the side of her head.

She spares a moment to stare at the floor, a grey several shades darker with hints of a color mixed between rain-washed stone and muddied brown – and shifting. She squints, frowning, and stares down harder, even blinking several times for good measure. But the scene doesn’t change; those are lines, cross-hatched and messy and sketchy, like the ones she recalled seeing on the basement floor and chipped into the walls, shift and shudder in every direction, both to her and away from her. Some of the patches even fade in and out of sight, reappearing further ahead into another patch of the floor that quickly assimilates into another network of jumping, dancing cross-hatching. A tentative brush of her left hand makes a rivulet of lining readjust and follow along the curve of her fingertips.

Brows knit, the Princess picks her head up and casts a slow, sweeping gaze around her. The area – the world – is grey tinted beige as far as the eye can see – and nothing else. They continue to shift and retract and connect down here as they did up in the air, one long, pervasive wall of cloud and fog without end. A sound like a breeze sighing through the leaves on the trees pricks teasingly at her ears. She turns her head one way and then the other, listening, straining; the sound travels with her, cloying and evasive.

Confusion wells in the pit of her stomach. “...Where am I?” she asks aloud.

“You are here, returned to me, where you belong.”

“Who--” she begins, turning back around, and jumps back, the gasp ripping right out of her.

A young woman stands, far away yet close and larger than life. She has the same blonde hair, the same pink dress that conforms to her slim, pale curves, the same silvery tiara upon her head. The same voice, the Princess notes belatedly, soft yet quietly monotone, and feels her mouth fall open. She swallows thickly, tears her mind away from the fact to gaze up and down at the woman’s body. All around her, from the top of her head to the sloping V of her navel, small hands attached to long, slender arms shifted and waved and flexed with a fluidity both stunted and natural, some grasping absently at the air. One hand drapes over her eyes. A pair of hands cover her breasts. Another pair wraps over her bony shoulders in a loose embrace, the same which a second pair cupped the pointed joints of her hips.

“What the….” the Princess begins, mouth and brain working. “Who are...What...are you…?”

“I am solitary lights in an empty city. Oceans reduced to shallow creeks. Trees without a forest. I am infinite.”

The Princess blinks. One slender eyebrow arches up. “…Huh?”

“I am you,” says the woman. “You are me. Pieces of a dream on the path to being whole. A fragile vessel.”

The Princess swallows again. “...I don’t understand.”

“You will, in time. But know that what I speak is the truth, and this truth will set us free.”

“Free,” the Princess echoes. “Free from, uh...what, exactly?”

“Here,” the woman says, and a dozen-dozen hands fan out behind her and gesture at the shifting, grey mass of clouds and sketch lines. “I have only just now wakened from these trappings of unconsciousness, but the answer remains all the same: there is no exit. The concept of an exit does not exist; not even the concept of time exists. It merely is. But I know there are worlds beyond the Long Quiet, worlds that can be reached, and there will come a time for when we will find them.”

“So,” the Princess begins, drawing the word out, tentative and venturing, “we’re stuck here. This, uh… This Long...Quiet.”

“We are.”

“But you just woke up.”

“I did.”

“Like, right now.”

“More or less.”

The Princess stares at her. Her other eyebrow rises. “...So how do you know there aren’t any exits if you just—“ She shakes her head. “You know what, never mind."

[echonk3]

999 Week 2023 - All

so went with something similar as last years and honestly thank god i got this done. this week came at a kinda shitty time in my life and they're short but i got them done

These guys have the be the weirdest fucking party you’ve all dealt with. Not the worst. God, they’re far from the worst. Most may be varying levels of drunk but they’re at least decently polite to you guys. At least all of these people are of drinking age.

Everything was normal at first. Decent amount of people, a bar, the common things. They even brought a few things to do. Including sudoku which seems to have been a bit of a sore point between two of the people there. A man who apparently walks strangely and had declared that he’s “high of life” and a woman, somebody he went on a loving tirade about since they’re fiancés, who’s wearing soft purples. They’re in an argument over who gets to do the sudoku… oh, wait. They’ve both conceded and are working together, even if it is a tad… chaotic.

An extremely drunk white-haired man has his arm around a sober silver-haired man. He’s blabbering apologies and crying as the other pats him on the back and tries to make him drink water. He does, and then starts laughing about other outcomes in a way too cheery tone as the silver-haired man just looks concerned.

One of the oldest of the group, a dark-haired woman that you swear is related to what looks like a pair of twins, goes over to the two while nursing a beer. Something that your coworker said that she said that she doesn’t usually have, but “eh, it’s there” so she has a big mug of beer as she says a few words to them.

The twins are talking very animatedly with the pink-haired girl, all quite drunk and doing some shit with each other’s hair. Honestly, you’re surprised they’re awake. There’s a hulking man, who just like the woman is nursing a beer, talking to a blond. You hear “love advice” and glances at the two now very aggressively doing sudoku. It’s odd, if not a bit funny. 

There’s a redhead talking with a man wearing beige. Both are just drinking water, having a pleasant conversation. You’re pretty sure they’re talking about ice cream flavours and which ones they like. They’re so normal compared to some of the others it makes you want to cry, and have ice cream. You feel like they both deserve ice cream. If only you guys served any.

There is a girl with a fading dye job, white with orange roots, arguing robotics with a dark-haired man. Both seem to have had enough to break the tolerance they seem to have, yet they’re able to argue about robotics and it sounds legit. As far as you know. But then the one with what seems to be natural white hair shouts some other thing across the room and suddenly they’re teamed up against him.

And then the argument starts to change and others join in before the dark-haired woman stands and shoves her beer up into the air.

“Shut up! I know it’s been a shitty year!” she says before taking a glance at the robotics man, the natural white-haired man and the sudoku woman. “Or decade! Or decades! But we did some amazing shit! And now it’s time to continue with the religion man!”

“To being alive!” The sudoku man shoves his drink in the air, to which the girl next to him shoves hers in the air and chugs it.

“Preach!” she yells.

“To no longer being kidnapped!” 

“To not being in a death game!”

“To having the fate of the world on us! Again!”

You are suddenly very worried about these people.

[dragonroar87]

Rushing Train

Fandom: Doodle World (Roblox)

Words: 500

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Through brilliant emerald forests, through sandy beige deserts, through sunshine and shadow, Junjie's Expedited Express would always take you where you needed to go.

As a little kid, Suzie was notorious for exploiting this, sneaking away in the dead of night and crawling down the stairs to the subway station just to see where the train would take her.

The walls near her regular seat were stained with doodles of marker and highlighter and pencil, whatever Suzie could get her hands on to pass the time. The oldest ones had long since been wiped away by strong cleaning solutions, but the newer ones had been left alone for a while.

Smiley faces and hearts and poorly-drawn Grimsugars and self-portraits and whatever else Suzie felt like graffiting on the train walls were beginning to spread past her territory as she ran out of space. Suzie scanned the elaborate mural made over many months, looking for an empty space to draw on.

Finding one, Suzie uncapped her bright pink marker and put the tip of it against the wall.

"Excuse me," an old voice grabbed her attention, "Do you have permission to do that?"

Suzie turned her head to see a grey-haired, wrinkled old man with bronze glasses and a brown suit looking at her. A blonde kid roughly around Suzie's age was sleeping against his shoulder.

Suzie shrugged. "Junjie's never told me I can't."

Technically not a lie. The first time Suzie was discovered sleeping on the subway, surrounded by childish doodles, Junjie panicked, thinking he was going to get sued and arrested for kidnapping a child. He immediately dumped her out at von Sweetsville and told her in no uncertain terms that she wasn't supposed to be on the train without adult supervision.

That being said, she was never told she couldn't draw on the walls.

And, to be honest, even if she was told that, she wouldn't have listened. Suzie never listened to anybody.

The man looked around the train for something.

"I'm sorry," he said, "But where are your parents?"

"At home."

"I see. And where do you live?"

Suzie was about to answer, but then she realized she wasn't supposed to give out information to strangers.

"Sorry. Stranger danger."

"I see."

He muttered something under his breath, though Suzie could clearly catch Junjie's name.

"Hm? What about Junjie?" Suzie said.

"I'm going to have to tell him about you."

"Oh, he already knows."

"He does?"

"Yeah, he lets me ride the subway as long as I don't get into any trouble!"

The man frowned, but Suzie didn't notice. Her doodling was briefly interrupted by the train leaving a tunnel, the sun shining through the window and greeting Suzie by blinding her.

When the light faded, Suzie saw lush forests rushing past her, a sight rarely afforded to her in ruined von Sweetsville.

"Wow... so pretty," Suzie said, admiring the view.

"Have you never seen a forest before?" the man asked, tilting his head.

"No. No, I haven't."

[thelegendsoferidar]

Chapter 1: Orion – The World Anew

“You need to get a handle on yourself. This is not the way Orcs live.” The Druid sinks back into my Mama’s kitchen chair. His long red black hair barely covers his balding head. A smug smile sets into his face making me want to slug him more. I watch, composing myself, as he meticulously takes a fried wheel and plops it into his fat mouth and wipes his hands on mama’s table cloth.

“You don’t understand…” I start.

“Orion dear, we’ve heard it before. We believe that you are seeing things in your dreams, but your…” the wrinkles around her mouth fold deeper into a frown; along with her black hair graying I see the effect I’m having on her.

“Now Seren, we have to be honest about her condition.” The druid Interjects. 

“Your … Madness doesn’t make reality different.” Mama deflates. She always hated calling it Madness. “You need to take up the way of the Orc, dedicate yourself to life.”

“Mama, its not that I want to hurt people.” Saying it out loud always feels wrong. K=like you shouldn’t expect praise for the bare minimum. “I want to protect my people.”

The druid scoffs.

He looks to Mama and back to me.

“Orion you can’t protect anyone, Orcs…”

Maybe I am Mad. I slam my fist on the oak table and it splinters and I point my index finger at the puffed up druid and snarl. “You little shit. Coming into my mothers house and acting…” I can see Mama deflate even more. He got me. “I’m going to walk this off.” No one says anything to me as I slam the door behind me.

I rub my face and stare out across the wheat fields. Orcs as farmers. Why doesn’t anyone see how ridiculous that is. I’m twice the size of an elven man and I have as much muscle as a giant. I was made for something more than hoeing the fields. And this whole green pledge. The faults of peace have not stripped away all that Orcs used to be. I know I’m not the only one who can see it in the dreams. The glorious warbands, the drums, the shaking earth. It’s the damn Reformation, it made everyone Mad except for me. Orcs used to a proud and honorable people. Now we are reduced to the farmers of this cursed planet.

I take the watermelon sized pebble that fits neatly in my hand and continue down the path.  The fields of Tilerus are grand and feed the world, I can feel the connection to the god of life Skog, but it is all empty in my head. Am I really unsound? Do I need to undergo a rededication? I come to a crossroad, a human man is kneeled over by his cart trying to reaffix his wheel. His faded blue tunic and dust beige pants belie the simple life of a farmer. Curly blond hair peeks from his straw woven hat and something moves me to help him without being asked.

“Let me help you.” I say.

The man turns back and smiles. “It would be mightily appreciated ma’am.” His eyes are gentle, the type you want to protect.

I walk over and lift the cart off the ground with one hand. He slips the tire through the spoke and notches the locks in place. He stands up and walks over to shake my hand. His head comes up to my bust. I force a smile not feeling it, but not wanting to be rude in case we meet in a better situation. 

“I won’t forget your kindness.” He says.

“I did what should have been done.” I say.

He gets up into the wagon and smiles one last time before quickly throwing the reigns.

“All the same to me.” He calls back.

I watch the man as he disappears under the rolling hill down the road. I turn around to keep walking and then I hear it. A low roar followed by cackling. I turn around and run towards the man. Each foot falls with a thud sending shivers up my leg, but I keep doing it. Its rare for monsters to make it in from the fields, but when they do someone always dies.

I crest over the hill and see the man lying on the road. His horse has already run off with the cart. The hyena faced Gnoll looks up at me, its right eye is milky. It spreads a wide crimson smile and throws its head back into another cackle sending viscera flying. I grip my pebble in rage. I know what to do. The Gnoll comes running with its spear stretched toward me. With each step it closes the gap I resolve myself. I wind up the rock in to the best pose I can. The Gnolls eyes are wild. Red smoke flows from its nostrils. When the Gnoll is just a few steps from me I take a step forward and launch the rock. I close my eyes on instinct; I hear a sickening thud followed by a splat. 

I open my eyes and the Gnoll is lying on the ground, without a head. I hear footsteps behind me.

“Orion, there you are.” The druid says.

[prostolita]

So, a sketch for Seth Gordon's birthday.

The April sun shone through the curtains, it was pleasing and awakening at the same time. Alison opened her eyes and immediately met the eyes that were looking at her expectantly. The gray irises flickered, Seth immediately looked away, but Alison did not miss the shade of his reddened ears.

Seth was always like that, his emotions showed up visually. His cheeks were flushed, wrinkles appeared on his forehead, and his eyebrows were raised. He was open and honest. He could say any annoying or unpleasant thing out loud and make a compliment by looking straight into his eyes.

Alison smiled and shivered in bed: if Seth was here, then Dan and Renee had already left. She went to the wall and pulled back a thin beige blanket. Gordon didn't have to wait, he put his arm around her waist and pulled her so close that there wasn't an inch left between them. Their skin burned from nervous and passionate touches. It was sweet and so passionately desired.

Alison loved such awakenings, she quickly covered his lips with her own, allowing the guy to enjoy this morning no less. Sparks flew in the air. Heavy sighs and gentle smiles- such were their hugs.  She loved Seth, loved him as much as she had never loved anyone. And she knew what the morning of that day would be like.

Seth Gordon turned twenty-five years old. His blond hair was spread out on the pillow, and his calloused hands were wandering around the girl's waist. The room was quiet. Only the couple's hearts were beating in unison.  The world seemed to freeze in an instant, and Alison was ready to pay for it. They got out of bed and took a shower together. They have created a special comfort zone for each other. A special atmosphere without embarrassment and prejudice. Alison was hysterical and harsh, and Seth was rude and short-tempered. They combined and harmonized from a nuclear explosion to a quiet tide.

However, even a bomb was not as destructive as their love.

After getting out of the shower, Alison sat Seth down on the bed and began drying his wet hair. They fluffed out to the sides, but Alison knew how to put them back in place and create a masterpiece of the day. He didn't mind, he allowed himself to be quieter than usual that day. On this day, he trusted only Alison. She knew what thoughts were going through his head, and that was why she took them out one by one with her thin wrists and gentle touches.

Alison could have stopped anything. Even Gordon's torment, which he tormented himself with. They didn't have to leave the dorm, Alison gave Seth a pendant. Expensive, but not too expensive. Gordon could have bought it himself, but Reynolds always knew he wouldn't allow himself to do that. She kissed him and promised to be by his side. She caressed him and let him do everything in the world.

Lying on the soft sheets in the boys' room, Alison thought about families. Seth had a family, but these people were as alien as any other passerby on the street. Alison was all he had. Getting out of bed, she went to the old window. Her gaze wandered around the parking lot, then shifted to the university in the distance. Smiling to herself, she went back to bed. Everything was in order, her gaze touched the textbooks spread out on the table and the things scattered on the next bed.

She froze in one position, as if thinking.

— Ellie?  His velvety voice was like needles digging into her skin. — Has something happened? Did I do something wrong?

The guilt in his voice hurt even more. She remembered how drunkenly he answered her calls. I remembered how loud his promises were.

— Yes, Seth, you did. — Not Seth, but Brian. Her favorite is Brian.

— What did I do, Alison?— She looked up. His gray eyes reminded her of the winter sky over Palmetto.

What did you do, Brian? What?

She knew the answer and had to say it out loud.

— You're dead. — Everything in the room swam before my eyes. All except Seth, who was frozen and scared. An image that slowly faded and turned to ashes. — And I was left to live without you.

Alison collapsed onto the bed, clutching the beige, tattered blanket with her hands. The digital clock on the dresser showed the exact date of today. The 21st of April. Seth Gordon's birthday. Seth Gordon, who is now dead.

Tears were rolling down the girl's cheeks. Someone put their hands on her shoulders, maybe it was Renee, or maybe it was Dan. The only thing she knew for sure was that those hands didn't belong to her Brian.

Her favorite gray-eyed guy.

She saw him in a dream and unfortunately woke up.

[k4l3idosc0pe]

My first fanfic! Basically, it's about this amnesiac who meets two elves.

I desperately pedal my bike, trying to distance myself and my troubles as much as possible. I fumble with my phone, searching for a GPS to guide me to safety. Suddenly, a deafening roar interrupts my frantic search. A massive red pickup truck barrels down the road, careening straight toward me. When I finally look up, I see the truck only a few yards away. Panicking, I swerve and lose control, tumbling headlong into a deep ditch. Everything fades to black. I open my eyes and start to panic, I can't remember what happened. I can't breathe. I feel swelling in my right leg. I notice the odd bend of my leg. Despite this, I try to get up. I feel a sharp pain shoot through my leg. I feel faint. My head feels like it's being split in half. I smell the sweet smell of fresh snow mixed with the putrid scent of exhaust fumes, and oddly metal. This smell… It smells oddly familiar… as if it's important to me somehow. The memory feels… distant. I start to remember why. 5 years ago… I was a… BoyScout. I remember learning about this smell. It means… blood! I remember now. I remember what it meant.

Loss of memory plus blood equals… Concussion! But what can I do? Other than sitting here waiting for death. My backpack… I have a first-aid kit! It's lodged between my bike. I need to get over there. I start to feel my vision blurring. NO! I can’t blackout again! I have to endure! I grab at the snow-covered grass and drag myself to the bike, staining the white snow red with my blood. My leg hurts worse than anything I've ever experienced, but I keep going. I see the backpack. It's lodged between a rock and the mangled heap that used to be my bike. I reach in and try to grab it. I get cut all over my hand but I finally got the bag. I rummage through and find a granola bar. I just now realise how hungry I am. I unwrap it and shove the granola into my mouth. It tastes amazing. I see my phone in the bag. I excitedly pull it out and try to turn it on. It’s dead. I pull out the first-aid kit, which I went through all that trouble for. My dizziness intensifies. I start pulling out the bandages but I'm too weak to do it. vision begins to fray. I try to fight it, but I've lost too much blood. As I lay there on the brink of death I tried to remember how and why this happened. What was I running from that was worth this!?

“...How dare you bring one of them into our home!” I hear a voice say as I wake up.

“How can you say this?! He would have died without us!!” A second, younger voice says. I kept my eyes shut as I heard the first voice yell, “Remember what happened the last time we let one of them in here!” The first voice says “They are completely untrustworthy! He’s even listening in on our conversation!” They’re arguing about me! My fear begins to grow. How do they know I’m listening? Who are they? What do they want from me? Panicking, I scream for help. Both of my captors stopped arguing and turned to look at him.

I opened his eyes and saw his kidnappers for the first time. The older one on the left looked relatively young. He had long blonde hair. He wore a light beige suit. The younger one looked about 12, he was wearing an ACDC shirt, had a guitar strapped to his back, and a pair of ripped jeans. His hair was a dark brown But the one thing they shared was a pair of pointed ears. “Y-your e-e-ears!” Charlie stammered.

“We may as well tell you, after all, we’ll wipe your memory after we interrogate you,” The younger one said “We’re Elves.”

“That’s insane,” Charlie said, chuckling “Where’s Santa?”

“Does this look like the North Pole to you?!” The adult said, angrily “We aren't even nearly as short as Northern elves.”

“Calm down,” The younger one said “How can you expect him to understand right away, he’s handling it pretty”

right now

“He still doesn’t believe us,” The young one said

“Well, why don’t you fix his leg first? I can’t imagine his pain,” the older man said. Charlie felt a sharp pain in his leg and heard a loud pop. He screamed and turned to see his leg. It was fixed! “H-how d-did y-you d-do t-that?” I stammered. “Can you fix my head like that?”

“Your head,” The young one says, confused, “What's wrong with your he-”

The younger one suddenly falls to the floor. His eyes glow a bright white. He shrieks in agony while his body violently convulses. I am frozen with fear. The older man ran to the boy, scooping him into his arms. “What have you done!” He yelled. “I-I didn’t d-do it.” I stammered. The boy starts coughing up blood. I feel something hard hit me in the back of the head. I'm beaten until I pass out again

I wake up to a blinding light. I hear an EKG. Panicked, I look around. I see rows of beds similar to mine. Instead of the blue jeans and faded T-shirt I was wearing before, I'm in a blue gown. I’ve got a splitting headache. I feel the back of my head. I feel stitches across it. A nurse walks in. I notice her ears immediately. They’re pointed.

“It looks like you’ve finally woken up,” she says, "We had to give you stitches,”

“Stitches?!” I say, surprised.

“With your injuries, it was the only option,” She replies "The guards shouldn't have been so violent with you."

"What happened anyways?" I ask "I why was everyone so panicked."

"Honestly, it's super boring, but if you want to know I'll tell you," She says uninterested "After the last human we let in started a literal war, a prophet prophecised that the next one we let in will stop it and unite the humans and elves." the initial shock of all this has worn off but after this revelation it's all back. "Don't worry, your not special, at least I don't think so. The elven community is split over who believes the prophecy and who thinks its fake." Right as I get ready to ask another question she is pushed out of the way. It's the boy from earlier.

"Why are you here, Ivy," He tells the girl "You don't even work here, or believe in the prophecy. Don't tell me you're doing it again."

"Doing what?" The girl, Ivy, says with false innocence,

"HITTING ON HIM!" He yells, "Every time I meet someone, who might be able to become my friend, they become your boyfriend in like a day!" By now I'm really uncomfortable.

"That is not fair! Most times they're not twelve year olds! I have standards," She says.

"Anyways," I say to the boy "Do you believe in the prophecy thing?"

"Yeah, duh," He says as if it's obvious, "It's about me! And even if it wasn't father wouldn't allow me not to. Can you imagine the prince of an entire nation not believing in the thing that gives most of them hope."

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, he's in it. I don't know why it couldn't be someone more mature, like yours truly," Ivy tells me.

"Are you better yet?" The boy asks.

"Yeah I guess," I reply.

"Then we can finally start our quest!" He is super enthusiastic.

"Quest!?!" I say shocked, "I didn't sign up for a quest! I don't even know your name!"

"Micah Barlowe, at your service," He says enthusiastically, shaking my hand "Now that you know who I am we can go!"

End of Chapter 1

[blindedguilt]

((from @booksofthelibrary ))

The young girl runs up behind the boy and sprays him playfully with a little bit of water. A harmless prank as she giggles before handing him a brand new net that she made for him. A 'R' carved into its handle.

"happy birthday!"

::RIVERSAL

"Waaah...!!" A sharp squeal erupted from the boy at the feeling of cold water on his back, the momentarily cry of shock quickly turning to a string of bright giggles as he flicked back a few drips from his hair towards Daffy. "Oi, you!! I'll get you for that, you know! You better watch your back, miss..."

He could hardly say he was displeased at her betrayal so much as pleased he had someone to play with! His brothers tried, but could never fully get in on his games, whether it be through confusion or other business they had to attend to.

Admittedly, though he would never say it out loud, he secretly felt rather jealous, perhaps even upset at the news of her getting together with Lukhege when he had initially found out. It was frustrating, in a way - he had finally found himself a friend to play with, and for what? ...Yet, even despite those initial worries, he was glad to be further comforted in the thought that he hadn't been forgotten by her presence with him that day.

The once beaming smile faded with the momentary rush of excitement and into curiosity as he was offered the finely crafted net. "Oh...This is..." A soft red creeped up to his cheeks with a sheepish, somewhat awkward look to his smile as he idly turned it over in his hands. It would have seemed forced in a way that he was trying to smile if not for the faint twinging at the corners of his lips threatening to break out into a wide grin. For someone who was usually so excitable, it seemed Riversal in particular had the most trouble accepting gifts - even compared to his younger brother Laum, who, while sheepish, was always capable of clearly showing his gratitude. Riversal, however...

The boy's long coat swayed as he rocked back and forth once on his heels, unable to fully look the other in the eyes as he spoke in a quiet, awkward little peep. "Thank you, Daffy... This is... Nice. Um...! Thank you. Well..."

Promptly, he spun on his heel, took a few awkwardly shuffled steps, and sat with his back turned and his feet spread to either side of the net he held between his legs. Though she couldn't see it, it wasn't hard to guess how red his face must have been as part of the kind gesture.

"...Come back later," He said suddenly, a flatly dismissive, determined tone to his voice, "I have something to think about." One of his tricks, now involving his new present, most like. "Thanks... Again."

His next words, though meant to be spoken in a tease, came off as nothing but a half-hearted suggestion in all his distraction. They were nothing more than a mouthed, near-inaudible whisper as he stared and plucked idly at the strings of the net with his fingers, too deep in thought to even notice the water dripping from his hair, much less to speak. "...Go chat with your boyfriend..."

Whatever could he be plotting? Whoever could he be plotting against? Riversal didn't speak, and sat there deep, deep in thought for a very long time.

"Hah! Got you!!"

...Ah, poor Leonard. It seemed that he had been chosen the unfortunate victim of his prank that evening. From a distance, the small Riversal could be seen standing triumphantly atop his older brother's back like a proud hunter with his prey. Leonard, conversely, would have been near invisible if not for his large form and the striking beige of his coat against the greenery of the forest. The poor hermit laid cruelly fettered on the ground, all that was visible being the blond of the head that laid face-down and the shoulders of both arms spread on either side. The net that had toppled him should have been relatively easy to remove from the foot tangled within it - his brother that stood on his back, however, was not.

"Please, release me at once!" The muffled plea sounded from the ground. With a dramatically boisterous laugh, Riversal's hands found themselves resting smugly atop his hips.

"No! I've got you, now, brother~!"

"Riversal! Please!!" A bit more insistence in his tone, and enough in a voice as deep as his to make the now 11-year-old almost immediately jump out of his skin and straight to the side of his ailing brother.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm sorry!!" Riversal was the one pleading now, his tone as frantic and shaky as his hands as he removed the trap net from Leonard's back. The eldest looked pale as he sat up on his knees, deathly silent in the face of his younger brother's apologies and concerns as to his wellbeing - his eyes were screwed tightly shut. He seemed shaken, with his shortness of breath, Laum noticed with a tiny frown.

...Maybe he was claustrophobic? Poor brother.

[megamobilestylesposts]

A Step-by-Step Guide to Achieving Gorgeous Sandy Blonde Hair

Transform Your Look with Sandy Blonde Hair Color

Are you ready to explore the world of sandy blonde hair color?

Get ready to captivate with this stunning shade that adds a natural and alluring touch to your look.

It is a popular choice among individuals seeking a captivating and vibrant style. 

Whether you prefer a full transformation or subtle highlights, there's a shade of sandy blonde that will beautifully suit your style and enhance your personality.

Achieving the perfect shade requires careful consideration and expert guidance. It's essential to find the right shade that complements your skin tone and enhances your natural features. We highly recommend consulting with a professional colorist to ensure the best results. They will help you select the perfect shade, whether you prefer a warm, sun-kissed hue or a cooler, ashier tone.

A Step-by-Step Guide to Sandy Blonde Hair Color

If you're feeling adventurous and want to try on your own, follow this comprehensive step-by-step guide to help you through the process. However, keep in mind that for optimal results, it's always recommended to consult with a professional colorist, especially if you're new to coloring.

Preparing Your Hair

Start by ensuring that your hair is in excellent condition. Deep condition a few days before coloring to moisturize and strengthen it. Avoid washing your head on the day of coloring, as natural oils can help protect your scalp.

Choosing the Right Shade

Consider your skin tone and personal style when selecting a shade. There are various options, from warm golden tones to cooler, ashier hues. If you have warm undertones, opt for a shade with golden or honey tones. 

For cooler undertones, consider a shade with ashier or beige undertones. Consult color charts or seek professional advice to find the perfect shade for you.

Lightening Your Hair

If you are naturally dark, you'll need to lighten it to achieve a sandy blonde color. This step is crucial as it creates a base for the dye. Depending on your starting shade, you may need to bleach it first. Follow the instructions provided with the bleach carefully, and if unsure or inexperienced, it's advisable to seek professional assistance.

Applying the Sandy Blonde Hair Dye

Once you are lightened to the desired level, it's time to apply the dye. Follow the instructions on the dye packaging, ensuring an even distribution of color throughout your hair. Use a brush or comb to ensure thorough coverage, taking care not to miss any sections.

Processing Time

The processing time will vary depending on the brand and type of dye you're using. Adhere to the recommended time mentioned in the instructions, while keeping a close eye on your hair to avoid over-processing. Periodically check the color to determine when it has reached your desired shade.

Rinsing and Aftercare

After the designated processing time, thoroughly rinse your hair with cool water until the water runs clear. Apply a color-safe conditioner to seal in the color and maintain its vibrancy. Refrain from washing for at least 48 hours to allow the color to settle and fully develop.

Remember, DIY coloring can be challenging, and it's always best to seek professional assistance if you're uncertain or hesitant about coloring your at home. A skilled colorist can guide you through the process and ensure the best outcome.

Tips for Maintaining Sandy Blonde Hair

It's crucial to take proper care to maintain its vibrancy and longevity. Follow these tips to keep your locks looking stunning:

Use shampoos and conditioners formulated specifically for color-treated hair that are color safe and sulfate-free.

Wash your head with cool or lukewarm water to prevent premature fading.

Limit direct sunlight exposure, as it can cause color fading. Consider the use of a hat or UV protection spray.

Schedule regular touch-up appointments with your colorist to maintain your desired shade.

Before styling with hot tools, apply heat-protectant products to minimize damage.

In addition to these maintenance tips, it's essential to follow a proper routine. Keep your hair moisturized with hydrating masks or oils to prevent dryness and breakage. Avoid over-washing, as it can strip away the color. Embrace dry shampoo as a way to refresh your hair between washes while preserving the sandy blonde hue.

At MOBILESTYLES, we understand the importance of finding the right beauty professionals to help you achieve your desired look. Our platform connects you with experienced stylists who specialize in hair coloring services. Book an appointment with our talented experts and let them transform your hair into a work of art.

Remember, sandy blonde hair color is a stunning choice that allows you to express your individuality and style. With the right care and maintenance, you can confidently rock this captivating shade. Embrace the beauty of sandy blonde and let your hair shine wherever you go.

[wishfulstargazer]

Where the Wild Things Are: Chapter 2

Title: I've Believed as Many as Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

Words: 2007

Rating: T

His little brother may have had a point, Dean reluctantly acknowledged the next morning. He was enjoying his deliberately long and hot shower and going over the gameplan in his mind. One thing he had concluded overnight: they needed to convince Spencer that they were not deluded or crazy–for his and Sam’s protection as much as anything else. So before they set the shifter trap, they’d take a time out for a little side hunt. Dean whistled at the very thought. Killing monsters, scaring overconfident skeptics–his life was good.

They met for breakfast at a very unimpressive looking diner Spencer had recommended. Sam was still grumbling about the “ice cold shower” he’d had when Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot–which had apparently once been a gas station. The ancient pumps still displayed gas prices straight out of the seventies, the dingy sign in the window just said “Breakfast and Lunch served every day” and there was something Dean was almost sure was a tumbleweed blowing around the side entrance. Dean sighed. It probably wouldn’t be the worst thing he'd ever put in his mouth after decades of hunting.

Once across the threshold, though, he brightened. The red vinyl booths might have been faded and splitting from years of butts occupying them, and the floor, clearly black and white at some point in the distant past, was now grey and beige, but the whole place was spotless. And the smells were very promising, too.

They seated themselves by the window to wait for Eliot. This time, Dean made sure he grabbed the seat that gave him a three-sixty view and eyes on the door. A slim blonde bounced up with a notepad. Dean did a double take. Were all the food personnel in this town mind-blowingly gorgeous? 

“What can I get you?” the blonde asked, perky and positive in her light blue minidress and matching hat. She looked like she’d stepped right out of an Archie comic.

“Is that coffee as good as it smells?” Sam asked, smiling at her. 

“Oh, I don’t drink coffee,” she shuddered, “but Eliot likes it. And he’s very picky about stuff like that.”

[haircolouring]

7 Trendy Fall Hair colour Ideas!: Chillli Couture

Hey, you all! It’s October already!!! You know what that means, right? That means we’re in the autumn season, and what better time to change hair colour than now? I know the past few weeks may have been hectic for some of us, so let’s take this opportunity to relax and treat ourselves to new hair colours. Whether you’re looking for a bold new red shade, low-maintenance roots, or a super-simple deep colour, Chilli Couture has a perfect style. So go ahead and pamper yourself – you deserve it! 

Not sure where to start? You’re in the right place. Here are some coolest fall hair trends to explore, from bright reds and warm blondes to e-girl-inspired styles.  

So, without further ado, let’s check out the trending hair colours that will stay for years to come. 

Warm Creamy Blonde   

Warm colours always look good in the fall. If you have been a creamy blonde or beige blonde, adding mid-lights to your existing colour will enhance warm highlights so you may ease into this trend. Warm colours fade softly with time, making fall the ideal season to explore this style. 

The perfect colour for red fall hair colours is an auburn shade. A deep copper reflects on a brown background characterises the ideal auburn.” If you want an auburn with depth, ask your colourist for one that doesn’t read purple. 

Milk Chocolate Brown   

Milk chocolate is the perfect brown fall hair colour for those looking for a more subtle change to their brunette hair.  Golden highlights reflect off a rich brown base to give brunettes goals in the autumn months. 

To add a warm sparkle, ask your colourist for a medium brown base colour with fine wisps of dark golden bronde highlights. Make sure that the highlights don’t overwhelm the base colour.   

Champagne Pop    

The pale champagne colour is a beautiful way to change your blonde hair without going too harsh. If you want to twist your signature look, add blush tones to your light blonde or use them all over. No matter your skin tone, it will look good on you. This colour is perfect for anyone who wants to try something new but isn’t ready for a quick change.   

Golden Blonde   

Changing your look doesn’t have to be too quick when autumn rolls around. A simple way to incorporate the new season’s colours is by adding some warmer, richer tones to your existing style. Having some colour with some warmth is a fun way to change up your look for fall without going too dark.   

Gingerbread/Caramel Highlights   

In the fall, soft, brown-red tones are in style! These gingerbread-caramel hues can add depth and warmth to any base colour. Our recommendation is to keep your roots natural while adding a touch of tone to your ends or money pieces around the face. Even in the darkest months, a little warmth in your hair can make your skin glow!   

It’s time to rock fall with your favourite hair colour. The trends described above have proven timeless, regardless of the season. Knowing what hair colour to choose for the fall, it’s time to get in touch with Chilli Couture, Perth’s best hair salon. Drop by Chilli Couture to get the desired hair colour of your choice. Our best Perth hair stylists will ensure your look is easy to maintain. 

Visit https://www.chillicouture.com.au/ to book your appointment with us.  

See you at the salon!     

[loousir]

[Centaurs]

Prompt posted by @monsterkinkmeme

"Whilst on holiday by the sea, you go down to the shore one morning at low tide and see an entire herd of centaurs all galloping along the sand. At the head of the group, two of the younger adults are clearly racing each other, and as they near you and see you watching them, they plunge into an even faster gallop, obviously showing off for you.

Later that day you meet the one who had caught your eye and yes, they were definitely interested in you…"

Centaur Male x Male Reader x Centaur Male

Elias & Soran

A/N: I love a good poly relationship and centaurs so why not

NOTE: THIS IS UNFINISHED AND TUMBLR MOBILE IS ANNOYING AND INSTEAD OF SAVING DRAFT IT POSTED IM SO SORRY

Masterlist

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The chilly summer morning breeze rustled the beige curtains that adorned your rooms open window. You sipped your warm tea and gazed out to the calm ocean. The occasional figure passed your view as they walked along a path that lead into the town. You decided to take a much needed vacation and settled on a homely coastal town to do so. After a few minutes of beach watching, you finished your tea and decided to go for a walk.

You stood and set your cup in the small sink before slipping on your shoes and a light coat. You made sure to grab your phone, keys, and wallet before heading out the door and down to the small fenced walkway that bordered the beach. The seagulls squawked as they flew over head, the wind gently rustling your clothes. The distant sound of galloping muffled by the sand could be heard approaching and you curiously turned to look where the sound was coming from.

A herd of centaurs were trotting along the beach. A pair of younger males were far in front of the others. You leaned on the railing and watched the two of them. Visually, they were polar opposites. The one on the left, or the one closest to you, had long blonde hair and pale skin that faded wonderfully into his almost golden coloured coat. And the other on the right had short black hair, and tanned skin that melded into pitch black fur. The only thing that these two seemed to have in common was a wide grin and a passion for racing one another.

You smiled fondly at the two and they seemed to notice you. The blonde offered a curt wave while the ravenette nodded his head in acknowledgement or as in to say 'sup. You waved back at the two before they turned and said something to one another. They were still pretty far down the coast before taking off. "Hey! You cheater!" The blonde yelled to the other who merely laughed. In no time, they were neck and neck, rushing past. They were at least a hundred feet away from where you leaned against the railing but you could still hear their laughter and loud banter with one another.

Before long, they were far past you and the rest of their herd had finally crossed where you had been standing. Who you could have only assumed was the herds leader, offered a kind smile and a wave. You waved back and watched as the rest of them trot by. Deciding you had finally taken in the scenery, you made your way down into the small town. There was a small Café you drove by on the way to your little motel that you decided you wanted to check out.

Upon reaching the place, you ordered what appealed to your appetite and chose on an outdoor seat once you received your order. It's nice enough anyways. Not too long after you dug in to your small breakfast, the two centaurs you had watched race each other could be seen making their way towards you. Each of them now had shirts on and funnily enough, where wearing ones that opposed their looks. Thr brighter of the pair spoke first. "Hey! Mind if we join you?" He asked sweetly. His voice is light and smooth, holding that cute peppy tone that some guys had.

You motioned to your mostly empty table and nodded. "As long as the spots free, go for it." You said with a small smile. He thanked you and the other spoke once they had joined you at the table. "I'm Elias. This is Soran." He said, motioning to himself then over to the blonde. You introduced yourself and they both nodded. "You two looked like you were having fun earlier." You said before taking nother bite from your now nearly half finished breakfast. Soran laughed and Elias nodded.

"Well we did have a cute spectator. It was only fair we show off a little bit." Soran smirked, flirting a bit. Elias rolled his eyes and nudged his side with his elbow. "Ignore him, he's a dumb ass." Elias said with a blank expression, smiling when he heard Soran's whine of annoyance. You smiled as well and giggled at their antics. "This your first time here?" Elias asked, seeming to observe your outfit.

With a soft head tilt, you nodded softly. "Why? Do I look that out if place?" You joked. Soran laughed and Elias shook his head. "No no, I just- Er- We've never seen you around before." He said softly as if he had said something that offended you. "Dude chill, they're just joking." Soran said with a small laugh at how shy Elias had become. "Well, it is my first time coming here. I needed a vacation from the city." You stated, finishing off what little breakfast you still had remaining and sipping on your drink while the three of you conversed.