#Ink Black Cara

[kbeautynotes]

PERIPERA Ink Black Cara Review

Do you wear mascaras on a daily basis, or is it more of a special occasion thing for you? I always had issues with mascaras, so I mostly used only eyeshadow and eyeliner for eye makeup. But recently, I found this gem that has become a HG!

Read my full review here: PERIPERA Ink Black Cara Review

Have you tried this? What's your favorite mascara?

[jolieeason]

Feburary 2024 Wrap Up

Here is what I read, posted, won, received, and bought in February. As always, let me know if you have read any of these books and (if you did) what you thought of them. Books I Read: Books Reviewed: Of Hoaxes and Homicide by Anastasia Hastings—review here The Takeover by Cara Tanamachi—review here The House of Last Resort by Christopher Golden—review here The Ghost Orchid by Jonathan…

[trans-axolotl]

"Much ink has already been spilled on Harris’s prosecutorial background. What is significant about the topic of sex work is how recently the vice president–elect’s actions contradicted her alleged views. During her tenure as AG, she led a campaign to shut down Backpage, a classified advertising website frequently used by sex workers, calling it “the world’s top online brothel” in 2016 and claiming that the site made “millions of dollars from trafficking.” While Backpage did make millions off of sex work ads, its “adult services” listings offered a safer and more transparent platform for sex workers and their clients to conduct consensual transactions than had historically been available. Harris’s grandiose mischaracterization led to a Senate investigation, and the shuttering of the site by the FBI in 2018.

“Backpage being gone has devastated our community,” said Andrews. The platform allowed sex workers to work more safely: They were able to vet clients and promote their services online. “It’s very heartbreaking to see the fallout,” said dominatrix Yevgeniya Ivanyutenko. “A lot of people lost their ability to safely make a living. A lot of people were forced to go on the street or do other things that they wouldn’t have otherwise considered.” M.F. Akynos, the founder and executive director of the Black Sex Worker Collective, thinks Harris should “apologize to the community. She needs to admit that she really fucked up with Backpage, and really ruined a lot of people’s lives.”

After Harris became a senator, she cosponsored the now-infamous Stop Enabling Sex Traffickers Act (SESTA), which—along with the House’s Allow States and Victims to Fight Online Sex Trafficking Act (FOSTA)—was signed into law by President Trump in 2018. FOSTA-SESTA created a loophole in Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, the so-called “safe harbor” provision that allows websites to be free from liability for user-generated content (e.g., Amazon reviews, Craigslist ads). The Electronic Frontier Foundation argues that Section 230 is the backbone of the Internet, calling it “the most important law protecting internet free speech.” Now, website publishers are liable if third parties post sex-work ads on their platforms.

That spelled the end of any number of platforms—mostly famously Craigslist’s “personal encounters” section—that sex workers used to vet prospective clients, leaving an already vulnerable workforce even more exposed. (The Woodhull Freedom Foundation has filed a lawsuit challenging FOSTA on First Amendment grounds; in January 2020, it won an appeal in D.C.’s district court).

“I sent a bunch of stats [to Harris and Senator Diane Feinstein] about decriminalization and how much SESTA-FOSTA would hurt American sex workers and open them up to violence,” said Cara (a pseudonym), who was working as a sex worker in the San Francisco and a member of SWOP when the bill passed. Both senators ignored her.

The bill both demonstrably harmed sex workers and failed to drop sex trafficking. “Within one month of FOSTA’s enactment, 13 sex workers were reported missing, and two were dead from suicide,” wrote Lura Chamberlain in her Fordham Law Review article “FOSTA: A Hostile Law with a Human Cost.” “Sex workers operating independently faced a tremendous and immediate uptick in unwanted solicitation from individuals offering or demanding to traffic them. Numerous others were raped, assaulted, and rendered homeless or unable to feed their children.” A 2020 survey of the effects of FOSTA-SESTA found that “99% of online respondents reported that this law does not make them feel safer” and 80.61 percent “say they are now facing difficulties advertising their services.” "

-What Sex Workers Want Kamala Harris to Know by Hallie Liberman

[corynation]

Ink

theo nott x reader

tags : angst, sadness, i love him i promise

His owl to meet him at the astronomy tower wasn’t a worrying moment. His usual “amore mio dolce” greeting melting your heart instantly. Without any fail each time you saw it the same fuzzy feeling in your chest accompanied by the burning of your cheeks arose. His heart at the bottom of the letter sending flutters that coursed throughout your body, pure bliss consuming your brain, leading you to rush to get ready. Throwing on your favorite sweater of his and some leggings you headed out quick, not wanting to keep him waiting for long. Your body perfectly magnetic to him, aching to attach to him, tugging you further and further through the castle as fast as you could.

Theo stood against the railing, looking out amongst the lake. The moonlight casting down on him perfectly. Messy soft curls shining, skin glowing against his white button up. He turned around at the sound of your footsteps, his eyebrows knitting as if he wasn’t expecting company, demeanor instantly softening the moment he saw your smile.

“You sure don’t waste much time.” He grinned, walking towards you and grasping your waist.

“I missed you.” You whispered, arms wrapping around his neck. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I know,” He began, his voice softening in remorse. “I’m sorry cara, my father called me home.”

Your chest tightened. His father didn’t often call him home, and when he did, well it wasn’t for any reason out of love to say the least. A hand fell from his neck to his chest, gently rubbing comforting circles, instinctively knowing he needed it.

“Is everything okay?” Your question was softly asked, not knowing if this was territory that should be touched.

“Of course,” He smiled warmly as his hand caressed your cheek, trying to ease your concerns. But, as always, you saw past the smile, his eyes telling you everything you needed to know. They had been still and cold, sunken into his skin with a purple tinge, his eyelashes stuck together like they had recently been wet. “just some family business. Nothing to worry about.”

“Theo,” You began, trying to push him.

“Hey, don’t worry about it alright? Everything is okay.” He placed a gentle kiss to your lips, holding you so close to him like you were the only thing allowing him to live. Kissing you so deeply as if you were his air. It was intoxicating. Wiping your brain clear, your body becoming warm and tingly.

He pulled away from you slowly, resting his forehead on yours, breathing you in as much as he could. Perfume invading his senses driving him half insane. He held you as close as possible, needing this moment with you needing you.

“I missed you so much.” Theo sighed against your lips. His soul finally able to rest around you.

“I missed you too.” You smiled, grabbing his forearms to pull his hands away from your face.

The further you pushed his arms away the further his cuff fell loose, slowly snaking down his arm. A flash of black on his skin caught your eye, your eyebrows furrowing tightly. Theo hadn’t mentioned a new tattoo, but then again he had been with his father so it very well could’ve been anything other.

“Theo what is-“ A gasp fell from your lips, your grip on his arm collapsing as you got a better look at the mystery ink. Your chest tightened as your heart sped up, basically pounding out of your chest. His eyes met yours with nothing but fear, his body freezing in the moment. The both of you staring at each other like statues across the museum galley from one another, time standing still, the world becoming silent around you.

Theo tugged his shirt cuff down, his hand finding your shoulder with a tight grip. “Y/n its not what you think please.” He pleaded, his eyes beginning to swell.

“Thats a dark mark Theo.” As if it wasn’t obvious. But it was all you could say. Your brain only comprehending the fact of what it was, not what it meant. You couldn’t see past the object, past it being on his skin. Theo’s dark mark. Theo’s dark mark.

You’d never seen one in person before. Never even come near to someone who had been a part of that. Sure you’d come to terms with knowing you were soon to run into one, probably having to fight for yourself. But never in a million of those thoughts did you think the person who you saw the most would have one. The one person who despised the look of it the most.

The sting in your stomach wasn’t from the fact of, but for Theo. God knows how often he thought about the inevitable moment his father would force him to do it. How in the few moments of vulnerability he’d breakdown in your arms, worrying he’d turn out like one of them. That he’d be one of them.

It was one of his biggest fears. Oftenly keeping him up at night, instinctively making him claw at his own skin like a rabid animal. Feeling as if he didn’t belong in the flesh that oh so closely resembled those of who he feared the most. He never wanted to turn out like them. Like his family.

Like his dad.

“I had no choice. I had to do it.” He choked out, his voice thick. His gaze fell from yours. Cheeks scrunching and eyes narrowing in attempt to hold back tears.

“Oh Theo,” Your voice was barely a whisper as you threw yourself against his chest, holding his head down into your neck. His arms wrapped around you tightly, chest heaving sporadicly. You felt the tears fall onto your skin, his walls breaking down faster than he was prepared for.

But he wasn’t prepared for any of this.

“I had no choice, I’m so sorry.” He kept repeating through sobs, barely able to catch his own breath. His grip around you never wavering once. You held him close, rubbing his back gently and stroking his hair to try and stabilize him.

“I know love I know. I am so sorry they made you do that.” You whispered in his ear. Peppering kisses where you could without moving his face from your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be like them.” His voice is what broke you most. Never had you heard it so coarse, his throat raw from the choked sobs leaving him. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this.” He continued, his voice weaker. His voice was giving up. He was giving up.

You let the silence around you two swallow you. The words that should be said not coming to mind, hoping your touch was enough to replace them.

What does one even say in a moment like this?

Theo’s grasp on you loosened, his hands falling to your sides as he backed away from your embrace. Concern consuming you as you watched his face tighten, the facade of a cold and distant Theo appearing.

It felt like a dagger was stabbed in your stomach.

It all felt like a dagger to your stomach.

But this, this part of him returning after spending so long trying to break him free of it whilst around you. That is what brought you to your breaking point.

Anger and hatred coursed through your veins, your blood boiling at the mere thought of what you wanted to do to Theo’s dad.

“You need to leave me.” Theo’s voice was cold. Direct. His fingers digging into your skin, holding you so tight, not wanting to let you go despite his words.

He didn’t want any of this.

“No, don’t you say that.” The dagger was turning, your body screaming in pain.

“It’s better for you.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“You aren’t safe with me!” His voice raised, his anger about the whole situation finally coming out. His face softened as your body grew frigid, apologetic hands holding your face. “This, this changes everything. You know what they do, what they go through. I can’t put you in that danger.”

“You aren’t going through it alone Theo. I’ll be fine okay? I can hold for my own. We’re going to figure this all out together.” Your hands found their place above his, fingers interlocking.

“I won’t sacrifice your safety. I love you too much to let this affect you in any way.”

“And I love you too much to let you do this.” His eyes searched yours, trying to find something to tell of the future.

“Y/n please.”

“Theo! Listen to me! Im not giving up on us over this! Some part of us knew this would happen at some point. I understood it when I went all in. And Im all in! I’m with you in this! Let me be with you through this!”

“You’re going to end up hurt.” A stray tear fell down his cheek, eyes pleading to you.

“And I’m willing to take that risk. I’d crush my soul over and over again if it meant I’d get to have my happiest days with you. I will sacrifice my being for you to be the one I take my last breathe seeing.”

Theos eyes scanned your features, uncertainty washing over his face. He took a deep breath before pulling you close, lips smashing into yours. The kiss was hungry, passion filling you both whole. His touch burning into you, souls intertwining like the stars within a galaxy, dancing with each other under the moonlight. He pulled his lips away, just barely brushing over yours as he spoke.

“I’m so sorry ciccina.” And he was off. His gaze straight, never turning back to you as he walked into the tower, the door closing behind him with a loud bang.

You stood frozen, eyes blurring and legs weakening. Your mind completely blank of any thoughts just knowing you were hurt. So deeply indescribably hurt. A piece of your heart off and away without any hesitation.

Theodore Nott, the reason for your hearts beating, breaking it away from you, his grasp on it tight. That piece always belonging to him. Haunting him of the memory of you. His two demons interacting within the same night, both forever stuck with him until his last breath.

gonna be honest this once had a happy ending but then i got stuck and was like nah

ANYWAY FIRST HARRY POTTER FIC LETS GOOO

[eatommo]

Like Real People Do [d.d]

Summary: You and Mando have a history of broken hearts and are both looking for a place to land in the galaxy you live in, but you'll always have each other.

A/n: Not beta'd! mistakes are my own! and look a Hozier song to a Pedro fic what's new! I love this. I hope you do too! 6.2k

Cw: Canon typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, use of weapons, mutual pining, discussions of loss, discussions of war, brief mentions of grief, Reader is from Alderaan (trauma that comes from that), the reader has some of my tattoos because we love a self-insert, broken glass, pubic hair?, unprotected p in v, mentions of marking, hickeys, mentions of oral sex m/f receiving, fingering, the helmet stays on, breeding kink if you squint, as always touched starved Din, themes involving depression and loss, takes place post season 3 but has a flash back to season 1, I probably missed something but let me know!

It had been ages since you’d seen him. You’re not sure how many rotations, but not a day has passed that you didn’t think about him.  But there, just passing the entrance to the trading post, his shiny beskar helmet flashes over the crowd.  

You put your head down, looking at the spare parts you were hoping to auction off for some measly credits at a holiday festival for some caf and to help you hopefully buy some piece of junk craft to get you off this dusty and dry planet.  

Maybe you’ll be lucky and you can slink away, and evade an awkward reunion all altogether.  You found an outcropping and a small table covered in different smoked meats and small roasted animals.  

You try to sell the fact that you look busy while you think about the last time you spoke to him.  Your conversation about the rebel symbol marred into your skin with black ink, Cara had done it herself, and you’d helped her put the very same symbol on her cheek. The pain felt good, it mirrored the grief that felt immeasurable and it almost felt like a release of all of the terrible thoughts of your family’s final moments.  Had your family suffered? Did they even know what was coming for them?  

You were young and had just gotten off the planet in search of something greater, a higher purpose. Something to believe in, and the empire stole everything you’d ever known in one simple explosion. 

It had handed you a purpose, for a time. Working with the rebellion, standing with your Princess, and fighting and punishing the Empire for the loss of Alderaan.  Cara and you were hiding out on Sorgan after leaving your post as shock troopers. You were in the fresher when they started to tousle outside, you expected some gruff Klatoonian who she sharked in a bet, as it often was.  Instead, she lies on her belly, a blaster pointed at a chrome-covered Mandalorian, who is lying on his back with a weapon drawn.

The only thing that holds your attention is a little green baby holding a cup of soup, mirroring your amusement waddling up next to you.  

He coos, looking between you and his companion like he expects you to save him.  “Sorry bud, I’m with her.” 

An aggravated harsh pant cuts you off, “Stay away from him.” The blaster shifts to you, but you raise your hands and keep an even temper.  He looks between the two of you, who clearly have no intention or idea what he is in possession of, and offers to buy the two of your dinner.  

He didn’t speak much at first, but as you and Cara drank away a flagon of spotchka and you shared your interest in his ship, having to grow up around the rebel's fleet and wanting to see such an old military craft, he offered to show you.  

“It’s a short walk, the kid is falling asleep in your lap anyway.”  You look down at the little wrinkled green monster, blinking slowly with his massive eyes as you stroke his ears, you can’t help but fawn over him.  

“I can’t believe they’re hunting a baby.”  Whispering, as you feel the warmth of his tiny body, heartbroken at the idea of an imperial remnant looking for children.  

“He is older than I am.” His surprisingly playful voice almost startled you, he’d been quietly walking by your side as you carried the little guy nestled into your chest.

“He’s” you struggle to find words, but you can feel an energy emanating from the little creature in your arms “magnificent.” 

The Mandalorian hums lowly, agreeing with you.   There’s a pause for a few moments while you look over at him, “Did you find a lot of purpose? With the rebellion?” 

It's your turn to be broody, “For a time.” Suddenly feeling subconscious you speak a little bit more quietly, “Just waiting for the next thing to believe in I guess.” You sigh, gazing down into the dark black ink just above your rebel stripes, “It feels like I could keep fighting forever, but hearing all this, seeing such a small child threatened by the same evil as I was, it feels like I already have.” You’re not sure if he understands you,  or even what side of the war he stood on.  

“You feel like there’s reasons to fight.” He looks down into the baby drifting to sleep in your clutches.  “But afraid that you have no fight left.”  You half expect him to be criticizing you.  Mandalorians have lost almost as much as you have, but are warriors by nature and have fought and continue to be feared across the galaxy as mercenaries and bounty hunters.  His voice is soft, and understanding, as if processing his words himself. 

 You spot the ship ahead, falling silent in your admiration you trudge through the leaves and sticks that have fallen from the ship clearing its landing.  The ramp hisses as it falls open to welcome its pilot, but you stop outside to admire the twin engines and their decades-long wear and tear.  

Walking around the ship to admire her heavy laser cannons and her yellow markings.  He watches you with a quiet but proud silence, as you eventually shuffle up the ramp to set the little one into a floating pram.  Your eye catches a glimpse of a carbonite freezing chamber, and a little anxious butterfly seems to stir in your belly, how much do you trust him?  

“I always thought I’d die looking for a bounty when I got too old, too slow, or just in plain luck.”  You turn heel to face him, heartbeat clipping unsteadily in your chest, but you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.  He hesitates and sets himself on top of one of the shipping containers. “But protecting this child has made me dream of a life I never thought I could fight for.” 

You can feel your body soften at his confession, cursing yourself for thinking lowly of a man whose been nothing but kind and trusting of you.  “I’m sure it's lonely.” You take a small but calculated breath, “He is lucky to have you.” The smile is soft, and you try to reassure him despite yourself. 

He looks at you standing but a few steps away from him, and nods, “I’m just as lucky.” 

The bustle of the holiday market slows to accommodate him, traversing through the stalls as all shapes and sizes scurry out of his way.  You swear to yourself, turning away and buying some meat you can’t afford.  When you hear your modulated name fall out of his mouth like a prayer, soft and delicate.  He steers around the crowd, veering right into your path as a child walks in front of you blowing bubbles from the straw of a festive drink.  

The Mandalorian approaches you with purpose, his walk deliberate and commanding as if everyone in the vicinity answers to him.  “Mando.” you smile briefly, warmth heating your cheeks, and the never-fading crush you have on this man skipping around your belly.  “Hi.” 

His gaze stays fixed as he reaches for your arm, touching a patch of ink that not only is new to him but you completely forgot about.  His glove runs over it and when it doesn’t smear it might’ve made his knees buckle. “The Crest.” 

You peer into the helmet, glad to have him near you again, and realizing how much you missed hearing his voice, a rush of blood washes over your cheeks again.  “Yeah,” you fumble around doubting your reasons for getting that tattoo in the first place, “I’ve been adding a couple of ships that are important to me.” 

You hear a small noise but are unable to determine the emotion behind it, “I was hoping to see you on Nevarro,”  your heart rate picks up in your chest, and of course, his helmet picks it up, “the last few times.” 

“I’ve been moving around, looking for something new.” There’s a sleepy squeal coming from his satchel, “is that?” He swings it around to the front and opens the top of the bag to reveal your favorite green forehead. “Handsome man! I’ve missed you little mudscuffer.” 

Mando chuckles under his breath as you pull the baby from his confines and offer him a piece of the meat you just bought. He swallows it down greedily.  “I swear he eats. He just woke up.” 

You smile and give him a playful look, “Is daddy feeding you enough munchkin?” You hand the baby another strip, Mando is glad you don’t see him adjusting his pants as the word daddy slips between your lips innocently, “Don't worry I’ll get you something sweet too.” 

Mando rests his hands on his hips, and shakes his head in mock defeat, “He’s not gonna want to leave.” He follows at your back as you carry the child through the marketplace, sometimes letting his palm rest on your back to keep close to you.  

He would not be one to admit but seeing you carry the child around reminds him of the times on Sorgan, of the weeks you spent together and his floundering inability to court you.  Even now the way you look at him has him hiding behind his beskar helm like a foolish schoolgirl.  

“He doesn’t have to, are you here for business?” You cast a look over your shoulder, “He can stay with me while you take care of whatever you need.” You find a stall selling some fruity overpriced drink for the planetary holiday. 

You look into your bag, coming up just a few credits short, and cursing at yourself.  Starting to walk away, “I’ve got it.” He cuts in front of you while gripping your shoulder and standing over the top of you, handing more than enough credits to the man in exchange for two drinks.  

Yet another blush creeps into your cheeks, “No need to spoil me.”  You offer the child his drink and he snatches it away from you eagerly with a screech.

“I want to.” That causes your brows to knit together and a deep ache below your belt to settle and warm. 

You sip away at the luxuriously sweet drink, wishing you could at least share it with him. “I have a room at an inn,” you offer, “or we could go back to the Crest, and catch up.” 

You lean against one of the walls so that you don’t accidentally traverse even further from his bounty.  “I don’t have the crest.” 

Your drink turns to ash in your mouth, “What? Is she in disrepair? I’m sure Karga-“ 

“It’s rubble on the planet Tython.” He’s sad, of course he is, but his hand finds the mark on your skin again, and you can’t help but mull over the memories, the connection you shared on that ship eviscerated. 

“I’m so sorry.” You let your head hang low, remembering how many conversations you shared hoping he’d invite you aboard as crew.  “I loved that ship. I mean not as much as you I’m sure.” 

He chuckles, thumb brushing over the silhouette as he speaks, “You don’t happen to know how to rewire an N-1 starfighter engine?”  

“I’m sure I could look at it, but I don’t think I’d be much help. Where the hell did you find one?” You’re a bumbling mess, wanting so eagerly for him to scoop you off this planet like he had before, but also knowing your heart couldn’t bear to watch him leave a third time.  

“I didn’t think so but I have no idea what you’ve been up to and-“ he pauses, stopping himself to watch you take a sip of the drink after licking some whipped cream off of the straw.  

“And?” You prompt him to continue, but he stares between you and the child who have matching bright red tongues and are both sporting some whipped cream out of the corners of your mouths.  

You catch a hint of strain in his voice, “We can rest at your place for a while. He’s due for a nap.” You squint at him a little, easily reading his stiff body language and the change of subject.  

At the word nap, the baby babbles away while chewing on the straw of his drink, “There’s a lot of sugar in this, so we might have to wait it out.”  

Mando lets out an exasperated sigh, “What have you gotten us into.” You’re both sitting on the floor of a modest single room with the little one taking turns climbing up and over the two of you.  

“You bought it,” raising your hands in defense, smile splitting ear to ear,  “I was going to split one with him.”  You reach out to try to grab his surprisingly quick body but he darts away with a giggle.  

“He’ll crash, eventually.” You could hear him talk about the baby for hours,  to sit with him and watch the two of them play together always felt like a treat on its own. “Get down from there.” 

“He’s fine, this place is a dump anyway.” You smirk over your shoulder as he climbs up onto your bed, rolling around and giggling half to himself while chewing on the mythosaur skull pendant around his neck. 

“How did you end up here?” Your face falls a little, but he’s kind, and soft, and you can tell he doesn’t want to pry but his curiosity is getting the best of him.  

“I was tracking a bunch of smugglers, the republic got word that they were hauling children to Canto Bight, and exporting them maker knows where.” You continue, trying to keep your breath even, “Cara had asked me as a favor, but I had a run-in with a group of pirates who saw my stripes and stole my ship.” 

“Does she know?” He shuffles closer to you, folding his knees in so that he can run a hand soothingly across the skin of your leg.  

“I don’t know,” You clear the tightness in your throat, “At least I don’t think so.” You find the words pouring out of you as if he is comforting you into realizing something you’ve been fighting for a long time.  “I don’t think I can fight like this anymore, and I don’t know how to tell her that.” 

He is quiet, giving a simple solemn nod, before pulling the rising phoenix from his back, and laying it on the floor.  He scoots closer to you, settling next to you as you both lean against the foot of your bed.  His beskar shoulder plate is cold on your cheek, as you lean against him, seeking reassurance you haven’t felt in so long.  

Silently a tear falls down your face, and as if prompted by his little superpowers the baby, climbs into your lap nuzzling your cheek and touching your face gently with a warm hand.  There are a lot of things this child is capable of, things you can’t begin to understand, over a lifetime that is marred with more violence and confusion than you will likely ever know existed. When he touches you, you can feel his pain and loss, but he also shares with you a joy and unfathomable curiosity over the smallest things he remembers.  

“I can’t take you on the N-1,” his voice startles you out of your stupor with the baby, “but if you’ll give me a few days, I’ll be back to pick you up, and you can stay with us on Nevarro until you find somewhere else, something else to do.” 

Your breath is shaking, and you’re not even sure the last time you felt safe enough to cry.  A small piece of you wants to run because that's what you've been doing for these last 10 or so years of your life.  Running from the Empire, running after them, and then running from yourself.  “I don’t think I could.” 

“Why not?” he reaches for your shaking hand, setting his gloved hand on top of yours, driving the energy in the room with the ease of piloting a speeder bike.  

“You’re a family, he has a routine, you’ve settled into this beautiful life that you’ve worked tirelessly for.  I couldn’t impose.” You try your best to sound strong like you’ve got a plan ahead of you, and the idea of not being around the two of them doesn't make your heart ache. 

He hums, and for a moment your cry is less of confusion and more out of pain.  His hand is gone from yours, and the lack of his warmth feels like a slap into reality, as you pinch your eyes shut to stop yourself from being embarrassed even further. 

You jump.  There's a much larger warm hand caressing your cheek, and turning your head into the dark stare of his visor.  You can see the tanned skin of his wrist as he turns your face slightly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “It is the greatest mistake of my life leaving you on Sorgan.” 

You sniffle, the words sorting through the emotional fog of your brain, searching the blank emotionless canvas of metal for a hint of human connection, a flutter of an eyelash, anything.  You can’t find anything, until you hear the faint sound of his breath from beneath his mask, stuttering and insecure, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a battle with his own emotions.  

You feel it again, a swell in your chest of love and admiration and then you feel the tiny claws digging into the skin of your bicep. You look down at the tiny man as he steps between where your chests are separated by mere inches, “Could I have her come and get us?” You’re quiet as a loth cat, voice heady and rough. “I don’t think I could watch you go.” 

He lets the little one settle into his lap after a moment, this time you can hear relief and a half-broken smile in his tone, “Let’s just wait until he falls asleep, I’ll go to the ship and send a transmission.  I’ll come back with his pram, and then where we go. You go.” 

You clear your throat again, wanting so desperately for this to be real and aching to touch him.  “Okay.” your voice barely makes a squeak, he pressed the cold beskar helm to your temple.  

Wondering if he feels as raw as you, you place your hand on top of his suppressing the need to comment on how large it is, and tangle your fingers with his.  You stare at his hand, tanned and massive and warm. Human. You fold your legs in on themselves and shift your body so that you may properly look at him. 

The glove sits in his lap, and he looks so imposing in this tiny half-furnished room, polished and chrome in the dingy and ill-lit space you've called ‘home’ for these last few cycles.  You take his other hand, and look up to see if he’s going to stop you, but he is still and silent, so you slip the glove off his hand.  You trace from the tip of his middle finger, down his palm and up towards the pulse point of his wrist. 

He shudders beneath your touch, thankful for the mask to hide the crimson flush of his cheeks. He’s never had the opportunity to enjoy a tenderness like this, to feel his pulse quicken and the nervous butterflies he’s heard described during love stories on a holodrama.  It’s terrifying, he feels like he could vomit, but the way your delicate fingers trace circles over the palm of his hand makes him want to run his hands over every last inch of your body until he knows it inside and out like his blaster. 

The child settles into his lap, leaning his head against your arm as his head and eyes grow heavier with sleep.  “Why don’t we walk to your ship together?”  

Your eyes are bright, and he can tell by your posture that you feel better, but he can’t stop the audible grumble, not ready to let you or even your hand slip from his.  He nods and swallows harshly to clear his throat, “Alright.”

You walk across the market again, and the crowd parts before the two of you except this time you are holding onto his hand, and rather than trying to avoid his gaze like every other soul walking the market, you cling to his him trying to suppress the smirk curling the corners of your mouth.  

Nevarro has changed so much, you spend the first few days just getting accustomed to the new layout of the town.  Dropping the child, ‘Grogu’ (it took a while but it grew on you) at school, and then going to spend time in the market picking up some rations and some of the seasonal veg you’ve been coaxing into the little one’s belly.  

The domestic bliss that comes with living with Mando is both welcome and intoxicating.  You’re awake at odd hours of the night, talking and sharing stories about Jawas and your run-ins with Ewoks,  and sharing your dreams and hopes for the galaxy.  

He shares stories about Mandalore, about visiting there for the first time and bathing in the healing waters, about Bo Katan seeing a Mythasaur alive. All things you heard about as a young child, and symbols that brought hope and purpose to the entire creed were real and were aiding to heal the planet and its inhabitants. 

Then there were times when you both laid on the floor, watching the little one interact with a metal sphere, using his magic to hover it just out of your grasp and giggling himself to a peaceful sleep.  You’d lay together, wrapped in the comfort and protection of his house, and stare at the little man as he sleeps occasionally peaking into the reflection of yourself in his helmet, and blushing when you catch your own heart racing.

You want to tell him how you crave to be with him, how addicting his presence and his mind are to you, but you’re afraid.  Afraid to move too fast, to step over his barriers, but also knowing that each second without knowing the softness of his mouth is torture. 

The first time you see him in his sleep clothes, a plain dark green shirt with three buttons on the top and loose-fitting black canvas pants, no metal aside from his helmet, you choke on your cup of Jawa juice.   He’s large even without the metal beefing up his silhouette, his back broad and the fabric thin enough for you to see his muscles move as he opens a drawer for silverware. Even treating yourself to a glimpse of his waist and the way it tapers to his ass and hips.  

It’s become more common, in fact when he gets home, he almost immediately strips out of the armor in favor of something more casual and comfortable.  

Tonight the energy is different. The kid passes out early and you’re soaking a pot you used for dinner in the sink when he emerges out of his room.  You hear his footsteps, but they’re muted and soft, he’s barefoot. As you glance over your shoulder as he offers you a glass from his bedroom you see he’s in briefs, (the house is admittedly warmer as the seasons change) but the shock is plain as day as you turn so quickly away the glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor. But the image of his chest spattered with hair that trailed down his soft belly and into the top of his black undergarments. 

You both are silent for  a moment, hoping the noise isn’t loud enough to wake the baby, in his silence you swear, “Kriff, don’t move I’ll get a broom.” You shy away, looking to the ground for a safe path.  

He cuts you off arm darting in front of you to halt your movement,  “I’ll get it.” His hand comes to rest on your hip stalling your movements with his warm palm. 

His other hand reaches out and before you can grumble in discontent he's lifting you onto the counter. You sit there, flustered with your hands tucked between your thighs as he fiddles with the control of his helmet flicking through to see which would help him find the scattered pieces of glass the best.  

It's moments, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for a broom, sweeping the glass into a neat pile before discarding it into the bin silently.  He settles between your legs, silent as a mouse.  

“I'm sorry.” You smile sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact as he hovers in front of you, inches separating your face, and if it were any cooler you would’ve fogged the front of his mask with your breath. 

He chuckles dryly, “Don’t be, I’ll take it as a compliment.”  His posture is full of confidence, but also comfortable and relaxed.  You long to touch him, to run your hand over his chest and abdomen, to feel the muscles shift in his back as he- “Mesh’la?” 

You blink yourself out of a daze, “You should, you’re so handsome.”  He braces his hands on the counter next to your hips and leans ever closer.

“Yeah?” His voice is hot like a pant, stroking a fire in the room that neither of you are able to ignore any longer. 

“Yeah.” You smirk at him, emboldened and smoothing your hands up the strong plains of his arms, squeezing lightly around the muscles of his biceps.  You let your foot run across his calf, urging him closer to your body, his hands find your waist, firm but careful as his thumbs stroke the skin just below your breasts.  You curse yourself for even bothering with a bra band.  

“I like having you here.” His head tilts, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he continues, “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He uses his strength to pull you a little closer to him, so with each breath your chests touch and your core is flush to his abdomen.  “Having you in my kitchen, sitting on my counter looking so pretty, so-” He swipes the hair off your shoulder exposing your neck and throat, “edible.” 

Any chance you had of playing it cool is gone, you want nothing more than to bend to his will.  His hand disappears from your side, and he tangles it in your hair, using it to fix your eyes to his through the helm, as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.  You feel completely safe, but there’s something about him thats dangerous, hungry even, and it makes your skin damp with sweat.

He sounds like he’s in agony, like each passing moment without consuming you is torture, and you ache for him in a way that astonishes you, embarrasses you, not even sure that you could stand on your own two feet.  

“I need you.” He whispers, breath uneven almost a growl, “Tonight. Now.” He reaches between your legs, letting his fingers ghost over you ever so gently, as if asking, no begging, for permission.

You swallow hard, his helmet tilts, admiring you, and you hardly manage to stutter a yes.  Part of you expects him to be quick, tearing at your clothes and taking you right here in the kitchen. 

 He doesn’t.

 He goes slow, letting the crest of his helmet fall to rest on your forehead, taking his time to caress your hips, tracing up your sides and taking your shirt with it.  His hands are warm, but bring goosebumps to your skin as he touches you, hands squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipple.  You keen, pressing desperately against his hands.  You lean in, placing a kiss to his collarbone, gentle and moving slow so he may stop you if he wants, but he drops his shoulder and tilts his head to expose his neck.  

You kiss his collarbone again, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin, he’s vibrating beneath you. Trembling as you kiss the hollow of his throat and nibble at the skin of his neck.  You run your hands down his chest, basking in the intimacy and living for the scent of his skin.

He lifts you in a fluid motion, whisking you out of the kitchen and into his modest bedroom.  Laying you on the bed, he runs his hands down your legs and removes your pants.  You blush, unable to hide your arousal but noticing the prominent tent in his briefs, your mouth waters and you get to consider getting on your knees for him briefly.  

He’s faster than you, and not thinking about himself.  Ripping your underwear from your body and running the tip of his index fingers through your folds. “All this for me?” He circles your entrance, gathering your slick before brushing across your clit with leg-shaking precision.  

You chase his touch, the pleasure coating your tongue and fogging your brain even more than you can put into words. You beg for him to get closer, to press your bodies together until you weren't sure you'd ever part.

You're expecting to feel shorted by the absence of his mouth on yours.  No taste of him, and not getting to hear his words directly from his mouth, but his touch is consuming.  Like he's worshiping and waking each cell with caresses and adoration that's as palpable in the air as his sheets were soft on your back.  

There are noises, words you think, that he is muttering between each supple squeeze and tease, words you've heard him say before but their meaning is only now defined by his actions.  

Love.  He loves you.  You can feel it in the heat of his hands as he spreads your legs apart and admires the way you part for him, and he sinks two fingers into your fluttering pussy, pushing up and stroking something dangerous. 

His erection is nestled against your leg, and he shifts his hips with every twist of his fingers for a few moments, pressed between your bodies he feels a glimmer of relief with a groan, as much as he wants to bathe you in attention, he thinks that if he waits any longer his heart might give out before the best part.  “Mesh’la,” he twists his fingers as if to be sure you're listening, “Please.” 

“Yes,” you nod, swallowing harshly as he slips free of his underwear, cock springing free of its confines.  You gawk, unabashedly, as he did to you just moments ago. He's large, intact, leaning slightly to his left, and the skin is tanned brown, slightly darker than the rest of his body, thick and weeping out of the brilliantly flushed pink tip, the base adorned with sparse but dark hair that trails up to his navel deliciously.   When he steps between your legs and lets it rest on your abdomen to press your forehead together again, you feel its heady weight against you and stoop so low as to beg, “Please.”

You're echoing each other's moans as he grinds against your folds, coating himself in your slick before sinking into you in a single brutally slow thrust. When he bottoms out, you do your best not to squeak as the girth of his member breaks you open, it doesn't hurt, rather it feels like you've both waited an eternity to come to this very moment, euphoric and fulfilling the needs of your body and soul.  

He grinds his pelvis against yours letting his hand shift to cup your cheek, staring at you, he hopes somehow you can sense it. How he is barely able to stop passing between the pout of your lips and the deep pleading look in your eyes, begging him for the same thing his heart is calling for.   He could weep, having finally shorn the armor to dedicate himself to you, because the truth is, all you needed was to ask. He would've dropped his creed, everything he had achieved, and the meek life he'd planned for himself to grovel at your feet for the rest of his human life.  

Devotion, that's what it was called.  He had felt at many moments of his life that he was in the right place, blessing along his journeys that started out as miracles, friends, familial bonds he didn't think he deserved.  It felt misplaced, the little blessings that had entered his life so quickly that he swore they had to have been accidents. It had taken losing the child and abandoning you on that god-forsaken planet, for him to reflect, and to realize that the life he deserved was not determined by some blasters and an army, nor his home planet.  He had the life he wanted in his palms once, and watched it slip through his fingers with the charred remains of his ship.  His grip tightened instinctively, twisting the sheet in his fist. 

It was you.  You were the representation of all of the things he wanted but never thought he deserved.  A family, a place to call home, and you even had committed something as passing as his ship to your skin with a permanence that scared him.  

Here your skin was warm, surrounding him, nurturing him, squeezing him, and his mind was trying so hard to be a person, not a machine, loving someone else for the first time.  

He found the words, he said it to you, over and over with his pelvis angled just right as he ground his hips into you.

He was throbbing inside of you, you could feel the slick slide and pulse of him with each thrust. The pleasure was so intense you were whimpering and mewling beneath him, wetness smearing onto your thighs and running on the sheets below.

You've had sex before of course, and now you seriously doubt you've been doing it right. You kiss at the hollow of his throat, and in response he hunches over you, arms on either side of your head, animalistic yet praising affirmations go straight to the building heat in your core.  

You let your hands, come up to his back digging your nails into his skin.  He moans in shock as his thrusts grow more frenzied, spurred on by the bite of pain at his back.  He reaches between you and circles your clit with his thumb, pulling you headfirst into your orgasm.  You're body goes taught and relaxes all at once, the pleasure blinding you as your vision goes white and each tilt of his hips makes you stutter out an overstimulated moan. 

The fluttering of your sex around him would be enough to send over the edge but as you catch your breath you begin to beg for him to finish inside you.  He does, still feeling you shivering through the after waves of your own, as he groans and revels through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, complete with curled toes and a knuckle-popping grip on the sheets.  He’s still looking at you, the rise of fall of your chests bumping into each other and your breath fogging the front of his helmet so much that when you kissed right over his eye, he could see the imprint of your lips for just a passing moment. 

“I can’t believe we waited so long.”  You chuckle, all smiles but looking as dazed and spent as he felt. A shiver coming over him as the small sounds cause you to tighten slightly around him as he softens, his body incredible sensitive. 

“I’ll spend the rest of our life making up for it.”  You note the sound of him speaking through the grit of his teeth, and do your best to lie still, not wishing to be parted just yet.

Months later, you’re married in a private ceremony in front of friends and his brothers and sisters of the clan.  It's quick, and everything you had expected of a warrior’s wedding.  You get the mudhorn symbol tattooed into the skin nestled behind your ear, wearing it proudly and with your vows you are made a family, a clan of three in front of all the important people you care about. 

You’d be remiss if what had you most excited isn’t the filthy promises he’s made to you about that night, taking his helmet off and kissing you everywhere he can for as long as he wishes.  Promising to leave a mark over your new clan sigil as he marks the rest of your body for him, as you’ve done to him many times over. You get to admire his face and the most handsome man in the galaxy who kneels before you with reverence and vows to take care of you with more than just his words. 

[kindnessisweakness2]

7

"You look fucking sexy!" Cara whistled as Emily emerged from her bedroom in a pair of tight black leather look trousers and a gold halter neck top. It left her back bare apart from one band that stretched across the width of her back keeping the cowl neck at the front flying away and exposing her boobs. Her tattoo on full display. Paired with black chunky heels and dangly gold earrings, her long black & purple hair was pulled up into a curly/messy up do. "I don't know Car, I feel like it's too much." Cara shook her head, her own ear rings shaking. "No! You look amazing." Emily looked at Cara's outfit. Tight black jeans, a red lacy body con that made her boobs look incredible and red heeled boots. Paired with a black leather jacket, red earings and her hair curled she was ready to go. The sound of a car horn made Cara grin. "That's our cab! No time to change now come on you beautiful bitch. Get out!" Emily groaned loudly as Cara pulled her along, barley having time to lock her front door.

Not even 15 minutes later and they were walking through the gates of Teller Morrow. Jax was right about there being a party. People filled the parking lot, loud thumping of music could be heard even from outside as girls danced around any man with a reaper patch. "Damn these boys know how to throw a party!" Cara whistled as the man that Emily knew as Juice walked past. "And blonde Adonis did not disappoint, that boy is fine with a capital F!" Cara's eyes did not leave Juice as he sat down next to Opie on the far tables by the boxing ring. " Your a horny bitch y'know that?" Emily giggled at her friend. Cara rolled her eyes turning to fully face an amused Emily. "Oh come on! Not like you don't think the exact same about Blondie! I know you Em! I bet your dirty little mind has already fucked that man 6 ways to Sunday!" The Shock on her face was clear as Emily adamantly denied it. "I have not imagined doing dirty things to Jaxon Teller, you bitch!" Emily playfully shoved Cara! "Oh well that disappoints me darlin" a gasp fell from her lips as she turned to face the one and only Prince. Cara giggling like a school girl beside her. Emily felt like the wind was knocked out of her. There he was in his baggy jeans, a grey checkered shirt and that fucking leather kutte she wished she could pull him around by. She would never admit it but fuck the things she wanted to do to him. "Your back tattoo is awesome." He smiled as he admired her back. The full dark image of the grim reaper etched into her back was her most loved tattoo to date. "Thanks! I got it when I was 19 back in England. It's my favourite of all I have." Jax smiled as he watched her light up, tattoos clearly were a passion of hers. "What's the quote say?" Jax leaned closer, his breath fanning across her neck making her shiver and her own breath catch in her throat. "You can be a king or a street sweeper, everyone dances with the Grim Reaper.' Emily recited the cursive words that were inked across her shoulders. "A reminder, both the lowest of the low and the highest will have to face the reaper one day. Regardless of anything, you never out run the reaper. It'll always catch up." Jax smiled wide at her. "Sorry I'm abit morbid. Death, superstition, fate all of it excites me." Emily looked down and picked at the nail polish on her fingers. Noah would constantly tell her to shut up about all that stuff. Hated her ink, regardless of it's meaning to her. Tattoos to him were a turn off. Cara watched it. The moment Emily got excited finally letting a piece of her wall slip away. She also noticed how quick she retreated into herself. Shut herself up without having to be told. Quickly thinking on her feet, knowing she needed to change the subject, Cara stepped forward."Can you introduce me to your friend? He's fit as fuck and like I said earlier we need sexy men!" Laughing at Jax's expression, Cara noticed Emily smile again. "Juice. She likes Juice." Jax nodded throwing his arm around Emily he lead them both towards the table where his brothers sat. "Yo Juice! This is Cara, shes a friend of Em's." Juice smiled at Cara as she went to sit next to him. And that was the moment Emily knew she lost her friend for the rest of the night.

"How are you Em?" Opie asked as everyone around the table smiled at her. Juice and Cara in their own little world, but Happy, Opie, Chibs and Halfsack all watched her with smiles. Shock and confusion must of been clear to see on her face because Chibs spoke up. "Don't worry darlin' we don't bite! Jackie boy here don't shut the hell up about ya. Oh and that lasagne you made...perfection!" He smiled as Jax went red. Emily couldn't help but smile back. He was comforting, had the whole daddy vibe going on. Before she could say anything back to Chibs, she jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing down her back. Turning quickly she locked eyes with Noah. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" She snapped. Noah flashed her a smile that months ago would've easy made her melt and give in. But now? Now it made her angry. "You Not gave in yet? Thought you would've calmed down by now." Jax tensed beside her. "Thought I told you to stay away prospect?" Noah bristled at the way he spat out the word prospect, like it was an insult. "When are you gonna accept the fact I'm done with you?" Noah's face scrunched in anger at her words."You being done have anything to do with the fact HIS bike was parked outside our house 3 nights ago?" He spoke through gritted teeth. Jax went to step forward but Emily's hand on his chest. This was her fight. "MY House. MY bed. MY Choice." Noah's hands shook With temper. "Oh so your not denying it? You had him in MY BED?" Emily felt the redness creeping up her neck spreading like fire. It wasn't embarrassment though, it was pure rage. "Oh you mean the bed you had that WHORE in? No not that I got rid of it. Just like I got rid of you you little weasel." The laughter from Jax tipped Noah over the edge. "I told you to stay away!" Out of nowhere, Noah was knocked to the floor by a feisty brunette. Cara standing over him high heeled boot hovering at his groin. "I dare you to move you little wanker." Noah looked up at her clearly pissed off. "fuck sake when did you get here?" Hands on her hips, Cara blew a fallen strand of hair from her face. "Not soon enough, clearly. Now listen to me..." Cara pushed her stiletto heel hard enough into his groin to make him groan but not near enough as hard as she wanted to. "This is your last warning to back off. I swear little boy, I'll stomp on them till their mush." When Noah didn't respond she pressed down slightly harder, making him groan in pain again. "Fine." He spat. When Cara didn't move her foot, Noah looked at her questioningly. "I think your missing something?" Noah grinded his teeth in anger. Looking at Emily who stood silently next to a grinning Jax, Noah mumbled a pathetic "I'm sorry." Cara sighed in fake disappointment. "I think you can do better than that." Noah muttered something about her being a crazy bitch. "I'm sorry Emily. I really am. I love -" Cara clapped her hands sarcastically, "Well done almost believed your performance. That'll have to do, your cutting into our fun now off you fuck!"

Emily looked blankly at Noah as she watched him pull himself up from the floor and with one last look sloped off into the clubhouse. She had an unsettling feeling in her stomach as it twisted and turned. Was it just the effect of seeing him again? If he thought Jax was sleeping with her did everyone else? Was this fun and games to Jax? Fuck around with the prospect and wind him up, get under his skin. She didn't know what to think. But there's one thing she couldn't deny and that's the way her heart leaped when she looked at Jax. The way her stomach fluttered. That feeling was hope. And she wouldn't allow herself to entertain it. She's messed up enough as it is right now. Jax could have anyone he wanted, it was a known fact he slept his way around Charming and she won't let her heart get crushed again.

Distance. That's what she needed.

[mickycute]

Que tierno como Black se enamoro 🥺, y como lo hizo Zack?

Zack si se enamoro pero maaaaaaaaaaaaas adelante... habia hecho un comic, era cuando a Zack se le rompia la cara por su grieta jajajaa es un comic largo, aca aparece Ink ayudando, y Black se ponia celoso

[writingjourney]

Little preview for IKNBS chapter 8 ♡

(I'm going to post it this weekend, it's like soooo close to done and it's the longest one so far 👀 )

Catch up here if you want to :)

✦ ✧ ✦

The first postcard arrives after two days. From then on, they arrive every other day. He posts them in envelopes with no sender but you assume the Siblings sorting the mail with their knack for gossip recognise his penmanship anyway.

The first one is from Copenhagen, from the Statens Museum for Kunst, the Danish National Gallery. The postcard shows the painting Christ in the Realm of the Dead by Joakim Skovgaard, a Danish painter, and you appreciate that he chose a countryman. It seems odd that he would stop by a museum just to acquire a postcard. You can’t imagine that he has a lot of time for sight-seeing, so you wonder if he just ran into the museum, got the card and then made the bus stop by a postbox to send it out as fast as he can.

Before you read, you admire his handwriting. In a solid block of text it looks especially beautiful. The minuscules are small and narrow, the majuscules sticking out more but the lines are smooth and well-curved. You can tell that he does a lot of writing on the daily because there are no errors, no crossed out words. The ink he used is black, probably from a fountain pen, and your eyes get caught by the C with which he signed it, the line drawn with just a little more force than the others.

Mia ‘strella,

I hope you are well. I know we did not part on the best terms, cara, but I am thinking about you constantly to the point where I find it hard to concentrate. The ghouls make fun of me when I drift off on the bus. 

Copenhagen is beautiful, the abbey here is in good shape and the Siblings very eager to meet their new Papa. I think they will like our show tonight. Please, can you let me know how you are doing?

C.

The second postcard, arriving two days later, comes from the Alte Nationalgalerie in Berlin. It’s the painting Woman at a Window by Caspar David Friedrich, a woman gazing outside with her back turned towards the observer. You immediately know why he picked it.

Mia ‘strella, 

today, choosing a card was very easy. I spotted this in the gift shop and it reminded me of you. I think about sitting by the window with you often, how you shared your apple with me and held my hand. I think it was then that I realized, if anyone could care for someone like me, it would be you.

Please, I need to know that you are well.

C.

✦ ✧ ✦

hehe :)

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

so just pour a drink

oc-tober day one: tea (morinel, ft celebrimbor) look, i’m being nice to morinel & celebrimbor for. literally once in their lives💙

Caras Gelebren positively sparkles in the late afternoon of summer, and the tall marble towers are garlanded with flowers, and Morinel sighs contentedly, dismounting from Mithrad's back.

Summers in Eregion are always her favorite – partly because she cannot stand the humid air the shores of Lindon always seem to suffocate her with once the weather begins to warm and partly because she is, in some small part, glad to be in a place where whispers don't follow everywhere she goes -- though, to the Lindondrim's credit, those whispers have gotten very quiet in recent years.

When she finds a place in the stables for her beloved Mithrad (who eyes her with distaste as she leaves), she stretches and readjusts her pack. It’s not too full, among a spare change of clothes, it only contains her rations and her runekeeping supplies, and a handful of other trinkets as she heads to the room she's been staying in every summer since this arrangement began.

By the time she’s done washing and changing out of her traveling clothes into ones she left here last summer, the sun is starting to set and cast the city in the deep purple from the shadows of the mountains. She's tired -- she needs caffeine more than anything, right now, but it wouldn't be right to do anything without greeting her cousin and host first.

By the time Morinel makes it to the top of the stairs that lead to Celebrimbor’s study, her legs ache. At least in Lindon, Gil-galad and Elrond didn’t choose studies that were at the very top of the tallest tower in the city.

It’s easier to get to the roof! I get my best thinking done there, you know. Celebrimbor’s words echo in her head and she rolls her eyes affectionately at the memory.

Finally, she knocks at the open door frame of Celebrimbor’s study, and before Morinel knows it, Ungoleg darts out of the study, purring madly as she wraps herself around her legs. Celebrimbor doesn't look up, engrossed in a project at the work table in the corner of the room.

She sighs, glancing at the mess of shelves behind her cousin's main desk that looks more like a dovecote for paper birds than cubbies or shelves, filled with letters, documents, scrolls and books and sketches and schematics, and stranger items still: gems, jars of illegibly labeled substances, and even a set of robes.

It might be her imagination, but it seems ever so slightly neater than it was last summer.

She clears her throat and Celebrimbor looks up and she stifles a laugh -- there is a very large smudge of ink on his face, under his eye. He grins at her, waving her over to look at the new design schematics spread over his worktable. She listens to him as long as she is able, though, like always, he talks quick, and she can barely keep up when fully awake, let alone now.

Morinel sways a little, stumbling into the corner of the table, and his eyes soften, and asks if she would like to join him in the Dining Hall for some tea. She nods eagerly, and off they set.

The Mírdain, as always, is alive with activity. Those working toward a place among the Masters bustle past, on errands or between lectures, the apprentices distinguished by their white sashes and the journeymen by black. Little knots of people in conversation sat in low, square tables in the Dining Hall, drinking cups of holly tea, warmed by burning braziers as the two of them find a table of their own, with piping hot tea in cups and a bowl of candied citrus peels to sweeten the bitter holly tea. The Sun slowly dips behind the horizon, washing the hills with golds and reds and orange.

They discuss anything and everything: Celebrimbor excitedly tells her about Celebrian's most recent visit to Caras Gelebren and her rapidly growing skill in jewelcraft, and Morinel tells him in turn about the daily goings on in Lindon, and the new additions to the court's library.

When Celebrimbor notices that the table fire is slowly dying, he reaches into one of his sleeves and pulls out a packet of powder. She barely has time to process what it might be before he tosses it into the brazier. Flames leap up around the teapot in long tongues of blue and white. Morinel jerks back, nearly sloshing her holly tea down her tunic, swearing loudly.

Celebrimbor laughs and she shoots him a glare over the rim of her cup. 

“You’re terrible,” she says, scowling.  She takes a sip of her tea – it is still slightly too bitter, and she reaches for the candied orange peel to drop it into her tea. She sips it again – much better.

The fact it happened to have been the last orange peel in the bowl, leaving only lemon peels and lime peels, and caused the less-than-serious affront on her cousin's face is an added bonus.

"Hey!"

She sips from her tea again, pretending not to hear. The orange definitely helped, and she can feel her headache caused by lack of caffeine slowly slipping away, like the fading ebb of the tides.

"To be betrayed by my own cousin," he complains dramatically, "In my own halls, after I graciously offered--"

She rolls her eyes when his words are loud enough to make those of the Jewelsmiths turn to look at them. "Will you stop that?"

His eyes twinkle, and she knows that he's going to ask for something. "Only if you bring some of Cirdan's honey-cakes with you next summer."

She finds she can live with such a request and nods her head very gravely, as if she was being asked for a—

(No, even centuries later, that joke is bad taste, and still leaves a sour taste in her mouth—)

As if being asked for the keys to Lindon, is probably a better joke.

“Very well,” she sips from her tea and shuts her eyes.

Morinel smiles.

This is going to be a good summer.

[hazeltailofficial]

HOLIDAY FLASHBACK

Revlon ColorStay Concealer in Fair Revlon Mineral Finishing Powder in Brighten Laura Geller Baked Balance N Brighten Color Correcting Foundation in Porcelain Nyx Powder Blush in Taupe Anastasia Beverly Hills Brow Wiz in Taupe Urban Decay Naked Basics Palette (Naked 2 + Faint + Venus) Nyx Super Skinny Eye Marker in Carbon Black Tarte Tarteist Mascara Maybelline Super Stay Matte Ink Liquid Lipstick in Philosopher Urban Decay XX Vintage Vice Lipstick in UV-B Cara New York Oversized Polka Dot Rabbit Ears

hazeltail on youtube / hazeltailofficial on tiktok / hazeltailofficial on ig / @hazeltailofficial / @hazeltail

[websatanr]

Y con eso había concluido mi nacimiento, mi creación y por ende mi consumación... Mi final se acercaba, no por la mano de el o ellos sino por la mía.. pero ¿porqué? Porque mi misión en este planeta había acabando, porque la muerte era mi compañera y ya no había a quien matar, si yo no lo buscaba... pero si lo elegían, mi lista estaba acabada, nombres, países y apellidos eran tachados por una tinta negra.

Por cada nombre una cabeza...

Por cada muerte, una ¿felicitación?... por cada corte mi sosiego, mi calma..

Por la muerte que estaba en mis venas, mi madre me crío, por una cosa visual, me hicieron comprender que ese era mi deber... y aunque ese día, tenía cuatro años... me acuerdo los sollozos, gritos ahogados y por supuesto,gotas de ese rojo carmesí, como pétalos abriéndose... caían en mi cara, mi pequeño cuerpo... gente colgada de el techo con la esclavitud en sus pies y manos, eran sujetados.

Pero ese día fue hace muchos años, años en los que aprendí el arte de la Aniquilación por mi mano.

Por mis propias y lastimadas manos... pero ese día llego a su final ¿porqué? Porque aprendí y viví con la destrucción en mi maestría, por cada pincelada que daba en el lienzo ... y creí que era bueno, dejar de hacerlo... Ahora mi cara está apareciendo por las noticias, mi cara pálida... me había orcado, suicidado de la manera más fácil para ahogar a esos fantasmas..esas voces y súplicas. Me había acabado, como la primera persona que había visto,muerta por las manos de mi madre...yo, fui matado por mi madre... fui mandado a Reposar..a dormir, Dar mi último y miserable aliento...

And with that my birth, my creation and therefore my consummation had concluded... My end was approaching, not by his or her hand but by mine... but why? Because my mission on this planet had ended, because death was my companion and there was no one to kill if I didn't look for him... but if they chose him, my list was finished, names, countries and surnames were crossed out by a black ink. For every name a head... For every death, a congratulation?... for every cut my peace, my calm... For the death that was in my veins, my mother raised me, for a visual thing, they made me understand that this was my duty... and although that day, I was four years old... I remember the sobs, muffled screams and of course, drops of that crimson red, like petals opening... they fell on my face, my little one. body... people hanging from the ceiling with slavery on their feet and hands, they were restrained. But that day was many years ago, years in which I learned the art of Annihilation by my own hand. By my own injured hands... but that day came to an end, why? Because I learned and lived with the destruction in my mastery, for every brushstroke I gave on the canvas... and I thought it was good, to stop doing it... Now my face is appearing on the news, my pale face... I he had orcated, committed suicide in the easiest way to drown those ghosts...those voices and pleas. I had finished, like the first person I had seen, killed by my mother's hands... I, was killed by my mother... I was sent to Rest... to sleep, Give my last and miserable breath...

-vamp4wgd

[jondoe297]

Diana in a suit sketch

[joeykal]

Now I know it, I have the proof of this miracle: the island is alive!

Yesterday while I was walking along the path to reach the usual peak, I sank into dark dreams; it was like falling straight inside a bottomless puddle of black ink.

In the dreams I changed into a cat and started looking for you, looking for you like an hungry and frantic animal.

I have no idea about the dimensions of its domain but the island should not be a large area at all! What I believe is that it exist without an own shape, with borders moulded just beyond the desire.

I dont know where look for you or where find you out.

Are you a ghost that moves on the island or is it the island that lives and moves around you?

I have tried to figure out an approximate cartography of the main places where your apparitions have occurred in the reality around me and also in the dreams where you cach my soul always much frequently.

The list of places is the following:

1. Beach below the peak where "the castle H." stands;

2.Temple: near the ivy-covered walls;

3.Temple: near the tree across the ancient road;

4.P. Garden near what remains of the dream catcher tree;

5.Parrot Bar in Borgo C.

Every time you appear I hear one of your songs, the ones you left me, your soundtracks that I adore and after that the sea ripples slightly as for goosebumps came on the skin.

Dear Joey Kalós (like beautiful in greek language) you are not the only ghost that populates the island but there are others:

-Francesco S. called: "the General Uncle" is an elderly veteran also called "the Neapolitan Englishman" who walks around in an old military uniform usually lost in his thoughts with his hands behind his back;

-Sergio B. is very rarely seen, he wears a red and white checked shirt and khaki corduroy pants, he always has a guitar behind his back and usually sings and strums songs by F. De A. (especially one that talks about the old fisherman);

-Rita C. is an old lady always well dressed with a big bag full of sweets and gifts for the children.;

-Priscilla: a toy poodle who confronts the island in special places and moments.

Ora lo so, ne ho avuto la prova, l'isola e' viva!

Ieri mentre camminavo lungo il sentiero, per raggiungere il solito picco, sono sprofondat* in un sonno buio; e' stato come cadere in una pozzanghera di inchiostro nero senza fondo.

Nel sogno sono mutato in gatto ed ho iniziato a cercarti, a cercarti come un animale affamato.

Non ho idea per quanto si estenda il suo territorio, l'isola non dovrebbe essere grande...anzi! Ma cio' che credo e' che sia senza forma propria, con confini appena al di la' del desiderio.

Non so dove cercarti ne' dove trovarti sei un fantasma che si muove sull'isola o e' l'isola a vivere e muoversi intorno a te?

Sia nei viaggi per i sentieri che nei viaggi onirici ho provato a creare una cartografia approssimativa dei principali luoghi dove sono avvenute le tue apparizioni sull'isola. La lista dei luoghi e' la seguente:

1.Spiaggia al di sotto del picco dove sorge "il castello H.";

2.Tempio: vicino alle pareti ricoperte di edera;

3.Tempio: vicino all'albero dall'altra parte della strada;

4.Giardino P. nei pressi di ció che resta dell'albero degli acchiappa sogni;

5.Bar del pappagallo nel borgo C.

Tutte le volte che appari sento sempre una delle tue canzoni, quelle che mi hai lasciato, le tue colonne sonore che adoro e poi il mare si increspa leggermente come la pelle quando si ha la pelle d'oca.

Cara Joey Kalós (come bello dal greco) non sei il solo fantasma che popola l'isola ma raramente si vedono e ancor piu raramente insieme i seguenti fantasmi apparire:

Francesco S. detto: "lo zio Generale" si tratta di un veterano anziano detto anche "l'inglese Napoletano" che gira con una divisa militare vetusta normalmente perso nei suoi pensieri con le mani dietro la schiena;

Sergio B. lo si vede davvero raramente, indossa una camicia a quadri rossa e bianca e dei pantaloni di velluto color cachi, ha sempre una chitarra dietro la schiena e normalmente intona e strimpella canzoni di F. De A. (specialmente una che parla di in vecchio pescatore);

Rita C. (detta Rituccia o Zia Rita) e' una signora anziana sempre ben vestita con una grande borsa piena di caramelle e regali per i bambini.;

Priscilla: una barboncina Toy che compare sull'isola in posti e momenti speciali.

[multitudecontainer420]

eleanor joan b ethel m jeanette josephine lena ethel w nina mae dorothy claire luce alice helen kane jessie marlene bebe jessica harper starstruck irene mae una leslie c lucille carmen miranda betty hutton doris esther moira kathryn grayson meiko shirley m rita dolores gray ann margret sara montiel pearl judy holliday miyoshi nancy kwan natalie wood bette m charmain carr lily ho twiggy irene cara diana ross patricia quinn little nell dolly parton toyah nina h madeline k ellen greene rosemary jane r

donkey skin, at long last love, pennies from heaven, bells are ringing, were not dressing, madam satan, earth girls, blondie of the follies, moulin rouge 1934, chicago, midsummer nights dream 1935, circus 1938 russian, the great ziegfeld, hellzapoppin, ziegfeld girl, roxie hart, shaw bros musicals, tales of hoffmann, cinderella 1947 russian, alice au pays, dreamchild, ojōsan shachō, torch song, ice follies, bollywood, red garters, artists & models, the court jester, the girl can't help it, pal joey, 1234 escondite ingles, black lizard, black tights, khovanshchina, flower drum song, hard days night, thoroughly modern millie, head, hot summer, heironymus merkin, toomorrow, mame, akerman, not on the lips, les idoles, william klein, hugo the hippo, lisztomania, mahler, the blue bird, dick tracy, bugsy malone, stardust brothers, sparkle, the wiz, flashdance, new york new york, sextette, just a gigolo, mahogany, hoshi no orpheus, the muppet movie, the apple, can't stop the music, xanadu, popeye, times square, blood wedding, annie, 9 to 5, tender hooks, victor victoria, sogno di una notte d'estate, yentl, purple rain, streets of fire, rock aliens, get crazy, rockula, fangs, a chorus line, absolute beginners, crossroads, spice world, population 1, true stories, aria, it couldn't happen here, hairspray, cry baby, little nemo, uhf, valley girl, into the woods, sweeney todd, newsies, cannibal the musical, zero patience, the ink thief, the fantasticks, everyone says i love you, joes apartment, cats, the hole, the wayward cloud, citizen dog, jackie's back, loves labours lost, glitter, 8 women, chicago, interstella 5555, the saddest music, de lovely, perhaps love, corpse bride, tanuki hime, reefer madness, romance & cigarettes, dasepo naughty girls, dreamgirls, idlewild, enchanted, les chansons d'amour, mamma mia, repo, fame 2009, burlesque, the sapphires, god help the girl, london road, the lure, sing street, 52hz i love you, stuck, hello again, guava island, annette, ma raineys, 13 the musical, please baby please, pinocchio, weird the al, dicks the musical, joker fólie a deux, cover girl, funny face, marilyn monroe, baps, dirty gertie, mean girls

[kindnessisweakness2]

10

Emily winced as the needle glided over her hip bone. She liked the pain but sometimes when the needle hit that sweet spot she couldn't help but bite down hard on her lip or pull a funny face. "So i heard that someone has become quite the special guest around Charming royalty." Emily's tattooist Mimi grinned as she continued to ink the dark black lines across the curve of her hip. Emily couldnt help but roll her eyes, a smile spreading on her face at the mention of Jax. "I dont know where you heard that Mimi, maybe the Charming gossips are wrong this time." Mimi pulled a skeptical face, the smile never leaving her. "Well if thats the case, why are all the girls in this shitty town having a crisis over the fact that Jax hasn't slept with anyone since a certain someone stormed into TM?" Mimi wiggled her eyes at a shocked Emily. There was no way Jax wasn't sleeping around. The girl she put in her place last night was clearly a recent fling. Jax's sex life was nothing to do with her. Before she could overthink it anymore, the bell above the shop door rang. Mimi removed her gloves before heading to the reception area.

Emily took the moment to breathe. She was having a 6 hour session today and was already 3.5 hours in. Cara was having a lazy day, trying to ease the hangover she was left with after last nights party. "Em, you have a visitor." Mimi spoke breaking Emily's thoughts. Maybe Cara decided to actually leave her bed today. "Oh okay-" Shifting to her side as much as she could, trying to keep her position on the bed, Emily shoved the privacy screen back fully expecting to see her best friend. Instead she found Jax stood there looking as sexy as ever, holding a TO-GO bag from Harry's Diner. Emily's eyes widened in embarrassment, she was currently half naked on the tattoo chair and clearly was not expecting her visitor to be Jax. Jax's eyes widened for a completely different reason. She was fucking sexy as hell lay on the bed in nothing but a black thong and a black V-Neck cropped shirt. The ink on her legs and stomach just added to the awe of her. The designs contrasting against her sunkissed skin. Her hair pulled high into a messy bun and her face bare of any make up. Clearing his throat Jax had to force his brain to form words. "I know you mentioned your appointment yesterday, and i thought id stop by with food." Jax could feel his cheek's tinge pink and he hated it. Emily smiled at him, patting the stool next to her. "Take a seat Teller, you can feed me while Mimi here inflicts pain on me." Mimi giggled as she took her seat, pulling on a new pair of gloves. "So much for wrong gossips aye?" She quipped. Emily shot her a look before turning to Jax as he sat on the stool. "I also need to give you the heads up that Juice is currently in your house. I think him and Cara really hit it off." Jax spoke as he opened the bag of food pulling out a coke for her. Emily smiled as she gratefully accepted the drink. "Thats fine. From the way Cara talked about him last night i think he's going to be a regular at my house. She's really into him. Hopefully he doesnt take it too hard when she goes home though, shes only here for 3 weeks." Jax nodded holding out the tray of fries for her, Emily leaning over as much as she could to feed Mimi a few. "So there was one other thing i needed to talk to you about." Emily leaned back in the chair, wincing as Mimi started shaving on the sensitive curve of her hip. Biting her lip she looked up at Jax, nodding for him to carry on so he knew she was listening. Jax's breath hitched in his throat as he looked at her. God the urge to push her back and take her right there on the tattoo chair was immense. Clearing his throat he mentally kicked himself and forced his brain to form words. "I'm going away for a few days. Up to Nevada to see my uncle." Emily hated how the words made her stomach sink. It made her realise how attached to him she had gotten. "You dont have to explain yourself to me Jax. Enjoy the time with your family." Jax smiled at her and it made her heart leap in her chest. Just like every other girl he flashed his pearly whites at. The reality was she was at the bottom of a very long list of women who would give their left leg to be the one Jax chose to have a life with. She could deny it to everyone else but couldnt to herself anymore. She genuinely liked him. "Well the thing is some of the guys are going with me, so we're all leaving from the clubhouse in the morning. I was wondering if you'd come by? Alot of the old ladies and family will be there. Cara can say bye to Juice and i can see you before i go." Emily's cheeks glowed pink as she realised he wanted her there. He wanted to see her. Mimi turned to wipe her tattoo gun and collect more ink. Emily was thankful for the momentary break, her skin was warm and sore after almost 4.5 hours in the chair. Making eye contact with Mimi as she leaned down to resume the assault on her skin, she didnt miss the smirk and knowing look she recieved. "Sure why not. Ill never hear the end of it if Cara doesnt see Juice off."

Both of them grinned wide at each other. Emily happy that he'd admitted he wanted to see her, but trying to keep her metaphorical feet on the ground that they were just friends. Even if her head wanted to be up in the clouds day dreaming about what her and Jax could have.

Jax was happy that he got her to agree, knowing already that he would miss her terribly the next few days while he visited Jury.

He hadnt even left Charming yet and he already regretted agreeing to the visit.

************************************************************************

Here you go guys!

I hope you are all enjoying this. Apolgies it has been so long since posting, i have been having issues with my account!

Let me know what you think so far and where you would like to see this go!

[hazeltailofficial]

HOLIDAY FLASHBACK

Revlon ColorStay Concealer in Fair Revlon Mineral Finishing Powder in Brighten Laura Geller Baked Balance N Brighten Color Correcting Foundation in Porcelain Nyx Powder Blush in Taupe Anastasia Beverly Hills Brow Wiz in Taupe Urban Decay Naked Basics Palette (Naked 2 + Faint + Venus) Nyx Super Skinny Eye Marker in Carbon Black Tarte Tarteist Mascara Maybelline Super Stay Matte Ink Liquid Lipstick in Philosopher Urban Decay XX Vintage Vice Lipstick in UV-B Cara New York Oversized Polka Dot Rabbit Ears

hazeltail on youtube / hazeltailofficial on tiktok / hazeltailofficial on ig / @hazeltailofficial / @hazeltail