#Red hait

[drowninginthoughts27]

I find it so funny that we didn’t have a name for the colour orange in the English language until 1502 (or 1512 depending on how you look at it) and then we were so unoriginal and boring that we had to name it after the god damn fruit

[bottle-o-wonder]

JTK Appearance HCs

This is just how he look in my head..

His hait was dark brown before the fire, was burnt black after, and then grew out back to his natural color. It's kind of curly but only at the end, and it cuts of at his shoulders. He 💯 wears a wolf cut.

His skin isn't that pale anymore and most areas have healed, except places like his face, hands, and neck. His skin is really dry but he does a good job of carrying lotion and moisturizers with him at all times as well as eye drops.

Some parts of his face weren't burned as bad as others, therefore the right side of his fave is worse than the left.

He has eyelids, and can project his eyes out to the point they're bulging, doesn't do it often though it gives him migraines.

He recuts his smile once a year, with the help of EJ. He just does this to define it so it isn't so deep. His lips (or what's left of them) are thin and dry and his teeth are perfect.

He's about 6', maybe 6'2, I don't believe anyone is really that tall unless it's LJ or Slender.

He dresses in typical alt clothing that he takes from his victims, converse>>>>vans person.

He started dying the underside of his hair red to match his dog.

He has a smiley piercing (haha) and matching ear piercings with BEN.

[lil-gae-disaster]

Freddie and his Sister Isabell (Isabell-Josefine) :D

Frederick is around 19, before he moved to England, and Isabell (also calles Isa or Bella) 9

Frederick learned how to braid hair because his dad found it beneath him to braid his daughter's hair, but Isa oftentimes got her hait tangled up while she was playing with her friends (the "weird" / "wild" girl group)

So, Freddie made it a habit to braid his sister's hair.

And he enjoyed it very much.

So much that he, in fact, offers to braid the hair of his friends with longer hair (like Hamilton) in the camp every morning (and also because he misses his sister)

A small addition:

Freddie got his mother's blond hair and blue eyes and his few freckles are from his dad

Isa got her hair as a combo of her father's flaming red hair and mom's blond hair.

But she got her dad's green eyes and full freckle package :D

@unicornsaures @hamalicious-soup

[nyaskitten]

hiii raine!!

recently ive been working on mimik, my ninjago oc

hes a half-human half-anacondrai thief/outlaw. he was mostly active during the serpentine war and he would just steal gold from human soldiers lol

he also has a thing going on with krux kjfgjkdfgj

OH COOL! !! whats he look like, what kind of hait? does he have red eyes like an anacondrai?

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Why does everyone think Richard is dying his hair? He's always had black hair?

He has been dying his hair a long time, but originally as a kid he started out blond

but in some cases hait gets darker as the child grows up (had a friend in highschool who had almost black hair naturally but was also a blond as a toddler)

Richard posted this pic from 1984 on his IG a while ago, and although not in color, but i wouldn't be surprised if this at the time was indeed his natural haircolor (brown, don't know if some would call it 'dark-blond', but then i never figured out why dark-blond isn't just brown...people have told me i'm dark-blond, but i'm just plain old brown....wait..where was i...)

after that i think we got the pre-Rammstein blond dreadlock phase, i'd say that defintely was a dye-job

then in the Rammstein era he sometimes has blond hair, sometimes brown

maybe both are dyed, but i wouldn't be surprised if the brown was similar to his natural color (also seeing the eyebrow color), then when Rammstein entered the red hair phase, he had red spikes, but the base-color got a dark-brown i would say

and then after that he went jet-black und stuck with that ever since

it seems to suit his aesthetic of Red and Black ❤️🖤 and he really seems to like it, almost feels like a sort of 'comfort' color which makes him feel good or something

but yes...definitely a dyejob..🌺

and i've said it before, i wish he'd let it grow out and show his natural color, wouldn't be surprised if he was grey(ing), but i bet that would look great on him (sometimes the jet-black seems too black, if that makes sense) ❤️

[estbela]

I don't talk about him much, but i think sometimes about my Thrace OC (like, the civilisation I mean)

Originally, I was gonna give him dark brown hair but I have been thinking about giving him dark red hait since he would look too similar to Bulgaria (since they both would have green eyes).

Personality wise, he's kind of like Bulgaria, although perhaps a tad more neurotic. And also really into fighting and poetry. And jewelry.

And also he had children. Some survived to the modern era, some died sadly. Bulgaria is not his child, thought he grew fond of him and was a kind of morally questionable...parental figure to him in his dying days.

Also the concept of Thrace as a ghost/spirit coming to visit Bulgaria at certain points in his life and talk to him, maybe give him questionable advice, is kinda fun.

Also again, personality wise they can both be similar, which is funny becuase at times I imagine they could piss eachoter off and annoy eachoter(and if I wrote a story with them, there would be so many character parallels between them). So it would be them really getting pissed off at traits they themselves have.

Alsoooo. Since I see Ro as being kind of Dacia's child, and Dacia is Thrace's sister...I can just see Thrace seeing Bul & interact with Ro and just being like "NO. NO. NOOOOO" because he's not exactly happy about the idea of his weird kind-of adopted child possibly getting together in the future with his sister's child (and he might be a tad protective of Dacia's children since she kind of dies before him, even tho she is his younger sister and he feels like he's failed her. So he deals with it by coming a bit overprotective of what he considers to be the last remnants of her)

[mapplesand]

For the oc ask: 💄, 🐞, 🌹 :D

thanks for the ask ! :D

💄 (lipstick) - What does your oc think of their face? Do they have a positive or negative opinion? Do they wear makeup? Do they have a skincare routine? What traits do they like most about their face?

Marco hates his body as a whole and avoids mirror because he knows all he's gonna see are the bags under his eyes and his acne that keeps getting worse everytime he looks at himself, it's not like he does anything about all that because he doesn't take care of himself but he still very much dislike what he has to see (for him he doesn't have any good part of his body)

so no this teenage boy doesn't have a skincare routine, he doesn't even shower, his skin is probably greasy af (and he stinks)

Tristan never really care how he looked, he's like "heh could be better but could be worse", he doesn't take care of himself either so he got acne and just overall redness on his face (you know, those white people who literally turn red, that's him) also I do believe Tristan would put black under his eyes like emos band from 2008 (idk how it's called lol), also Tristan likes his nose because it's a family trait and he likes the fact that he can pinpoint from who he got what trait

Josh is the most clean of them all, actually he puts a lots of effort in his appearance and use skincare for his acne, he shaves his face so he doesn't have a weird stubble, like yeah he's all good (up until he's not) he thinks he's an attractive guy, average but he's got confidence

Tyler doesn't care how he looks like either, he probably doesn't even try to shave and grows this weird mustache teen boys have sometimes, he's greasy, skin, hair, just greasy, he skips showers a lot because he doesnt think about it and think it's not mandatory

i think Tyler got naturally dark eyelids so it looks like he's either wearing makeup or got beat up, also Tyler like his hait because he can dye it (it wasnt supposed to be green but he ends up liking it)

🐞 (ladybug) - What does a perfect day look like for your oc? What do they do? Who do they see?

Marco got two perfect kind of day in mind : one that he can spend with Tristan doing dumb shit, either going to their secret hideout in the junkyard where he can shoot bottle or staying in his room watching movies and making out and his other alternative if Tristan isn't there is being left alone, eating chips in his bed, playing video games and jerking off, you can't really take that out of him

Tristan likes quiet days where he listens to music and play the guitar, he would probably like that and having Marco over, not doing anything in particular, just enjoying each others company and doing silly things

Josh on the others hand would be out of his way to be outside, going out with friends, eating junkfood, going bowling and then spending the night drinking alcohol

If Tyler could, then he would physically spend the day with Carmen and they would be in his garage-room building bombs, and then halfway through Carmen would pretend she's tired and they would just chill while drinking soda or beers, maybe he'll let his sister in so she can be part of everything even if she's 7

but if he can't have Carmen be there then he would just be in vc with her for like 6 hours straight and doing whatever while on the phone with her (and she would have to witness everything he does because if he doesnt put his phone down then it's in his pocket)

🌹 (rose) - What does your oc find attractive in other people? Are these traits found in their friends and/or romantic partners? Are they found in themselves?

Marco loves girls with big boobs, he grows to like more alternative girls too but it's always the same type, think "big titty gf" and that's what he likes in women, the thing is that he's with Tristan the skinniest man alive

also his type of man is "action guys from 90s movies" and also some twink i guess (Tristan), the only thing he has in common with what he find attractive are big boobs lol....

Tristan likes chubby men, he didn't realized he had a clear type before meeting Marco and Marco pointing out that every artist he follows on twitter are drawing exactly that, he also likes men with long hairs like Eddie Munson from Stranger Things or Kurt Cobain or nerds (think Sunburst from MLP or Milo from Atlantis), Marco is exactly his type like, i'm not joking they're a perfect match (and the only trait he shares with the men he likes is long hair)

Josh isn't very picky with girls, he does note that he likes bigger girls and that Brian makes fun of him for that, well in the end he does have a strange relationship with Tyler who isn't a girl but is definitely fat (and he barely has anything in common with people he's attracted to)

Tyler is a complicated one because he rationalize things way too much and doesn't have his own vision of attractivness, he tends to be like "objectively, she is attractive" rather than giving his own opinion, to him everyone is kind of the same but he finds himself drawn to people with quirks that make them stand out, but he does it more with an artist vision than a "he wanna make out with them" vision

he thinks Josh doesnt stand out because he's an average american white boy with no characteristics and who looks like he's too "polished", he does take more interest in him when Josh stops putting effort in looking good

questions can be found here

[the-monkey-ruler]

Red Boy (2021) 混世魔王红孩儿

Director: Wang Kai / Yang Haiting Screenwriter: Zhang Yu / Martin Starring: Chen Haomin / Lin Zicong / Zhang Yangguoer / Liu Fengchao / Zhao Guanyu / Zhou Luoyi / Zhang Yuebin / Zhu Xiang / Li Zitian / Yao Ying Genre: Costume Country/Region of Production: Mainland China Language: Mandarin Chinese Also known as: 混世魔童红孩儿 Type: Retelling

Summary:

Five hundred years ago, after Princess Iron Fan became pregnant, she wanted her child to live forever, so she stole a life-preserving pill from Taishang Laojun. After taking the life-preserving pill, the baby will be born after twenty months of pregnancy, and his son will remain twenty years old forever. Unexpectedly, when she was taking the elixir for eight months, Sun Wukong (played by Liu Fengchao) caused a disturbance in heaven, and the alchemy furnace fell into the world. Princess Iron Fan had her baby kick and she gave birth to Red Boy. Because of the life-preserving pill, Red Boy will never grow up and has been fixed at the age of eight.

Red Boy was called a monster because he didn't grow up. There was only one shepherd boy who took good care of him. The shepherd boy said that he must not grow up because he possesses magic. Since he knows magic, he should do more good deeds. If he does good deeds, people will thank him and stop calling him a monster. But Red Boy never learned the magic, so the Bull Demon King was very worried. Red Boy wanted to use some tricks to deceive his father. Jade-Faced Fox (played by Zhou Luoyi) says that she can teach him, but she sabotages him when he performs magical skills. The cheating method is exposed, which makes the demons burst into laughter.

The Bull Demon King was furious, and Jade-Faced Fox called Red Boy a loser, fearing that it would disgrace the Bull Demon King's reputation in the demon world. The Bull Demon King abandoned his family under the temptation of Jade-Faced Fox, started a new family, and only doted on Jade-Faced Fox. In grief, Red Boy apologized to his mother, but Princess Iron Fan told him the truth. Because she secretly took the elixir, he would never grow up or practice magic. It was her own fault. Red Boy was in so much pain that he ran away from home. He vowed to cultivate magical skills and avoid shame.

Source: https://mov-20.chinesemov.com/2022/Red-Boy

Link: N/A

[betterthanthemovies]

books read in 2024:

out on a limb - hannah bonam-young

keeping 13 - chloe walsh

picking daisies on sundays - liana cincotti

done and dusted - lyla sage

flawless - elsie silver

funny feelings - tarah dewitt

call it what you want - brigid kemmerer

a love letter to whiskey - kandi steiner

once upon a broken heart - stephanie garber

mile high - liz tomforde

night shift - annie crown

heartless - elsie silver

afterglow effect - alecia gabrielle

too wrong to be right - melonie johnson

just go with it - madison wright

powerless - elsie silver

just friends - tiffany pitcock

magnolia parks - jessa hastings

twisted love - ana huang

the duet - hailey gardiner

love redesigned - lauren asher

happily never after - lynn painter

camp let you go - kristen lucero

more than just us - allie otoski

the infinity between us - n.s. perkins

older - jennifer hartmann

wild love - elsie silver

diving in - bianca miller

funny story - emily henry

the seven year slip - ashley poston

the rule book - sarah adams

next of kin - hannah bonam-young

twice shy - sarah hogle

rewrite our story - kat singleton

the truth & lies duet - c.w. farnsworth

just for the summer - abby jimenez

the deal - elle kennedy

the cruel prince - holly black

the consequences of falling - liliana rose hastings

the summer of perfect mistakes - cynthia st. aubin

the right move - liz tomforde

the summer of broken rules - k.l. walther

this summer will be different - carley fortune

catch the sun - jennifer hartmann

every last word - tamara ireland stone

like i never said - c.w. farnsworth

a thousand broken pieces - tillie cole

caught up - liz tomforde

the art of breathing - cali melle

she followed the moon back to herself - amanda lovelace

the cinnamon bun book store - laurie gilmore

where time stands still - n.s. perkins

the irish goodbye - amy ewing

blue sisters - coco mellors

all too well - corinne michaels

forget me not - alyson derrick

when we were friends - jane green

i fell in love with hope - lancali

the housemaid - freida mcfadden

the perfect marriage - jeneva rose

daisy haites - jessa hastings

dead poets society - nancy h. kleinbaum

summer on dune road - rachel cullen

can't help falling in love - sophie sullivan

by the book - c.a. steinhaus

pageboy - elliot page

caraval - stephanie garber

red - annie cardi

hooked - emily mcintire

maine characters - hannah orenstein

firefly lane - kristin hannah

dear ava - ilsa madden-mills

the perks of being a wallflower - stephen chbosky

cruel summer - maisey yates

reading goal: 74/50

[larvasmoon]

Portrait of the pale elf (3) - Be my muse

Chapter summary : After being forbidden to go and see Astarion by her master painter, Selene disobeys. Desperate to draw him again, she ventures into Carmine Red and ends up striking a deal with the pale elf.

Word Count : 6,5k

Trigger warnings : Physical and psychological abuse. Manipulation.

Author's Note : welcome to the third installment of this story, thank you so much if you've read everything so far ! This is a bit of a longer chapter, but it contains a lot of important scenes that I've thought about for quite some time. I hope you will like it nonetheless :)

As always, here's my Ao3 darling

The tight vice of Damian’s fingers around her wrist was painful. Her hand was already growing numb when she got a glimpse of his manor’s dark gates over his shoulder. 

How long had they been walking in silence like this ? 

Selene couldn’t tell. 

During all this time, she’d been lost in thoughts. She’d forced her mind to take her far away from him, from his bruising grip, and from this sense of impending doom.

Eyes trained on the sky picking through the roofs, like a wild animal with it’s leg caught in a trap. 

She made a list in her head of every little beautiful thing she could think of. 

The moon, still high in the sky. The air, damp, misty, thick of midnight’s dew. The scent of Astarion’s skin, herbal and citrusy, when he’d bent over the table to touch her. 

Her eyes followed the familiar and strange pattern embedded in the dark metal, while he hastily unlocked it with his old and heavy master’s keychain. 

In some corner of her mind, she knew that he kept holding her like this, because he feared that she might take the first chance to escape and flee. She had in the last few weeks. Unable to bear the look of utter disappointment he gave her when she confessed that she hadn’t painted anything new.

A small and alarmed voice screamed in her head. Run. Now. Before it’s too late.

She looked back at the streets behind her, and fought the urge to retrace her steps.

If she’d truly trusted him in the first place, she wouldn’t have been pondering the inevitable question : He won’t try and keep me locked inside, will he ?

But she did, and it was all the answer she needed. 

Inside the manor, nothing had changed from the time she used to live there. It was still as ostentatious and luxurious as before, full of high moulded ceilings, precious tapestries on the walls, and marble floors. 

Selene had carefully avoided to come here in the last years, as she didn’t like to revisit the memory of her childhood and adolescence, by walking through the cold rooms and vast corridors. 

Finn, the old butler, was waiting by the stairs when they entered, "I have lit a fire in your study, sir."

Damian didn’t so much as cast a glance towards him, he simply handed him his coat and waved a dismissive hand. 

"It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Selene", he added in a hushed tone, and she smiled back at him.

He hadn’t changed at all either. It was as if he was part of the decor, a permanent addition to the manor, like the Fallheel’s family heirlooms. 

Everything from his salt and paper slicked hait, his three piece suit, to his warm green eyes, was exactly as she remembered it to be. 

"Good evening, Finn" 

Her master coughed at the top of the stairs he had begun to climb, a silent invitation to follow. And so she did, walking fast by the paintings on the walls of the corridor. 

She had painted a few of them, back when she was still able to. 

In what felt like another lifetime of hers. 

In Damian’s study, the warm glow of the fire was deceitfully inviting and comforting. 

But when he closed the door behind her and locked it, her blood ran cold. 

He slowly sat on this edge of his desk, and folded his arms on his chest. "Can you explain to me what it is exactly that you thought you were doing back there ?" 

"I was practicing" she wrung her hands, standing in front of him like a child reciting a lesson in front of their teacher, "I’ve finally managed to draw a few sketches that I’m quite satisfied with."

Furrowing his brows and sighing, he extended his hand, silently asking to see them. 

Selene dug her sketchbook out of her leather pouch, and presented it to him. 

She resented herself for letting him have so much power over her, after all those years. What he thought of her art should not have mattered, not anymore. Who cares about what an imposter thinks anyways ? 

And yet, when his scowl deepened and he turned the pages of her sketch block so violently that she thought they would tear, she recoiled. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, "What are those, Selene ?", and when she did not answer he kept on angrily leafing through it, punctuating every turn of page with an insult, "Garbage", "Disgusting", "Repulsive"’

Her face fell. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting but … something different. Shouldn’t he feel happy about this ?

"Throw all of this away" he growled, slamming the sketchbook on his desk.

"Wha- Why ?"

Damian stood up and crossed the room to sit down on one of the armchairs by the windows, from which he could admire the city lights. "Because it’s him. Astarion Ancunín."

She matched his frown, thinking back to their encounter, earlier in the Black Cat’s Delight, when Damian had ignored him.

"What about him ? He looks like he’s just walked out of one of Arnith’s painting ! He is a perfect subject for painting if I ever saw any."

The painter was famous in all of the Forgotten Realms for the sublime fresco that she’d painted in a secret room of Rivington’s Ilmater temple. A work larger than life, that one could stare at for hours without registering all of the details of its composition. Selene had seen it back when she was still a studying painting. Damian had taken her to see it, so that she would always remember ‘"what she should aspire to" as an artist. To this day, she could still vividly picture the martyr at the center. A being of pale and delicate beauty, tied at the wrist and ankles by red ropes. Disarticulated and marred with gruesome wounds, yet lying so peacefully in a pool of his own blood.

"It does not matter, he has … a bad reputation", he breathed out, getting up once again to pace back and forth in the room, "And rumors are everything to us. They make or unmake a painter in this god’s forsaken city !" 

Ah there it is, his precious reputation, she seethed, clenching her fists, it’s always about his reputation.

"They make or unmake you, perhaps. Not me. I’d have to be someone for that."

Damian stopped in his track, looking back at her, wide-eyed and awestruck. He’d never seen Selene resist him before that night, but what he’d said about Astarion seemed to have awoken something in her. 

She did not know the vampire personally, but the way she’d gotten to know him through her art, made her strangely protective of him. As if he was now part of this place in her heart, where she secretly kept the collection of things she longed to paint one day. 

In her own name.

"Your name is associated to mine, wether you like it or not!", he lost his temper, walking closer to her once again and, for the second time in the evening, he grabbed her by the arms to brutally shake her, "I do not wish for us to be linked to that vampire man-whore. You will not see him ever again, do you understand ?"

This time she did not cower, she simply stared back at him with a face full of defiance.

A groan of pain almost slipped past her lips when his fingers held her so tight she was sure it’d bruise. "Do you even know him ?"

"Oh I do ! Much more than you’ll ever know, and trust me, you do not want to mingle with the elf", he  chuckled, letting her go and almost sending flying into the chest of drawers that sat in a corner of the room.

 "At best, he would…" his gaze lingered uncomfortably on her body, "defile you" he visibly struggled to say, "and at worst, he would drain you dry."

All her, once contained anger, came spilling out. To hells with the sensible and perfect student act. 

"I’m a grown woman, I can look after myself ! He inspired me to draw again, god’s dammit ! If this is the only chance I have of getting better, I will gladly see him again."

Damian had his back to her know, braced over the desk, and hunched over her sketches once again.

"No you won’t ! End of discussion. If you insist on it, you will stay here with me for a few weeks", he cruelly declared, "Where I can watch over you." 

When she stayed silent, he turned to face her once again. She stood sill, staring at him with wide, horrified, eyes. ‘Will you go as far as caging me now ? Keep me like a pet or a slave ?’ 

Selene saw something in his gaze then, a dark gleam that she had no desire to explore whatsoever. 

"You will show me respect, do not speak to me in such manner !" he yelled throwing her sketchbook back at her, scattering all of her drawings on the floor, "After everything I have done for you ?! Is this all I get ? If I had known back then, that you would be so ungrateful, so …"

A crazed sort of laugh shook her whole body, wheezing as if he’d said the funniest of jokes, "So what ? Useless ?", and it slowly morphed into heart-wrenching sobs as she struggled to continue to speak, "I apologize if, as of lately, I haven’t been able to make myself worthy of all the efforts you’ve put into making me this… perfect and obedient little tool."

"What nonsense is this ? What are you talking about ?"

"Let me go" she said, her face completely wet with tears, "Stop threatening me to throw me away, make up your mind and stick to it !’'

She was the one to walk closer to him now, digging her hand in his chest to force him to retreat. ‘I can’t do it, I can’t paint anymore. And even if I still could, I wouldn’t. So please free from this sordid affair !’ 

Something shifted in Damian’s eyes, a wild sort of panic twisting his face. As if he’d suddenly realized that she could also throw him away, or refuse to paint anything for him, if she so wished. 

What a disaster that would be. His great name would fall into oblivion, he would not be able to gain enough money to repay his debts, and … He would be doomed.

"No no no, hush now, Sel. All is well", he uttered softly, taking her face in his hands. 

The pet name made her nauseous, he hadn’t called her that in years. 

He clumsily embraced her, taking her in his arms, like he used to when she was still little, and couldn’t sleep at night. 

"You will paint again. You’re just scared, because you think something happened that day, but it hasn’t. You were just exhausted, and you imagined it… that’s all."

She shuddered at the memory of a canvas soaked in unfathomable darkness. The stretched fabric dripping with black goo, soiled and destroyed.

Selene shook her head in his grasp, willing the scary recollection away. 

A single new tear fell from her eyes, and he carefully wiped it away with his thumb. 

"As for the rest, I promise I’ll make it better. I’ll introduce you to people, you’ll paint for them … for yourself. I’ll help you", he went on and on, and it sounded like white noise to her. 

Lies. 

"Just focus on getting better, alright?", he finally added, gently caressing her hair.

Liar. 

"No you’re doing it again. All of these empty promises", she whined, struggling to get out of his grasp and put some distance between them.

"They’re not", he pleaded, "you believed in me once, why don’t you anymore ?"

Because you’ve stolen my everything. Because you’ve ruined me. Because you keep toying with me to get what you want.

His hand reached out again, attempting to pull her back in for a hug.

"Don’t touch me !"

Damian suddenly drooped the act, and frowned once again. 

"Fine, if you insist on being pig-headed. I’m afraid I’ll have to resort to the old methods."

Bending down, he collected all of the sketches she’d drawn of Astarion in his graceful hands. He then, headed towards the fireplace, and threw them into the flames with a flick of his wrist. 

"Please please please don’t !!!" she screamed, pushing him aside to attempt and retrieve what wasn’t consumed by the fire yet. 

But it was too late. 

She kneeled there for what seemed like an eternity, watching the sheets of paper turn black, set ablaze and condemned to destruction.Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. 

Selene had grown silent and defeated. Damian crouched beside her, pressing her shoulder in his hand, and to anyone that would’ve walked in on them, it would’ve seemed like he was comforting her. 

Except he wasn’t. 

This hand on her shoulder was meant to make her feel even more miserable. 

One final intimidation. 

"Let me remind you of something you seem to have forgotten, Selene. You owe me everything, from the clothes on your back, to the charcoal sticks you use, and the sheets of papers you draw on", he muttered, and the sweet tone he used contrasted with his evil words. 

He gripped her tear-streaked cheeks to force her too look at him, at the molten gold of his furious eyes. "I made you who you are."

To her absolute horror, he crept closer and laid a firm, almost painful, kiss on her forehead.

"I wouldn’t let go of you, or throw you away, without unmaking you first", he softly breathed on her skin. 

Everything was a blur, and she did not really struggle when someone, probably a servant, helped her up and guided her towards her old room. 

"Maybe we will be able to have a proper conversation about this tomorrow, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep", Damian finally added before closing the door and, effectively, locking her inside the room. 

Everything smelt dusty and fusty, in this place filled with her old dolls and childish drawings. 

Selene could’ve sat there all night, crying herself to sleep, hating on this miserable man. 

Except she did not. 

She’d discovered herself the soul of a mutineer.

The only way out of this hell wasn’t through a door. And so, she removed all the sheets from the bed she had once slept on every night.

Tied them together. Tight knot after tight knot, until it formed a long rope. 

A bit clich��, she’d only ever seen someone do this in the soppy novels she liked to read sometimes, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

When the house was finally silent, into what she hoped to be a deep slumber, she opened one of the windows and secured it to the small balcony’s railing. 

She sighed in relief when she looked down, realizing that it wasn’t as high as she’d thought it’d be. Her room was only on the first floor after all.

Without thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong, if she was caught fleeing like this, she carefully slid down. After working a good sweat, and praying to all the gods she knew to keep everyone asleep, her feet not so gracefully landed on the ground. 

Right next to the little room in which she remembered Finn would usually sleep in.

Shit.

The window was slightly ajar, white curtains dancing in the night breeze. With a pounding heart, she anxiously crept closer to peek inside, trying to make sure that the butler was still very much asleep. 

"Don’t forget your pouch and your cloak, miss Selene", whispered a voice behind her and she nearly died of a heart attack. 

"God’s below!", she cussed.

Finn merely smiled at her, his tousled grey hair shimmering in the moonlight. He looked younger like this, in a rumpled sleep shirt, eyes puffy with sleep, his usual graceful composure giving way to a more relaxed stance. 

"I have already opened the gates, so please hurry along. The master doesn’t trance for long."

It made her heart sore, a relief tainted by the fear of the punishment he’d face if anyone heard of this. "Why are you doing this ? Won’t you get in trouble ?"

The old man didn’t answer, he simply walked closer to wrap her coat around her, and sling her bag over her shoulder. 

She was following him on the garden’s path, meandering through the flower beds, when he talked again. "Do not be impressed by his threats. You are the mistress of this game, miss. It’s only time you started to play."

She blushed at the thought that he might have been on the other side of the door, when Damian was humiliating and belittling her. 

"Set the rules. Turn the tables" he softly uttered as he opened the unlocked rusty gates, and her heart raced at the sight of the streets below. 

Freedom. Both metaphorical and true, lied ahead. 

Maybe it would appear to her in the shape of a beautiful vampire.

Maybe it wouldn’t.

Either way she would embrace it, with opened arms.

"He needs me more than I need him, doesn’t he ?", she laughed, spinning on herself like a madwoman, watching the stars above twirl and dance with her.

The butler nodded, a mischievous spark in his eyes that she had already seen before. Back when she was still a child. Back when he secretly gave her sweets, or when he let her stay awake longer than Damian had told him to. 

"I wish you a safe walk back home, miss Selene."

Days went by, without a word from Damian. 

All the things he’d said were, as expected, useless menaces scattered to the winds. 

Each night, she sat at her usual spot at the Black Cat’s Delight, waiting for Astarion, for another chance to draw him. And each night, she spent hours cuddling Lara’s cat, Nyx, with her eyes locked on the table he would’ve usually sat at. 

Each morning, she obstinately sat herself in front of her canvas, trying to ignore the way her hands shook around her paint brush.

She thought of him instead, conjuring images of his hands, lithe body and sultry glances. 

Were is eyes a claret red or more of a berry red ? What kind of patterns were embroided on the doublets he usually worn ? 

Each detail of his appearance was both blurry and branded in her mind. She remembered every little thing, from the shape of his eyes to the freckles on his face, but not with enough clarity. The intricacies of his refined appearance had the hazy quality of a dreamer’s remembrance. 

And yet, Selene kept trying to draw him by memory, closing her eyes from time to time to revisit the moment he’d towered over her. The shadows of his collarbones, the ghastly bite mark on the hollow of his neck, the pointy yet soft line of his cupid’s bow. 

But it was never quite right, despite all of her efforts. It lacked something, a subtle variance, that she’d lost that night in Damian’s study. 

One morning, as she was lying on her window ledge, drawing his curls around a particularly dull portrayal of his features, a letter came. It was hastily pushed under the door of her apartment. 

She recognized the seal right away : the Fallheel’s emblem, intertwined ivy leaves with a kneeling knight in armor at the center.. 

Cutting it open with her paper knife, she had to breath deeply a few times before unfolding it. 

Dear Selene, 

I must first apologize for what I did that night. I do not know what got into me, but this shall never happen again. You have my word. Despite appearances, I was in fact delighted to see that you have managed to draw again. Please let me know if you have made any new progress since then (in spite of my most horrific demeanor).

I still stand by most of what I’ve said that night, but to seek your forgiveness, I’d like for you to accompany me to Duke Ravengard’s masquerade in five days. There are people I’d like you to meet, people that are very interested in your art. 

Please find a suitable dress to wear at the Facemaker’s boutique, he owes me a favor and will gladly let you choose anything in the shop that is to your liking. 

Sincerly, 

Damian Fallheel 

Selene furiously threw the letter in one of the drawer of her desk. She was used to Damian’s petty tactics, to this excruciating cycle of caresses and cuffs.

She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t be manipulated anymore, and she wouldn’t. Ever.

All those pretty words were meant to lure her back in, nothing more. 

What Finn had said echoed in her mind, ‘Set the rules, turn the tables’, and she lazily walked back to the windows to look at her mediocre rendition of the pale elf. 

She would indeed go the masquerade with him, for the sole reason that it was the place she’d chosen to force him to ‘drop the mask’, so to speak. 

The invitation also happened to give her a convenient excuse to seek the company of the man she was forbidden to see. She was in need of a dress after all, wasn’t she ? It seemed like a rightful pretext to go to Carmine Red, and take Astarion up on his offer. 

It was decided, she would go there later that evening. 

The night was clear and cold, and Selene was standing at the corner of the large avenue, holding in her shaky handy the small map that Lara had drawn for her. Beautiful lord and ladies in cloaks of fine satin looked at her with suspicion each time they rounded the street. 

Probably wondering what a poorly dressed woman was doing in the part of the higher city where the most expensive shops were all located. 

In Carmine Red’s window display she could see rivers of diamonds, red silk corsets and gloves, three pieces suit made of a precious moiré fabrics. The few coins she had in her pouch jingled with each of her hesitant steps. Was this truly a good idea ? 

After a few minutes of anxious pondering, she finally pushed the door of his shop. 

Her eyes, used to the bright lights of the higher city’s boulevards, had trouble adjusting to the dim halo of the  candles and lit candelabras. The air was fragrant, thick with incenses and perfumes, some of which she could distinctly attribute to Astarion’s own scent.

Inside, everything was red, from the plush rugs under her boots, to the long panels of crimson fabric covering the walls and the ceilings. It made her feel like she was inside of a precious ring box, shrouded in stretched scarlet silk. What gem did it contain ? Countless rubies and sapphires, no doubt.

But to her strange mind, Astarion outshined each and every luxurious thing that she could find in it. He was the true jewel and the ring this box was made for. 

His enchanting voice came out of nowhere, a hushed and suave sound : "I did not think you would visit me this soon, darling."

She jumped slightly, tightening her grip on the strap of her small pouch.

"I did not think so either, but I’ve been invited to a party and I’m in need of a dress."

Unless she’d been in a trance, too fascinated by the eerie decor, she was sure she had not pronounced a word or announced herself. 

A vampire’s privilege surely, to know who’s approaching you without having to look. 

"What a pleasant surprise, indeed", he muttered once again, and this time, as she ventured into the room, his words were accompanied by the sounds of a needle and a thread, gliding through cloth. 

He was actually sitting in a corner of the room, with his back to her, working on something by the candlelight. His workshop table was simply hidden away from the main room, concealed by a voluptuous curtain of burgundy velvet.

"I hope I’m not disturbing you, I could come back another time", she offered, hesitantly peeking behind the drape. 

What looked like a black tulle petticoat was cascading down from the table and onto his lap, a needle rapidly moving between his dexterous fingers. 

"Oh no it’s quite alright, dear. I’ll be with you in a minute, I just need to stitch and secure this into place."

The patterns intrigued her, and so she instinctively stepped into the small space that was his workshop, to take a closer look at what he was embroidering. 

"Are those spider webs ?", she bent over his shoulder to taker a closer look, "it looks so dark and poetic on a see-through fabric like this."

His eyes lifted up from his work to gaze at her, wide and shimmering in the glow of the candlelight. They looked warmer than she remembered, a hint of chocolate in the shade of his irises. As if their redness was dulled, and extinguished by the vibrant crimson background.

"Ah I’m sorry, I should’ve-"

"Did you know that you have the bad habit of apologizing all the time, darling ? Even when you have nothing to be sorry for", he observed, smiling at her in a way she’d never seen him do before.

It was no smirk or a seducing grin, there was something more unguarded and boyish about it, that had Selene blushing up to her pointy ear. 

"I’ve called this dress ‘The Black Widow", he added, as he came to a stand and delicately started to let the dress slide on a mannequin’s shoulders, "Nobody generally buys me this kind of design. It’s too risqué for the usual noble client, I’m afraid."

"I’m sure it’ll catch someone’s eyes, it’s too beautiful for it to not happen."

He dramatically sighed, and strode off into the main room."Oh but it already has, dear. It’s a wedding dress for an old friend of mine, a gift from me to her."

What a strange name for a wedding dress. A rather dark choice of words.

Grabbing a tape measure and a small notebook, he then dragged a small stool at the center of the shop, "But what about your own artistic talents, darling ? Do you happen to have those sketches I was so curious about ?"

Something in her face must’ve betrayed her inner turmoil then, because he quickly worked to change the topic of conversation. 

"We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to ! You’re here to enjoy yourself after all !", he giggled, as he rolled up the sleeves of his black satin shirt, ’So we can think of a garment that’d enhance your beauty.’ 

She looked for ways to explain to him what had happened to those drawings, but when she came around, he’d already extended a pale and long hand in front of her. "Not that you need it, darling, but please come closer."

Her fingers shakily reached for his, and were met with cold soft skin. 

His hand firmly engulfed her own and brought her to stand in front of a mirror. "What kind of occasion is the dress for, and when do you need it to be ready ?"

"It’s for a masquerade, in five days."

Unwinding the tape in his graceful hands, he started to circle her. She could hear each of his nearly silent steps on the floor around her. Like a predator cornering it’s prey. 

"Duke Ravengard’s ?", he inquired from behind her. 

Selene nodded, nervously playing with the seams of her clothes. 

"Very well", she saw him reappear from the corner of her eyes, "Could you take that off, please ?"

He motioned at the old and worn out wool jacket that she was wearing. 

She stared back at him, at the serious and expectant look on his face, and every bone in her body dissolved. 

"My jacket ?", she bashfully asked. 

He chuckled and sat on the low stool at her feet, leaving her to stand between his open thighs. "Oh don’t be so coy, love. It’s only to take your measurements. As precisely as possible."

When she did not answer, Astarion looked up at her from where he was sitting, a single white curl falling in front of his dark eyes. Would he look exactly like this if he were kneeling at her feet, slowly unlacing her pants ? Would he trace wet kisses on the skin bellow, before reaching between her legs, to please her with his ruby ringed fingers ? 

She blinked, looking away to stare at a particularly uninteresting pair of scissors lying on the small table behind him. It’s not appropriate, she thought, I shouldn’t think like this.

That dangerous smirk had made it’s way back on his face, and it reminded her of Damian’s words. 

At best, he will defile you. And at worst, he will drain you dry.

And Selene wondered if some part of herself wasn’t secretly wishing for it. To bleed for him. To see her blood on his lips. To paint a pretty picture with the red of it. 

Do you truly only wish to paint him ? Or are you obsessed with the idea of capturing his beauty because you think it’s the only way you’ll ever have him ?

Her bag fell with a thud on the floor, and his molten gaze followed the clumsy motions of her fingers as she unbuttoned it, one button after the other. Underneath, she was wearing nothing but a thin undergarment shirt, with a very bland corset on top. 

Her breast painfully pressed against the tapering border of the bodice, with each of her quick breath.

When was the last time she’d been so exposed in front of a man ? She couldn’t remember. 

All this time, his piercing gaze hadn’t left her, lingering on the skin of her neck and cleavage. Caressing it with his eyes. 

Astaron swallowed once, looking down to open his small notebook on one of his thigh, and dip his black quill in ink. Miss Selene’s measurements, he wrote at the top, and she marveled at the beauty of his hand writing, at the effortless hoops and curls.

"Try and stay still for me, darling."

This time he did bend to press the end of the tape measure on the side of her ankle, unrolling it until it reached her hip. 

32, he slowly wrote in front of leg length.

"So what is Damian Fallheel to you ? A fling ? A lover ?"

"God’s no !"

He shortled, draping the tape line around her hips, carefully holding it in place on against the lacing of her bodice. Just a barely there press of his fingertip that had butterflies flying away in her lower belly, and finding refuge in the flutter of her heartbeat. "Oh dear, what an honest reaction !"

"He’s … my master painter,  someone that took me in and taught me how to paint."

"I see, a teacher of sorts then."

The vampire swiftly got up when he decided that he was done with the lower half of her body, and stood in front of her once again. 

Her eyes fell on the mirror in front of them, and she had trouble registering exactly what was going on. She stood alone in it’s reflection, amongst the dancing lights of the candles, underdressed and visibly nervous. The tape moved in the air, held by no visible hands. 

"It is true then, what they about vampires and mirrors." 

"Alas it is, I haven’t seen my own face in centuries", he took a deep breath while measuring the width of her shoulders, "It’s rather annoying when I want to see how my clothes fit me."

Maybe even the gods were envious of your beauty, so they robbed you of the pleasure of looking at yourself, she imagined while staring into the old golden framed mirror. Or, perhaps, they feared that with such a magnificent face, your fate would be one akin to Narcissus’, unknowingly falling in love with his own reflection in a pool of water, and ultimately dying while contemplating it.

"Is that why you wanted to see them ? The sketches ? I could paint you sometimes, if you’d like."

"Are you asking if a vain creature like me would like to have its portrait drawn ? Of course, I would, darling."

This time, his hands firmly grasped her hips and she audibly gasped. 

"It’d be … wonferful, actually."

The ribbon tightened around the hollow of her waist, his breath fresh and sweet in her hair.

"Here’s the deal darling, this dress will be free for you, and in exchange you'll paint my portrait. How does this sound ?"

She was about to answer when his fingers moved to hold her wrist, and she hissed, a bolt of pain coursing through her arm. Astarion intensely stared at it, caressing with his thumb the purple bruise that Damian’s fingers had left on her skin.

When he looked up once again, rage was twisting his lovely features into a snarl. "Did he do this to you ?’ Fallheel."

She felt ashamed, tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, but never fell on her cheeks. "Well, he can be prone to … sudden outbursts of anger."

Astarion looked at it for a little while, with an unreadable expression, and she would've given anything to know what he was thinking. 

"I’m sorry but do you know him ?"

The pale elf sniggered, wrapping the tape line around her neck, like a chocker of pearls. "I do, but we are not very fond of each other. Let’s say I once unknowingly attracted the favors of someone he was courting. Since then the man has hated me with a passion."

The cool of his knuckles rested against her quick pulse, and for a split second, she was sure she saw his pupils widen. Two bottomless wells of darkness. The dark windows of his soul, in which she could make out the less alluring parts of a vampire’s condition. Hunger. Lust for blood. His mouth half-opened, the sharp of his fangs catching the light of the lit candelabras next to them.

His voice sounded deeper, when he talked once again, inches away from her face. "Does he know you’re here ? Alone with me in the middle of the night ?"

Selene tried to ignore the dark undertone of his question, but a shiver of fear and excitement ran down her spine. 

"No he doesn’t", she admitted as he wrote her neck’s measurement at the bottom of the page, "Actually, he forbid me to see you, but I can’t find it in myself to care. Not anymore."

"And why is that, darling ? Because forbidden things have some irresistible charm to them ?"

"No because I-"she began, as he handed her jacket back to her, a silent invitation to get dressed again," Something happened to me a little while ago and I cannot paint as I used to. It’s so strange I don’t know how to explain it myself, but when I see you or talk to you, I have this urge to grab my charcoals and brushes."

He disappeared for a few seconds, only to come back with a handful of fabric swatches to present to her. 

Sitting on the meridian, he carefully leafed through the different materials and colors. "Now that makes me even more curious to see what I look like. For me to be worthy of the interest of a painter, to be able to revive their lost love for art … I must be quite the spectacle."

Selene took a few careful steps and joined him on the sofa. 

"Be my muse, then, Astarion.", she pleaded, "I’ll draw you a thousand times, in all the garments you desire, at every angle, with every background, in the guise of whoever you please…"

The offer seemed to catch his attention, and he turned to face her, lazily playing with a lock of her hair as he’d done the first time they had talked to each other.

"How tempting. To be the sole subject of painting of Fallheel’s protegée. To see him boil with anger."

He raised an eye-brow and brought a small piece of burgundy satin near her face. 

"You were born to wear red, darling" he smiled, all razor sharp teeth and undisturbed focus. "If I agree, I’ll sew you something worthy of a queen for each day you’ve spent hunched over a painting of me."

"It’ not nece-"

"Ah ah ah darling, none of that. We could be each other’s mutual source of inspiration. A corset for a painting. A work of art for a work of art. Hm ?"

"But it’s not the same, you don’t need that deal to create wonderful pieces. Look at all those wonderful dresses. I’m not -"

She stopped in her track, too embarrassed to say out it loud. 

Beautiful. Worthy of your time and attention. 

Selene stood up, suddenly needing to put space between them. But the pale elf followed suit, gracefully taking her by the shoulders to bring her in front of the mirror, once again. 

He stood still behind her, his stony chest pressed against her shoulder blades, his slow breaths in her ear.

"If you are giving my reflection back to me through your art, maybe I could help you see just how exquisite your own reflection is."

Both of his hands glided down her arms, to rest on top of her own. The way a lover’s hands would’ve.

"Everything, from the way you move to the way you talk, speaks volume about the fact that you just don’t know how charming you truly are."

She blushed from head to toes, ridiculously staring at her flushed reflection, and none of his words made any sense. Selene hated everything about her appearance : her long and dull black hair, her equally dark eyes, her pulpy lips, her too wide hips. Nothing about her was graceful or charming. 

What do you see in me ? 

His fingers closed on her waist, before continuing their tortuous descent on her legs. Her breath caught and she leaned further into him. ’So do let me help you, by draping each and every of your wonderful curve in precious silk and pearls. It’s the very least I can do.’

"Does it mean you agree ?" she managed to articulate, distracted by the feeling of his fingers kneading the flesh of her thighs. 

Astarion abruptly turned her around, and she fell into his chest. He titled her head up with his finger to make her look at him, at his wide grin and carmine eyes.

"It means that I’ll see you tomorrow evening with your paint and canvas, darling."

His shirt smelt like the sun, and she had to fight the urge to burry her nose in it. 

"Let’s be discreet though, I wouldn’t want for that master of yours to throw a tantrum."

And with that, Astarion was her muse. The sole being her mind conjured whenever she had a paintbrush or palette full of paint in her hands. 

Selene did not know it then, but she was about to turn him into a legend. The pale elf who’s portrait gathered thousand of people in the wide reception room of a palace, the beautiful vampire the bards sang about in their long ballads. 

But not just yet. For now, he was still hers. Hers to admire. Hers to contemplate. 

[kfans-writerblog]

Hair cut 💇‍♀️

It was a hot summer day you booked a appoint for a hait cut after the hair cut aaron picked you up

He looks at you smiling "wow y/n you look so nice " he pushes your hair back and drove home

And you went home and saw a mail written in red

"Hey Aaron I'm back " it says you looked confused and aaron was in shock and sacred you never seen him like this

"Aaron who is this why are you so scared you never act like this in every scary bloody case you have done you are scared of this mail!?"

He got frustrated and threw his tie down

"It's complicated ok ! Don't worry about this! " you move back and went to the living room to hide and you ordered take out to binge eat

He went to see you and sat down and held your hand and kissed it "hey hon I'm sorry about that earlier it's just that I don't want to cause any trouble or any harm like what happend to Hailey "

You cry "aaron I'm married to you now in all honesty I need to know everything and what's happening !? Is haleys killers back ? "

He nods "most likely but don't worry I will keel us safe "

[ordon-shield]

Febuwhump Day 2 (Flinching): Link Almost Traumatises a Small Child

ao3 link here

The man with the scars was back at the stable, and Haite was feeling curious. He was wearing different clothes than he was last time, wearing a red and green tunic with leather armour strapped across his chest and a hood hanging over his face, rather than the bright blue tunic he’d worn before, the only with the shape of a sword outlined on it. She recognised him anyway, once she’d glimpsed the burn scar across his face, the one that had made her curious the first time, the one he’d said he’d gotten from a Guardian.

Peering around the edge of the stable, she spotted him talking with Trott, too quietly for her to make out. She saw Trott drop something shiny— a rupee?— into his hand, and then saw him hand over a slightly stained package, wrapped with brown paper and string. Leaning over to try and get a better look, she tripped over her own feet, stumbling over a stray bucket and sending it over with a loud clatter.

He flinched violently, turning toward the sound, his sword already out of its scabbard by the time he seemed to realise it was just her rather than a monster. Dropping it to the ground he rushed over and helped her up, checking her for scrapes. She looked up at him to say thanks, when he seemed to realise something. Smiling back at her, he asked how she was doing and if she wanted to play hide-and-seek like she’d wanted to once he’d put away his horse. She laughed at that— it was a bit silly that he’d forgotten that she’d asked him to play tag with her, but he seemed not to care about it all that much.

She wanted to keep talking to him, about the puppies the dog just had, how Canni was teaching her how to braid a horses mane, and about the giant Divine Beast from the desert that had climbed up onto the mesa last week, but he had to make sure his horse was alright, so she let him go. Once he was out of earshot, she turned to Troff expectantly. He looked back, fear and realisation in his eyes.

“I’ll give you a fifty percent cut if you don’t tell anyone!”

@febuwhump

[kittycatlovesships]

Evil eye- The Demon in the Church's walls

It was a quiet Sunday night. Alas was busy sitting in the confession booth, allowing people to come in and allow their thoughts out, while he writes on his piece of papers some ideas of what to talk about next Sunday's session.

As Alas wrote his idea in the wooden booth, a candle being his only company, he heard the door of the church open, a loud clack of heels on polished tile could be heard throughout the dark church. There was a sudden cold sweat that beaded down Alas's back of his neck that gave him a feeling that this felt different. He wasn't able to peak fast enough before the sound of the door on the other side of the confession stand opened and closes, the wood creaking as whoever sat down.

There was a long silence till a familiar snarky voice broke it "I know you're in there tough guy-" he laughed, hitting the wooden wall separating there "so how about this Daddy soapbox, you're sitting there to hear the sins of the community... So let.. ~me~ to let your light shine apon my sins~" Alas couldn't look at the side the voice was talking on... This was not what he was expecting...

Alas's eyes closed tight as the man started to say the darkest stuff he did, torturing man that didn't pay up, killing 'Johns' that got a little forceful, drugging up people for his pimp, and much more disgusting things, it nearly brought him to vomiting.

It didn't even register his voice moved til the door opened on his own side of the box and was met with a curvy figure in an all black outfit, the only things that wasn't covered was his face, tho the only thing that stood out was the man's bright red eyes and pale dusty blonde hait.

"Awwww is the priest disgusted with a little ol' whore?~" The albino in black cooed, his eyes piercing the priest's being. Alas closed his eyes again tight and shook his head "No-" Alas said through clenched teeth "I'm n-"

Alas felt his head hit the wooden back of the box hard as the man grabbed his hair "listen hear you lieing mother fucker-" cussed the man as he slammed Alas's head into the back again. "- you are a SICK son of a butch, coming into my workplace, just to sling your holy dick around like you owned the place, standing on your soapbox while telling my coworkers that they could 'come to your church if they need to day away from everyone- blah blah blah"

Alas, through his pounding head, spoke softly "I wanted to help make sure they knew a safe pl-" The red eyed man slammed his head against and started to pull him out and throw him into the tiled floor, a dark smeer showing against the pure white tile.

"Don't you DARE be on your high horse now you fucking bitch" growled the man as the click of his heels followed the man's body, that shookily went to sit up.

"Im sorry I won't-" Alas wheezed, feeling a sharp heel kickin him to his back again."-Sorry won't fucking cut it, I don't want you anywhere NEAR that fucking club or any building close to it, keep you snobbish bitch of a religion OUT of my sights got it? "

Alas wheezed, trying hard to speak, feeling another stomp of the heel, and a intense sound of a rib break "Y-yes..." Was all Alas could muster. There was an almost feminine laugh that araised out of the curved figure "great, now, let's keep this between us okay Daddy~? " The man hummed, walking over Alas and back down the church's isle to back out into the world.

It was once again quiet, the only thing Alas could hear was his pounding heart and weak lungs. He slowly started to stand up once he regained a bit more consciousness, he crawled to the Wall phone that was placed for emergencies... He hated using It, but it was an emergency.

9...1...1

"Hello 911 what's your emergency? "

Alas wheezed as he tried to speak "eight.. Tw.. Enty.. Fi.. Ive... west... Lake... "

"Sir are you okay, do you need an ambulance? "

"Y-yess... " was all he could muster til he felt his body finally collapse into the concussion he was given.

[latetothepartyandconfused]

[ID:digital drawing, The little prince fanart image 1: The little prince sitting on the sand, looking sadly at a snake. He has short blonde hait, pale skin and dark eyes and he is wearing a blue coat with red inside, white shirt, brown pants and high black boots. There is light behind him in the shape of a star. The sky behind him is dark with many stars in it. The snake is white.

image 2: The little prince on his planet, lying on his stomach and looking anxiously at his red rose under a bell jar. \end ID]

The little prince :)

[rjalker]

the only character from this dream I could see clearly. don't know what her name was. She had orange skin with darker orange diamond shaped stripes, and big magically waving hait that was red with a white strip on the top, and white with a red stripe on the bottom. It magically floated out behind her like a shampoo commercial at all times. She had a really long sword, and also a "dinosaur" tail with sharp spikes on the end, and ridged plates on top. She had thick arms, but I couldn't see her legs clearly and her clothes were too complicated for me to remember. Many different layers of shirts and a vest and belts and pockets. I couldn't see her face.

public domain because I said so. possibly she was a werewolf who'd gone on a rampage murdering almost everyone in this village in the woods. Possibly she was from another planet in an Astounding Stories of Super-Science-esque plot.

She was not a tiger person despite the orange and stripes.

Her "hair" was not made of hair. It was some solid shiny thing. Like a jellyfish or something.

[ID: Two versions of the same drawing, first as black and white lineart, then with color. It shows a woman with orange skin and darker orange or brown diamond-shaped stripes on her arms, and on the top of her tail, which also has pale orange plates and spikes. Her torso and legs are not drawn, only marked with large question marks, with one note reading, "complicated clothes". Above her is a rapier with a long white blade and a red handle, with a swirled guard over one side turning into a spike at the bottom. Her face also has a questionmark in the color version of the drawing. Her hair is red with a white stripe on the top, and white with a red strope on the bottom. text in the upper corner reads "5 24 2024". End ID.]

public domain because I said so.

[drdamiang]

KANSAS GEORGE AND

KANSAS GEORGE AND

THE FLYING MONKEY

Hello George

I am

also

George

funny about that

isn't it

George

people might call it

a coincidence

but there

are no

coincidences

where are

we George?

are you the blue fairy?

are we

both red fairies?

are we

the munchkins

are we

in Kansas, in Oz

somewhere in the 60s

down

in Hait-Ashbury

carefree

and happy

enjoying

a summer of love

now

don't go

wicked witch on me George

fall on that

ball all

serious

go total

flying monkey

jumping on that ball

as if it is not

all

just a game.