#Gray tree braids

[mishoarts]

NEW TRIO UNLOCKED

( btw Tyler has his hand on Ash's head)

Younger siblings energy VS Older siblings energy

[seraphimskater]

btw this hyperfem pink blog is not only transfem-friendly, it's transfem pandering, transfem hugging & smiling & making friendship bracelets. I am waving at u like HI HIIII HI!!!! omg hi!!!! and putting flowers in yr hair

[biorust-art]

Run, Rabbit, Run.

[Image description: A digital illustration of Orym of the Air Ashari from Critical Role. He is drawn in the style of a Slavic fairytale illustration and everything appears to be watercolor. Orym is shown full body in profile, running towards the right. He is in his original outfit of mossy leather and loose pants and his sash trails behind him. His moon tattoo is on display, and he has a scared expression on his face. He runs through gray-yellow grass that fade to white and dark gray in the background. The trees are a blue-gray and twist upward and Ruidus is seen through the trees, making the moon look like a red pupil that stares at Orym. There are left and right borders that block Orym in, they have a repeating Celtic braid design towards the center of the piece-- made to look like a sapling-- and the outermost section is a green and white vine pattern with a wood backing. The two moons, Catha and Ruidus, in the middle. In the very forefront, above the border, even, are four gray rabbits that are shown in a running cycle. They pass over Orym and instead of rabbit eyes they have one wide, humanlike eye with a red pupil. The rabbits and Orym share the same scared expression. The other photos are close ups to the whole piece, many of the rabbits' scared faces. ID END]

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Northman!Price 🪓

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Born from this post and a late night conversation/brainstorming sesh with the lovely @flowermiist !!

This was so fun, and Northman!Price is now occupying my mind 24/7 lol

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Northman!Price who's a lone wolf. Likes being on his own, surrounded by the thick and vast forest surrounding his wooden cabin. The quietness of it all gives him peace of mind when he listens only to a soft breeze rustling the branches of the tall and strong trees.

Northman!Price who built his cabin with his own two hands. It's quite spacious at that, and the intricate carvings on the wooden door beams add a mystical touch.

Northman!Price who's big and burly. Bulging muscles that are covered with a layer of soft pudge and a thick blanket of hair. Strong arms and a broad back that have lifted many logs and various kinds of animals for dinner.

Northman!Price who's covered in meaningful markings and tattoos. Some for battles won or lost, and others just because. They decorate his arms and his chest, all the way to the beautifully woven Celtic knot that adorns his shoulder blade, moving in sync with the rippling of his muscles.

Northman!Price who has two wolf companions that pull his sled in the deep winter, making the thick snow a breeze to get through. Yrsa and Trygve, his loyal pups that he rescued from traps and nursed them back to health. He never planned on keeping them, but they just wouldn't leave. Staying by his side until he relented and took them in.

Northman!Price who's covered in furs, leather, and other natural fibers. Layers are key in such a bitter winter, after all. The huge bear hide is what keeps him warm most of all, held in place with leather straps over his linen underclothes.

Northman!Price who has a thick leather belt, holds all kinds of useful things. Knives of many different sizes, some for carving others for breaking down animals or adding a new scar to the raiders that dared to cross his territory. Pouches with materials to start a fire, a quiver, and a small axe.

Northman!Price who takes great care of his beard, always keeping it nice and groomed. His hair on the other hand, not so much. The longer locks are pulled back into a bun, a few strands falling in his face still. There are a few small braids scattered throughout, some wrapped with twine or leather strings with a charm carved from bone dangling from it.

Northman!Price who's lost a wolf companion before. He knew it would happen eventually. The graying fur around the wolf's face and the slower pace gave it away. With great sorrows, he buried his friend in their favorite place in the woods and fashioned a small wooden marker so he wouldn't forget. He wears one of their fangs around his neck, right above his heart.

Northman!Price who wears a singular earring made of stone with a rune carved into it. A tradition he continued to hold dear even after he made the choice to leave his family behind and make a peaceful life for himself in the deep forest.

Northman!Price who, when he goes out hunting, only takes what he needs. Who humanely and respectfully puts the animal to rest and always thanks Mother Nature for keeping him and his wolves fed. He uses every part of the animal, so their sacrifice wasn't in vain. Uses the bones for tools, the hide to keep warm, the sinew to patch up any holes and the antlers to decorate his cabin.

Northman!Price who's very knowledgeable when it comes to plants and herbs, always gathering bundles in the summer months. Especially when spring comes so the animals he killed during winter can replenish their numbers.

Northman!Price who despite his intimidating and scary appearance couldn't be more of a gentle soul. Not so much towards humans if he does cross one once in a fortnight, but he has all the animals eating out of the palm of his hand, literally.

Northman!Price who has fallen asleep with Yrsa and Trygve on more than one occasion. It always happens on accident, but who's he to complain? It happens a lot in the fall when he chops wood outside, preparing for the harsh cold months. He thinks he deserves a quick break, wiping the sweat from his brow, only to immediately nod off with his two wolves nuzzled close to his side, keeping him warm.

Northman!Price who always keeps his battle axe strapped to his back, right next to his bow. He doesn't use it unless he needs to fight off some unwelcome guests, but having the weight of it pressing between his shoulder blades is more reassuring than it should be.

Northman!Price who can't help but feel a little lonely sometimes. It would be nice to have another human around, he thinks. Maybe even someone to love. He grunts in frustration at his ridiculous thoughts and lets out his feelings at the chopping block, splitting wood until the horizon has swallowed the sun whole.

Northman!Price who has a stream not far from his cabin. It's his main water source. In the summer, he bathes right in the stream and brings water back for his wolves and himself. In the winter, however, he heaves bucket after bucket to his cabin to boil it, needing a hot bath to warm him up and release the tension from his muscles.

Northman!Price who traces the many scars on his body, some he looks at with fond memories while others only seem to make his heart ache. They remind him of when he was with his family, his people, storming into battle with his friends to defend their honor. Unfortunately, as time went on, he kept returning with fewer and fewer comrades and made the decision to put down the battle axe.

Northman!Price who has matured and doesn't crave the thrill of battle like he used to. He never passes up an opportunity to slice up some raiders or bandits, however. But the guilt lays heavy on his shoulders, knowing that if and he and his friends hadn't been so naive, he would still talk to them and share some mead instead of going to visit where they fell.

Northman!Price who indulges the playful moods of his pups and wrangles them to the ground with a boisterous laugh, even letting them win. The sweet nudges of their wet noses never fail to make a smile crack on his face.

Northman!Price who loves sitting outside on a cold winter night and admires the sparkling stars and constellations. Or how the Moon shines her light on the snow and makes it look like a blanket of precious stones. His favorite, however, is when he can spot the occasional Aurora Borealis.

Northman!Price who goes out hunting one day, taking care to take slow and quiet steps so as not to scare the deer that has its snout buried in the snow, looking for food.

Northman!Price whose body moves without thinking, crouching for cover and carefully readying his bow to take the shot. The cold is biting at his fingertips, but his hands are steady nonetheless.

Northman!Price who lets out a breath, his fingers slowly slipping to loose the arrow, only for the deer to drop dead accompanied by the whiz of someone else's arrow cutting through the air.

Northman!Price who's immediately alert and on edge, stashing away his bow and pulling out the small axe he has attached to his belt. He keeps his eyes trained on anything that might move and slowly starts to approach the dead deer.

Northman!Price who ducks behind a tree, when he sees a bush rustling. He tightens and adjusts the grip on his axe, just in case.

Northman!Price who doesn't know what to do or think when you come out from the bush and cautiously look around, bow still in hand. He watches, frozen, as you kneel before the deer and whisper illegible things, but the tone of your voice alone is enough to soothe his soul.

Northman!Price who finally takes you in. Same as him, you wear furs to keep you warm, but you don much less weapons than him. A bow with a quiver and a small knife is all you have. He lowers his guard and continues watching.

Northman!Price who thinks you're way too soft and sweet to be out here like this. He's seen his fair share of female warriors, raiders, and such, and he doesn't think you couldn't be those things, but something about you gives him the immediate urge to take care of you. Keep you close and make sure you have the best life he can give you.

Northman!Price who's lowered his guard too much, and when he comes back from his thoughts, you're gone. The deer is still there, so is your arrow lodged in its heart, but you're nowhere to be found.

Northman!Price who thinks he must've been dreaming, but the arrow that clearly doesn't belong to him makes doubt tug at his mind. He hasn't started to lose his sanity from being alone for so long, has he?

Northman!Price who mirrors your actions and makes his way to the deer to kneel before it. He removes the arrow and runs his fingers over the delicate carvings adorning the shaft.

Northman!Price who's, for once, completely unaware of his surroundings just because he saw a strange woman take down a deer with a shot so precise, he swears he's never seen anything like it before.

Northman!Price who lets out a grunt when something is pressed into the middle of his back and a glinting blade is held dangerously close to his neck.

Northman!Price who shivers when you lean down to talk into his ear.

"Hasn't your mother taught you not to spy on women, hm?"

Northman!Price who can feel your breath down his neck and takes every ounce of his self-control not to buckle.

Northman!Price who wants to turn his head and look at your face to see if you're as beautiful as he thinks you are, if your enchanting voice does you justice. However, he has your knee digging into his back and your knife against his throat, but all he can think is that he's in love.

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Consider me deceased 😵‍💫😫

he's just so AURGHHAHAJAJAJAJA

More of my work -> 💫

[celiastjamesoscar]

Exile

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader

Summary: you and Wednesday were best friends when you were kids, but after Nero’s death, she became cold and distant, and your former friendship turned into a rivalry. Ten years after your friendship ended, unusual circumstances force you two back together.

Trope: childhood friends to enemies to lovers

Warnings: small violent at beginning, angst, death of Nero. Let me know if I missed any!

My Masterlist

Word Count: 12.3K (what’s a word count?)

The sound of children laughing rang throughout the woods on a crisp fall morning. The trees were beautiful vibrant colors that painted the landscape with shades of fiery red, golden yellow, and earthly orange. The crisp air that one could taste in their lungs carried a gentle rustling of fallen leaves while the scent of decaying foliage filled the atmosphere. The ground was adorned with a carpet of fallen leaves that created a soft crunch when the two children ran through the serene woodland.

Even though one child chased the other with a small ax, the two had the same fun. The one with the ax was a taller girl with jet-black twin braids who wore all-black clothing, expert for her white collar shirt. She wore a giant smile on her face as she chased her best friend, Y/N.

You were shorter than Wednesday but had just as much fire in you as Wednesday did. Where Wednesday’s eyes were as black as night, you had a gray and green eye that you used to hide behind sunglasses until Wednesday told you they were the most beautiful things in the world, “You shouldn’t hide what separates you from others, Y/N. Especially if it makes you all the more beautiful.”

You wore brighter colors than Wednesday, but you both shared a love for darkness. You were nothing without Wednesday, just as Wednesday was nothing without you.

The two made an odd pair, but one was never seen without the other. There were times when Morticia had to pry her daughter away from you to find that you had snuck back over sometime in the moonlight. Whenever Wednesday would practice her cello, she would invite you to play the piano, and together you two would create the most heavenly sound that would make angels cry. The contrast was there, but they fit together like puzzle pieces.

As they ran through the woods, you tripped on a small branch and fell to the ground, causing worry to overtake Wednesday as she sprinted to the fallen girl. “Are you alright, Y/N?” Wednesday asked as she knelt beside her friend, but her worry quickly disappeared when you sprang up and tackled her to the ground. You removed the ax from the taller girl’s grasp and held it to her neck. “I appear to be the victor,” you said with a giant smile contrasting Wednesday’s grim expression.

Wednesday leaned up and shoved you off her as she stood up and brushed herself off. “That’s hardly a win; you cheated,” Wednesday replied dryly as she helped you off the ground.

“I might have cheated, but you’re still the loser,” you shot back while standing up. You lived for the playful banter with Wednesday and would rather lose your tongue than go without annoying Wednesday for a day. You handed Wednesday the ax back so she could be the Hunter again, and she placed it in its holster on her hip.

As you two were getting ready to start a new game, a voice rattled the trees around you, “Wednesday! Y/N! Time to come home!” The two shared a look and rolled their eyes simultaneously; they both hated it when Morticia ruined their fun, but they started their walk back to the house nonetheless.

As they walked, Wednesday felt bold and pulled you into a headlock and brought the smaller girl’s head against her ribcage. You didn’t even have time to protest before you felt Wednesday’s knuckles dig into your scalp. You squirmed against Wednesday’s hold, but it was useless; the taller girl was stronger than you. So, you did what any sane person would do; you bit down on Wednesday’s forearm that was keeping you in place. Not enough to hurt the assailant, but just enough to let go of you. And just as you predicted, Wednesday let go of you and grabbed the area that the smaller girl just bit. “Why did you do that?” Wednesday questioned as she rubbed her arm back and forth.

“Uh, because I can?” You retorted as you motioned with her hand, giving Wednesday an attitude that the other girl scoffed at. “Let us go, my compact companion; we have tasks at hand,” Wednesday said as she grabbed your hand, and the two ran back to the Addams’ residence together.

“You have to stop calling me that,” you whined. Wednesday had her collection of names to call you, and the shorter girl hated them.

“It’s not my fault you’re shorter than me; blame your genetics,” Wednesday replied with a dry tone but a slight smile that caused you to smile once you saw it. Wednesday never smiled at anyone except you; Wednesday made a lot of exceptions for the more petite girl, even though she would never admit it.

When they arrived at the mansion, both girls were out of breath as Morticia came outside to greet them. “Hello, my little doves. Did you two enjoy the hunt?” Wednesday’s mother asked them as they went inside and took off their shoes.

“Yes, Mrs. Addams, I always have fun with Wens. She’s the best,” you breathlessly replied as you followed Wednesday up to her room.

Morticia was always fond of you; she loved how her morbid daughter seemed to light up when she was around you, and she knew that her daughter could always rely on and trust you. But all great things must come to an end.

Wednesday held her bedroom door open for you as they entered. The room was dark and cold, but it had character, like Wednesday. There were two giant windows that Wednesday always kept covered on the opposite wall of the door. There were collections of knives hung up on the walls, and the shelves were littered with bookshelves, and in the corner of the room was a cello right next to your piano. A small fireplace was built into the wall and had a black, round table in front of it that sat only two. A black bed was in the center of the room with its headboard against the wall, and at the end of the bed was a small bed bench that was purple, your favorite color. Above Wednesday’s bed were two swords mounted onto the ceiling; one had a black handle with the purple initials of W.A. etched into the ricasso, while the other had a purple handle with your initials engraved in black. You found the swords a bit odd, but according to Wednesday, it made her feel like Damocles.

You messed with the record player beside the fireplace and put on your favorite record. Soon, the upbeat saxophone of ‘Bop’ by Dan Seals filled the room. Wednesday rolled her eyes when she saw you recreate John Travolta’s ‘Twist’ dance from Pulp Fiction.

I want to bop with you, baby, all night long

I want to be-bop with you, baby, till the break of dawn

I want to bop with you, baby, all night long

“Come on, Wens. You know you wanna dance with me,” You said as you started making the swimming motion from the dance. Finding that she could never say no to you, Wednesday rolled her eyes again before copying Uma Thurman’s dance to match you. When Wednesday did the snorkel dance move, you laughed at the taller girl’s awkwardness, and Wednesday smiled at the thought of making you laugh.

Out of breath, the two finished the dance, and they both had giant smiles as their eyes copied their lips. “Shall we dance again, my fair lady?” You asked as she stuck out your hand and slightly bowed.

“You’re exhausting,” Wednesday stated but took your hand and allowed the girl to spin her.

Twenty minutes had passed when the clock on the fireplace dinged, telling Wednesday it was time to walk Nero. “It’s time for me to walk Nero, but I will see you when I get back,” Wednesday stated as she moved toward the area that was reserved for Nero and got him out of his cage, and put him on his leash.

The three walked down the front door together and left the house together. “See you in a minute,” you said as you walked away from Wednesday. The taller girl sent you a small wave as she walked toward town with Nero.

You arrived home and did what you usually did when Wednesday was away; you waited. You knew Wednesday’s schedule to the tee: wake up at six, morning torture with Pugsley at six-thirty, breakfast at seven-thirty, play with Y/N at eight until her walk with Nero at ten-thirty, come back at eleven and practice her cello with Y/N until twelve-thirty and have lunch at twelve-thirty five. The hours between one and three were filled with any ‘spontaneous activities’ Wednesday might want to do, and at four, she read until five, had dinner at six, and did nightly torturing with Pugsley (or Y/N if you consented) at six-thirty until bedtime at eight-thirty.

So when you checked the clock and saw it was ten-thirty-five, you left her house and skipped to Wednesday’s. As you approached the house, there was a sudden shift in the air, and you could taste it on your lips: death had arrived. You cautiously walked up the stairs and knocked on the door, something you never did. You were always around Wednesday so much that Morticia told you that you didn’t need to knock anymore as she could ‘sense’ the girl’s presence.

When the door opened, you knew that something had happened; you just hoped that Wednesday was okay. Gomez was standing before you with a grim expression as he ushered you in. Your eyes landed on a weeping Wednesday, and your heart broke. You moved to sit next to the goth girl and opened your arms, and Wednesday immediately hugged you and buried her face in the crook of your neck. You rubbed her best friend’s back as she continued crying; you didn’t know what to do, but you only knew that you wanted to be with Wednesday.

The following day, Wednesday had a funeral for Nero, and no one but you could attend. The two girls shed a tear as they both placed a flower on his grave, and you comforted Wednesday once more. Later that night, in Wednesday’s room, Wednesday had allowed you to sleep in bed with her. The two girls were cuddled together, staring at the swords above them, when Wednesday broke the silence, “You are far too dear to me, Y/N. The pain I have felt the past two days is something I never want to experience again, and I certainly do not wish to experience it all over again because of you.”

“Don’t worry, Wednesday. You’re stuck with me till life do us part,” you replied as you hugged your best friend, never wanting to lose the girl.

At just six years old, Wednesday had lost her beloved pet and experienced grief for the first time, and she knew that she would have to grieve every single person in her life at some point. So that night, she made a vow; never to be close enough to someone where she would shed a tear because of their death, and that meant letting go of who she loved most: you.

At first, it was very subtle: Wednesday would smile less around you, and she would spend less time working with you on your music. It was so subtle that no one but you noticed, and it hurt you. Then, more significant things began to happen; Wednesday would purposely fill her schedule with things to do that didn’t involve you, and when you two did hang out, she made sure to try and distance herself from you. And then it all came crashing down on Wednesday’s seventh birthday.

You had a small box in your hand as you walked up the steps to the front door of the Addams mansion and knocked, patiently waiting for someone to open the door. Only a few seconds had passed before Morticia opened the door and towered over the small child. “Hello, my darling. Wednesday is in the greenhouse,” Morticia said as she stood aside and let you into the house before shutting the door.

“Thank you, Mrs. Addams. I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, so I hope she won’t be angry,” you innocently said as you ignored the pain in her heart that Morticia seemed to pick up on.

Eager to change the subject in fear of you becoming sad, Morticia asked as she led you to the greenhouse, “I’ve already told you that you can stop calling me ‘Mrs. Addams,’ My child, so why do you continue?”

You shrugged your shoulders at the comment. You didn’t know why you still spoke to the woman in a formal tone, but it felt weird on your tongue to call her anything else. “I don’t know, I think it’s a respect thing for me,” you replied as you opened the door to the greenhouse. Morticia nodded at the child’s words before whispering, “Have fun with my little death trap.”

You smiled at Morticia’s words as you entered the greenhouse. You knew precisely where Wednesday would be and didn’t pretend to look for the goth girl.

Wednesday was cutting black roses from their stem when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She didn’t bother turning around; she could recognize those footsteps in the crowd of a thousand people. “What are you doing here, YN?” Wednesday asked in a dry tone that caused you to stiffen.

“It’s your birthday, and I wanted to give you something,” you said as you approached Wednesday and set the box next to her. “I know you love your birthday, as it is one more year closer to your death, so here’s your present to celebrate.”

Wednesday gave the more petite girl a suspicious look before putting down the rose and scissors and picking up the box. It was unnaturally light, so she doubted it was a weapon or bomb. She slowly took the lid off the box, and any words died on the tip of her tongue once she realized what it was.

It was a small, black, crocheted scorpion that took you hours to make. She also saw a small note underneath the scorpion, but she didn’t pick it up as her vision became red.

She didn’t know why she was angry. All Wednesday knew was that she wanted you gone. “Get out,” Wednesday hissed as she set the box down and grabbed a knife from her boot.

“What? Why?” You asked as you slowly backed up from Wednesday as your eyes fell on the knife. Of course, Wednesday would make the occasional threats, but you had never believed them; until now.

“Friends are nothing but liabilities, and they only hold me back. So. Get. Out.” Wednesday repeated as she backed you against a small flower pot. She no longer had control over her emotions, and every second she spent with you only seemed to anger her more.

“Wednesday, please. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you would have liked the gift. Please, I’m your best friend, and I-” Any words you were about to say got caught in your throat as Wednesday brought the knife up, cutting a straight line on your left eye. The cut was three inches below your eye and an inch above it.

The two stood there in disbelief as neither could believe what happened. Only when blood started pouring out of your cut, and you collapsed onto the floor did Wednesday do something; she called out for her mother’s help for the first and only time as she held you in her arms, trying her best to fight back tears.

Morticia ran out to the greenhouse and instantly scooped you into her arms as she yelled for Gomez. The man came burling down the stairs and could not contain his tears as she saw your blood-covered state.

The couple quickly rushed you to the hospital, and once you were checked into the ER, the couple notified your parents. They arrived within ten minutes of the phone call, and they were everything but calm, from questioning how Morticia and Gomez allowed this to happen to demanding that Wednesday be punished.

The two sets of parents seemed to be at each other’s throats while Wednesday tried her best to disappear. She felt nothing but guilt for hurting her Y/N, and she wanted to do everything possible to make it up to the girl. So when Wednesday got her chance to see you, she practically sprinted into your room.

You were lying in a hospital with the entire left side of your face bandaged up, and Wednesday could see some blood seeping through. Wednesday slowly approached the bed and gently grabbed your hand. As if repulsed by the touch, you quickly pulled your hand away from Wednesday’s and brought it to your chest. You glared at Wednesday with your right eye before hissing, “Get out.”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand-” Wednesday started but was quickly cut off by you.

“I’m nothing but a liability to you, Wednesday, so leave,” you said as you crossed your arms and looked away from Wednesday, refusing to cry in front of the taller girl. ‘I think I’ll miss you forever; like the stars miss the sun in the morning skies,’ you thought as you watched your best friend leave.

Wednesday nodded her head and slowly walked to the door, and turned to face you one last time. “Please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere.”

You were once her crown, and now she was in exile seeing you out. She gave you so many warning signs, but you never learned to read her mind.

When she left the hospital, she felt nothing but shame and guilt that filled her body the entire car ride back home. She cleaned the blood off the floor before going to her room, where she sobbed for the second and last time.

School was different after that happened; the former best friends refused to meet each other’s gaze and soon found that their previous partnership turned into rivalry, constantly competing to be number one. It was an unfair competition, as Wednesday was more naturally gifted than you, and she seemed to beat you at everything, but you refused to give you. You would spend hours perfecting your craft, and when it came time for the archery competition, you beat Wednesday by a single point. Any chance for friendship was ruined when you accepted the first-place trophy and sent Wednesday an evil glare when she was awarded her second-place trophy.

Your rivalry continued like this for numerous years, always for captain for a particular activity or number one in their grade, but just as before, you always seemed to fall short. It continued for three years until you suddenly stopped showing up for school.

Wednesday believed that she had beaten you so far into the ground that you decided to stop coming to school. But after two weeks had passed and Wednesday had not seen her former best friend, she became curious and decided to stop by your house.

Only when Wednesday saw the ‘for sale’ sign in your yard, she allowed herself to be swallowed by guilt. She had pushed you too far in their competition for first and had made you move. Wednesday realized that she might never see her Y/N again, and regret flooded her mind as she slept on the purple bed bench with your sword in her arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I think we are getting a new student today, and I'm totes excited!” Enid exclaimed as she skipped to Wednesday’s side of the room. The last person to arrive at Nevermore Academy was Wednesday herself, so naturally, Enid was ecstatic to meet someone new.

“You know I do not care for new faces who share the same boring personalities as everyone else here,” Wednesday mumbled while she typed on her type-writer.

Enid huffed at Wednesday’s remark before glancing at her roommate’s work. Wednesday noticed the action and quickly sent an elbow into Enid’s side, causing the girl to groan in pain. “You also know I hate it when you try to read my work. I have no idea why you keep trying to read anything; you know the result,” Wednesday stated as she continued typing.

“Whatever. Just humor me for a moment,” Enid said as she put some space between her and Wednesday, avoiding any elbows that might be sent her way. “I will not humor you but continue.”

“So, from what my sources tell me, she’s from Italy, not like the normal part of Italy, but the mob part!” Enid informed while using her hands to talk.

“Enid, just because someone is from Sicily doesn’t mean they are in the mob. And if she is, I would like to interrogate her about it; it could add a new element to my novel,” Wednesday said.

The brighter girl walked to her side of the room and grabbed her phone. When she picked it up, she made an obnoxious sound before sprinting to Wednesday. “She’s here Wednesday. You have to come and meet her!” Enid exclaimed as she lightly pulled on Wednesday’s arm, causing her to receive a death glare, but she allowed herself to be drawn from her seat.

The two quickly walked down the stairs and arrived at Weems’ office. “Why are we standing creepily outside Weems’ office?” Wednesday questioned as she glanced over her shoulder at her roommate.

“Because, silly, she’s in there talking to Weems right now, and when she comes out, I want to be the first to greet her. And I’ve already volunteered to give her a tour of the grounds,” Enid exclaimed in a hushed tone as if the stranger and Weems were pressed against the door, spying on their conversion.

“And what will I do? I am certainly not talking to another half-brain student,” Wednesday said dryly as she stared at the door.

Enid rolled her eyes at the goth girl’s statement; she had made Wednesday talk to someone new only once to find out that the person only talked about horses and the patriarchy. “You can glare uncomfortably on the sidelines then,” Enid replied.

Wednesday was getting ready to retort when she heard shuffling from behind the door and soft-spoken words that she could not make out.

“Howdie, friend! I’m Enid, and I’ll be giving you the tour!” Enid enthusiastically said as she attacked the girl with a hug.

All the air from Wednesday’s lungs had been sucked out as she stared at the stranger before her. She prayed to the old gods and new that this wasn’t some evil joke, her punishment for raising the dead. But when she saw the stranger smile, she knew this was her Y/N.

You stood before Wednesday with a human highlighter wrapped around your waist. You were wearing black slacks with a black button-up, and Wednesday felt a heart pick up as she admired you in her color. Where you once had chubby cheeks, they were now thinned out, and you had a jawline that could cut glass. You were once a short and stocky kid, but now you towered over Enid, and your muscular arms wrapped around the rainbow girl. It seemed like everything about you had changed, but nothing at all as well. You still had that bright smile and charming personality, as always, but Wednesday’s heart sank when she saw the scar on your eye. It took her a moment to notice it as you wore black sunglasses hiding your beautiful heterochromia.

“Ah, good, you’re already here, Enid, to give Miss Y/L/N a tour, and you’ve brought Miss Addams as well,” Weems said as she stepped out of her room and stood next to Enid and you. Wednesday nearly melted onto the floor when she saw you pull back from Enid and stand up straight, just a few inches shorter than Weems. She noticed how your smile faltered at the mention of ‘Addams’ before you played it off and plastered a fake smile on your lips. The air that was once filled with playful curiosity was one of tension, anger, betrayal, and longing.

“Addams,” you said with no emotion in a thick Italian accent as you extended your large and callused hand toward Wednesday that engulfed the goth girl’s small and cold hand. When your hands touched for the first time in ten years since the hospital, you both felt an electric charge pass between you two, and time seemed to stand still for a moment while the rest of the world disappeared around them.

Your covered eyes locked with Wednesday’s, and you both knew you felt an undeniable spark that sent shivers down your spines. Unspoken words seemed to flow between your fingertips as if your souls were communicating through the simple touch. You both felt the unexplainable and undeniable chemistry rushing back and flooding your minds as you looked at each other for the first time in seven years.

“Y/L/N,” Wednesday replied as she eagerly dropped your hand and wiped her palm on her pants as if it would erase the spark she felt.

Enid and Weems both shared a look as they watched the awkward encounter between the two girls, clearly displaying that they have a history between them. Enid cleared her throat as she stepped between you and Wednesday, “alrighty then, shall we get started with our tour?”

Your mood switched on a dime, and you instantly beamed at Enid’s words. You smiled down at the girl and locked your elbow with hers, and rested your hand gently on her arm, “Of course, my dear, let us begin our journey.” Wednesday pulled her eyes at your remark but walked a few paces behind you and her roommate; she knew this would be the start of a very unfortunate friendship.

“Welcome to the quad,” Enid said as she unlocked your arms and motioned around with her hands. “It’s a pentagon,” you replied as you looked at your surroundings.

Enid rolled her eyes at your comment; great, now she’d have to deal with two Wednesdays as if one wasn’t enough. “You know, Wednesday said the same thing when she first arrived too. I have a feeling you two will be the best of friends!” Enid stated in a cheerful tone after releasing that her roommate can have more than one friend.

“No,” the formal best friends said simultaneously and sent each other a glare, and if Enid picked up on it, you were glad she didn’t say anything.

“Allow me to give you a rundown on the social scene here at Nevermore,” Enid said as she walked around the ‘quad.’ “There are many flavors of outcasts here, but the four main cliques are Fangs, Furs, Stoners, and Scales,” the brighter girl stated while counting her fingers.

As Enid gave you the tour, you half paid attention out of respect for the girl trying to sell Nevermore to you, but all you could think about was the more petite girl standing a few feet behind you. You could feel her eyes burning holes into your back, but you couldn’t face her again, not after everything you’ve been through. There was once a time when you would have laid down your life for Wednesday; now, you could barely breathe the same air as her without getting angry. You knew it was stupid to hold a grudge for this long, but Wednesday was your first and only love, and you would be damned if you let her see you weak again.

When you finished the tour, Enid took you to your room, which was, unfortunately, in Ophelia Hall. “O-M-G! You’re rooming with Yoko! She is my best friend,” Enid announced before looking over at Wednesday, “well, besides Wens, obviously.”

Your heart sank at the nickname for Wednesday. Only you were allowed to call her Wens when you were children, and she barely let you do that. And now, here she was, allowing someone dressed like unicorn vomit to call her that without so much as an idle threat.

“‘Wens?’” You questioned with an eyebrow raised as you looked between the two roommates. You were glad you started to wear your sunglasses again so that neither girl could see the sadness in your eyes. But Wednesday knew you all too well, and she saw how your posture faltered when Enid called her that, and she saw the barely noticeable frown that tugged at your lips. ‘My name should only ever leave your lips,’ Wednesday wanted to say, but she held her tongue.

“Oh, yeah. That’s my nickname for Wednesday. She told me that no one has ever given her one before, so I decided to give her one,” Enid said as she ushered the two girls back to her room, “Come on, I wanna show you mine and Wednesday’s room.”

At the mention of Wednesday never having a nickname, you dropped your fake smile and looked at Wednesday, who was refusing to meet your gaze. ‘Do I mean that little to you where you would erase even our happiest memories?’ You thought when Wednesday finally looked up at you, and for the first time today, you saw emotion in her dark eyes: regret.

“I love the window,” you said as you entered Enid and Wednesday’s room. You loved the contrast between the two girls and how they seemed to get along perfectly; it reminded you of when you were young and Wednesday’s favorite person. Now, the girl barely looked at you.

“Thanks; the first day here, Wednesday took off her side of color and then put tape down to divide our room. And now look at how far we’ve come! I’m like the only one here who Wens actually cares about!” Enid exclaimed as she spun in her circle with her arms outstretched, clearly happy to be buddy-buddy with Wednesday. You nodded your head, trying to push back the tears that weld in your eyes at the mention of Wednesday caring for someone else before your eyes snapped to something on Wednesday’s wall.

“What’s this?” You questioned as you moved to get a closer look at the object that had caught your attention, causing both of the roommates to follow you.

“Oh, that’s one of Wednesday’s favorite weapons. She doesn’t let anyone touch it, not even me,” Enid said as her eyes fell on the sword mounted to the wall above Wednesday’s writing desk. Your eyes scanned over the sheathed sword and fell to the purple handle before you turned and looked at Wednesday. “May I?” You asked in a barely audible voice.

You expected Wednesday to shoot you down before you even finished speaking, but the girl gave you a curt nod, not trusting her voice at this moment. Your hands reached up and took the sword off its mantle, and you slowly took it out of its sheath and set it down on Wednesday’s desk. You turned the sword over and admired the sharp edge as you carefully ran your pointer finger along the blade’s edge; you could easily tell that Wednesday had been sharpening it routinely. Your finger finally made its way to the helm of the sword, and you turned it over and sucked in air as you let out a small chuckle.

You read your initials that were still engraved in the sword before your saddened eyes finally looked up at Wednesday’s guilt-ridden ones. Wednesday thanks the gods that you had your eyes covered, as she knew her heart would have broken ten times over if she saw the sadness in them.

“Well, then,” you said with a shaky breath as you sheathed the sword and placed it back on its mantle, “it’s a beautiful blade, Wednesday.” Your eyes caught something in the corner of Wednesday’s desk, and you felt every single emotion wash over you like waves crashing onto the shore: a small, black crocheted scorpion sat on top of an unopened note. Before you could comment on it, Wednesday’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“I know it is,” Wednesday spoke honestly as her eyes danced across your face while you picked up on the double meaning behind her words.

After several seconds of awkward tension, you cleared your throat and walked to the door, “Alright then, I’ll, uh, leave you guys to it.”

Wait!” Enid shouted as she skipped over to you with her phone in hand. “Let me get your Snapchat so we can talk some more,” she said as she pulled up Snapchat. You smiled politely as you pulled your phone out of your back pocket and opened up Snapchat, and allowed the werewolf to add you, and you accepted her friend request when it popped up.

“I’ll see you later, Enid,” you said as you opened up the door to walk out, but you stopped and turned around to face Wednesday, “see you around sometime, Addams.” As you left, only one thought ran across both of your minds: ‘I can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye.’

When you left the room, Enid immediately turned to face her roommate. “What was that about?” She questioned while staring down at the goth girl.

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” Wednesday replied as she walked over to her desk and began working on her novel. She had emotions come back that she had not felt in nearly ten years, and she needed to get them off her chest, writing out different scenarios of her killing you.

Enid stomped to Wednesday’s desk and turned the small girl around in her chair. She grasped Wednesday’s shoulders and tightly gripped them as she spoke, “Yes, you do. Do not lie to me, Wednesday, or I will paint the side of your hot pink.”

The more petite girl rolled her eyes at her roommate’s comment before prying the hands off her shoulders and returning to her typewriter. “We used to be friends, and now we aren’t; end of story,” Wednesday flatly replied.

“I don’t believe you, I know there’s more to the story, but I won’t pressure you,” Enid defeatedly said as she walked over to her bed and lay down. Of course, she was dying to know the history between you and Wednesday. Still, she would never force Wednesday to talk about something uncomfortable, so she decided to wait it out and see if she could get an answer from either you or Wednesday first.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two roommates walked into fencing class and heard the ringing of metal crashing together, and saw that Bianca was in a match with you. The two watched as you blocked Bianca’s advances and matched each of her assaults with double the force, causing the siren to walk backward toward the end of the mat. With one final blow against Bianca’s foil, you caused her to step backward off of the mat and ultimately lose the match.

Bianca let out an angry huff at the loss but shook your hand afterward. “You gave me a nice challenge, and I respect that. I hope to go up against you again soon,” the siren said as she walked off the mat.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky next time and beat me,” you joked as you started to take off your gear when your eyes landed on Wednesday. Before you had moved, you and Wednesday were always in fencing competitions, and it seemed that the two of you were always paired to go against one another. Naturally, you lost every time you went against her, but that was seven years ago, and you spent the past seven years perfecting every little thing that Wednesday was better at.

“Coach Vlad, I was wondering if I could go against someone else before class ends?” You questioned as you stood up. You knew that if you publicly challenged Wednesday that she couldn’t turn it down, and you also knew that she believed she was still the better fencer, so both of those gave you an advantage.

Coach Vlad studied your expression and determined that you only asked to prove a point, so he let you. “Who will you be challenging, miss Y/LN?”

“Addams,” was all you said as you stared at the girl dressed in an all-black fencing attire. Wednesday’s ears perked up at you challenging her, and she knew she would clear you.

“Very well, Wednesday, if you accept the challenge, stand the opposite of Y/N,” Coach Vlad stated with a hint of excitement. He loved watching the way the Addams sparred with his students; she was graceful yet coarse, which reminded him of when he was a student here at Nevermore.

Wednesday walked over to the mat you were standing on, her eyes locked with your covered ones. She wondered what made you wear those sunglasses again, and she missed those eyes she once called home.

“En garde,” Coach Vlad yelled as the atmosphere crackled with tension. The room falls into a reverent silence as the match begins. With grace and precision, you and Wednesday engage in a mesmerizing dance of footwork and technique, each exchange showcasing your guys' skill and determination.

Your moves were swift and calculated, your attacks and defenses fluid, each striving to gain the upper hand. The crowd of students watched in awe as they witnessed a display of finesse and competitive spirit.

Wednesday made the first aggressive move, launching a series of rapid lunges, attempting to catch you off guard. But you proved your prowess with deft parries, countering with swift ripostes that keep Wednesday on her toes.

As the match progressed, the intensity escalated, and your footwork became even more intricate, seeking to exploit any opening in their opponent's defense. The clang of metal echoed through the hall as their foils met in a series of fierce clashes.

Neither competitor gave an inch, your faces showing steely determination. You and Wednesday are evenly matched, your skills complementing each other, creating a mesmerizing spectacle for the crowd.

With each point you and Wednesday scored, your fellow students held their breaths, afraid that if they cheered, it would mess you two up. Yours and Wednesday’s adrenaline surged, and your focus sharpened, all distractions fading away as you two immersed yourselves entirely in the moment.

Time seemed to slow down, the seconds stretching into eternity as the match neared its climax. With one final burst of energy, you executed a daring feint, catching Wednesday off balance. In that split second, you placed your foot on top of Wednesday’s and advanced, causing the more petite girl to fall backward onto the mat. You stood over her and shoved the tip of the foil into her chest armor.

“I appear to be the victor,” you said as you towered over Wednesday before she quickly jumped up from the ground and stormed out of the hall, with you right on her heels.

“That was hardly a win; you cheated,” Wednesday stated as she stomped toward Ophelia hall. “And stop following me.”

“I might have cheated, but you’re still the loser,” you retorted as you quickened your step to walk beside Wednesday. “And I’m not following you; we live in the same hall.”

Wednesday said nothing; she couldn’t argue with the fact you two shared a hallway, but she still didn’t like it. You watched as Wednesday threw her door open and slammed it shut with a smile on your face; it felt good to have that playful banter back.

Naturally, your rivalry with Wednesday continued as if it had never left; you two constantly competed for the correct answers in your classes, and you two refused to fence with anyone else. It became so toxic that teachers started putting you two out in the hallway during class, like little toddlers who were being disruptive.

“I had a marvelous time ruinin’ everything,” you joked with Wednesday as it seemed you two were sitting outside your potions class once more. You had your back pressed against the stone wall next to the door, and Wednesday opted to sit next to you but kept a few feet between you.

“I do suppose ruining the activities of others is tolerable with you,” Wednesday said as she looked over at your beautiful smile that she once loved and felt her own lips twitch upward.

“I know my antics should be celebrated, but I’m glad you tolerate it,” you said once you saw her scary attempt at a smile.

At the week's end, Enid invited you to her room for some “girl talk.” You had no idea what girl talk would involve, but you wouldn’t pass up a chance to piss Wednesday off.

“Welcome to my dreamhouse!” Enid exclaimed as she opened the door and ushered you into her room. You knew it might be ill-tempered to say this, but you were jealous of Enid’s room. You loved the giant window in the center that emitted different colors throughout the room, highlighting and contrasting the two drastically different sides.

You followed Enid to her side and sat down on her bed with her. You allowed the werewolf to paint your nails a dark purple. She asked you questions about your past and what you wanted to do in the future. You told her that Criminal Justice intrigued you and you thought about becoming a detective at some point. In turn, you asked her what her future plans were, and she told you that if her parents allowed her, she would want to explore the world and see all the beauties she offered.

After you two had fallen into a peaceful conversation, she finally asked the question plaguing her mind since you first arrived, “So, how did you get that scar? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You swore you could hear a hairpin drop right when you felt the moment stop. It was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the room and replaced it with tension. Your eyes shot to Wednesday, who was previously typing on her typewriter but stopped when Enid asked the question. You quietly cleared your throat before speaking, “I, uh… it was my fault. I did something stupid without asking for permission, and I paid the consequences. That’s all.”

Wednesday felt her heart shatter into a million pieces when she heard you blame yourself for what happened. She wanted to run to Enid’s side of the room and tell you that it wasn’t your fault and that she would do anything she could to take it back, to have you back. She felt a single tear run down her cheek as she returned to her novel.

Not believing your story, Enid didn’t say anything else. She knew there was something more to the story, but she didn’t want to pressure you into telling her. “Well, I think it makes you look ten times hotter,” Enid confessed with a sly smile and a wink. She ignored how her hearing picked up on Wednesday’s heartbeat increased with jealousy at the comment.

You slightly chuckled at Enid’s comment before looking at Enid’s own scars that she sometimes tried to cover up. They were out of place on the brightly dressed girl, but it added a hint of toughness and bravery to her look that almost made you laugh. “What about your scars?” You politely asked, but Enid tensed up at your question.

“Oh. I got them from saving Wednesday last year,” she responded quietly as she continued painting your nails. She refused to meet your gaze, and you felt bad for asking about them, but you wanted to know more. “Why do you cover them up then? You shouldn’t be ashamed of your scars; they prove your loyalty to Wednesday.”

A slight grin tugged at Enid’s lips; she had never had anyone, but Wednesday tell her she was brave. “Thank you, Y/N. It’s just,” she paused as she glanced up at you before continuing her work on your hand, “my mother hates them and says I should be ashamed of myself for ruining any chance I have at finding someone.”

“You shouldn’t listen to your mother, Enid. I think those scars are beautiful, and they display your bravery,” you said as you reached up with your hand and gently traced the scar above Enid’s eyebrow. When a small tear fell down Enid’s cheek, you wiped it away and gave her a soft smile, and Enid knew right then that you were the most authentic person she had ever met. No one has ever been this honest with her, and she cherished your friendship.

Enid let a few quiet minutes pass by before she asked you about your first week at Nevermore, and you told her your honest thoughts. You enjoyed the classes but felt that some students cared too much about their social status and that you loved walking in the woods at night, causing the girl to stop painting your left ring finger.

“You do what at night?” Enid questioned harshly as her bright blue eyes stared into your soul.

“I go for midnight strolls by myself. Weems never told me not to.”

Enid scoffed at your words before glaring at Wednesday, who was working on her novel. “Wednesday is actually the reason we can’t walk around at night.”

At the mention of her name, Wednesday straightened her poster and turned around to face you two.

“Do not blame me for the shortcomings of the town sheriff for being unable to keep the people safe from his own son,” the goth girl stated in a threatening manner with an undertone of regret that you picked up on. You noticed the way Wednesday’s eyes seemed to gloss over with anger when she mentioned the sheriff’s son, and you could only assume something happened between them, which caused your heart to stink at the thought.

“I’m not blaming you, Wens. I’m just stating that you and your boy toy did play a part in ruining our time outside at night,” Enid said innocently as she went back to pairing your nails; she didn’t notice how you tensed up, and you're surprised that she didn’t hear your heart break in two. Your heartbroken eyes shoot to Wednesday’s pained ones, and you can practically read the thoughts behind her eyes, ‘I lost myself when I lost you.’

Even though you still had your eyes covered, Wednesday knew what you were thinking, ‘how could you betray me like this?’ You two were children when you last saw each other, but now as almost adults, you knew that all those feelings you felt for each other were more than platonic; it just took you two a lifetime and a half to realize it. As you two stared at each other, you felt all the love you once felt for each other return in an instant; feelings that come back are feelings that never left.

“‘Boy toy?’” You questioned as your eyes refused to leave Wednesday’s. You knew you would only get hurt by asking, but you had to know.

“It was a moment of weakness, Y/N. Nothing more,” Wednesday spoke with emotion for the first time as her voice broke off towards the end. She quickly cleared her throat and excused herself to the balcony with her cello before you had time to respond to her.

When Enid finished up your nails, you two were getting ready to do a face mask when she got a text. “Yes! Ajax just texted me to hang out with him! Is it alright if I leave you here? Or you can go back to your room if you want?” Enid asked as she stood up from her bed; you ignored the name at the top of her screen that read ‘Yoko.’

“I think I’m going to stay here for a while and hang out with Thing but go have fun,” you said with a faint smile as you watched Enid leave. Honestly, you missed Thing almost as much as you missed Wednesday. Anytime Wednesday would be away, and you were over, you would always hang out with Thing, and right now, he was definitely your favorite Addams.

You chatted with Thing over the sound of Wednesday’s cello for nearly twenty minutes as you did his nails and filled him in on what has happened to you in the past seven years. You told him stuff that you would be too afraid to share with Wednesday, not out of trust, but in fear of what she might do to the people that hurt you.

Only when Wednesday’s cello started to pick up and play a heavy melody did you stop talking. You listened to the way the smaller girl seemed to pour all of her emotions into her song, a song that was full of yearning, hurt, and regret. You listened as there was a slight shift in the music that resembled anger and frustration before turning into a declaration of love. And when the song finally ended on a note that sounded like longing, you got up and walked out to the balcony.

“That was a lovely song,” you said as you walked past Wednesday and rested your elbows against the balcony edge.

Wednesday gave you a quiet ‘mhm’ as a response as she set her cello to the side and joined you at the stone railing, making sure to keep five feet between you for homosexual purposes.

The two of you quietly enjoyed the starry night with a crescent moon above you.

“The sky is so beautiful tonight,” you said, gazing at the stars and moon with your sunglasses still on.

“It is,” Wednesday agreed, but she wasn’t looking up at the sky at all.

When you looked down at Wednesday, she was already staring at you with a tiny glint in her eyes. She subconsciously moved closer to you til she was standing a few inches away from you, and she slowly reached her hands up to take your glasses off. You turned to face her, quickly backing away, and put a foot between you two, “the fuck are you doing?”

“Take it off,” Wednesday stated in a dry tone.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because this ‘nerdy girl takes off her glasses and everyone finds out she’s actually really hot’ will not work on you,” you replied with sass in your voice.

“No, it won’t because you are not attractive in the slightest way,” Wednesday retorted while still staring into your soul.

“Thank you, Addams.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know,” you said with a smile as you turned and leaned your elbows on the railing once more and continued staring at the stars. “You are my compact companion, after all,” you teased.

Wednesday rolled her eyes at comment; it felt like it was a lifetime again when she would call you that, and now you turned it against her. She had to agree with you, it was an awful nickname.

“All the pretty stars shine for you, my love,” you said after a couple of minutes had passed. “it’s from a song,” you added to clear up any confusion that might have been stirred.

Wednesday looked over at you, but you still had your eyes fixed on the sky, but she noticed how your hand slowly inched toward her own, and she picked up on the double meaning as she placed her palm over the back of your hand. She gave your hand three gentle squeezes before returning inside with her cello.

After that night, you two continued with your rivalry, of course, but something had changed that worried Wednesday. She didn’t know what that change was, but she felt it like a gentle shift in the air before a big storm; she knew something had changed between you two, but she didn’t know what.

On Tuesday of the following week, Nevermore was hosting an archery tournament that lasted all day that you and Wednesday were competing in. As the day dragged out, numerous Nevermore students were booted from the competition, and when it came down to the final two competitors, no one was surprised when they saw you line up next to Wednesday.

“I think I’ve seen this film before,” you said as you grabbed an arrow and notched it before slightly pulling back on the string. The memories of your last archery competition came flooding back as you watched the beautiful girl to the left of you grab an arrow.

“And I didn’t like the ending,” Wednesday finished as she notched her arrow, drew, and let it loose, nailing the target's bullseye. You scoffed at her words before drawing back your arrow and firing, hitting the bullseye a few centimeters away from Wednesday’s.

As the contest continued, you and Wednesday engaged in a back-and-forth display of remarkable archery skills. Each shot was precise, and the competition grew fiercer with every arrow released. The crowd of students that had formed around you two was captivated, witnessing a display of talent that would mold the archery competitions of Nevermore for ages.

As the final round approached, you and Wednesday were neck and neck. The tension was palpable, and the spectators held their breath in anticipation. You looked over your left shoulder at Wednesday as you notched and drew your arrow. The smaller girl’s eyes stared into your covered ones, and you saw the way her eyes danced across your face as if she was trying to place a curse on you.

With a shaky breath, you turned away from Wednesday and looked at your target before you slightly lowered the tip of your bow; it was so unnoticeable that no one picked up on it besides the girl who was soul bound to you.

You let the arrow loose and smiled slightly when you saw it hit the outer ring. Wednesday sent you a slight glance before drawing back on her arrow and letting it fly, nailing it right in the center of the bullseye.

The crowd around them let out a few cheers and applause as Weems got the trophies ready. “I knew you could do it, roomie!” Enid exclaimed as she skipped over to Wednesday and gently shook the girl’s shoulders. Wednesday nodded her head at Enid before she walked onto the makeshift sports pedestal podium for first and second. She stepped onto the stage for first and watched as you stood on the one for second, and you sent her a smile that confirmed everything she needed: you threw the match for her.

When Weems handed you two your trophies, you had a giant smile as people took your picture, while Wednesday bore an uncomfortable expression.

“I appear to be the victor,” Wednesday said as you two walked back to Ophelia Hall together. The sun was just setting, and the light seeped into the hallway, creating a romantic lighting that seemed a bit on the nose for you.

“It appears so,” you replied with a gentle smile as you flipped your trophy around and read the words “2nd place winner” underneath your name.

Wednesday scoffed at your comment before glaring up at your towering figure. “You aren’t going to finish the saying?”

You tapped your pointer finger on your chin, acting as if you were thinking profoundly. “Why would I? You didn’t cheat,” you said honestly and dropped your hand back down to your side.

“No, but you threw the match,” Wednesday said as she approached her door with you a few paces behind her. She wanted nothing more than to bring you inside and cherish you, but she would never stoop to her mother’s way of life.

“If I am capable of such an outlandish thing, I’m sure I would not do that just so you-of all people-could win,” you said with a serious tone but your smile told Wednesday you were joking and it made her cold, black heart ache for something for had felt once and only with you.

Deciding against her better judgment, Wednesday set her trophy on the ground, and before you had time to ask her what she was doing, her left hand gently grabbed your neck and pulled down as she stood on her tippy-toes to place a chaste kiss on your cheek. Your entire body heated up at the contact, and a smile overtook your face. The kiss lasted longer than it should have, as Wednesday’s lips lingered on your cheek as if she was making you a promise that she would one day taste your lips.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Wednesday said as she picked up her trophy and entered her room, closing the door on your shell-shocked expression. You had butterflies dancing in your stomach as you walked back to your room with a gentle smile on your face and went to sleep with the thought of Wednesday’s lips against your skin. As you drifted off to sleep, Wednesday stayed up all night writing out the way you made her stomach feel like a thousand spiders lived there and the way your hair warmed her black heart. She once vowed to push you away to avoid the pain of losing you, but every waking moment she spent without you had caused her to feel that pain tenfold. Even if she would lose you at the end of your lives, at least she would have had the honor of calling you hers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The eerie gothic ballroom was cloaked in darkness, dimly lit by flickering candlelight that cast haunting shadows upon the ancient stone walls. Heavy velvet drapes, tinged with a rich deep crimson, adorned the tall arched windows, adding a sense of mystery and opulence. Gothic-style chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceilings, their twisted metal work resembling gnarled branches, and their candelabras emitting a spectral glow. The air is filled with a subtle scent of incense, adding to the mysterious ambiance of the room as Wednesday prepared to entire the ballroom.

It was the Grimoire Soiree, Nevermore’s official gothic ball, that was hosted at the end of the Fall semester every year. Wednesday was naturally intrigued when she heard of a gothic ball and believed attending one might add a new element to her novel, including murder. Still, now, as she watched her peers walk into the ballroom, she felt out of place. Her heart yearned for the one who wouldn’t be attending.

It had been several months since the archery contest, and you and Wednesday had not talked to each other. Neither of you knew what to say, but you both wanted to say everything. You two continued with your rivalry, but there was a shift in the air when you two competed against each other, like you two were silently rooting for the other, and it gnawed at both of your hearts.

Deciding to face the music and the calling of her heart, Wednesday walked down the stairs and entered the room.

The polished black marble floors, etched with intricate patterns, mirror the gloomy setting as if reflecting the dark secrets concealed within the ballroom's history that enticed Wednesday. Elaborate gargoyles and stone statues of long-forgotten figures stood sentinel in the corners, their solemn expressions lending an air of solemnity to the space. Crimson roses, tinged with black, were carefully arranged in vases throughout the room, their haunting beauty contrasting with the darkness surrounding them.

As the haunting melody of a haunting organ filled the air, the students of Nevermore were clad in elaborate gothic attire and moved with an aura of elegance and enigma. The atmosphere was both haunting and enchanting, transporting the attendees to a realm of forgotten tales and otherworldly delights that overwhelmed Wednesday. Just as she was about to leave, an overly happy voice exclaimed, “Wednesday! You look amazing!”

The smaller girl wore a mesmerizing black gothic ball gown that is a sight of dark enchantment, featuring a flowing skirt that gracefully grazes the ground. Small black accents on the skirt add a touch of intricate detailing, enhancing its allure. The black corset, elegantly laced in the front, complements the gown's bewitching aesthetic and leads to long, puffy sleeves that exude an air of Victorian charm.

A small cutout on the chest, just above the corset, added a daring yet sophisticated touch, leaving a hint of mystery while maintaining an elegant appeal. The gown encapsulated a perfect blend of gothic elegance and captivating allure, making it an ideal choice for Wednesday's hauntingly beautiful ballroom event.

Wednesday turned around, and she noticed that her flamboyant roommate, who usually wore bright, borderline blinding colors, was in a darker-colored ball gown. The ball gown itself was a mesmerizing creation, enveloped in an enchanting dark purple hue that exudes an air of mystery and sophistication. It had a black corset adorned with dark purple accents that added an element of striking contrast, enhancing its captivating allure. Its intricate lacework and velvet accents add an extra layer of elegance. At the same time, its flowing silhouette gracefully captures the essence of gothic charm, something that Wednesday had never seen on Enid before.

The gown caught Wednesday off guard, and she believed that Enid somehow pulled it off, highlighting her piercing blue eyes that would blind anyone. Wednesday might have even given Enid some form of a compliment, but she knew that Enid didn’t need that kind of ego inflation.

“I appreciate your words, Enid. And you,” Wednesday wanted to be nice tonight but struggled with the words, “Do not look ridiculous.”

The werewolf beamed at her roommate's words, and a smile formed from cheek to cheek. “Awww! Thank you, Wens!” Enid said as she turned to walk toward Ajax but then suddenly turned back to Wednesday as if she had forgotten something. “Oh, and your lover was looking for you earlier; she said she has something to tell you.” And with that, Enid disappeared into the crowd of dancing students with Ajax. Wednesday’s cold heart picked up at the mention of you wanting to talk to her and beat rapidly against her chest. Her eyes scanned the room for you as an all too familiar saxophone interrupted the organ.

As if it was magic, Wednesday’s dark eyes immediately found your heterochromia ones in the vast sea of swirling gowns and powdered faces. You were standing on the opposite side of the room, wearing a gothic suit that consisted of a slightly ruffled white shirt, adding a touch of romanticism to the ensemble. Over the shirt, there was a black cavalier vest adorned with mesmerizing purple tapestry, creating a captivating contrast of colors and textures. Completing the look was a sleek black jacket, lending an air of sophistication and dark allure. The suit is further enhanced by a small yet elegant collar chain featuring a black scorpion on both collars, adding a subtle yet distinctive element of gothic charm to the overall attire.

Put on your Bobbi-sox baby

Pull up your old blue jeans

There’s a band playin’ down at the armory

Know’s what rock and roll really means

You two gravitated towards each other at a slow pace before picking up as your hearts quickened with excitement, and soon, you two were standing face to face. “Hi,” you said breathlessly as you got lost in Wednesday’s eyes.

“Hi,” she replied as she looked into your beautiful eyes for the first time in seven years. She had forgotten just how beautiful they were; the green eye seemed to dance with the room's lighting while the gray one gave Wednesday a feeling of comfort, the dark color reminding her of her own material home in New Jersey.

I want to bop with you baby, all night long

I want to bop the night away

I want to make it a night like it used to be

“May I have this dance?” You asked as you slowly started to do ‘The Twist’ from Pulp Fiction. Wednesday smiled and began doing Uma Thurman’s part of the dance as if you two were just six years old again and dancing in Wednesday’s room. You two smiled and joked the entire dance and felt the whole room disappear as the song drew to a close. “Shall we dance again, my fair lady?” You asked when the dance was finished as you stuck out your hand and slightly bowed, just as you did ten years ago.

“You’re exhausting,” Wednesday replied when the room began waltzing to the beautiful melody of ‘Merry-Go-Round of Life,’ but she took your hand. You placed your free hand just underneath her shoulder blade as her spare hand rested upon the shoulder of the arm that was under her shoulder blade. As the music played, Wednesday allowed you to lead the dance and found herself in a trance as she stared into your beautiful eyes that she missed.

“Stop staring into my soul,” you commented as you spun around with Wednesday.

She huffed at your words and playfully stepped on your foot before continuing the dance. “I’m not staring into your soul; I am just admiring your breathtaking eyes,” she confessed honestly while you two continued your fluid movements. “Why did you start covering them again?”

You tensed up at her words but continued with the graceful dance. “The only person who found beauty in them was gone,” you said shyly as you gave Wednesday a tight-lipped smile. The smaller girl frowned at your words; she didn’t know what to say without confessing her undying love for you. So she stayed quiet and let her eyes drift over to the scar on your face and let regret and pain wash over her like waves on the shoreline. “I never meant to hurt you,” Wednesday mumbled out as she let the pain show on her face. You were her best friend, her soulmate, and her home, and even though she didn’t know that it was either you or no one when she was just a child, she now wanted to wrap you in her arms and never let anything or anyone harm you again; even if that meant protecting you from herself.

So, she dropped your hand while dancing and left you out there standing. Crestfallen on the landing as Wednesday left you in the ballroom and disappeared outside.

You snapped out of your disappointed state and were quick on her heels as you followed her outside. “Wednesday, what’s wrong?” You asked as you followed her to a water fountain and watched her sit down on the side.

She was sick to her stomach; she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she had an internal battle with her heart and brain. Her brain told Wednesday to run in the opposite direction, never to talk to you again. But her heart was telling her to run toward you, to embrace you with her loving heart that seemed to only beat for you. She felt nauseous as her thoughts bounced around; what if you didn’t feel the same way toward her? The last time you two were friendly with each other was almost eleven years ago when you guys were six. What if by showing you this much softer side of her, you reject her and use her weakness as a spear to her chest? Nearly killing her but leaving her alive just enough to continue living a life of nothingness. Your heart was glass, and she dropped it.

But what if you felt the same? What if your heart only beat for her, and you would rather die than not have been able to call her yours? All the moments you two spent at each other’s throats during competitions as you sent her little glances and silently prayed she would win so that you could see her eyes light up.

“Enid said you had something to say to me, Y/N,” Wednesday finally spoke as her thoughts ran rapidly in her mind. She needed to know what you wanted to say to her; she could not die in peace without knowing.

You stared at the alluring girl who refused to meet your eyes. There were thousands of things you wanted to tell her, but you didn’t know how. “Wednesday, there’s things I wanna say to you, but I’ll just let you live,” you said quietly as Wednesday’s eyes finally met yours. Wednesday dryly laughed at your words as her eyes glossed over with tears. The last time she had cried was because she lost you, and now, she was crying because she had finally found you. All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation, was killing her. Wednesday’s hands were shaking from holding back from you. When you said her name, everything just stopped; she didn’t want you like a best friend.

Wednesday’s eyes darted across your face, looking for anything resembling rejection. When she found only love and longing in your ocean eyes, she took in a deep breath and spoke in a broken voice, “I used to look at you and see my best friend, and now I can hardly look at you without picturing our bones resting together in a grave dug for two. I left you in there because I cannot live without knowing if it meant more to you too as well. I would rather die than bear these feelings alone.”

The words that left Wednesday’s lips took you off guard; you had a speech, and now you’re speechless. “What do you mean by that, Wednesday? Are you telling me that you have feelings for me?” You asked with disbelief on your face; you needed to know if she was confessing her love for you, but you weren’t quite sure if that’s what she meant.

“The sun rises and sets with your smile. At least it does for me. You’re the only thing on this planet worth worshipping. In simpler terms: I want you. I’ve always wanted you. It just took me ten years to realize it. I’m your jazz singer, and you’re my cult leader,” Wednesday confessed as she stared into your eyes, already accepting rejection.

“Wednesday, you don’t have to bear those feelings alone,” you stated with a sigh of relief. Wednesday’s eyes smiled for her as she pushed herself off the fountain, and slowly walked toward you. She stopped a few feet in front, giving you space to run away if you desired.

“I once had someone tell me I was destined to be alone, but I would like to be alone with you. If I’m enough - if you want me, if you’ll have me - I’m yours, only yours, Y/N,” Wednesday admitted with a silent prayer.

“Wednesday, I have only wanted you since we were kids. I only wanted you as a best friend then, but now, when I look at you, I only see my other half. I would rather die than not be able to call you mine, even if it’s just for a second.”

Slowly, Wednesday stepped to you until you were close enough to touch, begging you to make the first move she has always been afraid to take. “For the past ten years, I have been trying to form a way to apologize for the way I treated you, but every time I come up with something, I only see you in that hospital bed,” Wednesday admitted.

You gently reached out to Wednesday’s hand and brought it to your cheek. You gave a small kiss on the palm of her hand before moving it to cup your cheek as your free hand wiped away the lone tear that fell down Wednesday’s cheek. “I forgive you, Wednesday. I had forgiven you the moment I moved; I thought I would never see you again,” you whispered with tears in your eyes as you brought your forehead against Wednesday’s.

Wednesday sighed in relief as she brought up her other hand and cupped your cheeks. You pulled back from her, and Wednesday wanted to cry. You placed a kiss on her forehead that felt like a promise, then kissed her nose, silently telling her everything will be alright, another on her cheek that felt like you would wait however long for her, and finally, you kissed her lips with so much love Wednesday almost died. She let a small, choked-up gasp escape her lips before gently kissing you back. For the first time in ten years, you both finally felt at home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A blanket of snow fell upon the Addams’ residence that coated the peaceful house as Morticia Addams shot up in bed. She gasped for breath as her eyes panicky shot around the room.

The action woke Gomez up, and he reached over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp before reaching out to his wife. “Cara mia, what’s wrong?” He asked with worry laced in his voice, but his worry faded when he saw a giant smile plastered on Morticia’s face that accompanied the tears of joy in her eyes.

She wrapped her arms around her husband and pulled him against her, in complete disbelief at the vision she just had of her daughter. She pulled back from the embrace before exclaiming, “Our darling viper has found someone to share her grave with!”

Gomez lit up with excitement at the mention of Wednesday having a lover; words could not express his joy when his daughter finally fell to the Addams Family Curse. “My love, this is dreadful news! I cannot wait to meet them,” he said with a smile on his face.

Morticia laughed at her husband's words before placing a hand on his cheek and stroking it with her thumb. “Don’t worry, Gomez. You have known her since she was a child.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: if you recognized ‘the sun rises and sets with your smile’ quote, I love you so much 🫶

[fictionaltrvlr]

I’m obsessed with all the repeating themes in the Hunger Games, but one I’m absolutely in love with is how Snow can never escape Lucy Gray.

[This post contains spoilers!]

We know this almost immediately simply from the title, Songbirds and Snakes, as we remember Katniss and her mockingjay and singing in the arena. But this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Snow hates Katniss for the rebellion, of course. But perhaps more than that is what a call she is to his lost love, not in personality so much as spirit.

Lucy Gray is Truly Inescapable

Lucy Gray is named for the Ballad of Lucy Gray, and immediately when we learn this, there is the sinking knowledge that she will not survive this story.

But after the disappearance of the ballad’s Lucy Gray, they follow her footprints, the impressions she’s left behind. And later is one of my favourite lines from the ballad:

Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living Child, That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome Wild.

To all the knowledge that the girls family has, she has died. But they still see her.

And also pulling in the newly released Can’t Catch Me Now:

But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze My footsteps on the ground You'll see my face in every place But you can't catch me now

(I’m so in love with how well this song ties the franchise together, it’s so perfect)

From the second he lands in Twelve, Snow hates the mockingjays and does his best to eradicate them. He sees them as unnatural creatures who survived not only without the Capitol, but inspite of them. And yet he fails to get rid of them, the mockingjays survive despite his best efforts.

And even years later, their sheer existence haunts him, eventually proving to be one of his greatest failures.

And all of the messes you made Yeah, you think that you got away

This is a great line to me because, since this being told from the perspective of Lucy Gray, it turns the story on its head. We and Snow are never really sure if she survived, so you could think that she got away. But it’s in fact Snow who has deluded himself into getting away from her. She will follow him, everywhere, for the rest of his miserable life.

At the end of TBOSAS, he says there would be a vague memory of a girl who had once sung in the arena, and that Lucy Gray and her mockingjays could never hurt him again.

Then gloriously, devastatingly, 65 years later Snow sees another girl with braided hair from Distinct Twelve in the games, adorned with a mockingjay, who sings Rue to sleep, who escapes the arena by cheating with something the Capitol themselves has provided (Katniss with the berries, Lucy Gray with the snakes).

Katniss, who then goes on to spark rebellion with that same symbol of mockingjays, with the song that Lucy Gray penned.

Snow is seeing Lucy Gray everywhere, in the mockingjays, in Peeta’s personality, in Katniss’ appearance, in the song about that tree that changed his life. But he cannot catch her.

He tried, and never knew if he succeeded. But she is everywhere, the symbol of his weakness, the one thing that maybe could have made him give up his future. The person who made him come to detest the very idea of love, who made him swear that if he ever married it will be to someone he hates so they could never manipulate him.

Her spirit chokes him. He is drowning in her and her mockingjays, and they finally are his downfall.

And that is beautiful.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

One Poem a Day: December

"beautiful" words related to December for your next poem/story

December - 12th month of the Gregorian calendar. Its name is derived from decem, Latin for “ten,” indicating its position in the early Roman calendar.

Alabasterine - pertaining to the compact fine-textured usually white and translucent gypsum often carved into vases and ornaments

Caducity - senility; the quality of being transitory or perishable

Clementine - a small nearly seedless citrus fruit that is probably a hybrid between a tangerine and an orange

Complaisance - disposition to please or comply; affability

Diaphanous - characterized by extreme delicacy of form; ethereal

Ecru - a pale or light grayish yellow or brown; beige

Eggnog - a drink consisting of eggs beaten with sugar, milk or cream, and often alcoholic liquor

Etiolate - to make pale

Exsanguination - the action or process of draining or losing blood

Frisson - a brief moment of emotional excitement; shudder, thrill

Frore - frosty, frozen

Graupel - granular snow pellets

Holly - any of a genus (Ilex) of trees and shrubs especially: either of two (I. opaca and I. aquifolium) with spiny-margined evergreen leaves and usually red berries often used for Christmas decorations

Imparadise - to make supremely happy, transport with delight or joy

Lambent - playing lightly on or over a surface; flickering; softly bright or radiant

Morpheus - the Greek god of dreams

Nacreous - possessing the qualities of, consisting of, or abounding in nacre, also: iridescent

Nascence - birth, origin

Névé - the partially compacted granular snow that forms the surface part of the upper end of a glacier

Overwinter - to last through or pass the winter

Paperwhite - a polyanthus narcissus bearing clusters of small very fragrant pure white flowers

Parturition - the action or process of giving birth to offspring; childbirth

Passementerie - an ornamental edging or trimming (such as tassels) made of braid, cord, gimp, beading, or metallic thread

Pellucid - reflecting light evenly from all surfaces

Purfle - to ornament the border or edges of

Sublunary - of, relating to, or characteristic of the terrestrial world

Sylph - an elemental being in the theory of Paracelsus that inhabits air

Tanzanite - a mineral that is a deep blue variety of zoisite and is used as a gemstone

Turquoise - a mineral that is a blue, bluish-green, or greenish-gray hydrous basic phosphate of copper and aluminum, takes a high polish, and is valued as a gem when sky blue

Umbral - of little or no light

Zircon - a tetragonal mineral consisting of a silicate of zirconium and occurring usually in brown or grayish square prisms of adamantine luster or sometimes in transparent forms which are used as gems

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Prompts

[atinylittlepain]

Prologue

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 1.8K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | thank you folks for your patience while I was being a little worm about this. Very excited to kick off this series, and I'd love to hear what you think <3

....................................

There is the after, and there is the before. This is the before. In the before, there is a town nestled down in the purple-blue belly of a mountain, all shade and damp, cool green. A small town, everyone knowing everyone and everyone knew everyone as far back as history could reasonably stretch. And in this town sits a house at the end of a string of houses, sidewalk curling up in waves under the old force of tree roots, wrought iron gates and sleepy porches. Kids dare one another to step through the gate of this house. Only the bravest make it up to the porch, a quick clambering tap to the front door, wanting, but not really wanting, to see who might answer. All but one child, that is. She has no problem walking through the gate, but she’s learned to be quick in getting through the front door and slipping it shut behind her. The other kids like to throw rocks if she lingers, so she doesn’t. But there is always a sweet suspension of disbelief on the walk, before the gate, and the porch, and the slip through the front door. How nice, to have all her classmates walking her home after school. 

“Did you get into any trouble today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, always another chance tomorrow.” It’s just enough to coax a smile out of her, her aunt and all her tuts and tsks, turns of her nose and we need a brownie before we do your homework, little choice but to follow after her into the kitchen, warm and sticky, the smell of fresh yeast and something richer. Even now, even in the first gasps of Summer, a pot always boils on the stove, spoon stirring lazy inside it. 

Her aunt moves like a bird she thinks. But not the delicate kind. She saw a blue heron once, at the lake outside of town. Like that, she thinks. Graceful but sharp, big and sweeping, the tails of a linen shirt, and the braid woven gray and black that hangs between her shoulder blades. All so familiar, she can’t help but sigh, cheek propped in the clammy cup of her hand. 

“Something happened today.” 

“You don’t say.” Her aunt, always knowing before she can tell her, sometimes even before she knows herself. She picks a chocolate chip out of the brownie split between them, holds it on her tongue and lets it melt. 

“Andy Nichols broke his arm. He said there’s pins in his bones.”

“Is he the one who–” She nods before her aunt can finish her question. Yes, the one who never threw rocks at her. Yes, the one who would sit with her at lunch, not because his other friends dared him to, but because he wanted to. The one who, last week, sitting on the bleachers during recess, pressed a quick, there and gone kiss to her lips, all shy, all sweet, wings fluttering fierce in her chest. Yes, that one. 

“Now he won’t even look at me. All his friends are saying I did something to him.” 

“Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. People can be, well, people suck, to speak plainly.”

“Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Did I?” And the silence is enough of an answer, isn’t it? Her aunt’s eyes melt a little, lips pressed in a thin frown. Her aunt, who is as tired as she is, though she may do a better job of hiding it. After all, while she lost a mother, her aunt lost a sister. And the thing, that thing, this thing, that is threaded like a dark cancer through the sinew and snapping pulse of their hearts, contagious, careful or you’ll catch it. Everyone in town knows not to fall in love with a Campbell woman, a long history pocked with strange deaths, unexplainable misfortune. Her father wasn’t from town though, the first mistake of many.

‘It’s best if you don’t think on it, hmm?” Quiet and close in the kitchen, she does her best not to cry, feeling weak, a little wilted. One of those hugs that presses all the air out of her lungs, she needed it, breathing in deep, soap and sweat and soil and my little witch, we have work to do. 

Homework doesn’t really mean homework in their house. Not the paper she’s supposed to be writing on the civil war, not studying for the math test she has on Friday. Homework means her and her aunt in the greenhouse, and her aunt quizzing her on the plants they tend to. What is what, what does what. 

Lemon balm for stress and sleep. Also used to treat cold sores. 

Echinacea for immunity.

Peppermint for nausea and headaches.

Belladonna for sleep, handle with care. 

It comes easily to her, the same way that knowing things comes easily to her aunt. Plants, she thinks, make more sense than people do. It takes them a few hours to work through the greenhouse, night coming on in a swath of orange that smolders purple, cool shadows filtering in through green glass. They prune, they water, they propagate, and her aunt must think her extra pitiful tonight because she offers to teach her a few new tricks. The offer falls flat, however, when the prickled sound of scratching shivers up her spine. She knows it well, imagines that she could hear it from all the way across town at this point. The back door, nails skittering over its window panes, face pressed to glass, smeared shame, or maybe just a secret. All that’s needed, a look shared between them, no words. She stays in the greenhouse, closes the door behind her aunt, but leaves it cracked. She shouldn’t, but she likes to listen. 

What she hears is always the same. Variations of desperation, I want, I want, I want, I need, I need, I need, him, him, him, her, her, her. How badly? So badly. Anything? Yes, anything. She’s watched a few times, peering around the doorway into the kitchen. All kinds of ways to meddle, to tangle threads, cut them loose, pick your poison, pick your pleasure. Her aunt tries to keep her away from it, the dark, crawling things, the needles, the wax dolls washed in smoke plumes. But she knows. Love is an ugly thing. 

She doesn’t watch tonight, hardly listens either. Something else on her mind, in her hands. She plucks rose petals, lavender, rosemary, fills her hands with the rumpled things, says what she planned to say.

He’ll ride horses, talk to them too.

He’ll work with his hands. 

There’ll be a streak of silver at his temple. 

When we’re together, he’ll be able to stop time. 

“Are you casting impossible spells again?” Her aunt catches her just as she’s stepping out into the backyard, damp grass and cicada thrum and the moon.

“I hope so. I hope it’s impossible.” They stand in the cool, damp grass, all that heat dropping down into a low mist around their ankles. And her aunt knows exactly what she’s doing. Afterall, she was the one who taught her this. Somewhere between a love spell and a prayer, though she hopes hers is more like a curse. 

“There’s no taking something like this back, Maggie. Are you sure you want to do this?” She nods, says yes, and it’s enough for her aunt to stand down, giving her space to finish the rest of it. Intention, energy, that other word that people like to throw around She focuses on the words and the words become something other than words, and the petals and leaves lift from her hands. The moon takes care of the rest. 

“I hope I never fall in love.” 

The thing about spells is they always find somewhere to land, even the impossible ones. And somewhere in the before, that impossible spell found its target. Cupid’s arrow bent and broken, though still able to sting sharp. Somewhere in the before, a boy in another town in another life, young knees working hard to make the thin tires of a bike spin, already late heading home for dinner in the cooling night. 

The boy’s mother hears him before she sees him, big, hot tears and ribs shaking with sobs she doesn’t often get to hear anymore, getting older, trying to get braver. The boy is bleeding, the boy is crying. The soft round of his palms scraped and stuck with gravel, and his knees no better, all down his shins, and he didn’t mean to cry, didn’t want to cry, but walking the rest of the way home, wrestling with the crooked handlebars of his bike, the feeling and the pain got too big, and he didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Oh honey, what happened?” His words come out in stops and starts, little stuttered gasps. I fell, gets strung into a few extra syllables, already ushering him upstairs and into the bathroom, the sharp smell of this’ll sting, cotton gauze getting stuck in the blood. 

In the before, still young, the boy is a soft thing. He cries easily, and he doesn’t like that. Cries when he’s angry, when he’s hurt, when he’s frustrated. Cries harder when he cries because he wishes he wouldn’t cry, even if the words for such a feeling are still too old for him. Somewhere along the way, the boy will lose that. The boy will lose so much. But for now, his mother is making all the big and little hurts better, box fan humming in the cracked window in the bathroom, his brother, even younger, watching through the slivered opening of the door. 

For now, the boy lets his eyes close, sticky with salt and the last wandering tears, and he wonders if he really saw what he thought he saw, what stunned him so snappingly that he flew head over handlebars onto the still-simmering asphalt. A blurred vision, blink and miss it, though even so, he’s still sure of what he saw. A rose bush, a sudden burst and bloom and flashbang, nothing and then something and then everything. Blooms that unfurled their skirts as fast as he was riding by, until what had been only green was blotted out entirely by heavy white petals. The boy will lose this memory with time, reasoning it away as an impossible imagining, something from a young mind that will no longer be his. But while the boy is still young, still a soft thing, he will think to himself with a kind of secret wonder that whatever he saw that night, it had to be magic. 

......................................

taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs

[strangeshoepatrolbandit-alt]

Saudade.

Warnings: Being a hostage, waking up after being unconscious, swimming(in a lake), mentions of asphyxiation, mentions of mechanical limbs, mentions of being a killer.

Body Description: Hair that is usually pinned and tied back(past tense).

Part three.

Series Masterlist.

~☆~

He speaks to you when you sleep. He's been doing it since he died

It's not that he visits you from the afterlife, no, he visits you in memories that feel a little too real.

This time, you're eighteen years old, a small braid still behind your ear. You're two Padawans, swimming in a Naboo lake, laughing as he holds your waist, lifting you and throwing you further into the water.

You were clad in garments that Queen Padmé Amidala had graciously given the both of you, seeing as neither of you had swimming attire appropriate for just going out and having fun.

His hair was chopped short, and he had a matching braid behind his right ear. He had not lost his arm to Count Dooku, nor did he have his iconic scar that went from his right eyebrow down to his cheekbone.

The memory isn't tainted by the other memories you'd have later in life, you're oblivious in this dream. It's just you re-living your time as a Padawan.

Your robes and lightsabers are up on the land, under a tree. Anakin swims the small distance over to where he threw you, a big grin deepening his smile lines. Your own smile mirrored his own. The two of you were happy, not having to bend to the Jedi rules while you're out swimming in some clear water. A break.

Peace.

Tranquility.

You're jolted awake by a beeping sound, so your eyes snap open. You're back in your private chambers, no longer out on the rocky terrain of Mustafar like you last remember. Did Vader take you back himself? Did he get a stormtrooper or a Droid to retrieve you?

You sit up and pat your body, seeing if anything has been done to it. Everything is normal. You're even still in the clothes you dressed yourself in.

The beeping sound coming from your door finally stopped, only for the sound of compressed air to momentarily replace it. A stormtrooper takes a step in. You think its the same one who has been delivering your food, but it's hard to tell, considering the fact that they all look the same.

"Lord Vader has requested that you change your attire and join him in the dining room." The Stormtrooper stands straight, permanently at attention.

"Tell Lord Vader that I have no interest in his... request." That was no request from him. It was a demand.

The Stormtrooper stands still, staring. For a second, you think he is going to drag you out of the room, but he just leaves. The metal door closes behind him, locking automatically, making you sigh and flop back on your bed.

You turn your head to the side, staring at the gray sheets. Your hand reaches up, and you rub the fabric between two of your fingers. Your sheets back at the Jedi Temple were almost the exact same shade of gray. The sheets you grew up sleeping with curled up in a ball on most nights after an intense training session with your old Master.

A sense of loss fills you...

You've lost everything.

Your home, your rank, your friends, your freedom... You've lost it all.

You don't feel that for long, because a feeling of dread replaces it. He's close. You can feel the dark presence of him. He is angry. He is frustrated.

Your answer was a mistake. You should have just done what you were told.

Mechanical doors open, and the air lock breaks yet again. In all of his terrifying 6'8 glory, Darth Vader stands.

In this moment, you realize that the lenses on his helmet are red, not black like the rest of his attire. It's silly, really... noticing something so small when you could possibly die in this moment.

Would he do the signature move you hear stories of? Use the force to wrap an invisible hand around your throat, crushing your trachea, cutting off the part that makes oxygen go to your lungs, leaving you dead by asphyxiation?

"You were told to join me!" His modulated voice raises, making you blink a few times as you stare up at him with wide eyes. This is it. "Why can't you do what you are told?"

The spit that had collected under your tongue was now going down your throat thickly, making you feel like you swallowed a stone. "I do not obey your kind." You fix your posture in a second, speaking in a strong voice to try and hide whatever you feel.

Darth Vader stares back at you for a second, only the sounds of his modulated breath escaping him.

"My kind?" He speaks right before a dark and deep chuckle can be heard. "A Sith? An Emperor? The most powerful being in the galaxy? A killer? Do explain, Y/N."

You ball up your fists as you swallow again. "A tyrant. A Sith. A killer without cause. Call it what you will."

His steps were loud against the metal floor as he approached you, standing right in front of you. His large hand grabs your face with slight force, but not roughly. You've heard whispers about how he is just a machine. That his hands are just made of wires, screws, and the metal that holds it together. You don't know if you believe that because whatever he's holding you with is not as hard as metal. You can feel it under his leather gloves.

"We are one of the same." He tells you. "The sooner you see that, the sooner I can get what I want."

"We are not the same!" You yell stupidly. Who would yell at the most powerful Sith that is known for killing without remorse?

He's silent again, just staring down at you.

"Wear the wine colored dress. I'll be waiting."

~☆~

Taglist: @songbirdcannabe @sonnensplitter @divxnee @anakinslvt @sweetcheesecakesblog @artemissunn @valsarchives @bunnylovesani @luvvfromme @sterredem @mariamyousef702 @icantkickthefangirladdiction @bunnylovesani

[nomie-11]

Chapter 2 - Into the Storm*

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Genevieve’s grandmother had always called her an outdoor girl. Despite being born with skin as pale as snow and hair as white as clouds, for as long as Genevieve could remember, she spent every waking minute she could outside. The sun, it seemed, had never taken a liking to her, though. Not for lack of trying on her part–her skin would blush an angry crimson beneath its rays, her arms prickling and shoulders peeling after hours under the relentless sky. Yet, she never minded. The nine year old girl loved the fields of her grandmother’s manor more than the sun could ever hate her. 

Her mother had called her a child of stars, recalling a condition that few kids are born with, causing their hair to be white and their eyes to be a pale purple like hers were. Her grandmother used to take her long, soft hair into her hands and braid it into what she called a Tyrrish crown, and hum, telling Genevieve that she was to be remarkable. 

To her grandmother, it was destined. Genevieve was born different, and because of that, she would be different. 

To Genevieve, it never mattered. 

In the two days she had before Basgiath, she spent her time near a secluded river near the cliffs leading up to the Parapet. She relished in the feeling of being surrounded once more by trees and the open sky, but the sky was cloudy. After five minutes of being outside, the sky grayed, and Genevieve’s mood dimmed. 

She cleaned herself up enough, getting the grime and dirt from her hair, and managing to steal a set of clothes from an unsuspecting passerby, but it was still… off. Her hair was too long. The loose strands that fell over her shoulders like silken threads would have been pulled back by now had her grandmother been here, and her clothes were ill-fitting. She looked different from how she wanted to portray herself—as a warrior, ready for the challenges of Basgiath, not a girl clinging to the memories of her childhood. 

Sighing, she knelt by the river, the cool water reflecting a rippled reflection of a stranger, a pale visage of who she is now. She cupped her hands, splashing her face to chase away the lingering remnants of childhood. As the water dripped from her fingers, she saw the now grown version of herself. The striking contrast of her white hair against the dark, turbulent waters was haunting. With a frown, she plunged her hands deeper, letting the water soak into her now clean hair, the sensation both soothing and invigorating. 

Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind: “you are different, my child, and that is your strength.” But as she looked into the swirling depths, the strength she felt was fleeting. The challenges ahead of her were daunting. What would it mean to be remarkable in a world filled with dragons and warriors, when all she felt was the weight of expectations and the scars of her past? 

She grabbed a dagger that she had managed to snag from another passerby who seemed terrified of the ghastly girl who hid among the trees. The reflection’s eyes–her eyes–stared back, pale and fierce, daring her to do it. She held the dagger underneath her ear, hair drawn taught over the braid. With each passing moment, she grew tenser and tenser, until she made the sharp motion, her hair falling back in a jagged line, not much longer than her ears. 

With each ragged cut, her hair fell into the river, silver-white strands floating like wisps of mist on the current. She worked quickly, without hesitation, severing the grown out locks that had been a part of her for so long. When she was done, her hair grazed the bottom tips of her ears, uneven but free. 

The wind caught the shorter strands, and for the first time in days, she felt lighter. The sky remained cloudy, but there was clarity in the air, as if nature was giving her the space she needed to breathe. She touched her hair, the rough edges soft against her fingertips, and smiled. 

She wasn’t her grandmother’s outdoor girl anymore, nor her mother’s child of stars. With a final splash of water, she rose and stepped away from the riverbank. Grabbing her single dagger and empty bag, she joined the other hopefuls on the path to Basgiath. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Genevieve blended into the crowd of first-year cadets trudging up the steep, winding path to Basgiath as best as she could. Her new, choppier haircut felt foreign, the breeze tugging at the uneven edges as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. There was a hum of nervous energy in the air, every person filled with dread or anticipation–or both. The daunting, 250 step climb loomed above, the Parapet still shrouded in mist. 

Making her way up the path, her legs burned from the climb, and she hated that the weight of the blade strapped to her thigh didn’t feel as comforting as it should. She kept her head down, observing everyone else. There were murmurs of who would make it, and who wouldn’t live to see the sunrise over the citadel of Basgiath. Genevieve’s lips pressed into a thin line. She had survived worse than some cursed stone walkway. 

As she neared a particularly narrow bend in the path, the crowd slowed, pushing tighter against the cliff. She felt the push of stone on her side, the open air on the other, her discomfort rising as the slope grew steeper. Her foot slipped on the loose dirt, and her knee grazed the rocky ground, sending a sharp sting up her leg. A hand caught her arm, steadying her before she could fall any further. 

“Careful there” a voice said, warm with humor. “Wouldn’t want to take a tumble this early.”

Genevieve straightened, her pale gaze met the eyes of the boy beside her. He was tall, with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes, his dimpled grin made it seem like he was never not smiling. His eyes, a deep ocean blue, studied her with a mixture of amusement and concern. 

“I was fine,” she muttered, pulling her arm free, though she could still feel the warmth of his grip. 

“Of course,” he replied, undeterred. “But a little help never hurts, right?” 

He fell into step beside her, adjusting the strap of his own bag. The ease with which he walked up the path, his balance seemingly unaffected by the incline in comparison to her still slightly disoriented stance, irritated her more than she cared to admit. She didn’t need help. Not from him, not from anyone. 

“I’m Liam,” he said after a moment, his smile widening as if he hadn’t noticed her annoyance. Or maybe he just didn’t care. “Liam Mairi.” 

Son of Colonel Mairi, Genevieve’s mind filled in the blank. Our families knew each other. 

“Genevieve Hale,” she responded shortly, focusing on the path ahead. She wasn;t interested in making friends. Not now. 

“Well, Genevieve, I hope you’ve got a good head for heights. Parapet’s going to test more than just your balance.” He winked, and she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. 

She brushed her hair back—a habit from when it had been longer, through now there was nothing left to pull away. Liam’s eye flickered from her bandaged wrists to her hair, then back to her face, but he didn't comment. Instead, he gave a once-over, his gaze lingering on the blade at her side. 

“Nice dagger,” he remarked. “You only brought one?”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered to Liam, catching the trace of amusement in his deep blue gaze. He had a way of speaking, casual and confident, that was grating on her nerves. It wasn’t his fault—he was only trying to help—but she had spent too long relying on herself to feel comfortable accepting anyone's assistance. Especially not here, not on the treacherous path to Basgiath that seemed to enjoy reminding her that she hadn’t climbed more than twenty steps in the last 400 days. 

“I didn’t exactly have time to shop for more,” She replied, her voice sharper than intended. She adjusted the dagger at her side, fingers tightening on the hilt, the only thing that felt like hers despite being taken as well. The rest of her gear—stolen or ‘borrowed’---hung awkwardly off of her frame. The ill-fitting clothes, the worn boots, even the cut of her hair made her feel raw, exposed in a way she hadn’t anticipated. But this dagger, the one thing she had been deliberate in taking, gave her a sense of control. “I’ll make do.” 

Liam’s grin didn’t falter. “Fair enough. A single blade can be enough, as long as you know how to use it.” He gestured toward the Parapet, now visible through the mist as they broke the cloudline. “And I’m guessing you do. Wouldn’t be here otherwise.” 

Geneiveve didn't respond. She didn’t need his validation. She knew what she was capable of. But something about the way Liam moved beside her, easy and confident, made her hyper-aware of how much harder this climb was for her than it seemed for him. She couldn’t help but feel out of place here among these other recruits. Thank gods I practiced sparring down there. 

The rounded another bend in the path, the crowd pressing tighter as the cliff’s edge loomed uncomfortably close. She glanced down at the rocky drop below and immediately regretted it. Heights had never bothered her before, but this was different than before. 

Liam, sensing her discomfort, spoke again. “Scared of heights?” 

“No,” Genevieve said smoothly, but her rigid stance proved the discomfort in her words. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said with a chuckle. “You won’t fall. And once you’re up there it’s all about keeping your focus.” 

Genevieve bristled at his tone. She wasn’t scared. At least, not of the Parapet. She was scared of failing. Of not living up to her grandmother’s expectations, of proving that maybe she wasn’t so remarkable after all. But she would never admit that out loud. 

“Thanks for the advice,” she said tersely, quickening her pace to move up the line. The wind whipped at her uneven hair, and for a brief moment, she missed the feeling of her tight braid, the way it used to ground her, the way her grandmother used to use it as a comfort. 

But that part of her life is over now. 

Liam easily matched her stride, unfazed by her obvious attempt to distance herself. “You’ve got the spirit, I’ll give you that. But there’s no harm in accepting a bit of help. We’re all in this together, you know.” 

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed. “Are we? Because last I checked, it’s every rider for themselves once we’re up there.” 

He shrugged, unbothered. “True. But you need a friend and I need a friend, and the children of disgraced political leaders should stick together. It’s a long year ahead, and I’ve got a feeling we’re going to see a lot of each other, and my instincts are always right.” 

Genevieve clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to tell him to leave her alone. But she knew better than to push away potential allies, especially this early. As much as she hated to admit it, she might need someone like Liam far down the line. 

For now, she focused on the path, the Parapet going closer and closer with each step. The mist and dark clouds surrounded them, obscuring the edges of the cliff and the narrow stone bridge ahead. It loomed like a shadow, a narrow walkway stretching between life and death. 

Were the clouds darker, or was that her imagination? 

“Your turn next,” the tall man in front of Genevieve nearly barks as she reaches the top of the tower, Liam in tow behind her. She watches a flash of recognition and relief cross the taller man’s face as he sees Liam, but the expression is quickly masked. “Name?”

His eyes were dark, with flecks of gold swirling around like a dark storm, his hair was equally as dark and his skin tan. Good gods, that man is attractive. 

“Genevieve Hale” she responds, despite her swimming thoughts, she focuses on the bridge in front of her. They gesture for her to start, and she steps onto the straight stone bridge, the river raging beneath her. 

Genevieve’s heart pounds as she steps on the bridge, the turmoil in her own stomach was the fault of her own last name. The tall man’s gaze lingers on her briefly before shifting to the task at hand, his presence unsettling in more ways than one. Her own racing thoughts mirror the storm brewing around her, the intensity of the moment heightened by the onslaught of wind. It’s as if the sky itself has come alive to challenge her. 

The first raindrop feels like a memory, the coolness shocking her skin as if waking her from a deep sleep. She stands there, frozen, not by fear but by the sheer strangeness of it all. Rain? It’s been years since she felt it, and for a moment, she’s no longer on the parapet, but back in Aretia, running through the endless fields with her sister’s laughter chasing after her. 

Her heart clenches at the memory, bittersweet and far too fleeting. But her body remembers the movement, the joy of running free under the rain. Before she can even register the thought, her feet carry her forward, the world narrowing to just the stones beneath her and the storm above. The roar of the river below fades as the rain envelopes her senses, the wind catching her soaked hair and flinging it across her face. Her breath quickens, not from panic, but from something else–adrenaline, maybe, or a long-forgotten thrill. 

Her steps quicke, each more sure than the last, the fear of falling forgotten. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat pulses in time with the drumming of the rain on stone. One more step. One more step. She pushes forward, the bridge narrowing as the winds whip around her, but she feels no hesitation. Each footfall is a declaration against the storm, against the odds stacked high, against the months of being told what she couldn’t do. The storm becomes her dance partner, pushing and pulling but never breaking her stride. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows how dangerous this is—how one misstep could mean the end—but the knowledge is distant, buried beneath the raw exhilaration coursing through her. She blinks through the rain, eyes stinging, she’s halfway across the parapet. Her pulse thunders in her ears, and the river rages below in harmony with the beat of her own heart, but she’s not afraid. There’s no room for fear in his moment, only the rush of life flooding through her veins. 

Her breath shudders as the end of the parapet draws near, the final few steps ahead. She should be exhausted, shaken by the elements tearing at her, but she isn’t. There’s a strange, fierce joy in the struggle, in the feeling of pushing through when everything else wants her to stop. She presses on, heart steadying, and she knows that she’s already won something here. 

Stepping off the Parapet, she comes to a stop right in front of the roll keeper. 

“Name?” The man with the scroll asks, and she’s slightly short of breath, but she’s elated. 

“Genevieve Hale,” She breathes out, a smile painted on her face. 

“Hale?” The rider asks, his voice raising, and she quirks her brow. 

“Yes, Hale,” Her eyes narrow on his. “Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all,” He says. “Just wait in the main area, maybe you’ll find more people like… you.” 

And with that she was all alone, walking blind for a few moments. But in reality, it was the effects of adrenaline leaving her body. It ran its course, leaving her tired and empty, wandering the field around her. And while it was full of cadets, she was alone. 

“Hey! Hale!” Liam was already behind her, catching up with a grin that was entirely too bright for someone who had just crossed the Parapet. 

“See? Told you, no big deal.” He said, clapping her on the shoulder like they had been friends for years. 

Genevieve stiffened under his touch, but forced a small nod. “Yeah, no big deal,” She echoed, though her heart was still pounding in her ears. She couldn’t tell if it was the adrenaline from the Parapet or the excitement from Basgiath, but the rush was not fading. 

Liam walked beside her, unfazed. “You know, I was serious about what I said earlier. About needing allies. We’ll all be in the same fight soon enough, so it doesn’t hurt to make a few connections early on.” 

Genevieve exhaled slowly, eyeing the rest of the cadets gathering in the main courtyard ahead. The thought of relying on others grated at her—she’d learned the hard way not to trust anyone but herself. But Liam wasn’t entirely wrong. She could see the clusters forming, groups of cadets gravitating toward each other for safety, strength, or maybe just out of fear. 

“I don’t need alliances,” she said, though the weight of her words felt thinner than before. She glanced up at the towering spires of Basgiath ahead, and the uneasy knot in her stomach tightened. Graduation was still a long way off. The trails, the challenges—none of them would be fought alone. 

Liam gave a nonchalant shrug, clearly not offended by her coolness. “Maybe not yet. But don’t be surprised if you change your mind down the line.” 

He waved her a quick behind, flashing an easy grin at her while she watched him go, her arms wrapping around herself in the cooling air. She hated how easy he made everything seem. The confidence, the casual charm—it was as if Liam had been born into this world, while she was a stranger. 

The air was thick with anticipation, the murmurs of the crowd quieting as a commanding voice boomed from the front. 

“Three hundred and two of you have survived the parapet and have become cadets today,” Commandant Panchek’s voice rang out, smooth but laced with an unsettling edge. “Good job. Sixty-seven of you didn’t.”

A brief, unintended hush fell over the crowd—a fleeting moment of silence for the fallen, though the Commandant’s tone suggested he saw it more as a statistic than a loss. Death was part of the game, and Panchek was keen to remind them of that. 

“But as the Codex states,” Panchek’s voice rose again, sharp and commanding. “Now begins the crucible!” His words cut through the crowd like a blade, the excitement and fear of those around Genevieve palpable. “You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. All the way to Threshing, where if you are chosen, you will become riders. We will see just how many of you make it to graduation.”

Genevieve scanned the sea of faces around her—confidence gleamed in some eyes, arrogance in others. Smirky, cocky grins, and the swagger of the untested. But Genevieve knew better. She didn’t come this far by being naive. She knew why so many cadets didn’t survive. The world they were stepping into wasn’t just dangerous—it was designed to break them. 

Panchek’s voice dropped to a final note of mock encouragement. “Good luck to you all. You are now in the hands of your Wingleaders.” 

With that, he turned on his heel, the rest of the staff falling in line behind him as they exited the stage. All that remained now was a brunette woman at the front, looking barely older than Genevieve. Her posture radiated authority despite her youth. 

“My name is Nyra,” the woman’s voice rang clear, cutting through the buzzing crowd. “I’m the senior Wingleader of this quadrant and the head of First Wing. Section leaders and Squad leaders, take your positions.” 

A flurry of movement rippled through the crowd as squad leaders moved to the front, joining Nyra and the other Wing leaders. Genevieve’s heart quickened, eyes darting to assess who was who, already mapping out the next phase of survival. She wasn;t stupid—there was no margin for error in this place. Every decision, every step, could mean the difference between life and death. 

Nyra’s voice called out the squads, her tone brisk and efficient. “First Squad, Claw Section, First Wing!” A tall man raised his hand, marking the squad’s position at the front. Genevieve watched as cadets began falling into line, tension mounting as names were called. She barely registered when Liam’s name when he was assigned to Second Squad, Tail Section, Fourth Wing. But then–

“Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing!” Nyra’s voice carried over the crowd, commanding attention. “Ridoc Gamlyn, Rhiannon Matthias, Violet Sorrengail…”

Genevieve’s heart lurched at the sound of that name. Violet Sorrengail. Her eyes narrowed, instincts flaring. 

“...Genevieve Hale.”

Fuck. 

So this is how it would go. She’d been expecting it—dreading it. Of course, they’d put her in the same squad as Violet. Fate had a twisted sense of humor. 

The thought shot through her mind like lightning. Her hands clenched at her sides, knuckles white. She’d been able to avoid even knowing that Violet Sorrengail existed for this long, but now? Now she was stuck. They’d be fighting side by side. She’d have to look Violet in the eyes every day. And worst of all, she knew one rule in the codex: she couldn’t kill a squadmate. 

Reluctantly, Genevieve made her way to the front of the squad, her gaze locking on Violet as he fell into line beside her. The tension was immediate, thick in the air between them. Violet turned to her, her expression unreadable but her concern clear in her voice.

“Are you okay?” Violet asked, her question soft, even tentative. Despite everything, Violet’s intentions seemed genuine, her worry over Genevieve’s well-being evident. No relic adorned Genevieve’s arm, signaling to everyone she hadn’t been targeted for retaliation. But the look in Violet’s eyes suggested to everyone that she knew the danger hadn’t passed. 

Genevieve’s smile was cold, a mockery of warmth. It didn’t reach her eyes, and the simmering rage behind her stare was impossible to miss. “No,” she said, voice low but sharp as a blade. “I’m not okay, because now that we’re in the same squad…” she leaned in slightly, her grin darkening. “I can’t kill you.”

—————————————

The summer sun blazed overhead, its relentless heat turning Genevieve’s pale skin even more vulnerable. After being confined for so long, the harsh light felt like fire on her skin. 

Xaden Riorson, who Genevieve now knew to be the wingleader of Fourth Wing, stood before them, speaking with authority, but Genevieve barely registered his words. Her mind drifted until the sound of her squad shuffling into motion snapped her back to reality. Dain Aetos and his squad, her squad, were being reassigned. She blinked in surprise. Now she was part of the Fourth Wing. With Xaden Riorson. How convenient. 

A quick glance at him showed an indifferent expression, while Liam looked genuinely thrilled that Genevieve was in his wing. But Genevieve’s stomach twisted. She had been so close to Violet Sorrengail. Tomorrow’s challenges would have given her the perfect opportunity to end the girl’s life, to take revenge, swiftly and cleanly. But no. Now, she had to wait. Three long years. She had to hope that Violet would survive long enough for her to finally strike. 

Riorson’s voice broke through her thoughts, booming with the weight of command. “You’re all cadets now,” he declared. “Look at your squad. These are the only people the Codex guarantees won’t kill you. But just because they can’t doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn it.” 

Genevieve caught Violet’s eyes on hers, and her fists clenched. Some cadets cheered, but she remained silent. 

Riorson wasn’t finished. “I bet you feel pretty invincible right now, don’t you?” he goaded, sparking more cheers from the crowd. “Surviving the parapet, you think you’re untouchable! On your way to becoming elite. The few! The chosen!” His words whipped the crowd into a frenzy, but it was the sudden roar of wings that stole their attention. 

A riot of dragons descended, casting enormous shadows over the courtyard. The air vibrated with their power, and Genevieve’s breath caught in her throat. Gods, they’re magnificent, she thought, her heart aching with both awe and longing. She had only ever heard the sound of their wings echoing above her prison, distant and unattainable. But now, they are here, real and close. One day, if she survived, one of them might choose her. 

The dragons roared, and the world erupted into chaos. Screams filled the air as some cadets bolted, only to be incinerated by streams of fire. The stench of sulfur stung her nostrils. The red dragon was the first to strike, but the others followed, their jaws gleaming in the sunlight. Around her, the other cadets recoiled, panic spreading like wildfire, but Genevieve stood rooted to the spot, unflinching. She was terrified, but this wasn’t fear—it was beauty. 

How could anyone run from something so powerful, so divine. 

Xaden Riorson’s voice cut through her reverie. “Anyone else feel like backing out?” His gaze swept over the  crowd, what seemed to be his blue dragon looming behind him. “No? Excellent.” 

The rest of his speech faded into the background for Genevieve. It was all the same: You’ll die, you’ll struggle, you’re not special. She had heard it all before. 

Her entire focus was on the dragons. 

—--------------------------------------

Later, in the first-year dorms, Genevieve wandered alone. The large, empty hall felt stifling. Liam was three floors up with some brute named Jack Barlowe, who Violet had been complaining about earlier. She had no idea where to settle down until the girl standing besideViolet caught her eye and waved her over. 

“Hey! I’m Rhiannon Matthias,” the girl greeted her warmly, extending a hand. The girl was tall, with beautiful brown skin and neatly braided hair that cascaded down her back.. Her smile was inviting and gentle, as she waited for Genevieve to answer. “We’re in the same squad now. We should stick together.”

Genevieve glanced between Rhiannon and the empty bed beside her before setting down her mostly empty bag. She hesitated, torn between the friendly girl in front of her and the sour presence of Violet nearby. The tension twisted in her gut. 

“I’m Genevieve,” she finally responded, shaking Rhiannon’s hand with a small, tentative smile. “Genevieve Hale.” 

At the sound of her name, Violet’s gaze locked on her with a sharp intensity. Genevieve could feel the recognition settling over her like venom, burning through her skin. How Violet had missed her name when they were calling out squads was beyond her. 

“You’re Genevieve Hale,” Violet whispered, the weight of her words dripping with meaning. 

Genevieve’s mood darkened in an instant. “And what of it?” she snapped, her voice cold and cutting. Whatever pleasantness she had shown a moment ago vanished. 

Rhiannon, sensing the tension, placed a coming hand on Genevieve’s shoulder. “We’re all in the same squad now,” she said firmly. “The least we can do is be civil. Don’t you think so?” Her tone left little room for argument. “Now, Violet, introduce yourself.”

“I’m Violet—”

“Sorrengail. I know.” Genevieve’s voice was sharp, her words venomous. “Your mother is responsible for the death of my father. I’m not becoming your friend.” 

Rhiannon’s eyes widened at the words, clearly not expecting them. “So, you’re—”

“A rebellion kid?” Genevieve interrupted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “No relic, see?” She yanked up her sleeve, showing her bare arm. “No, no, I’m something far worse.” 

Without hesitation, she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing the ratty sports bra and chest bindings she had managed to fashion from scraps. Across her back, a swirling, inky black mark twisted from her collarbones down to her waist, its dark tendrils crawling across her skin like a curse. At its center was an empty circle, a void of power that made her feel hideous. The scars on her back stood raised, a testament to the trials she suffered in becoming a weapon for her squadmate’s mother. 

“I’m the daughter of the disgraced General Philip Hale. Sister to the fallen riderQuinn Hale,” Genevieve hissed, her gaze locking onto Violet’s wide, horrified eyes. “My father was a traitor. But I’m not here for redemption. I’m here for justice. And you, Violet Sorrengail, are the key to making your mother pay.” 

---------------------------

Hey guys! I'm not really doing a strict upload schedule for this, just uploading when I have chapters ready, so heres chapter 2! I'm procrastinating doing my supplemental essays for my college applications by writing this, so there will be a lot more chapters coming soon. I hope you enjoy!

[mjjune]

TWTR: A COMIC SANS INTRO

as requested/voted on for my 1k follower celebration! thank you so much to everyone who voted and who cares enough about this story to want to know more 💕

artists featured: check them out!!!

@neapaulatan, @ichimakesart, @littlestpersimmon, @akiwitch, @vacantgodling

below the cut is a full image description and twtr's taglist! reply here or message me if you want to be added ✨

[Image Description:

A Comic Sans WIP intro of 9 slides with dark gray background and various images.

Slide 1: Title page with a dark background of green leaves with the title "TWTR: a comic sans wip intro as requested by my followers <3"

Slide 2: "So WTF is TWTR?" with an image of illustrated art of a forest scene with a tree growing through a cottage in the background, a silvery ax with a dragon design sticking out of the earth in the foreground. The slide reads, "a retelling, sorta, more of a sequel ! the prologue is a little red riding hood retelling, and the rest of the novel is the aftermath. red is not so little anymore. the wolf is back for blood and the woodsman has to finish what he started 6 years ago." In smaller font, a note in parentheses says, "and no i will not tell you what twtr stands for. it’s an ongoing joke now that half my betas still didn’t know what it meant even though it was on the signup sheet 🫠"

Slide 3: The Story. Has an illustrated gif image of the woodsman facing away from the audience, his cape blowing in the wind. He has an ax in his left hand, a raven sitting on his right shoulder in the woods. the slide reads: "the woodsman, an outsider, saves a little girl from a legendary beast, only to find out that she’s?? whoops?? the nearby kingdom’s princess and only heir??? so naturally, if you were the queen, and some strange outsider dude pops out of the evil magical forest with your 10yo daughter claiming he saved her from The Wolf™ ... uh, yeah, that’s sus. he’s arrested and has to prove (via dark shit i won’t go into) that he’s magic-free before he can join kingdom society."

Slide 4: Yikes, then what? Has a banner image of the woods with a cloaked figure in the center, fog rising from the bottom, with a raven with glowing eyes in the corner. The slide reads: "over the years, he works his way up to become red’s personal guard. he has his first real friend of his entire life?? 🥺 until the wolf shows back up, working its way through the kingdom devouring people. avery must kill the beast once and for all before it gets to red. as he tracks it, though, he uncovers lies that go deep not only within the kingdom, but his own past. he finds The Wolf™ in the woods, where it offers him a deal: the truth, for red. which will avery choose??? 👀"

Slide 5: Wait so who are these people?? Has 3 icon images of the main characters. First is "Avery, The Woodsman. known for being short, baby-faced, and a man of few words; mysterious past prior to saving red and joining the kingdom." His icon is an illustrated profile view of a short dark-haired tan-skinned man with freckles and a bit of scruff and a serious expression. Second is "Red, Princess Anara. the spirited heir to the throne; angry that she’s not included in royal affairs and wants to learn everything." Her icon is illustrated art of a young girl with blue eyes, red hair in a braid, wearing a dark hooded cloak looking at the audience. Last is "The Wolf™, a monster of legend, rumored to be immortal that lives in the dark forest surrounding the kingdom; the size of a room and devours people whole :P yum yum." Its icon is a dark image of a wolf with glowing white eyes looking at the audience.

Slide 6: Surely there are other characters, MJ??? Slide is plain with a bulleted list of info, which reads: "Honorable Mentions: MAGNUS, the elite guardsman who trains avery and has a complicated history (an unintentional fan favorite); QUEEN ETIENNE, the queen of the kingdom and red’s mom; "GRANDMA", an elderly woman who red liked to visit (secretly) in the woods and was devoured by The Wolf™."

Slide 7: Also Featuring. Slide reads "a badass ax, hand-crafted by avery’s long-deceased parents; giant trees the size of houses; giant burrowing lizards; religious coercion :); magic metal; magic plagues; magic soup; intimate platonic hair braiding; cute child cameos; southern hemisphere world (aka the north is warm and the south is cold)". To the right is an illustration of avery's ax, a dark handle with silvery ax with an etched dragon design.

Slide 8: Ok, but is it gay? with small parentheses note: "how dare you ask me this honestly." Bullet points read: "unfortunately this is classified :) (tbf even in the book i keep it loose and open to interpretation), but here are some themes which may or may not be queer: “(unconscious) true love’s kiss breaks the spell” except does it tho???; princess “uninterested in courting”; handsome shy wallflower guy gets asked to dance by 100 girls and declines them all (think cullen from dragon age lmao); shapeshifting as a metaphor for... things :); found family / family doesn’t have to be blood / adoption; lights vs. dark not being a clear-cut good vs. evil, nuanced morality etc.

Slide 9: Art credits! Slide reads: "a HUGE thank you to all the artists i’ve commissioned! they’re all linked below! check them out! in order of appearance: dark forest scene by neapaulatan; avery cape gif by ichimakesart; foggy banner and wolf icon (fan-made); avery icon by littlestpersimmon; red icon by akiwitch; avery’s ax by vacantgodling. Below the credits, it reads, "Thanks for reading! and as a reminder, all my works have a taglist! if you want a notif every time i post about this wip let me know :)"

End Image Description]

@aether-wasteland-s @annetilney @artbyeloquent @ashirisu @bebewrites

@cljordan-imperium @dogmomwrites @dustylovelyrun @elijahrichardwrites @eventideintrigue

@faithfire-writes @flowerprose @forthesanityofstorytellers @ghafasinej @helioscenic

@isabellebissonrouthier @jamieanovels @lexiklecksi @little-mouse-gardens @marlowethelibrarian

@marrowwife @mr-writes @macabremoons @perasperaadastrawriting @phantomnations

@tate-lin @thyroidhormones @verba-writing @vsnotresponding @wildswrites

[drewsephrry]

memories

Harry Styles x reader

Inspired by: Memories-Conan Gray

Warnings: alcohol consumption, yelling, crying (idk if it counts as a warning) cuss words

Words: 2.7k

It was a rainy autumn night. She had a random movie playing in the background just to comfort her. She hated rain with passion. She hated that she was all alone and the only thing she could do to distract herself from it was look at old pictures.

Pictures from her childhood that were much too nostalgic for her, trying really hard to remember the name of the girl braiding her hair. Pictures from her vacation with her best friends from the previous summer, matching flower crowns and seashell necklaces on display. Pictures with her previous lover, that if she saw just two months ago she would cry her heart out but instead she smiled and reminisced about the tattoo he had let her draw on his skin shown in the photo.

It was a random Thursday night, the couple was chilling with their friends when Zayn told them that he had just acquired a tattoo gun. Harry was thrilled with the idea of putting more ink on his skin and even more so when Niall suggested that he let Y/N draw one on him.

Y/N had almost immediately shook her head in denial but Harry begged and begged until she sighed, defeated.

“Harry, you do know you're going to be stuck with it forever?” She warned.

“Yes, my love. Stop worrying about everything.” He tries to reassure her once more.

“But H, what if I mess it up? Or-or even worse we break up and you have it on your skin for the rest of your life?” She started asking with shakily hands, stuttering and failing to breathe properly.

“Y/N, honey, breathe. You'll be fine. Okay and what if you mess it up? That would just make it even more special to me. I love you and I completely trust you.” He puts his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down. “I'm not planning on breaking up with you anytime soon, maybe even ever. Unless you do and you're trying to let me down slowly, I don't see anything wrong with you tatting me.” He reassures her once again and she sighs, nodding. Harry smiles widely and pecks her lips, before pulling his long hair up in a bun.

After sterilizing the equipment and Zayn showing her how the gun works, she was ready. She didn't feel like it, but Harry squeezed her hand three times, their way of expressing their love to each other without actually saying anything.

She asked him multiple times, as the tattoo gun hit his skin if he was in any pain and if he needed anything, but Harry told her repeatedly he was fine and was praising her for her light touch.

After just a few minutes, the sketch, she had done on a random notebook Zayn had in his apartment, was brought to life.

A palm tree on the backside on his upper arm was delicately outlined and filled by her. She grabbed the handheld mirror that Zayn gave her and held it so Harry could see the work she did.

“Do you like it? If you don't, we can find something to cover it up with and I'll pay for it.” She suggested immediately, worried because he hadn't spoken yet. But the truth was he was mesmerized by it.

“I love it. It's so simple but yet done so beautifully. Thank you, my love. Thank you so so much.” He said kissing her lips. She smiled and sighed once again.

“Thank you for trusting me with this.”

“Well, you know what they say. Tat for tit!” He exclaimed jokingly, trying to lift her shirt when Y/N pushed his hand away giggling.

“You're such an idiot!”

Suddenly, she heard a knock on her door. She stopped gazing at her phone and another knock was heard. She got up from her couch cautiously. It was really late and it was pouring outside. Who could it be?

She grabbed the pepper spray from her handbag, as another knock was heard. She clutched her phone, close to her chest, ready to call the police.

She looked through the peephole and saw the one person she didn't expect to.

Harry was standing there, his hair sticking on his forehead and his clothes soaked.

She quickly unlocked the door and gasped.

“Harry, what are you doing here?” She asked, worried and confused.

“Need to talk with you, angel.” He slurred, an obvious sign he was drunk. He was pouting and his glossy, his green eyes were bloodshot telling her he was crying. His cologne was overcome by the smell of tequila. Y/N couldn't do anything else than open the door wider and gestured for him to come in.

She closed the door behind her and walked to her kitchen to pour some water for him, in hopes that he would sober up a little. He followed her like a wet and lost puppy that she couldn't turn away.

He takes a gulp of the water she hands him and smiles at her. She looked so cute and tiny compared to him, her hair was a little longer and her skin was still tanned from summer.

“I love you so much Y/N/N. I never wanted to hurt you.” He slurred again.

“But you did, H.” She couldn't tolerate standing there and listening to him pour his heart out when he broke her own a few months ago.

Y/N had started getting better. Getting over him. She was considering starting dating again. But seeing him like this made it so hard for her to think. Think about how fucked what he did and said was.

“Please, my baby, my love, listen to me. I made a huge mistake.” He was pulling his hair and trying to balance on his own two feet. He stumbled and fell to the floor, Y/N immediately reaching for him to make sure he was alright.

“I have missed you. I can't sleep without you. I barely eat anymore. I-I…don’t know what to do without you.” He confessed, tearing up. He pulled his knees up to his chest as he sat with his back on one of the kitchen cabinets.

Y/N was nodding, feeling upset and guilty she made him feel like this.

“H-Harry…I don't know what to say. Please, don't cry. You can stay with me tonight. We'll be fine.” She bent down to be eye level with him, comforting him and hugging him tightly. Neither one of them could deny how safe they felt in that moment, in each other's arms.

Y/N knew she was making a huge mistake, something her therapist won't be able to help with, something her friends cannot support and mostly she cannot expect any one of them to be there to pick up her pieces when everything would break down again.

Harry was led to her bedroom and she helped him lay down, removing his articles of clothing that he claimed felt like lava on his skin.

“Why were you all alone? Don't you still hate the rain?” He asked, getting under the covers of her bed, his eyes slightly closed. Y/N nodded and walked towards her side of the bed.

Y/N laid beside him, wrapping her arms around his back and to his front. He squeezed them three times, before quiet snores were the only thing heard.

How could she say goodbye to him again, when he just spent an entire night with her?

That morning Y/N woke up to an empty bed. She walked out to her living room, to see that she was all alone.

He had left her.

She walked to the kitchen with an ache in her chest and saw a plate with a stack of pancakes with maple syrup on her kitchen counter for her to indulge in.

She ended up spending her whole day crying and watching ‘The notebook��.

The next day, when Y/N's therapy appointment was scheduled, she told her about the night she spent with Harry, how she felt safe and for once, after a few months, slept like a baby and through the whole night.

Her therapist scolded her about her poor choices and talked to her about stepping forward.

A few days passed since Y/N's and Harry's last encounter. Y/N was getting ready for her best friend's birthday party when a knock was heard on her door. She yelled that she'll be right there, thinking it was the delivery guy with her food.

She grabbed her wallet and ran to the door with a wide smile on her face. Although when she opened the door, it was wiped away quickly. She swallowed and looked at Harry's green eyes.

“I missed holding you.” He slurred. Y/N was already running late to help her best friend with the party preparations. She was planning on getting there first out of everyone, to blow balloons and hang the garlands she had bought. But her meal hadn't arrived in time and now, this was happening.

She opened the door wide and he entered, he walked and sat down on her couch with a thump. He giggled at the sound he made and got quickly distracted by the show on her TV.

Y/N groaned and tried to keep in her mind what her therapist, mom and best friend told her.

“It's hard to find an end to something that you keep beginning, over and over again.”

“Hey, come look at this! Monica got stung by a jellyfish!” He giggled, getting comfortable on her couch.

She cursed under her breath, thinking how he would fuck up her progress in getting over him. Now twice. She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and walked in her bedroom to call her best friend.

“I'm really sorry, but I won't make it tonight.” She lied.

“What? Y/N, it's my birthday! You can't miss it.” Her best friend had furrowed her eyebrows, even if Y/N couldn't see it.

“I love you so much, I'll explain everything another time. And I am really and truly sorry.” She apologized again.

“Don't tell me he's there again.” Her best friend groaned and Y/N sighed.

“Y/N/N, he's no good for you. He's going to hurt you again. He's going to keep coming back since you're not turning him away. This is a never ending cycle, babe. Think about all the trauma he put you through. You need to put him in the past and move on.”

Y/N sighed defeated. Her best friend was right.

“Again, I'm really sorry.” She apologized one last time, before hanging up the phone. She walked back to the living room, where he was laying on the couch watching as Ross yelled ‘We were on a break!’. Harry chuckles at that and looks up to find you standing a few feet away from him.

“Care to join me, my beautiful girl?” he asked, making space for her and she smiled sadly as she nodded.

“Let me take my heels off really quick and I'll be right there.” She assured him, going inside her bedroom again, untying the straps from her heels and sitting down on her bed to catch her breath. She felt like throwing up. She felt her chest heating and that she was unable to breathe.

One, two.

One, two.

In, out.

In, out.

She was calm again.

The doorbell was heard, so she got up and out of her bedroom to find Harry already at the door.

“Stay the fuck away from her!” His slurred British accent alarming you. You ran quickly at the door and pushed Harry away from it.

“I'm really sorry about him, he's not feeling well. Thank you for your service!” Y/N tipped the now scared delivery guy, grabbing the bag of food from his hand and closing the door quickly. She pressed her back on it and sighed loudly.

“Don't be upset with me. He just wanted to get in your pants. I was trying to protect you. I always will.” Harry's eyes filled with tears once again. A laugh track was heard and she sighed again.

“It's okay, H. I'm fine. We're fine. Let's go eat!” She grabbed his hand and he smiled, wiping his eyes.

They spent the rest of the night cuddling on her couch.

The next day, he was gone again. She opened her phone to see multiple texts and calls from her best friend, telling her not to worry and that she would forgive her for bailing on her.

Y/N ignored all of them, including her therapist's email to confirm their weekly appointment. She knew that she would be disappointed to hear that she's taking more and more steps back.

A week later, she still hadn't heard a word from Harry and she waited for his appearance on her doorstep.

And there he was, a loud knock on the door startling her from the cookies she decided to bake as a stress reliever.

She ran to the door and opened it to find him there. He looked a little bit better than the last times he visited her, although he still reeked of tequila.

“Hello, my love.” He said, approaching her to kiss her lips. But she pulled away and shook her head. She opened the door wider for him to enter. He did and walked to the couch, sitting down and removing his shoes, already getting comfortable. Y/N couldn't take it anymore.

“We need to talk. I don't care if you're sober or drunk as fuck, but this has got to stop.” She said upset.

“What's bothering you baby? I can kiss it better.” He giggled and made grabby hands at her.

“Harry, I am serious. You can't keep doing this. There's no good reason to believe that we could ever exist again. I cannot be your friend. I definitely cannot be your lover. And I cannot be the reason we hold back each other from actually falling in love with someone else.” Y/N felt lighter after telling him exactly how she felt.

Harry felt a lump growing on his throat, his eyeline was gathering tears and he felt his chest tightening. Suddenly his head was clearer and he wasn't under the influence of alcohol completely.

“I just…you can't keep showing up, especially drunk, ruining everything. Expecting me that I would just take you back. You fucking traumatized me Harry. You broke my heart. And I'm trying so hard to forget you, to put you in the past and you're not letting me do that. You're just too busy playing the victim and acting like you are the one who's hurt, like you're the one that has a specialist taking care of you and your feelings. Can you just for once listen to me and stay the fuck away from me? Just…stay in my memories.”

She felt tears rolling down her cheeks, she didn't even notice she was crying. Harry looked down on the floor, sniffling. Y/N wiped her tears and sat down beside him.

“Since you came all the way over here, I'll let you stay. You can stay as long as it takes, but this is the last time. When you're going to leave, you're taking all of your books that you have left, your coat that’s still in my closet and that good cologne that you have left in my bathroom and it haunts me. It's still on my clothes and pretty much everything that I own and it makes me…feel like dying. I mean, I'm barely surviving as it is.”

Harry was feeling like his heart was being stabbed over and over again. He hadn't realized how much damage he had done to Y/N. He didn't want her to feel that way anymore.

He got off from her couch and walked to her bedroom grabbing his coat, the cologne from the bathroom and gathered the books from her bookcase, putting them inside a tote bag, which was also his.

“I'm not gonna bother you anymore. I-I am really sorry for the damage I did. I never meant to hurt you. I love you way too much and…I know what I'm saying is not gonna change anything but I needed to get it off my chest. I wish you only the best, my lo-Y/N. And I'll always be there for you, if you ever need me. But I'll just stay in your memories.”

He kissed her lips once. Twice. Three times.

When he pulled away both of them had tears rolling down their cheeks, their eyes were red and their lips swollen from the kisses they shared.

“I guess this is goodbye.” Harry whispers. “For now.” He smiled and Y/N nodded.

“Goodbye H. Take care.”

A/N: just a lil valentines day gift lol, this was heartwrenching to write, hope you all enjoyed and cried with me

[weemssapphic]

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 19

previous chapter | next chapter | series page

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

summary: "Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets." - Paul Tournier

words: ~ 1.8k | ao3 link in title

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Watching you with massive, glassy eyes was a creature the likes of which you couldn’t even conjure up in your worst nightmares. Large and grotesque with sickly, gray skin, it stared you down as if you were its next meal. You felt an icy sensation shoot through your veins, completely frozen in place with shock. 

This was it, you thought, unable to tear your eyes away from the horrifying figure whose breath was slowly fogging up your passenger side window. I’m going to die here today, and I’ll be lucky if they find my body. Tears began to well up in your eyes, your breathing going shallow as you wondered if there was a way out of the situation. Maybe, if you started the car, you could drive away… 

You dropped your phone into your lap and reached for the ignition - the movement caught the monster’s eye and it bared its sharp, uneven teeth at you.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, f- 

Suddenly, the monster whipped its head around, looking back at something in the woods behind him. You waited with baited breath - until, with a final, curious glance at you, it ran towards the forest, disappearing between dense trees. There was a flash of something red at the tree line, but the rain was still too heavy to make out anything specific - and like hell you were going to stay around and wait for the creature to come back. You were not going to die out here.

Fumbling with the keys for a moment, you turned on the ignition, wasting no time in pressing the gas and barreling towards Jericho in the rain at a speed that would have your mother clutching at the grab handle above the door for dear life.

~~~

Pulling up to the Weathervane, you stuffed your phone into the pocket of your hoodie, pulled your keys from the ignition and dashed through the rain (which had now slowed to a light drizzle) and into the warm coffee shop - anything to get out of your car and be amongst people, anything to make sure you hadn’t gone insane.

You felt like an absolute mess - your heart was pounding, your stomach rolling with a wave of nausea so great you thought you might vomit on the floor of the cafe. Deciding to just buy a bottle of water, you slid into a booth by the window and pulled out your phone, opening Larissa’s contact. You ran a trembling hand through your hair, letting out a shaky breath - what would you tell Larissa? You wanted to talk to her - you had to - but you didn’t want her to worry too much, either - she had enough on her plate.

Someone passed by your table and you glanced up, immediately recognizing the young girl with the dark braids.

“He was attacked.”

“By…?”

“The bear that’s been all over the news.”

“He’s lucky to have gotten away then.”

You recalled the funny looks the teenagers had given each other in the car that night, the way Wednesday had glanced up at Xavier. You should’ve known it wasn’t a bear behind these attacks.

“Hey!”

Wednesday froze - even from behind, you could see her tense up as she realized you were speaking with her. She glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowing slightly as she took in your clearly rattled appearance. 

“You lied.”

She turned fully at that, cocking her head to the side. 

“That night. You lied. That wasn’t a fucking bear, was it?” You couldn’t even feel embarrassed at the way your voice rose in pitch as you spoke - you needed answers, and you were certain the girl could give them to you.

With a glance around the Weathervane, Wednesday slid into the booth across from you, slipping her backpack off her shoulders and digging around inside for a thick and very old looking book. She flipped through it, leaving it open to a certain page and sliding it across the table. Another wave of nausea hit you as you saw a sketch that looked exactly like the monster you’d seen. “T-that’s… I was driving here, I saw that… thing… what is that?”

“It’s called a hyde.” She pointed at the text on the page and you leaned in, reading about the creature that transforms as a result of its trauma, unlocked and then controlled by a master.

“Does Larissa know about this?”

“Principal Weems hasn’t told you?”

It was your turn to furrow your brow, a little pit burrowing its way into your stomach. “N-no?”

“Your girlfriend has been keeping secrets.”

“Wednesday, what do you mean by that?”

“Regrettably, it’s taken me weeks to find out what’s behind these attacks. Principal Weems has known this entire time and hasn’t done a thing. All she cares about is protecting Nevermore’s reputation, and her own. She’s been withholding information, she didn’t do a thing to protect Eugene, she covered up Rowan’s murder and lied to Sheriff Galpin about it.”

Your heart had begun to pound once again - certainly Larissa didn’t care more about reputation than about her students, that wasn’t her… Wednesday must have been mistaken. “Who’s Rowan? What happened?” you asked urgently.

“Rowan was attacked by the hyde. Principal Weems shapeshifted into him and pretended he was still alive, even though she knew full well what killed him. She has told you she’s a shapeshifter, hasn’t she?”

You were taken aback by Wednesday’s boldness, your throat going dry as you tried to speak. “Y-yeah… of course she has.”

Wednesday looked at you with a hint of doubt, before leaning across the table towards you and lowering her voice. “Well I haven’t been able to get through to her but maybe you can. Maybe she’ll listen to you. She can’t run away from this forever, we have to stop the hyde. Before it’s too late.”

At a loss for words, all you could do was nod as your mind raced. Wednesday shoved her book in her bag, sliding out of the booth and giving you one final glance before leaving the Weathervane. You looked down at your phone on the table, your own reflection peering back at you through the glass - it made you sick. 

-

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the… incidents that have occurred here in Jericho recently.”

“That bear that’s been mauling hikers?”

“Yes. That one. I wouldn’t want to put you in harm’s way by going out into Jericho’s woods at night.”

-

“It’s just a bear.”

-

“Please stay safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just be careful, alright?”

-

Your blood began to boil as you recalled all the times Larissa had lied to you, all the times she’d danced around the truth. Wednesday’s words had shaken you to your core - your mind swam with unanswered questions, and you knew you needed to talk to Larissa.

~~~

“Darling, I was wondering when you’d-”

Larissa’s words were cut off by the slamming of her office door behind you. Her brow furrowed as you stormed up to her desk and tossed your bag to the floor, a look of worry crossing her features.

“You’ve been lying to me.” You tried to keep the hurt out of your voice, but judging by the confusion in her gaze as she gently closed her laptop, you were unsuccessful.

“Not that I recall,” she said softly, her lips pulled down into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

The fact that Larissa was lying to you again made you nauseous, stoking your anger. Just over an hour ago you’d been certain you were about to become dinner for some monstrous creature, and now the one person you trusted above everyone else was lying to your face - and apparently not for the first time. “I’m talking about the hyde,” you said, gritting your teeth.

Larissa rolled her eyes, though you could see her shift subtly in her seat. “I take it you’ve run into Wednesday.”

“Yeah, Larissa, I ran into Wednesday. After running into that thing.”

Larissa’s face fell and she shot up from her desk, rounding it and coming to stand in front of you. She placed her hands on your shoulders, ducking her head to get you to look her in the eyes as a hint of panic rose in her voice. “What do you mean ‘running into’ it? What did you see? Are you alright?”

“I saw the hyde. With my own two eyes. So you can stop pretending that it’s just a bear.” You could feel the distant sting of tears at the backs of your eyes, though you were helpless to stop them. “That thing is a monster and you knew and you lied to me about it.”

“I was trying to protect you,” Larissa said with a measured voice, but you could see the fear in her eyes. She tried to cup your cheek but you took a step back, holding her gaze with indignance in your own as you scoffed at her words.

“You know, at least Wednesday had the decency to be honest with me. Wednesday told me you’ve known this whole time and haven’t done a thing.” 

You waited for Larissa to deny it, to try to defend herself - instead, she glared down at you, deep blue eyes turning glassy as her cheeks reddened.

“And what does Ms. Addams know of it?” she spat out, her lips curled in disgust.

“She knows that you covered up a murder.”

The shapeshifter’s nostrils flared as she took a step towards you. “I did what I had to do in order to protect my Nevermore family. I’m not doing nothing - I’m doing everything I can to keep my students out of harm’s way and to keep this school up and running. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop keeping secrets from me! I’m not a child you need to protect - I want you to trust me, Larissa!”

“I do trust you!” Larissa snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, turning to pace back and forth in front of her desk.

“No, you’re right, Larissa, I wouldn’t understand,” you spat out, a tear of frustration rolling down your cheek. “Because you won’t talk to me about it. You think you have to deal with everything on your own so instead of letting me in, you lie to me and keep secrets from me. Do you think I wouldn’t get it?”

Larissa spun around, her lip quivering as she stared down at you with a mixture of frustration and exasperation - something else was hidden there, too, though you couldn’t quite place it. “I don’t know!” Her voice was loud and harsh - she’d never raised her voice at you before, though considering how your own voice had been consistently rising in pitch throughout the argument you shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, you took a step back as the force behind her words shocked you.

“Well, have fun figuring it out then,” you replied hoarsely.

With that, you turned on your heel, missing the way that Larissa’s face fell as you stormed out of her office, slamming the door behind you and using your free hand to wipe the tears off of your cheeks.

x

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[reidingandwriting]

Lover (Steve Harrington’s Version)

Chapter Five: Lover

“I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want ‘em all”

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Fem!Reader, mentions of pregnancy, mild language

A/N: This is the end of the Steve series, but I will be working on an Eddie series soon! Trying to decide where I want to put him but I had the most fun writing this one so I hope y’all enjoyed <3

Previous chapter

“Settle down, settle down,” Steve scolded while laughing. You and Steve had hosted Christmas at your house, your shared house. Steve couldn’t believe it. The two of you had a house together. Granted, it was a rental but still. You had a home. One that he could host holidays at, one decorated with Christmas lights and a beautiful Christmas tree that had piles of presents underneath. A Christmas record played loudly throughout the house, the house bustling with conversation and laughter.

You were so excited to have hosted the group; hot chocolate had been made for the teens (spiked for the adults) and you and Steve had made Christmas cookies the night before. Well, you made them. Steve was allowed to decorate while you baked. Steve cooked dinner as you cleaned, and you were braiding Max’s hair, talking to Nancy and Robin, while Max talked to El and Erica. You were a little off the last few days, and you were insistent that everything was perfect.

Even now, you seemed to be worried about something from the way you gnawed at your bottom lip. You finished braiding Max’s hair with a smile and then declared it was time to pass out presents. The group decided to do a Secret Santa type of exchange and as you settled into your spot beside Steve, you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Dustin, why don’t you and Lucas pass out the presents?” Steve suggested and the boys got up, quickly passing out gifts.

“Who’s first?” Robin asked and you paused for a moment.

“Erica, why don’t you go first? Then you can pick who’s next.” You smiled at the youngest member of the group and Erica nodded as she opened her present. Erica had been gifted a Dungeons & Dragons book and new dice from Dustin. Will was given a similar gift from Mike, Max received new cassettes for her Walkman, Dustin received one of Eddie’s old jackets and guitar pick necklaces (and Steve definitely didn’t get a little pouty about it).

By the end of gift giving, you were tucked into the blanket given to you by El and you turned to look at Max. You nodded at her and Max got up, rushing to your room.

“Where is she going?” Steve asked and you turned to face him.

“I have one other gift for you. And a gift for all the girls and the guys.” Steve studied you, noticing how nervous you looked.

“You okay?” Steve mouthed and you nodded, gently taking his hand in your own. Max came back a minute later, giving one box to Eddie, one to Nancy, and one to Steve.

“Make sure everyone can see,” you said as everyone gathered together. “Go ahead.” Everyone opened their gifts, Steve opening his rather quickly and freezing when he pulled away the tissue paper.

“Dingus? You okay-“ Robin paused as Nancy gasped. In Steve’s box, was a positive pregnancy test and a soft yellow onesie with a sonogram in the middle of the box. In the boys’ box, a red, black, and gray tie dyed onesie with ‘Uncles favorite dungeon master’ on the front. In the girls’ box, a pink onesie with ‘I have the best aunts ever’ on the front.

Everyone looked at Steve, waiting to see his reaction with bated breath. You felt more and more anxious the longer Steve went without talking, until you saw the tear slide down his cheek.

“We’re having a baby?” Steve whispered and you nodded. A beat of silence passed before he hugged you tight, and the room erupted with cheers and congratulations. Your shirt grew wet with tears, and you combed through his hair. You smiled when Steve’s gaze met yours, and you felt relieved when Steve smiled back at you.

“Wait, how come Max got to know first?” Robin whined and everyone laughed as Max stuck her tongue out at Robin.

“We were shopping a few weeks ago when I started feeling sick and the dots connected from there. I took, like, three tests and they were all positive. I freaked out and she helped me out.” You were properly panicking in the bathroom the day you found out you were pregnant, and Max had calmed you down.

“Steve’s, like, disgustingly in love with you. And he’s already such a dad, he’ll be so happy when he finds out you’re starting your own family.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah, okay.”

“And you’re pretty good too. That baby would be lucky to have you as a mom,” Max’s gaze traveled to the floor and you smiled, hugging the teen close.

“And it’ll have the best aunts and uncles ever. Especially in my favorite teen,” you said and Max hugged you tighter.

“I think Harrington’s broken,” Eddie said and you turned to look at Steve, who admittedly did look like he was rebooting.

“Stevie,” you said and Steve’s eyes flickered up to meet yours. “Let’s go to the kitchen for a second.” You stood up and Steve followed. “Why don’t you pick out some movies?” You asked as you turned to the teens. “Get the living room nice and comfy for movie night? The extra blankets are in the hall closet.” Robin nodded, taking Nancy with her to gather supplies and you walked with Steve to the kitchen. “You’re kind of scaring me a little,” you said and Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m a little scared,” Steve admitted. “I mean, you know how our parents were. I’m terrified I’m going to mess up. I’m terrified I’m going to screw up this kid.”

“I am too,” you said. You brought your hand to Steve’s face, gently tilting his chin so he looked at you. “Max literally had to talk me down from a meltdown. She seems to have more faith in us than we do.” You chuckled as you moved forward, burying your face in Steve’s chest. Steve wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on top of your head.

“We’re going to be parents.”

“We’re going to be parents,” you echoed and looked up at Steve. His brown eyes were flooded with emotions, concern being one of them, but hope being another one. Love being the main one you saw and you leaned up. Soft lips met your own, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers brushing against soft locks of hair.

“We should probably go check on the rest of them, they’re being too calm.” Steve said as he broke the kiss and you sighed dramatically.

“One of the girls would’ve snitched by now,” you said and Steve huffed out a laugh as he followed you back to the living room.

-

Steve looked around the living room, now late in the night. The teens were all asleep by this point. Eddie sprawled out in a chair, Nancy and Robin on the loveseat. You were curled into Steve’s side as you sat on the couch. The overhead lights were off, the living room only lit by the Christmas tree lights and the glow of the television that was ignored as everyone talked.

“Do you know how far along you are?” Nancy asked and you nodded.

“Eight weeks. By August, we’ll have our little one,” you said. August, holy shit. “Do not expect my heavily pregnant ass anywhere outside once June hits. Will not be getting all hot and sweaty, thank you.”

“This is so exciting. Coming up with baby names, decorating the nursery,” Robin said.

“Have any mother’s intuition on what it is?” Eddie asked. You paused for a minute, thinking but shook your head. “What about you, Harrington? Any guesses?”

“I’m feeling girl,” Steve said and you hummed in response.

“Considering right now it’s the size of a raspberry, we have a while to figure out what it’ll be.” You teased. “Whatever the little nugget is, it’s the luckiest baby ever with so many aunts and uncles.”

“So many babysitters,” Steve said and you laughed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever even held a baby,” Eddie said and you found yourself giggling.

“Me either, honestly. I’ll be a pro in the teenage years though after dealing with these hellions so long.” Robin snorted and you looked around.

You had the happiest smile on your face and Steve felt lighter than he had in ages. All of his worries just, melted away as he watched you and his friends interact. He never imagined he would have a life like this. Surrounded by friends who loved him just as hard as he loved them. A family he had made of his own, and now you, giving him a new addition to the family. He never imagined he would get the chance to have the life he always dreamed of, and he was determined to never let it go.

-

It was early the next morning, you and Steve cooking breakfast while everyone else continued to sleep. A pot of coffee brewed and you knew it wouldn’t be long before the smell roused Robin.

“It’s so pretty in there with the lights up. Feels more homey. We should leave them up for a few more days.” You said and Steve wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. You fed him a piece of bacon, and Steve relished in the way your nose scrunched up when he kissed your cheek.

“It’s our house. We can do whatever we want. We make the rules,” Steve said and you smiled up at him. “Just got the table set up. Saved you a seat.”

“Next to Robin?” You teased, giggling when Steve pouted at you. You both looked over when you heard the sounds of shuffling, greeted by Robin’s half awake body taking a seat at the table. “Speak of the devil.” You and Steve swapped places, him finishing up breakfast and starting to plate everything while you made Robin a cup of coffee. You slid the mug over to her, Robin humming her thanks as she took a sip.

“Wanna wake the rest of the heathens up?” Steve asked as he started to carry plates to the table, and you nodded. You ruffled Robin’s hair as you walked past her.

“You two are so domestic, it’s disgusting.” Robin said and Steve shot her an unamused look.

“Remind me how you and Nancy were sleeping last night?” Steve smirked as Robin blushed, quieting when the others walked in.

Everyone situated themselves at the large dining table and the kitchen bar, tired ‘thanks’ being given to you and Steve. You settled into your spot beside Steve, Dustin sitting on Steve’s other side while Max sat on your other side. Dustin pouted from his spot and you looked over at the curly haired teen. “What’s up, Dustin?”

“Max said I could sit by you!” Dustin whined and Max laid her head on your shoulder, and you didn’t have to look at her to imagine the smug smile on her face.

“You should’ve known, dude,” Steve said and Dustin glared at him.

“Children, children, calm down.” You tried to hide the amusement in your voice but based on the shit eating grin Eddie gave you, it wasn’t working. “Remember how we’re going to watch fireworks for New Year’s? Dustin, you and Max can sit beside me during the fireworks. And I’ll pick you up first.”

“Deal.” Dustin said triumphantly before he started to make his plate.

“When did you become his favorite?” Steve pouted and you laughed, making your own plate. You and Steve definitely had an interesting friend group, but you wouldn’t trade your family for the world.

And one warm night in late July, your family had a new addition. A daughter by the name Amelia Maxine Harrington. And it would be your little secret that it was Steve’s idea to include Max’s name as a part of your daughter’s. You may not have had the most loving home growing up, but you swore to Amelia that she’d know nothing but love and care as long as you and Steve were around. And with the help of her several aunts and uncles, you knew she’d be okay.

[okimnerdy]

Trolls Headcannons

(BROZONE Edition)

[Hi yes. Welcome to another fixation.]

•The brothers got out of the troll tree BEFORE it got caged in by the Bergens. They only heard about the outer trolls being hunted, but never thought it would make it to the main settlement. All of them believed that Branch and Grandma were still alive.

•The brothers knew of other genres of music, even dabbling into a few of them. JD and Clay enjoyed techno and funk. Bruce enjoyed classical. Floyd enjoyed rock. No one really fancied country music.

John Dory

°JD felt like the group had to be perfect and loved due to their parents. Their parents (before they got "chosen" or before leaving after the last kid was born) had a wish-wash way of parenting, only giving positive attention when the boys did something of merit.

°JD acted more like a parent than a brother, assigning roles he felt fit his brothers in order to give them a better foothold in their life and career in the group. He blamed himself if they didn't seem to succeed.

° JD hasn't truly showered in like 10 years. Man is a "water's clean" kind of guy, and was promptly held down by his brothers for a cleaning. Rhonda helped by essentially being a pressure washer.

°JD found Rhonda as a baby pill bug and didn't expect her to get so big. He felt a little bad decorating her once she was big enough to house him, fearing that he was hurting her.

Bruce

°Bruce let go of his ripped image because of Brandi's cooking. This man fell in love with her food THEN her. He felt at ease with her, especially since she didn't know Brozone.

°Bruce grew his hair out for his little girl to play with since her brothers won't. He lets her put little braids and clips in from time to time, and he wears them proudly.

Clay

°Clay tried to go back for Branch during the escape, but got caught in a wave of escaping trolls. After seeing the collapsed tunnels, he believed that his family got out safely even though he never truly knew for nearly 20 years.

°Clay made it to other Troll settlements and became a CPA after leaving Brozone and before he attempted to go back.

°Clay bonded with Viva over the loss of family due to the split™. He would share all these stories about Branch and she would try to do the same for Poppy, even though she was barely a year old when they got separated.

°Clay's little admin hut actually is bigger on the inside. He dug out a little living space underneath to hold his bed, desk, and a small kitchenette. Its like his own little bunker.

Floyd

°Floyd did a self-discovery journey through the other genres. He hung around the rock and country trolls the longest due to them being more land-based tribes, even though country trolls don't particularly like visitors.

°Floyd made a name for himself in the indie scene, eventually making his way to Mount Rageous where he had a new contract in the works. He had hoped this small push would bring his family back.

°Floyd suffers from muscle spasms and PTSD after his time in the bottle. Branch was kind enough to help develop a wheelchair and other mobility aids for him to use in the jungle gym called Pop Village.

°Floyd experiences fatigue easier. One of the brothers is always ready to be a pillow or a helping hand when he needs to rest. Poppy goes to him when she wants to know what else the village can do for others like him.

Branch

°Branch's muted color is due to his many years in the gray. He still feels the effects of the fight™ and grandma's capture, and personally blames himself from time to time. He leans on Poppy and his brothers who assure him that things are okay. No one really knows if he'll fully get back to his bright blue.

°Branch kept an item from each brother, even if they don't know it. They're buried somewhere in storage. He only wears Floyd's vest cause he missed him the most and held no animosity to him.

°Branch knows exactly how to deal with his nephews and niece when their energy gets too high because of Poppy. Sometimes, he'll ask her to help since she already teaches the younger trolls in the village.

<<prev || next>>

[abeinginsand]

Fig and Scary hanging out (old crossover request from @cerealmonster15 and @apricior ) Summarized Image description in Alt and longer one below

[ID: Fig from Fantasy High and Scary from Dungeons and Daddies season two sitting and chatting during a foggy day in Elmville. They are sitting in a wooden site seeing area nears some tall trees tops. Fig has her arms crossed and legs crossed at her ankles. She has two pheonix feathers from Ayda in her long brown braided hair. Fig's bangs are dyed purple and her braid ends in a bright red and orange flame just like her demon tail. She has long light horns, a leather jacket with spiked cuffs, gray shirt with sunglasses wearing demon skull, biker gloves, a red plaid skirt, one fishnet on her leg, and combat boots with mismatched red and purple shoe laces. Scary has one leg folded to rest on her other leg and has one arm outstretched as she speaks. She wears a long dark jacket with tattered short sleeves and tattered ends reaching her ankles. Her top is a short sleeved fishnet cover over a dark tank top that says shit garden with a torn rose drawing on it, a choker, spiked wristband, and dark boots with a red band and tread. Her curly hair is dark brown with pink dyed ends and is in a high pony tail using a purple hair tie and a hair clip with a broken heart in the center of a white bone. Her jacket has a blade pin for herself and four circle pins representing her friends. On the other side she wears a trans pride pin. End ID.]