#Oatmeal or striped?

[kazz-matazz]

my files r being weird so no crop but uhhh wip. what outfit should shortbread pinwheel cookie (patrick) be wearing

do i go for like. mariners shirt. or the vest during warped tour. what outift do i choose.......

the cookie on the left (lemon merengue cookie) is joe. but im trying to figure out his hair

i think petes gonna have the sixteen candles outfit? or give me ideas for all the guys. im kinda lost

[fingertipsmp3]

Achievements today:

Did some tasks for my favourite work project

Did a qual to hopefully open up more projects

Diagnosed (sort of) and fixed bugs in my sims 2 game

Ran outside in the rain for the first time since school (which I only used to do because I was forced to)

Confused my elderly neighbour and his raincoat-wearing dog

Stroked the dog’s floofy head

Ran more than a kilometre without taking a walking break

[brothwizard]

i cant find my slay test tile rn but here’s a piece with that combo on the frilly bits; variations of coats trying out how it would look more merlot heavy vs iron lustre heavy, then it was all dipped in ultra clear

and this is a funky little combo i tried out with albany slip brown on the dress and jug then dipped in some kind of celadon type?? idk it was at a place i worked at for .25 seconds but i got this baby fired there and also myself

hello! out of curiosity, what’s your favourite glaze combination? (mine is amaco iron lustre over smoky merlot)

oh man that’s a tough question

I think my favourite is obsidian with stripes of seaweed because it ends up like this

but I’m also fond of Oatmeal over Iron Lustre, which is the body of this piece

do you have an example of Iron Lustre over Smoky Merlot? I’m not sure I’ve seen that one

[himbocoups]

˗ˋˏ multitasking ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only

synopsis: multitasking only saves time when it's done right.

pairing: mingyu x reader (gn)

genre: smut

tags: college party, mention of drunk people, extremely conceited mingyu | big! dick! mingyu!, choking, crying, c*m eating, degradation, dirty talk, facesitting, handjob, mirror sex, oral (m receiving), pet names

wc: 1.1k

beta reader reviews: "i can't believe cocky gyu gave me butterflies in my pussy im so mad" - @bitchlessdino // "gonna have to take some deep breaths after that god damn" - @heartkyeom // "do you think if u put it in oatmeal it would taste good" - @onlyhuis // "...this fic made me clench the shit out of void and emptiness" - @multi-kpop-fanfics

message from nu: happy mingyu day!! this fic x concept has been sitting in my drafts for months now. what better day to release it than today? - nu ♡

himbocoups's masterlist

The sound of a plastic ping-pong ball bouncing click, clack, clonk against the wooden floorboards, and a couple of groans from the living room downstairs escape through the tiny aperture underneath the closed bedroom door. Still, the liveliness of the party downstairs, the rhythmic thumping of the EDM song playing from the speaker, and the screams and shouts of drunk college students envelope his bedroom door like a protective barrier - a natural sound-proofer for the noise coming from inside the bedroom. 

“Fuck you look so good today,” he grunts from above you. 

Even now, in this bedroom, everything in the world arrives in your ears in a muffled manner - muted, with little substance left to decipher. 

Kim Mingyu, who is a little too conventionally handsome for his own good, sits above your face. Thick muscular thighs crush both sides of your head as he leans his upper half over your naked body, planting himself firmly against his mattress, and pushing himself deeper into your mouth.  

“So, so good,” he moans into the open. 

An automatic reply attempts to escape your mouth as your hands fling onto his knees for support, “Thunfk yth.” But he peels your sweaty hands off his knees, plucking them between his thumb and pointer finger, and plops them to the side despite your feeble response. 

Tongue swirls around his round and smooth tip, licking a long stripe down his shaft. You moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you feel his veins against your tongue, the minuscule grooves created from veins underneath the soft epidermis, and the salty-musky taste mixed with your saliva. You swallow his taste like the sweet lukewarm soda in a red plastic cup to cut any bit of bitterness that coats your mouth and throat. 

He doesn’t care about you. You know he doesn’t care about you. You’re just a random stranger at a party who is remotely good enough to even be considered a candidate for Mingyu. 

Now, even when you’re sucking his dick from below him, he’s not staring at you. Instead, he stares at his naked torso reflected in the mirror, flexing his biceps - watching them contract and relax - and smiling at how handsome he looks tonight. 

To him, you’re more or less an afterthought. There is nothing in this bedroom that intrigues him more than himself. And when he finally sees you between his thick and glistening thighs, he can only think of one thing to say: “Take me in deeper and I’ll let you be seen near me when we go back downstairs.” 

Incomprehensible is the thought of how you can take him even further down your throat; you somehow open your mouth wider and dig the back of your head further into the mattress. But it’s huge. It’s fucking huge. From the base of his cock to his ego, Kim Mingyu is fucking massive in every aspect of his body. And he assails your throat from above, pushing in, pulling out, angling in, and angling out. 

The fact that you’re gagging against his cock, struggling under his touch actually annoys him severely. He knows that he is Kim Mingyu. And if anything, you’re the one who should be trying to accommodate him. If it weren’t for the fact that he could see the shape of his organ outlined against the inside of your throat, he would already be out the door. And seeing himself move inside your throat only fuels his ego and makes him hornier than ever. 

Purring, he takes time to trace his right finger pointer along the outline of his cock, mumbling about how gorgeous he looks. Lauding his size, he only stops when he feels the pressure against his fingertip. The way his lips stretch thin, eyes open widely, and pearly whites show is diabolical. And he has to stop himself from orgasming when he realizes he can feel his cock through your stretched throat and on the pad of his fingertip. Because the only thing Mingyu loves more than sex is himself. 

This new discovery causes him to twitch in your throat. And moaning in response, your throat vibrates around his cock like an electronic toy. This chain reaction leads him to grab onto your throat, covering his embossed outline. To him, it feels like he’s holding himself in the shower - the warmth and silkiness of your inside like the hot water that cascades over his Adonis. Brazen with the ache between his thighs, he takes matters into his own hands, rubbing and pumping himself along your throat. 

Deep and open moans protrude from him like a beautiful low vibrato note on a double bass. Thighs feeling weak from his arousal, he sits on your face to ease his trembling thighs. The newfound action feels so good that his entire body tightens like a coil ready to spring. High building with each calculated yet languid stroke along your vibrating throat, Mingyu’s eyes squeeze shut as his breath hitches and staggers. 

Salty tears roll down your face, and the feeling of him getting himself off via your throat causes you to scream and tremble as you convulse without his touch. You’re trying your best to accommodate his size and the fact that he is currently facesitting and using your throat to masturbate. Yet your climax comes out of nowhere, forcing him out of your mouth while you finish as you get off on the fact that you’re being used as his toy. He seems to pay you no mind as he quickly pumps himself over your body, hissing as he spills his milky honey over your chest - pumping himself empty while using his other hand to massage his balls. 

Purposely, he taps his throbbing and dripping organ against your forehead as if to tell you he isn’t finished with you. But he isn’t a complete asshole. He sees how you’re struggling to recover, so he lets go of his balls so that he can dip his thumb into the pool on your chest and offer his nectar to your lips. And you suck the salty liquid off his thumb, taking his digit in your mouth and swirling your tongue as if you are searching for sustenance to satiate your thirst. 

He plucks his thumb from your wet lips when he feels like it, gloating at how loudly you whine for him. Vainglorious as he is, he knows a single gesture, the twirling of his pointer finger, would immediately get you to go on your knees. Once his organ casts a shadow over your face, he tells you to suck. This time, he requests you to spell his name as you bob your head. And if you’re good enough, then just maybe, he’ll forgive you for spitting him out while you came.

Copyright © 2023 Himbocoups. All rights reserved.

[sussex-newswire]

"Move over Martha Stewart, there's a new lifestyle queen in town. Meghan [the Duchess of Sussex] announced her Netflix series With Love, Meghan, will drop on the streamer Jan. 15—and along with delicious recipes and gardening tips, she's serving up some some serious style moments in the trailer, too.

...

"[Meghan] wears a gorgeous slate blue gown by Ulla Johnson in the promotional poster for her lifestyle show, and while the pleated silk dress definitely delivers some glamour, we wouldn't be surprised if she was barefoot underneath. Markle—who is arranging a bouquet of peonies in the photo—looks breezy and relaxed as she stands in front of a table covered in flowers (and what appears to be jars of her signature jam).

"Moving on to the sun-drenched kitchen, the duchess gives viewers the full coastal grandmother aesthetic in relaxed button-up shirts and neutral separates. In one scene, she wears a loose white shirt with a pair of striped Zimmermann shorts, and in other clips, the Duchess of Sussex sports a beige knit tank from J.Crew along with an ivory knit shell from the brand. And while heading to a flower shop, she looks polished yet laid-back in a chambray shirt under a chic camel coat.

"Throughout the trailer, Markle's neutral-toned wardrobe—think oatmeal-hued sweaters and crisp linen aprons—offers a masterclass in California casual.

"However, it's not all button-ups and tees; the Duchess of Sussex brings back a blue ship-print Emilia Wickstead dress as she joins Mindy Kaling for a garden-themed tea party in a photo shared by British Vogue. It's a piece the duchess was first seen wearing in a photo on close friend Delfina Blaquier's Instagram Story during a 2022 barbecue."

[wedgieplease]

Jack's Work Wedgies

Been extra horny this week, so I decided to try my hand at a different story.

Jack groans and goes to snooze the alarm when he notices that the time reads 7:25 AM, a full 25 minutes later than he should have gotten up. 

“Fuuuuckahhhhh,” he exhaled as he stretched the drowsiness away.

“Time for another wonderful day at the office,” he muttered sarcastically as he forced himself out of bed. 

He shuffled over to his “clothes corner”, where his closet, dresser, and hamper were. 

He quickly slid off last night’s trunks as he opened his underwear and sock drawer. Reaching for a new pair, he pulled out a pair of red and white striped briefs with pink hearts on the thick waistband. 

“This’ll do,” he thought to himself as he slid them on.

He finished up with a pair of thin khaki shorts, a black polo and black socks. 

He had a quick bowl of oatmeal for breakfast and ran out the door to make it on time for work. 

When Jack finally made it to the office, He was called in to the boss’s office as soon as he clocked in. Lost in dread the whole way, he stopped at the doors. 

A shadow quickly darted from one side of the door to the other as his boss opened the door to let him in.

“Good morning, Jack, please come in,” his boss said quickly.

“Good morning Peter,” Jack responded as he stepped inside.

“You’re 10 minutes late, for the third time this week.” Peter said.

“I’m sorry boss, I must’ve-” 

“Save the excuse,” Peter cut him off, “because I don’t care. The fact is, you keep showing up late and it needs to stop. I’ve come up with an incentive to motivate you to get here on time.” 

“Peter, is that really necessary?” Jack asked.

“You haven’t even heard my plan.” Peter continued, offended, “For every ten minutes you’re late, I add one extra pull to onto the wedgie I give you that day. Understood?” 

“Really? Wedgies? We’re not in school anymore!” Jack scoffed.

“Maybe you need to go back, considering how you never learned to be on time and be prepared.” Peter taunted. 

“Great talk, thank you for coming to see me.”  Peter said as he began to escort Jack out of the office. “By the way, your shoe’s untied. You should fix that before the rest of your coworkers what a mess you are.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Jack bent down to tie it. In the process, his polo shirt untucked.

“Ow, what the hell?!” Jack straightened his back in a split second.

“”I haven’t seen undies this cute since primary school!” Peter mocked. “Ah ah ah! You’ve came in 10 minutes late three times this week. That adds up to 3 tugs!” 

“Pet-AHHH,” Jack tried to protest, but his boss gave him another firm yank. 

“You say we’re not in school anymore yet here you are showing up late with these lil boy undies.” Peter laughed.

“Oh, and by the way: say anything about our arrangement and you’re fired. Understood?” Peter gave a third yank, the heart-waistband reaching the bottom of Jack’s shoulder blade.

“Aeigh, fine, just let me get back to work.” Jack pleaded as his waistband snapped his back. 

“Going forwards, I will be rounding up the minutes, so be here on time to avoid punishment.” Peter added as he reached for the door to show his employee out.

“Do we really have to- UGH” Jack grunted as the familiar feeling of his usually-comfortable briefs becoming a thong interrupted his argument.

“I look forward to your timely arrivals moving forward,” Peter said as he practically shoved Jack into the hallway. 

Thankfully for Jack, he managed to pull his shirt down before being exposed to the open hallway. He didn’t have time to de-thong his undies, so he was forced to do the walk of shame back to his cubicle with his valentines themed undies making their way deeper into his crack. 

[jojomills]

‘Patchwork’

collected panels, patches

parchment scraps dyed in tea leaves

woven with wet wounds

indebted to towering tombs

of bastards and bull moose

stewards and sewer rats

make shift marvels and manifest pacts

under a cloth, red-striped carpet

a promise of more than enough

mother mangos and two kinds

of paper towels. yelling at the child.

the lines long, the traffic long.

mister oatmeal and smoked sausage

worries at his wallet. yogurt man

cuts in front while cashier #9 recites

a globe of prints and patterns. clashing

of a motley mess of moth eaten swatches

and the odd fine silks, and embroidery

be kind, rewind—a fine on honor

that needn’t have been told twice

___

[endless-summer-soldier]

ice ice baby - chapter eight

pairing: CollegeHockeyPlayer!Bucky x CollegeFigureSkater!Reader

summary: Bucky is a college hockey player, Y/N is a figure skater without a partner. What's happens when these two opposites start sharing the ice...

warnings: enemies to lovers trope, some alcohol use

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @sebsgirl71479 @whiskeyrosepoetry

series playlist

series masterlist

Y/N studied herself in the mirror for the hundredth time. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date and this all felt so foreign to her. Bucky didn’t tell her where they were going, but he told her to dress casually. She opted for her best pair of jeans and an oatmeal cable knit sweater. She was pacing in her boots, waiting for him to pick her up. She audibly gasped when he knocked on the door, so lost in her own thoughts that the sudden noise startled her. She grabbed her purse, coat, and keys and opened the door.

Bucky was clad in a forest green hockey jersey that read “Minnesota Wild” in script. 

“Hey doll,” he said, as his brilliant smile spread across his face, “I missed ya.”

The moment she saw him, all her anxiety melted away and a blush crept up her cheeks. This was Bucky, she had no reason to be nervous.

“Don’t tell me we’re going to a Wild game,” she joked.

He shrugged, “The Canucks are in town. I couldn’t miss it. And I had to give you a little glimpse into my world.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” she smiled and slid into his car. In the front seat there was a green beanie with white stripes, the Wild logo, and a green pom-pom on top.   

“Here’s your hat,” she said, handing him the beanie.

“Oh no, that’s for you. Couldn’t have you showing up without gear.”

She grinned to herself as she pulled down the visor and opened the mirror. She put the beanie on and adjusted her hair before turning to him with a smile.

“Please don’t ever take that off. You are unbelievably adorable.”

She blushed yet again and said, “Stop flirting with me and take me to this hockey game.”

“You got it,” he smiled, putting the car into drive.

They entered the XCel Energy Center and Y/N followed Bucky’s lead as he navigated the crowd and showed them to their section. They stopped at the concession stand for a couple pounders of Coors Light and some nachos, “must haves” according to Bucky. When they took the steps down to their seats, Y/N kept expecting them to stop and file in; but they didn’t stop until they reached the glass. She could almost feel the envious stares they received as they took their seats in the front row. They were situated in the corner of the rink, facing the goal that the Wild would shoot at for two of the three periods.

“How did you get these seats?” she asked him.

“One of the scouts offered them up to me. You ever been to a hockey game before?” he asked her.

She shook her head, “Not a professional one.”

“But you’ve been to others?”

“A few in high school. Maybe a few in college.”

He perked up at this, “Oh really? So you’ve seen me play?”

She played coy, “Maybe.”

“Wow, how did you keep it together being around me all this time? You must’ve been fangirling so hard.”

“Oh my god, so hard. You have no idea,” she joked.

He laughed at the sarcasm but didn’t let up, “So you knew who I was that day I walked into the rink?”

She nodded, “I knew who you were.”

“And what was your first thought?”

“Honestly? I thought it might’ve been a big joke to you. That’s why I was a bit closed off at first.”

“That’s understandable. What changed your mind?”

“The day you gave me pushback. I could see it in your eyes that you cared.”

He considered her words, “When I first met you, I was really intimidated and that wasn’t how I usually felt around girls. You had this confidence about you that was incredibly attractive, but it made me nervous. I wanted to skate to your standards and I didn’t even know if that would be possible.”

“Well you did it. You impressed me. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

“I am nothing if not stubbornly determined.”

She laughed, “Now that I know.”

The lights in the arena went black and spotlights darted around the crowd in an attempt to amp up the audience for the face off. Players from both teams skated out and started warming up as pop punk music blasted over the speakers. Y/N found herself feeding off the energy in the crowd and growing excited. The taste of light beer and artificial cheese somehow enhanced her experience. 

After the initial faceoff, she found it hard to pull her attention away from Bucky. She asked him questions about some of the rules she didn’t quite understand and he offered her tidbits about the players as they skated around the rink. When something exciting would happen, Bucky would stop mid sentence to cheer or yell at the refs, then fall right back into the conversation with a brief apology. Y/N found it endearing that he was so passionate about the sport and that he cared enough to make sure she was having a positive experience. 

As the gameplay continued, she felt more comfortable with the sport and started cheering along with the crowd at important moments. One of the Wild players tapped in a goal right in front of them and they both stood up in tandem to cheer. Y/N lifted her arms up to give Bucky a double high five, but instead he wrapped his arms around her torso and squeezed her tight. While she was starting to get more used to his touch, it still gave her butterflies. 

The game was tied 1-1 going in the middle of the second period. Y/N could feel the tension mounting between the two teams. The players were slamming each other into the glass like they had personal vendettas against each other. It was exciting to watch. Bucky kept waiting for the gloves to come off in an actual brawl, but it hadn’t reached that level just yet. Y/N was also impressed with the crowd engagement tactics used. Outside of just showing fans dancing on the jumbotron, they showed videos of the players trying to name as many ice cream flavors as possible in 30 seconds and had a montage of players naming their favorite TV shows. Y/N was most tickled by the look-a-like segment, where a notable celebrity or character was displayed on the jumbotron and then a fan in the crowd who looked similar to the person in question was projected on the screen side-by-side. As the segment progressed, the comparisons became more and more accurate, eliciting cheers and giggles from the crowd.

What Y/N did not expect to see, was the kiss cam. She’d seen it in several rom coms from the early 2000s, but had assumed the tradition had died out. Regardless, she wasn’t worried about being featured on the screen. There were so many other people in the stadium that must have looked more interesting than them. 

They started with a couple in their seventies who shared a quick peck. Then the screen displayed a young mother with a young child sitting on her lap. She peppered the child with kisses on the cheek as the baby smiled at the camera. The next couple were both wearing hockey jerseys and were caught by surprise when they noticed they were on screen. The female had just taken a big swig of beer and almost spit it out when she saw herself. The male was looking straight ahead and shaking his head with wide eyes. He then kissed his cup of beer and chugged it while his friend laughed along with the crowd. 

And then she saw Bucky on the screen, her own image projected by his side. They both had their eyes up at the screen and they turned toward each other at the same time. 

“Let’s give ‘em something to cheer about, yeah?” he said. She didn’t have time to respond, but he could tell from the smile on her face and the look in her eye that she was in.

He crept in close and gingerly placed his hand on her jaw. His lips met hers in what started out as a sweet kiss. He deepened the kiss, using the slightest bit of tongue without being sloppy. When he started to ease up, Y/N’s lips spread into a smile and they shared a few loving pecks as the crowd cheered for them. She was immediately embarrassed and leaned into Bucky’s shoulder to hide her face. Bucky took the opposite approach. He wrapped his arms around her shoulder and thrust his other arm into the air, much like Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club. The crowd loved it, amping up their applause.

When the segment ended and the crowd simmered, Bucky leaned back into his seat and Y/N’s expression was that of pure disbelief. 

“That did not just happen,” she said. 

“I wish I could take credit for that, but it was pure kismet.”

“I just didn’t think things like that happened to normal people.”

“Well maybe that’s because you’re not a normal person,” he suggested.

She turned to him with eyebrows raised, waiting for him to elaborate, “You’re extraordinary.”

Instinctually, she leaned into him and kissed him again, using her actions to portray her feelings.The kiss was soft and sweet, leaving Bucky in awe yet again.

As she pulled away, Bucky took his time to open his eyes. When he was ready to return to reality, he opened his eyes and looked straight into hers.

“I never want you to stop doing that,” he flirted. She blushed and they returned their attention to the ice.

The night continued to be more and more exciting. The game was still tied up into the third period. With about two minutes left, the Wild scored a goal right in front of them. They both jumped up and banged on the glass in excitement. The crowd went into a frenzy as the players celebrated with padded up group hugs and high fives. They stayed for the last few minutes and were relieved to see the game end with a Minnesota victory.

As they walked out of the stadium to the car, Y/N felt the buzz of the win running through her. It was unlike anything else she ever felt, even medaling in a competition. 

“You okay,” Bucky asked her, as she kept smiling and looking at the crowd filing out around her.

“I’m great, I feel like I don’t want this night to end.”

“Is that because of the win or the date?” 

“A little of both.”

“I mean if you want we can grab a drink somewhere when we get back to campus if you want to keep the night going.”

She nodded, “We’ll see how we feel.”

They loaded into the car and waited for their turn to exit the crowded parking lot. Once they escaped the initial bumper-to-bumper, it was smooth highway sailing back to campus. They found a parking spot near her apartment. Y/N pulled out her phone for the first time all night and her face immediately went blank.

“Shit…” she muttered.

Bucky looked at her concerned, “What is it?”

“USFS is calling a press conference tomorrow morning.”

“Oh shit,” he replied in surprise.

“Now I definitely need a drink,” she replied, wanting something to calm her nerves.

“I think we can manage that.”

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: Nullum Magnum Ingenium

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contains: lady whump, asylum, outdated/problematic/ableist language, bullying (includes food-related taunting, Victorian-style slut-shaming, sexist language), feeling humiliated, drugging/sedation

Previous | Masterlist | Next (on ao3)

Word count: 4700 || Approx reading time: 19 mins

Nullum Magnum Ingenium

Teaser: This room was so cold, her teeth chattered. Perhaps the presence of a few other bodies might have dispelled the horrid chill, or even kept at bay the nightmares—horrible ones, dark and sinister, filled with screams and the blood-flecked ghost of Will’s face.

Bree awoke from an ordeal that vaguely resembled sleep, curled into a ball and shivering, her face stiff and sticky with dried tears. The night had passed slowly, filled with constant interruptions from heavy-footed nurses. Each time, they’d noisily opened her door to peer into her face. Checking, it seemed, to ensure she was alive and calm and who she said she was.

From what she understood, Baden was paying handsomely for a private room, but she had to wonder if a shared dorm wouldn’t be more pleasant. This room was so cold, her teeth chattered. Perhaps the presence of a few other bodies might have dispelled the horrid chill, or even kept at bay the nightmares—horrible ones, dark and sinister, filled with screams and the blood-flecked ghost of Will’s face.

A basin of water was delivered, its arrival foretold by footsteps and the scrape of a key unlocking her door. Bree shivered through her ablutions, splashing her face and drying it with a yellowed towel that scraped her skin. Smoothing her hair with an old hairbrush made her skin crawl; she tried not to fixate on how many other locks it had brushed before. The morning nurse, a smiling woman whose black hair was braided away from her face and tied with a pink bow, provided her with a coarse, grey dress. Bree did not object, even though it was as hideous as her slip and equally uncomfortable. It, too, was stamped with its inventory number and Greyhurst’s name.

First, property of Baden Hatchett; now, property of the asylum.

“Come along, Mrs. Hatchett,” said the nurse in a sweet, accented voice when she was done. “Shall we see what they’ve made for breakfast?”

It seemed impossible that this kindly girl could be in the same profession as the blonde gossip from the day before.

In the dining room, Bree quickly found her way to Mrs. Strickland, certain she would need the encouragement to choke down her food when she saw what was being served: unbuttered bread and bowls of watery oatmeal striped with thin drizzles of molasses.

“Remember what I told you yesterday,” said the older woman, sipping daintily at her tea. Bree’s eyes filled with tears when she tasted hers. Will’s voice came to her, complaining about a different cup of tea; now she, too, knew what tea tasted like when it was made with care and love—and when it wasn’t.

“How long have you been here?” Bree asked, trying to take her mind off the lamentable bill of fare.

Mrs. Strickland’s face fell. “Almost three years.”

Bree nearly spilled her tea into her lap—not that it would have hurt much, considering that it was lukewarm. “What?” Her face drawn but collected, Mrs. Strickland nodded. “But—I thought—Dr. Armstrong said a few months—”

“For some, yes.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Bree put down her teacup and took the woman’s hand. “I…I’m so sorry.”

Why on earth should this gentle woman have been locked away for so long? “Wh…” Fearing to pry, she cut herself off, but Mrs. Strickland grasped her question nonetheless.

“My husband and I have different ideas about how children ought to be raised.” Mrs. Strickland’s gaze, clouded with sorrow, fixed upon something on the opposite side of the room. “It was a battle I couldn’t win, since… Well, perhaps you know better than most. The law is not on our side, is it?”

Recalling Baden’s voice as he declared her forcible commitment entirely lawful, Bree shook her head.

“Some things are beyond our control, regardless of how hard we try,” said Mrs. Strickland. “Or how valiantly we fight.”

Something shivered and trembled inside Bree’s chest. That simply couldn’t be true.

But she thought of herself standing helpless, frozen, and silent as Baden walked away.

“We do our best,” said Mrs. Strickland, “with the lot we’re given. We keep going. We…” She glanced around the room, and for a moment, Bree could see the anguish swirling around her like mist. No, not just anguish; there was anger, too, and determination. Quiet, subdued—but not extinguished. “Survive.”

The rest of the meal passed largely in melancholy silence. When it was done, however, Mrs. Strickland got to her feet and informed the nurses, in a voice as reasonable as any Bree had ever heard, that she would take the new girl under her wing, if you please, and so Breanna Hatchett would accompany her for work in the sewing room. To Bree’s astonishment, no one scoffed or objected; in fact, the pink-bowed nurse beamed and said she thought it was a marvellous idea.

The sewing room was a surprisingly bright area filled with natural light and quietly chattering women. Work, Mrs. Strickland said, was part of the healing regimen at Greyhurst. Thus, much of the day would be passed with needlework, sewing clothes, pillowcases, sheets, and more.

“Saves them a great deal of money to have us do it,” Mrs. Strickland whispered with a roll of her eyes, and Bree couldn’t help but return a cynical laugh.

It was undeniably a relief to have something to occupy her mind: in every moment she wasn’t working, she fretted about whether Will was safe. If, as her slim silver needle wove in and out of her fabric, he was being locked in chains, carted away, or put to death. If each loop of her thread perfectly mimicked the deathly coil of a noose.

The first day ebbed into a second, and then a third, settling into a routine: rest, meals, work. The nightmares did not fade, nor did her sleep improve: if it wasn’t the nurses disturbing her with their stomping footsteps, it was the cries of poor souls elsewhere in the asylum. Bree burst into tears the first time she was jolted awake by a haunting, woeful scream.

Even so, her days passed in what might have been pleasant mundanity—if not for the ever-present terror that the next morning would be the one when a nurse or doctor burst in bearing news that those wicked Iustitia aecum thieves had been caught and put to death.

She was on her second pillowcase of the day when a nurse summoned her, announcing that she had a visitor. Bree’s mouth went dry. So, Baden was back. Perhaps bringing her belongings, perhaps some extra clothes.

Perhaps tidings of misery and death.

Squaring her shoulders, Bree followed the nurse from the room, her mind racing. Today, she would not face Baden with terror, hysteria, tears, or ravings. She would overpower him with strength of argument and soundness of mind, and she would convince him she had been wrongfully detained. Then, the moment she was free, she would find Will—and make sure Baden never laid a finger on him again.

It was a fine plan, or it would have been had Baden Hatchett been waiting for her.

“Breanna?”

Alice Wright stood stiffly in the parlour, twisting her fingers together. Her hands shook.

“Alice,” Bree whispered.

The afternoon light was weak and silvery. Spilling through the window, it glinted off Alice’s dark hair, and even though it was a miserable, grey sort of glow, she looked as beautiful and put-together as she always did.

Judging by how Alice clapped her hands to her mouth, Bree knew the light did not have the same effect on her.

Fleeting glances in the mirror had revealed an unpleasant truth: although only a few days had passed, her appearance was already deteriorating. There remained not a whit of shine to her hair; her skin was growing sallow; ringing her eyes were circles of dolorous, ashy grey.

Altogether, she looked positively frightful.

“Oh, Breanna,” Alice squeaked, darting forward and embracing her tightly. “What’s happened to you?”

Bree swallowed swift, smarting tears, unsure whether to be mortified or grateful that Alice bore witness to her imprisonment. Had Baden told everybody, then, that she was mad? Whenever anyone spoke the name “Hatchett” from now on, would it immediately be followed by condoling coos of, “Oh, that poor dear! Did you hear? Do you suppose they’ll ever let her out?”

But Alice merely murmured, “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he would—I didn’t know it would come to this.”

Baden hadn’t come, but Alice had.

Baden wouldn’t help her—but perhaps Alice would.

“Please,” Bree said dizzily, her heart beginning to thrum faster. “Alice, please, you must listen. I’m not mad.” She swung her head around, cognizant of how perfectly paranoid she must look even as she insisted she was sane, but what she wished to say next, the nurses could not overhear. “I need your help.”

“Breanna, I—”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be in here,” she interrupted. “Please, listen. I’m not insane. Baden, he—he’s just trying to protect his reputation, don’t you understand? Because—because I—”

Because I fell in love with someone else.

“You must find him,” Bree whispered. “And warn him.”

“Wait—”

“Please!” Bree squeezed her friend’s hands. “You have to warn…”

Will. But what meaning would that name hold for Alice? None. Fox. Why should she recognize that name over his real one? The thief—my thief. But wasn’t that much the same as confessing her crimes?

Bree froze as she realized she had not a clue of how to word her plea.

“Breanna,” said Alice gently, cupping her cheek, “perhaps you might listen to me first.” She turned to the nearest nurse, who, to Bree’s great trepidation, was Miss Dugford. “I wish to walk with my friend.”

“If you want to go outside,” said Miss Dugford sullenly, “you’ll need an escort. She roamed her gaze over Alice’s smart outfit and lofty expression—and apparently concluded that this was a fine lady who was not to be crossed or trifled with. Bree nearly collapsed with relief.

“Fine,” Alice sniffed. “Then we shall simply take a turn about the room.” With a haughty toss of her hair, she laid a hand on Bree’s arm and tugged her along.

The softest whisper tickled her ear: “I have news, but play along for a few minutes, all right?”

Alice prattled on for those few—yet agonizing—minutes, filling the air with questions. How had Greyhurst’s staff been treating her? Had she been sleeping? Was there anything she needed? Why on earth had Baden not yet sent any extra clothes? Unacceptable. Rest assured, she would arrange to have some dresses sent immediately.

After two and a half circles around the room, one nurse, clearly bored, began to plunk away at the piano in the corner, making what Bree thought was quite an unnecessary racket. A new light glowed in Alice’s eyes.

“I was sent here,” she said softly, her eyes on the musically-minded nurse, her face perfectly calm, “but it wasn’t your husband who told me you’d been committed.”

Bree stumbled to a halt. “What?”

“Shh,” Alice admonished. “Enjoy the lovely music, won’t you?” The tune was far from skillfully played, but it was loud—and distracting.

“Who sent you?” Bree whispered.

“A terribly rude young man.”

As it sank in what this meant—the only person Alice could mean—Bree’s eyes filled with tears.

“Stop reacting!” Alice said quickly. Raising her voice, she said, “Now, Breanna, I know you’re terribly homesick, but—” She wavered. “Remember, we all just want what’s best for you. No doubt you’ll be feeling much better soon.”

Will. He didn’t hate her after all.

“He sought me out,” said Alice quietly, “all for you.”

Washed away by these words was the conviction that Will despised her for dooming Jamie—but Bree’s relief was accompanied by horror. “He did?” When the constables could have found him at any moment? “Was he all right?”

“Well, I thought he was rather vulgar. But…” Alice nodded. “He seemed unhurt. Only…upset.” After a pause, she added, “And really quite incorrigible.”

Although she laughed, Bree’s throat ached with gratitude. Will, her Will—so reckless. Too reckless. “Alice, you have to warn him. Baden wants him dead. If you see him again, you must send him away. He can’t be caught.”

Alice’s face fell as she laid a hand on Bree’s arm. “He knows.”

“He—how?”

Whispering even more quietly now, Alice said, “A new arrest warrant. It says he’s done…terrible things. Awful things. To you.”

Bree’s hands moved of their own accord, taking hold of the end of her braid and combing through the ends. Every muscle seemed to tremble. “Alice, it’s not true. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.”

“So he insisted,” Alice said. “As did his friend. A woman.”

Colette was trying to help her, too? Bree pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to keep her sobs reined in.

“It’ll be all right,” said Alice soothingly, passing another worried glance around the room, apparently determining that Bree’s distress had grown too conspicuous. “You’ll be right as rain before you know it.” She took Bree’s hand again.

Something circular passed from Alice’s palm to Bree’s.

Quiet as a falling petal, Alice whispered, “I’m here to seek a way in, and I think I’ve found it.”

Without giving Bree an opportunity to react, she burst into loud, cheerful chatter. “Now, let’s rest for a few minutes before I go. Shall I tell you all about the literary society? No doubt you’ll be joining us in no time.”

They rested upon a poorly cushioned bench by the window. With a furtive glance around, only half-listening as Alice described the literary society’s current book and detailed her husband’s latest travels with the military, Bree glanced at the item in her palm.

A roughly carved coin, decorated on both sides: on one face, a tree with ringed roots, and on the other, two letters.

I.A.

Praying her shaking hands wouldn’t cause her to drop the precious gift Will had sent her, Bree slipped the coin into her stocking. She would not allow the nurses to see it, to find it, to parse its meaning—or to take it away.

His meaning, unwritten but clear: I’m coming for you.

“Don’t forget what Mr. Hawthorne said,” said Alice suddenly.

Bree frowned, trying to remember which quotation from The Scarlet Letter her friend meant.

“‘Do anything…’” Alice began, and Bree’s heart lifted.

“‘Do anything,’” she recited, “‘save to lie down and die.’”

“A dear friend once told me that,” said Alice, wiping her eyes. “I’m still trying to determine if she was wise or foolish, in the end.”

For the first time in days, when Bree laughed, it felt neither heavy nor forced. “You know,” she said, “I think you’d get along with him rather well. Once you got to know him. My…friend.”

Alice raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know about that. He frightened me, at first. And the way he curses!” Still, her lips turned upwards. Slightly. “Perhaps I shall have to take your word for it.”

Interrupting the contemplative silence that fell between them, Dr. Armstrong approached. Although he retained his usual mild demeanour, he seemed pleased. “You’re smiling, Mrs. Breanna.” If Alice found it indecorous that he referred to Bree by her first name rather than her last, she did not say so, although her mouth twitched. “I’m delighted to see that. Your friend’s visit has done you good.”

“Yes,” said Bree, praying he could not detect a suspicious amount of exuberance in her expression. “It certainly has.”

“You’re a doctor here?” asked Alice, getting to her feet.

Imperturbable and unoffended as ever, the doctor merely said, “I’m Dr. Armstrong, assistant physician.”

With sparks in her eyes, Alice strode up to him, held out her hand for a shake, and said, “Dr. Armstrong, my name is Alice Wright, the wife of Major Roger Merritt Wright of the 34th Regiment, and I would like to return to your hospital for a visit of a different sort. I noticed you have a lovely piano in the corner there, and I was touched by how—er—pleasing it was to have some music this afternoon.”

Bree blinked, wondering where Alice was leading this conversation, for no one with any taste would find the nurse’s playing pleasing to the ear.

“I was thinking,” Alice went on before he could interject, “of how nice it would be if I returned with a—erm—friend to play some music for the patients here. Might we discuss this?”

“Oh…” Dr. Armstrong appeared to give her proposition earnest consideration. “I suppose we could bring it to Dr. Richards and see what he says.”

“Splendid,” said Alice. “I’m sure he’ll agree that it would be ever such a nice thing to do. Music is simply delightful for the soul, isn’t it?”

Dr. Armstrong agreed, sending an affectionate look toward the shabby piano.

“Do you play, doctor?” Bree asked, a little surprised and genuinely curious.

“Well, not anymore,” he said, and she was rendered quite astonished, almost charmed, when his face turned red.

“Oh, but you did!” said Alice delightedly. “Why, then we simply must arrange this visit! Please, Dr. Armstrong, take me to see Dr. Richards right away.” Without giving him a chance to refuse, Alice gave Bree one quick embrace, bade her farewell, and led him toward the door. The sound of her airy laughter drifted away, more beautiful than any music.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Bree stood still, heart pounding and hands tingling. Had that really just happened? Had Alice been there, slipped her an Iustitia aecum coin, promised to help her, and then vanished? It seemed impossible.

Yet the coin in her stocking insisted that something had been set in motion, a firm foundation laid.

For a plan.

For, she dared to hope, the plan that would see her once again set free.

***

If Bree went to dinner with her heart soaring, it did not take long for it to plummet.

“Madam Lawbreaker had a visitor today,” said Miss Dugford loudly toward upon seeing Bree. “Didn’t you, Mrs. Hatchett? Did you have a simply lovely time with your friend?”

Biting down hard on the tip of her tongue, Bree nodded and brace herself for whatever stinging remark or hissed innuendo was coming her way.

“I’m astonished,” said Miss Dugford. “The poor girl must not know what manner of people you associate with the rest of the time. Did you deceive her, too?”

Bree ignored her. Finding her prey dissatisfactory, Miss Dugford turned away, shifting her attention to a younger girl instead.

“Look at this! How shameful,” she said mockingly, pointing to the girl’s half-eaten meal. “You must eat up. It’s not healthy to eat so little, you know. And it’s so terribly ungrateful of you to leave half your food on the plate.”

The girl stared down in distaste at her lump of boiled beef, mumbling, “I’ve eaten my fill.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” Miss Dugford sighed dramatically and addressed another nurse. “These rich girls, wasting food like it’s nothing. Disgraceful!” She tutted, and the girl’s face flushed deeply, her eyes filling with tears. “Or perhaps her condition is worsening. A healthy young girl in her right mind wouldn’t refuse such a meal, would she?”

The girl ducked her head and said nothing. A tear dripped off her chin, splashing against the wooden tabletop.

“A woman in her right mind wouldn’t go anywhere near this meal,” Bree said.

Sharp intakes of breath up and down her table reminded her that talking back to any of the nurses, but especially this one, was ill-advised. At the moment, however, Bree didn’t care. She didn’t want Nurse Dugford’s attention, either, of course. But the poor girl looked so forlorn. So helpless.

If no one ever said anything, then what would it take to make that horrid woman hold her tongue?

“How extraordinarily impolite!” said Miss Dugford, crossing her arms. “Didn’t you ever learn to mind your own business? Really, Mrs. Hatchett, you ought to be a bit more agreeable. More grateful. You’ve been given such a lovely place to stay while our kind doctors do their best to cure you of your nympho—” She paused dramatically. “Well, as I have a sense of propriety, I won’t say it here.”

Bree’s throat threatened to close up and choke the very words out of her. But instead of fixating on her atrocious meal, she looked up and met Miss Dugford’s gaze. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Perhaps you should say it.”

The nurse merely clicked her tongue and drifted away. “See? She is a hopeless case.”

“Don’t do anything untoward,” Mrs. Strickland said, clinging to her arm. No doubt she could see Bree’s fingers clenching into fists. “You’ll only regret it.”

Bree forced her breaths to calm.

It was a relief when Dr. Armstrong, making his rounds through the room, paused next to her, a smile on his face. “I must say, Mrs. Wright was very persuasive. We shall have a concert tomorrow.”

“What wonderful news!” she said, her mood buoyed by the sudden smiles beaming around her. “That will be lovely, I’m sure.” For everyone, of course, but especially, if Alice’s whisper was any indication, for her.

Oblivious to the plot he’d unwittingly abetted, Dr. Armstrong smiled again, lightly patted her hand, and moved on.

From where she stood, Miss Dugford watched them with her eyes narrowed. Bree threw her an indignant glare, resolving to keep her spirits undampened.

In this endeavour, she was successful—until it came time to exit the dining room, when Miss Dugford slithered toward her again.

“You seem quite taken with Dr. Armstrong,” she said coolly. “Everyone sees it.” Beneath the glow of the gas lights, her green eyes glittered menacingly. “How terribly improper. He’s a physician. A professional. Are you looking for special treatment or something?”

“I’m not taken with anyone,” Bree said through gritted teeth. “He was just telling me about tomorrow’s concert.”

Something about today felt different; a crueller gleam burned in Miss Dugford’s gaze.

Bree knew she should duck her head and walk away. The coin in her stocking whispered to her softly: if only she could hold out, suffer just a little longer, her imprisonment would soon be over, and the gaping hole in her heart would soon be filled.

Miss Dugford giggled, shrill and girlish—more a caterwaul, a banshee’s scream. “Well, I’m no doctor, but it certainly seems to me that you’re utterly incurable. Married to such a prominent, respectable gentleman with a good job, then running off with a thief? Now throwing yourself at Dr. Armstrong? Why, there’s no fixing such deplorable promiscuity, is there?”

Hot, tingling prickles swept up and down Bree’s entire body.

“Your poor husband,” Miss Dugford sneered. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your poor crook, too. I wonder what they’d say, seeing how you conduct yourself in here. No wonder your constable hasn’t come to visit.” Her head tilted to the side. “And your thief, well, he can’t, can he? He’d be arrested before he made it through the gates.”

Bree heard Mrs. Strickland calling her—Let’s go. Come away. Go on to bed.

“Be quiet,” Bree said, “and leave me alone.”

“But you know…” Miss Dugford continued, still tittering. “Supposing he could. Perhaps he wouldn’t be surprised at all. A man like that, straight from the gutter—why, I’m sure he’s very used to whores and trollops. Just like y—”

The slap of Bree’s palm against Miss Dugford’s cheek echoed through the entire dining room.

Aside from the gasps of alarm that rose among the women who had borne witness, there was only silence.

“How dare you?” Bree demanded. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”

“Did you see that?” Miss Dugford screeched. “You all saw that, right? She hit me!”

“Mrs. Hatchett, really!” one of the other women said. Perhaps it was Mrs. Strickland, horrified, disappointed. Perhaps it was someone else. Bree didn’t care.

Because Miss Dugford, clutching a hand to her bright red cheek, opened her big mouth again.

“Looks like Mrs. Hatchett’s time consorting with the scum of the earth was even more influential than we thought.” Her face contorted into a grimace—animalistic, bloodthirsty. “Were you always a violent little cow, destined to end up here from the start, or was it that Wardrew man who taught you?”

The name no one else was supposed to know struck Bree more fiercely than any blow.

Bree did not realize she had leapt for Miss Dugford until two pairs of arms grabbed her and dragged her away.

“How do you know his name?” It was her voice, she knew, crying out like that, but it came from somewhere far away, impossibly far. The voice of a woman gone feral, panicked and overcome.

And trapped.

Miss Dugford couldn’t know Will’s name, yet she did. Which meant that someone, somewhere, had told the police, and the police had told the rest of the world. Was it Jamie? Had he buckled under the pressure Will had suffered so keenly to withstand? Had someone else informed on IA? Or—worst of all—had the others been caught?

What if, at that very moment, Will was in chains again?

“How do you know?” she cried, tears already streaming down her cheeks.

“Everyone knows!” Miss Dugford snarled, scrambling away. “Wardrew, Marks, Haris! You just haven’t heard because you’re locked up like the bloody lunatic you are!”

Every name—revealed.

All her allies—doomed.

“That’s quite enough!” Dr. Richards bellowed, but Bree barely heard him.

She had consoled herself with the conviction that even if every constable was looking for a man with red-brown hair, hazel eyes, a tattoo, and a price on his head, Will was still protected by his anonymity, and that his name and whatever history remained attached to it would stay hidden long enough for him to get away.

But if everyone knew…

Something pricked her arm. It hurt—but it paled in comparison to the ache inside her soul.

“To your room at once, Mrs. Hatchett,” said Dr. Richards coldly, as a pair of nurses urged her to walk.

They didn’t understand. They couldn’t.

“Perhaps she is mad after all,” said Mrs. Strickland sadly. “She seemed such a sharp little thing.”

How could any of them understand?

“Come on now, Mrs. Hatchett,” a nurse said. “Don’t fight us. We’re here to help you. We know you’re upset. You’ll be all right soon. Just come along.”

It was not until she was almost at her room that Bree realized she felt strange. Not the kind of strange that came with having her soul shredded to ribbons—that remained.

No, this sensation was unfamiliar—limbs growing heavy and weak. Eyes growing dim. Mind growing foggy.

“What did you do?” she whispered. “I feel…”

“I know, lamb,” said the nurse, patting her cheek. “You were distraught, and violent, and you slapped Miss Dugford, didn’t you? That wasn’t kind, but anyone can see you’re suffering. You need rest. The chloral will help you sleep, that’s all, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“And then we shall have a conversation about standards of behaviour in this hospital.” Dr. Richards’ voice. Drifting from somewhere behind them.

“Are you with it enough to get into your nightgown?” the nurse asked. “Or do you need help?”

“Don’t touch me,” Bree said. She was crying. Was she? She wasn’t certain. She had been so happy. So hopeful. Earlier. Why? Alice. Colette. Music. A plan.

That Wardrew man. Everyone knows. Whore. Trollop. Bloody lunatic.

“Please leave me alone,” she sobbed when the nurse drew closer. “Don’t touch me. Don’t.”

The invisible spectre of Dr. Richards sighed heavily. “Just wait until she’s out,” he said. “Then you can finish up and help calm everyone else down.”

“Please,” Bree said. “Please. Please.” What was she crying for? Pleading for? She wasn’t certain.

She was so tired.

“You’ll be all right, Mrs. Hatchett.”

A lie, Bree knew, but the room faded, and she knew nothing more.

Previous | Masterlist | Next (on ao3)

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

✨ @starlit-hopes-and-dreams | @clairelsonao3 | @gala1981 | @pleasestaywithmedarling | @kixngiggles ✨

[pilot-boi]

Hold on…

What if RWBY just find Jaunes broken blade and assume the worst? A broken weapon around Cinder is never a good sign.

When they find it, they’re not quite sure what they’re looking at.

Everything in the Ever After seems halfway between two states of being at all time. Half of the trees are rocks just pretending. A crystal cliff they’d been walking towards for an hour turned out to be a facade as flimsy as tissue paper in a hurricane.

So when they see the light of twin suns reflect in a sliver of silver they think nothing of it.

It catches Blake’s eye first, distracted from her flirting by a quivering spot of technicolor light dancing on the dirt path in front of her. Her eyes trace it and flick up to where a light glints and reflects from a point high in a multicolored tree.

There’s something familiar about what Blake’s looking at, and without realizing her steps slow. This brings Yang’s jokes screeching to a halt as her voice raises in a question. Feline ears flick uncertainly, and before long Weiss and Ruby join them.

A discussion fills the air, debating, arguing.

Is it a distraction, meant to keep them from continuing down Alyx’s path? Is it a trap, as so many things in this world seem to be? It’s familiar in a way none of them can put their fingers on, but if their brief stay in the Ever After has taught them anything, it’s taught them caution.

The little mouse pays no heed to their worries, only hearing the group’s interest in the object. They scurry down Ruby and up the tree and dislodge the shiny thing without a moment’s hesitation.

It tumbles through the air with a metallic shing, landing unceremoniously in a pile of multicolored maple leaves.

The girls jump, most of them with hands halfway to weapons, before they realize there’s nothing to see.

It’s a sword. Not even a mechanized one like most blade-wielding Huntsmen have. Just a simple longsword.

With gold inlay that swirls along the steel in a way that pulls at them. The shattered steel, what’s left of the tip stained crimson with blood.

It’s Weiss who first realizes what they’re looking at, and her face goes the color of old oatmeal. Sickly pale and faint, drained of all vitality.

She dashes forward, heedless of her friends calling for her or how the Ever After might thrust her back onto the path. Because if this sword is here then that means-

Ruby crouches at Weiss’s side, Little once again safely in the folds of her cape. Her partner’s eyes have more life in them than they have since she found out Penny died again. How she wishes that it wasn’t from fear for their friend’s life.

There’s blood on the blade, and when Blake points it out with a tremor in her voice, Weiss can’t bring herself to explain. By her count, Penny’s blood has been on this blade longer than the full length of time the fluid was pulsing through her veins.

All of their eyes linger on the blood. On the shattered sword and what it could mean. Blake’s hand wraps tight around the gold stripe in Gambol Shroud.

A Huntsman’s weapon is imbued with the strength of his self. An extension of his soul. The sword blade is shattered, as cruel as a caress.

Weiss thought he was safe in Vacuo. Hopefully with the Relics, but at least safe. At least alive. “Is Jaune…? You don’t think he…?” Yang’s unfinished question goes unanswered.

Because if his sword is here, then where is Jaune Arc?

[kazz-matazz]

COOKIE OUT BOY!!!

I FINISHED IT. WITH 45 MINUTES TO SPARE. TOOK ME 8 HOURS BUT

click for quality. it looks SO much better when you click i prommy!!!

inspired by @strawberryprism's discussion about what cookies the boys would be. we have:

Oatmeal Honey cookie (Pete)

Peanut Butter cookie (Andy)

Meringue cookie (Joe) (The colors represent how meringue looks when torched!)

Shortbread (Orange) Pinwheel cookie (The stripes in his hair are the pinwheel pattern!)

its done 💪 im so happy this took SO long but we stay silly 💪 they are just cookies...escaped the oven...do not separate them!! they are a four count cookie pack!!

[cottagecore-raccoon]

For the Cozy Ask Game: 3, 4, 5, 13 :D

It let you ask off of anon today! That's so exciting!

3. Favorite comfy clothing you own?

I have a ton of sweaters (which I'm sure surprises no one), all of which I adore! That said, I especially fond of a oatmeal and cream striped sweater that's super thick

4. What's your go to rainy day activity?

If left to my own devices, all I want to do on a rainy day is sleep and drink tea. I'm always so sleepy when it rains and everywhere is so cozy-

5. Do you have any stuffed animals on your bed? Can you tell us about them?

I have a few that rotate, although I sleep with my dog so they often don't stay all night (because Piper needs cuddles, dammit). There are two penguin pillow pets, a weird bunny squishmallow (that isn't the usual shape? I dunno), and sometimes my stuffed raven named Nigel. Nigel is my main guy who travels with me on vacation

13. Do you have an album that you listen to when you need to calm down?

My main is Ella and Louis by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. It's just such a warm, cohesive album that I bought it on vinyl! I also love The Christmas Song by Nat King Cole. I had it on CD growing up, and whenever I was having a hard time I'd listen to it in my room. I think it's probably part of the reason why Christmas is one my special interests now, truth be told

Cozy Ask Game

[floofanflurr]

A master list of all the wonderful art and fanart made for Heart on the Table!

It's a long list, so I've put it under the cut!

These aren't all on tumblr- though some of them are! Some link to other websites such as deviantart.

(These also don’t include the pieces that I have drawn myself- to see those, sort by the #art on the table tag on my blog)

(There’s way too many of them for me to link.)

Frisk curled up in ball by HumanKK (Ch 1)

Thank You by SirLinn (Ch 1)

papyrus… by SirLinn (Ch 2)

papyrus... (redone version of last piece!) by SirLinn (Ch 2)

Movie Night by SirLinn (Ch 2)

Dinosaur Egg Oatmeal by SirLinn (Ch 3)

Carrying the Team by SirLinn (Ch 4)

Very Small Friend by SirLinn (Ch 4)

Failed Negotiations by SirLinn (Ch 4)

Frisk by SirLinn (Ch 5)

AN ANIMATIC FOR CHAPTER 5?!?! By SirLinn!!!

Coping Mechanisms by SirLinn (Ch 6)

Hair Ruffle by SirLinn (Ch 6)

Lean on Me by SirLinn (Ch 7)

Hysterical by SirLinn (Ch 8)

CRACK! - Commissioned piece by velvetwyrme (Ch 8) -TWs: blood, child death

Papyrus holding Frisk (Ch 8) by @sunsestart (Linked and shared here with full permission- the link is just to the image address as it is not posted online.)

A Comic of chapter 9 by yesiseeinteresting

One Last Look by SirLinn (Ch 9)

*They are exhausted by SirLinn (Ch 10)

Flinch by SirLinn (Ch 10)

All Grown Up by SirLinn (Ch 11)

Safe At Last by SirLinn (Ch 12)

Heart on the Table by HumanKK (Ch 13)

Empathy by SirLinn (Ch 13)

The stuffed cat!!! by emeraldidentity (Ch 14)

The couch scene by HumanKK (Ch 14)

Still in Stripes by SirLinn (Ch 14)

Papyrus fight by HumanKK (Ch 15)

Papyrus sneaking in and Frisk by HumanKK (Ch 16)

"Everyone hurts me" by SirLinn (Ch 16)

[Friends!] by SirLinn (Ch 17)

Frisk on Undyne's shoulders by SirLinn (Ch 19)

Palpable tension - Frisk, Undyne, Papyrus at front door by @sunsestart (Ch 19) (Linked and shared here with full permission- the link is just to the image address as it is not posted online.)

Fancomic of Frisk's puppy dog eyes that Papyrus mentions in ch 19 by HumanKK

Various images from chapter 20! by HumanKK (Ch 20)

"You're on thin ice." by SirLinn (Ch 20)

Echo flower fields: collab by SirLinn and me (Ch 20)

Frisk in Pap's Boot by Jade (Chap 20)

Frisk's worst fears by HumanKK (Ch 21)

Frisk after their nightmare by cjhs-world (Ch 21)

*BAM! KAPOW!! The heroine appears! by HumanKK (Ch 24)

Various scenes up to chapter 24 by limonlupilav

No Specific Chapter:

Mr. Angel teaching Frisk to crochet by smilegirl64

Like father like sons by smilegirl64

[world-of-wales]

CATHERINE'S STYLE FILES - 2023

28 September 2023 || The Princeess of Wales and Prince William received Timothy Cook, Chief Executive Officer of Apple at Windsor Castle.

Catherine opted for -

↬ Double-Breasted Blazer in 'Navy Chalk Pin Stripe' by Holland Cooper

↬ High Waisted Straight Trousers in 'Navy Chalk Pin Stripe' by Holland Cooper

↬ 'Costa' Silk and Cashmere Turtleneck Sweater in 'Oatmeal' by Gabriela Hearst

↬ Medium Twist Hoop Earrings in Gold from Spells of Love

[helloliriels]

Since you are the unofficial jumpers of Watson expert, I have a question for you.

Imagine John chooses his jumper of the day to tell Sherlock something. Like a secret language in jumpers. Which message would each of the jumpers convey?

Ooh! I like this! (and am I ?! ♡ (✿◠‿◠) ♡) honored @myriath

(omg don't look at the date) (jesus, liri) (inorite???)

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

John likes to be comfortable. Casual. But classic. But ... he's also not a HUGE fan of ironing ... hence the jumpers. Over the years, Sherlock has begun to decode the messages behind each and every one of John's jumpers. As tough, and stong, and durable as John himself. Or soft, and sexy, and tactile ... also like John ...

Sometimes, Sherlock finds a new jumper, and buys it for him. Just to learn what new message this one will carry in their lives.

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

The Oatmeal Jumper

I'm nothing. No one. Just an ordinary old man with a war injury. Useless really. Might just sit down and ... blend in. Nothing to see here, right? Wait ... why are you looking at me like I'm ... ? I'm interesting? ... me?? You do realise, it's just ... me ... ? ... right?

Maybe I'll wear it again ... just to test the hypothesis and make sure you aren't ... oh. You are ...

Well then ... I need to think about ... about this ...

The Christmas Jumper

You bought me this and didn't think I'd wear it did you? Well ... joke's on you! I think you're hot. And I'll wear this sweater, no matter how warm it is in here with this fire. Just to show you that I freaking LOVE anything you give me. Even if you don't realize yet how much I love you ... and I'll be damned if i'm even gonna try mentioning it yet! Yeah, nope ... too soon. Just flaunt the jumper.

The Blue Button Down Jumper

I'm your blogger. Your one friend. Your indispensable companion. Your conductor of light. I look good in blue? ... I do. I really do. Think I'll wear this color more often ... Your eyes ... they seem drawn to it. ... to me ... Though I can tell you're trying to show you aren't looking.

The tight layer was a good move ... Maybe I should get a few more.

The Striped Jumper

I'm so cozy around you. I just want to enjoy this morning. Have a lie in. Make breakfast. Let the world mind it's own matters today ... We have each other ... Just you and I against the world.

The Green Jumper Vest

You. Jumped. You jumped, and you made me watch. And now I'm getting married to someone else ...

... Of course I'm comfortable in my new life! See! Old man. Dressed for the part already. Ordinary plain ol' John again, remember? Just. That. Guy™. Clearly not as important as your homeless network or your favourite villain! Even your brother knew! Your damn. Brother.

He's not even looking. Not even ...

I'm burning this vest tomorrow. F*ck it. I could at least try ...

The Blue Jumper Redux

I remember you liked me in blue. How's this then? Cashmere. That's right. Two can dress to kill, mister fancy-pants! I'll wear it and wait to see what you think of it. A bit jealous, eh? heh. That's right.

I've still got it.

Maybe I'll wear this on the stag night.

Just you and me.

Once last chance to make your move.

I don't mind.

[auxiliarydetective]

Felicity: Small, Emotional, Electric

This could've been out two to three days ago if only my WiFi wasn't being so mean - I currently have about a minute of WiFi every few minutes, so I'm using that and uploading while I can

WANTED

"Desert Fox" Felicity

Bounty to be determined

Once again, huge thanks to Alvita for the template for the poster!

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

They call you Cry Baby, Cry Baby But you don't even care Tears fall to the ground You'll just let them drown

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Normally, I'd put two small fics in an intro post, but the "small intro fic" accidentally turned into 4.5K words, so you can find the full fic on AO3 here!

-

Whereas Zoro was seemingly unbothered by the clowns manhandling him and dragging him to whatever the “green room” may be, Nami was actively struggling like a feral cat, trying to break free. If only she had claws, she would tear them to shreds. Buggy’s lair was bigger than she had thought, probably built into whatever remained of the town he had destroyed. The big top was only a small part of it. Finally, they entered a room, or rather a dark green tent, filled with equipment, crates and costumes. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling, along with various crinolines and ropes. A couple of vanity mirrors lined by lightbulbs were the only useable pieces of furniture in it. Nami saw Zoro jolt forwards in front of her, but four clowns worked together to pin him back down. They finally succeeded in pressing him against a large wooden disk with straps, one usually used in knife throwing acts. Leaning against a supporting beam were their belongings: Zoro’s swords, Nami’s staff and navigation gear. Nami, too, gave another struggle, but when she saw what was hiding in the corner of the room, she froze in terror.

Behind a wooden machine of which she didn’t even want to know what it was for stood a cage with metal bars and elaborate wooden décor. Inside the cage, however – that was what terrified Nami the most. Inside the cage sat a little girl, maybe five or six years old, with a canine nose, incredibly large furry ears atop her head and a fluffy tail emerging from her lower back. She was wearing a glittering leotard lined with fur that managed to miss all three shades of sandy blonde present in her hair, tail, and ears in an almost infuriating way, and was watching the happenings in the room through large brown eyes.

Nami didn’t even pay attention to how she was being handled as her gaze was locked on the little girl. It was only when she was lifted off the ground and forced into an oversized birdcage that she tried to fight back again. She almost succeeded, too, but the woman gripping her was incredibly strong.

“Look, kitty, now you’ve got company!” she announced without looking at the little girl. “Don’t we take good care of you, making sure you’re not alone even if you got stage fright?”

As two clowns were busy tying Zoro to his dartboard and the woman wrestled Nami into her cage, another man stayed behind, with messy scarlet hair and two-toned makeup, wearing a striped leotard and a belt with a battle-axe.

“You still aren’t eating,” he remarked in a voice as sweet as acid. “You know you’ve gotta eat. Uncle Buggy was already mad you refused to perform, so what’s he gonna say if he finds out you’re not eating either? You gotta get your strength up if you wanna put on a pretty show, tiny dancer.”

The man picked up a bowl of presumably oatmeal with a spoon in it from the floor in front of the cage. Immediately, the little girl crawled further to the back of her tiny prison, pouting.

“Afraid it’s poisoned?” the woman asked without turning away from Nami’s birdcage.

She was now busy securing a padlock to it, whereas her fellow freaks were done with their work and left. Zoro was bound tightly by the wrists with thick ropes that almost cut into his skin, and whereas he had looked fully unbothered before, he was now visibly annoyed.

The man in the striped leotard stuck a finger into the oatmeal and scooped some of it into his mouth, humming in exaggerated delight.

“Delicious! Come on, have some!”

He almost shoved the spoon into the girl’s face, causing her to retract it as far as possible. She pressed her lips shut in protest and panic, only getting worse the longer the spoon whirled around beneath the dark tip of her nose. Slowly but surely, the lights in the room started flickering, lightbulbs and fairy lights tremoring just like the girl was.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the man cooed. “Come on, who’s a good kitty?!”

“It’s clearly a fox,” Zoro growled, causing the man to pause with the spoon less than an inch from the girl’s mouth as he looked back at him in annoyance. “And if you don’t leave her alone, I’m gonna-“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before the little girl grabbed the man’s arm and yanked it aside, at the same time lunging forwards. A loud crackling sound cut through the air and one of the lights blew out as her hand made contact and the man collapsed. The bowl, however, landed safely in the girl’s clawed hand and she placed it back down, keeping the spoon in her lap.

The muscular woman gave an exasperated sigh and shoved the keys to the padlock into her pocket before turning around to the girl.

“Now, now, don’t act out like that,” she said in a low, manipulative tone. “You don’t do that to your family. You belong here, with us! We’re freaks, just like you!”

“She’s not a freak!” Nami blurted out. “She’s just a little girl! Why are you doing this to her?! Let her go!”

The woman scoffed. “Oh, she’s much more than that. She’s a monster and she’s not as little as you think. Let’s see how long it takes for your captain to break, maybe you’ll get to spend a lot of time with her.”

She grabbed her crewmate and threw him over her shoulder to carry him outside. Right before she was through the doorway, she turned around again.

“Besides, it was her choice to run away and go to sea. Wasn’t it, kitty?”

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene - let me know if you'd like to be added!