#also none of them are RED. AT ALL <- person whose favorite color is red

[sparkeaterz]

one thing i disliked about tfone is how they made three (3!!) of the primes yellow/gold + white/grey and another two of them yellow + blue. can a man get a little color variance in here

current plight. how the hell do i design eleven primes

[seventeenplug]

Seventeen Vernon X Reader

Sulking on set♡

Pairing: Vernon X Reader 

Genre: Fluff

Warning: mentions of puke and just blunt cringe first meeting ;-;

Summary: After long days of not seeing each other, the members of Seventeen decide that it would be a good idea to invite you to the set to cheer up a sulked Vernon.

Word Count : 1,9K

It had been days since you had last had a nice meal with your boyfriend of 6 months, promotions were tight and the comeback was soon, this was to be expected by you. You did know the relationship came with strings attached that could never be cut.

˜˜˜

The two of you had met 6 months prior to the comeback's announcement after meeting on a lonely winter night by the Han River. It was cringy and it was cheesy, but you wouldn't change the fact that your drunkness had caused you to trip over Hansol's leg, which was indeed tucked away and not on your way like you argued that day.

He apologized nonetheless, and you continued on your drunk arguing, finger pointed at him as you accused him of purposefully tripping you, which had never been the case. It wasn't any better when the man laughed at your actions causing you to get even redder with anger. A sudden wave of sickness hit you hard the next second, and before you even knew it you were doubling over and puking your dinner and cheap soju on the man's shoes.

The poor man was surprisingly nonacholantic to it all, and simply patted your back awkwardly as you emptied your stomach on his brand new shoes, that sure made you sober up and after heaving on top of him you woke back to life, standing up straight with wide eyes and covering your mouth.

“I’m so sorry!” You hurriedly said bowing fully at 90º, which was probably not the best idea as you felt your head throb.

“argh” you moaned in pain, grabbing onto your head.

“Are you okay?” the man asked you, your eyes looking ahead, his head lowered to look at you, worry flashing through his eyes, you nod standing back up.

“Your shoes…I’m sorry” you repeated, lips tight into a line as you eyed the disgusting cover on them.

"It 's fine. Really. Are you really okay though? Have you sobered up?” He joked, a slight smile on his face. Your face thankfully already red, doesn’t showcase the way your whole body burned up in embarrassment.

“I think so… I will pay for the cleaner-” you grimaced at the sight of his poor shoes.

“I’ll buy you new ones” you offered, sloppily reaching for your handbag, only to realize that it wasn’t there.

Frantic arms move around your body as your eyes move like crazy looking around the whole place.

“Did you lose something?” he questions, eyes also searching around.

“My…my bag” you sigh, hand moving from grabbing your head to your hair, brushing your hair away from your face.

“Gosh, I’m so stupid…”You mumbled, angry because you’re sober and recalling that you just lost your job and now angry because you’re sober, jobless and lost your wallet, phone and house keys.

You didn’t know it then, you didn’t get why he kept asking what color your bag was, the size and what belongings were inside along with your name. You soon learned that he was an idol as he removed his hood and mask.

He was none other than Vernon from Seventeen and he had just posted about a ‘friend’ who had lost her purse.

Shock wasn’t the best word to describe your feeling when you found out who he was, all of you wished to have superpowers so that you could make yourself disappear and erase his memory of you. Not only was he a famous idol whose group you knew and liked. But he was also your favorite member of said group…

It was a memorable event for the two of you, as by the end of the night and beginning of dawn you had bought him shoes at a local store that was somehow still open.

And then someone claimed the bag as a missing item and Hansol accompanied you to said location of the person who had in hand your belongings to make sure that it wasn’t a hoax nor dangerous.

The person was a girl, also a fan who handed you the bag and whom Vernon spoke to, thanking her deeply with you bowing in the background and thanking her for your life.

After it all, Vernon decided to give you his phone number, just in case you lost something important in public again. Taking use of it, you texted him after you two had said goodbye, him back almost out of sight.

“I lost something” you text.

“What was it?” 

“You” 

Given he came back, a small smile on his face.

The two of you decided to eat something together at 6am.

But now, sitting in your lonely studio apartment, you wondered how he was. He had begun to practice for a comeback as it was merely weeks away and he had a lot to do and practice. It made it hard to text and call each other, but worst to it was the fact that he now barely had time to even hang out with you.

Sitting on your small sofa you looked out your window as a drama played on your tv, the sound almost gone as your focus stayed on the lives outside in the busy streets of Seoul.

“For just how long will they be busy?” you whined, hand thrown back onto the head of the sofa sighing.

On your coffee table, your phone begins to vibrate, the name, ‘Scoops of Icecream’ flashing on your screen, a wide smile breaking out on your face as you hurriedly reach forward to answer the call.

“Hello?” you say, trying your best to conceal your happiness.

“Hey, Hey. Do you think you can stop real quick?” Seungcheol asked, sighing at the other end.

“Why? What’s wrong?” you ask, beginning to worry.

“The kids were playing and now Vernon is sulking over a game of mafia because of Mingyu” you could sense the eye roll, lips tight as you try not to burst out laughing as you hear him put the phone away from his ear to scream for the members to be quiet.

“I’ll be there in 20” you laugh softly.

“Thank you! Gotta go, Hoshi is- HOSHI!” the call disconnects before he can even finish, and you’re almost thankful seeing as if he called for Hoshi there would for sure be chaos occurring.

Just like you had told him you got there within 20 minutes of the call, walking with 4 trays of coffee and a bag filled with snacks that you had hurriedly bought from the stop beside your apartment.

“Y/N!” Dino almost runs as he catches sight of you at the entrance, the members all turning to look at the mention of your name.

Your eyes look around smiling and bowing slightly at everyone until your eyes reach your boyfriend’s.

Alike Seungcheol’s mention, he had a pout on his face, arms crossed over his chest, puppy eyes staring straight at you that almost screamed ‘unfair’.

“I brought coffee and snacks!” you raise the bags before plopping them down onto a nearby table.

“What brought you here?” Joshua smiles as he takes a coffee.

“I heard someone was sulking so I had to check it out” you joke, a loud huff being heard by everyone.

The members looked almost shocked, sure, Vernon liked to show emotion and he was great at expressing his feelings with his face, but noise? They had never expected him to be lousy with words, much less to make cute expressions or noises to catch the attention of someone.

“Mingyu, you should play gently” you laugh bumping onto his shoulder as he takes a chocolate bar from the bag.

“He’s the sore loser. I said that Jun’s the mafia but he didn’t believe me, said it was me and then got killed” he shrugs, to which you laughed.

Vernon finally stands up walking your way, you pout back at him just as he nears you and almost falls into your arms.

“I missed you” he mumbled sweetly, your hand instinctively pats at his back while the other runs through his hair.

“me too”

“Ey! Have some mercy to the single ones” Seungkwan groaned, taking a coffee and walking away with Jeonghan who winked at the two.

“What were you sulking about?” That was the hard question, and it was also the one with the longest response.

“Look! Mingyu was suspicious from the start! He even said he didn't’ know the rules”

“HOW WOULD HE NOT KNOW THE RULES?! TO MÁFIA!" Hoshi’s voice boomed through the music video set, his frame jumping from the couch and racing to the couple who was still standing by the table with the coffee and snacks.

The rest of the groups now watched attentively as Mingyu sipped on his cup, looking up from time to time.

“Mingyu was suspicious and Jun was just…quiet!” Vernon argued.

“I was right, just admit it. You got innocent killed” Mingyu counteredback, gasps heard all around.

“You -”

The argument was long as the three of them, Mingyu, Vernon and Hoshi argued against each other, most of the members having already gone back to the things, meanwhile Jun, alike his game persona per description of Vernon, watched very silently, a small smirk on his face.

His eyes connect with yours, you have to contain yourself not to snicker as the boy winks playfully, telling you all you needed to know. He would do it again.

“Ok, ok. How about this” you intervene between the men.

“Play again, see who is right now and who isn’t” you suggest.

Success, the three men manage to convince the whole group who is gathering around to play again as the staff assign roles.

“You okay? Wasn’t work hard today?” Vernon asks as he laces his fingers with yours, gently squeezing.

“It’s my day off today” you smile, his eyes widened. You could tell he was slightly embarrassed but you easily calm him by squeezing his hand.

“You’re busy, it’s fine. I get it. At least I got to see you today” you smiled comfortingly.

“I’m sorry for not being attentive to you” he pouts once more.

Your eyes lower to his lips, you notice how he puckers them even more, your eyes moving to his, his eyebrows raising playfully as he makes kissy noises.

You laugh, but nonetheless kiss his pouty lips, slightly dry and in definite need of some chapstick.

“I know, I know. I’ll put it on after” he grumbles, already aware of what you would complain about.

He licks his lips, pecking you just once more before he’s called onto the set to film another mafia game.

“Stay here! We’ll go out to eat after, I promise!” He smiles, moving towards his group, his hand still on yours until the very end. You nod enthusiastically, finally far as your hands disconnect and you sit back to watch the chaos.

This time, Joshua and Jeonghan were the mafias…

It was safe to say that Vernon’s bickering and pouting just got worse as he once more got fooled and you had to console the boy for the whole night.

FIN˜

[magic-x-edits]

my friend said that I can't make a list of the reasons why season 1 is way better than season 2, so here it is. I'm not saying that season 2 is bad, it just... isn't as good.

1) The flashbacks.

Stede's and Edward's feelings were often explained with flashbacks, showing their childhood or Stede's marriage. But, unlike usual flashbacks, they were not done to show the audience the character's backstory, but to show what the character was thinking at a particular moment. The attention to detail is amazing. A grown and dangerous pirate who hides under his only friend's robe and physically flinches when he hears a knock on the door. The same pirate who builds a house out of pillows and hides there after getting his heart broken. All their story was about healing your inner child.

2) Found family.

The way the Revenge crew helped and protected each other was incredible. Stede read them bedtime stories, they slept on the deck all together, like in kindergarten. Even when they said bad things about each other, they loved each other sincerely.

3) Breaking stereotypes

A womanizer (poor choice of words) who turns out to be the most loyal and heantly partner? An ex wife who is finally not shown as a villain? Queer characters whose issues are not related to their sexuality or gender? Partners who are also best friends? Yes please.

4) Tolerance.

Every attempt at homophobia, transphobia, or racism on this show is ended in a moment. When the English officer called Frenchie a slave, Jim instantly threw a dagger into his hand. We immediately assume that none of them are cishet and we turn out to be right. None of them need to explain identity. You're not a man and not a woman? Are you sure you're not a mermaid? No? Then let's eat cake, Jim.

5) Interesting characters.

I won't even talk about how perfectly written Stede and Edward are (although I will talk about that later). What about Jim, Lucius, Izzy, Jackie (can you believe she has less than ten minutes of screen time?), Frenchie, Oluwande, Mary, Fang? I wanted to know more about everyone.

6) Characters' actions always make sense.

Each character has such a well written personality that their every action makes sense, even if it annoys us. We were all angry when Jim went for revenge and didn't return to the ship with Oluwande, when Stede returned to Mary leaving Ed on the pier, when Ed threw Lucius overboard and left the crew on an island to die, when Mary tried to kill Stede. But each of these actions fits perfectly with the characters’ personalities and you can't deny that.

7) The right kind of the unspoken.

Throughout the second season, I had the feeling that the writers thought considered us stupid and had to say everything explicitly. There was a lot that wasn't said directly in the first season. They didn't say Izzy loves Blackbeard, but it's obvious. They didn't explain why Edward tried to kill Lucius of all the people, but everyone understood it. They didn't explain why he chose to leave precisely those people on the island. They never spoke again of to the line about Jim's favorite color being tial and how they literally confessed their love when they said it.

8) Metaphors.

The great and dangerous kraken is a little boy, who is hurt by the people he loved? Stede is a lighthouse? The wooden boy? Mary's painting that Stede didn't appreciate a sign of his love for Edward? Stede's children kill him in his nightmare? Ed's red silk? Come on, this was perfect!

The only good metaphor in season two is Edward's leather.

[shiloh-rivera]

Hey, guys! I’m Katelyn, and this beauty, Rian! I’m excited to be here and to interact with a new-ish character as I explore this wonderful roleplay and this beautiful town that’s been created! I would love to plot with every single one of you. My discord is xADumbHuman#3145 if anyone wants to add me on there!

THE STATISTICS

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦

FULL LEGAL NAME: Shiloh Rian Rivera NICKNAME(s): Guppy (only by her dad), Dandelion (by her dad and her Uncle Jack), Ri AGE: 40 DATE OF BIRTH: April 28th SPECIES: Human ETHNICITY: French-Danish, Mexican-Indian, and Spanish (Google gives me all the facts) NATIONALITY: American LANGUAGES: Spanish, English, very little French GENDER: Cis-Female PRONOUNS: She/Her SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual BIRTH ORDER: Only Child (That she's aware of) HOMETOWN: Nightrest, Mass. CURRENT RESIDENCE: Low Point in Nightrest, Mass. EDUCATION: College; Bachelor's Degree OCCUPATION: Traveling Fisherman/Fish Merchant MARITAL STATUS: Divorced FAMILY: Franklin Rivera (Father) - deceased, Jack Gregory (Uncle)- in New York, Mother - Unknown RELATIONSHIPS: See connections. PETS: None currently. 𝗣𝗛𝗬𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗦

HEIGHT: 5'7" WEIGHT: 120 pounds. BODY TYPE: Fit, athletic build. EYE COLOR: Dark Brown HAIR COLOR: Dark Brown SCARS|MARKS: A scar behind her ear from falling on a rock as a child. FACIAL HAIR: None SIGNATURE SCENT: Coconut and Vanilla shampoo, body was, and Vanilla scented perfume TATTOOS: tbd PIERCINGS: Double ear piercing; belly button 𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗜𝗔𝗦 & 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗘𝗦

PHOBIAS: N/A MENTAL DISEASES: N/A PHYSICAL DISEASES: N/A 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Ravenclaw PROMINENT TRAITS:  Adventurous, Scholarly, World Traveler, Food Critic FAVORITE FOODS: Veggie Straws, Chocolate Covered Strawberries, Vanilla Yogurt, Chocolate covered coconut bites, Tacos, a good meaty sandwich with all the toppings FAVORITE COLOR: Lavender, Dusty Blue MUSIC TASTE: She can go from Hannah Montana to Breaking Benjamin, she doesn't care. HOBBIES: reading, hiking, swimming, fishing, painting (though she's awful at it), sitting by a fire with a glass of wine. ZODIAC SIGN: Gemini LIKES: Lipstick shades in various colors, hiking boots even when the don't compliment an outfit, marking dates on a calendar and still not remembering them DISLIKES: Being alone, weather that's too cold, weather that's too hot

THE APPLICATION

was that SHILOH ‘RIAN’ RIVERA i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the FORTY year old who has been in nightrest for GREW UP HERE, BEEN BACK FOR ABOUT A YEAR IN TOTAL and works  as a TRAVELING FISHERMAN/FISH MERCHANT has a reputation of being LOYAL, but also DISTANT. they reside in LOW POINT & people in town usually associate them with RED LIPSTICK STAINED COFFEE CUPS, DISTANT MEMORIES FROM CHILDHOODS SPENT IN THE OUTDOORS, HIKING TRAILS COVERED IN THE FOOTPRINTS OF HER SHOES. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next.

THE HEADCANONS

Rian is a very outdoorsy person. She’s always loved anything that had to do with outdoors.

She was raised by a single father whose life revolved around his daughter and the light house that he’d been keeper of for most of his life. 

Rian has always wanted children, but never saw herself as a mother. She’s always been too dedicated in the lives of those around her to even consider it.

A true animal lover at heart, Rian has had more pets in her lifetime than she can count. It wasn’t unusual for her to bring a new animal home to her father as a surprise gift.

Rian has always loved birthdays. She’s the kind of person that would go above and beyond to make someone’s day special, even if they hated it. 

She doesn’t love often - a gift or a curse she’ll never really know - but when she does, she doesn’t give up on it easily. 

She made decent grades all throughout school. It wasn’t straight a’s, but that was never important to Rian. Good grades meant more to her than not. 

She loves Fall, and anything ‘fall flavored.’ To say she’s ‘addicted’ is an understatement. 

Her and her father had a running joke that they’d be in Nightrest their entire lives. That was only true for Franklin.

Rian loves hiking - as if it wasn’t obvious by her love of outdoors - and she would rather be outdoors hiking somewhere new anytime she can be than indoors.

THE SUMMARY

The following summary contains content that may be triggering. Grief, death, divorce and cancer are all themes mentioned below! Please proceed with caution.

Rian grew up in Nightrest. Her god-father - who she calls ‘Uncle Jack’ - took over the lighthouse keeper job when Rian’s dad passed away several years ago, before he retired just within the past two years. However, a few months ago he and Rian started traveling in a way to grieve and process - having nothing to do really started making him see things differently - and he is now living in New York. Rian has recently moved back to Nightrest, after moving away seventeen years ago at twenty three to move in with her husband Patrick. The two are now divorced and although she’s still grieving the death of her father (not quite as much but definitely still grieving), Rian feels like being in Nightrest where she grew up was the best thing she could’ve ever done for herself and she’s more than happy to be back. 

[alotsgonnachange]

Isabella Bio

Name: Isabella Ciccino

DOB: October 28th birthday (scorpio)

Gender: cisgender woman

Pronouns: She/Her

Height: 5’10

Sexuality: Lesbian

Favorite food: vinho verde, lemon chicken orzo

Magical specialties: Green Witch

Familiar: none

MBTI: ISFJ-T

Patron Arcana: Justice (La Giustizia)

Ethnicity: A small mediterranean esque island off the coast of Venterre called Valletta. Similar to Sicily and Malta

Family: Mother, Angela Ciccino (deceased), Younger sister, Annamaria Ciccino (deceased), Violetta Delmonico, cousin

Occupation: Seamstress

Love Interest: Nadia

Personality:

Isabella tends to come off as polite and reserved to most who interact with her. Once you get to know her a bit better, she’s witty and very playful. She’s mostly introverted but enjoys spending time with close friends in smaller, more intimate groups. She may also even come off as pretentious (and every now and again she can be) due to her interests and hobbies, but in reality she’s deeply caring and loyal - often putting the needs of her friends over her own. She can become broody and isolate herself at her worst and has a difficult time accepting help from others.

Magic Overview:

Though her careers have been in Dance and seamstress work, her specialty is actually plant oriented. She has an affinity for plant care and can identify almost any from memory. Like some sort of sniffer dog, she can tell immediately what’s poisonous, magical, edible, etc. She can also manipulate plants (make them grow, bend them to her will, kill them) with just her hands, but usually chooses not to unless there’s an emergency.

Height and Appearance

Isabella is a relatively tall and thin young woman with smatterings of freckles over her face and body. She’s around 5’10 or 5’11 depending on the shoes. She has medium dark brown eyes with long lashes. She has medium to thin dark eyebrows that are meticulously trimmed. Her lips are full and usually red. Her face shape is narrow and doll-like. In my old art, she has very long dark brown hair that is a bit wavy and usually braided to one or two ponytails and bangs. Later in her life, she cuts it short and keeps it that way for ease and convenience. She has just 2 lobe piercings.

Mostly white and tan linens or other breathable comfortable fabrics. She makes most of her own clothing or it’s handmade so she tends to look very put together even if she doesn’t see many people that day. Mostly dresses but will also put on comfortable linen pants depending on the day. Is known to sometimes wear heels (she thinks they make her seem more authoritative). When she’s feeling more bold she’ll go for any and every color.

Abridged Backstory

Isabella Ciccino grew up on an island between Venterre and Zadith (Think Sicily/Malta) with her mother Angela and younger sister Annamaria. Their lives were relatively quiet and uneventful. They lived in a small home on the countryside growing vegetables and fruit and foraging. Isabella’s mother was a talented seamstress and tailor whose skills were sought by many throughout the land. From a young age, Isabella became fascinated by the dancers leaving rehearsal at the opera house on the mainland of Venterre and vowed to become a ballerina. Her mother was fine with this and allowed her to take ballet classes which made her very happy and she cultivated her skills well, getting an offer to perform in a major ballet in an area near Nevivon at the age of 17. This upset her mother because she did not expect things to get this far and she would need help in the shop.

Fortunately, her mother would get an offer to work for better pay and housing in Vesuvia, so they all ended up going separate ways. When Isabella began working for an opera/ballet company, there she met her close friends Danielle and Ivan (Vanya) and his siblings Ekaterina (Katya) and Vasiliy (Vasya)

Isabella was visiting Vesuvia when the plague came and it made her mother and sister sick and they both died. Devastated, she returned to the lands east of Nevivon and threw herself obsessively into her work to avoid her grief and nearly got Married to Ivan in an attempt to cope (despite not being in love with him OR attracted to men). Her friends basically gave her an intervention and she spent 2 years in near solitude except for an elderly Tailor who she helped and lived with and his friend in a small village in southern Zadith, near her hometown.

As a friend: Loyal, huge jokester and terrible gossip, will make faces at you and mouth questions across the table, while around strangers she’s much more reserved. Good shoulder to cry on and a good listener as well. Stubborn and will have a hard time taking your advice the first time, you have to bully her a bit. If you ever need help with literally anything at all please let her help you! She likes to feel useful so someone who pushes back against accepting help might unintentionally hurt her feelings. She will literally hurt or cause bodily harm to anyone who wrongs her friends. If you tell her not to she’ll just humiliate them publicly.

As a Lover: Getting to this stage is hard because she has her walls up for sure. But once you get past that part, she’s sweet and doting and honestly a bit bashful. She doesn’t really know how to ask for affection so probably just walks around in fancy outfits like a weird bird. She likes people who can fluster her or make her blush from compliments (which she is not good at taking). She also will cook for and make clothes for her lover and generally enjoys gift giving. Vulnerability and hard conversations won’t be easy, but someone who is patient will be helpful.

Generally submissive in the bedroom and prefers her partner to take the lead. Not into anything too intense, but also open to trying some things especially if she is with a more experienced lover. Obedient and eager to please. Prefers praise and being spoiled as well.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

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

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

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

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

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

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

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

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[bleachbleachbleach]

meme!

I was tagged by @magical-girl-coral for this meme! Thank you!! idk if @ippoddity is going to answer it here or on her personal, but I decided to answer it here, since this is the space/fandom we share. That and some of my answers have to do with Bleach and none of them are about Lightning McQueen, LOL. 

I made a fresh post instead of reblogging the original one because I do not know how to shut up.

--

Favorite color: red, but I wear purple and greens/blues/teals.

Currently reading: I just finished Elizabeth Miki Brina’s memoir, Speak, Okinawa, and around the same time also finished @recurring-polynya’s Portions for Foxes. Speak, Okinawa has a lot going for it that’s really well done, and is about Brina’s life growing up in whitebread part of New Jersey with a military father and an Okinawan mother, and the ways that her and her parents’ lives have been informed not only by World War II and US-Japan relations, but also by Okinawa’s colonial histories at the hands of the US military, Japan, and China. I’ve been reading a lot of Okinawa-related things for work, and I think it will go well with them.

Portions for Foxes is a post-TYBW fic in an alternate timeline where Byakuya dies (DX), and it is absolutely fantastic. It’s Renji POV and is just an exquisite tapestry of multifarious forms of grief and trauma, but is also about moving within and beyond these things, and working through a postwar daily life where you still have to deal with division work (and Leading Division work) and Kuchiki family politics that involve political marriage and strategic pregnancies (but also real love of each other, and real love of the coming baby). If you have not already read it, you are in for a treat if you do.

Last song: Songs That Make You Feel Badass, which is a 19-minute YouTube mix track, hahaha.

Last movie: Technically we watched the new Natsume Yuujinchou movie, if that counts? It was more like a double feature OVA. Outside of stuff like that… Fast 9? Fast 9 was majestic and beautiful in too many ways. I was legit in tears only 10 minutes in, lol. What I love about Fast is that it’s fantastic spectacle even for the casual action-blockbuster-viewer, but if you actually care about the series, all the callbacks and easter eggs reveal that they’re such a careful labor of love. Mind you, absolutely none of that care has anything to do with the dialogue or the plot or the logic. But listen. In the Fast 6 extended cut there’s a scene where Vin Diesel shows Han an orange Camaro and Han replies, "Nice color." And this foreshadows 1) Han’s orange RX-7 in Tokyo Drift, but also Han comes back from the dead in Fast 9 and he’s got another orange car, this time a Supra, which is a model that WAS ALSO REVIVED FROM THE DEAD in the years between Fast 8 and Fast 9, IN THIS ESSAY I WILL—

Last series: Zettai BL ni Naru Sekai vs Zettai BL ni Naritakunai Otoko, inspired by this gifset that @magical-girl-coral reblogged. (ty!) It’s about this guy who determines that he is living in a BL manga because he keeps witnessing the tropes manifest in his classmates. Initially, he thinks he’s off the hook because he’s boring and plain-looking, and then he reads on the Internet that often the boring guy ends up being the main character of BL series. This sends him into an existential spiral because of how badly he emphatically does not want to be a main character in a BL series, LOL. It’s a very meta, and very much a tongue-in-cheek love letter to the BL genre.

Coffee or tea: Tea >>>>>>>>>>>

Currently working on: A fic whose in utero name was originally "Gotei 13 goes to the ocean" but is now "Gotei 13 goes camping," because it kind of seems like they’re going to spend more time trying to get to the ocean than actually doing anything there. I haven’t decided whether I should change that or not, because on one hand the original inspo for this fic was "where’s the ocean in Soul Society?" but the first scene that came to mind was a shinigami having to bushwhack their way around Mt. Koifushi, and that’s really all I want in life.

The premise is that post-TYBW, Soul Society is in a rush to assert to various other parties who might want to invade them that they are indeed alive, and they won, and no one else should want to invade them. One of these parties is the Western Ocean. The problem is, the last person to have taken on this job of establishing diplomatic terms with the Western Ocean was Kaien, on account of Nejibana and his being from a noble family. But obviously, Kaien died, and apparently did not... leave notes... And if there are notes from any of the people who did this job before him, no one can find them, because far be it from Soul Society to write reports that can ever be referenced again.

Soul Society is basically just like… welp! Rukia is Kaien’s most recent protege, and is also conveniently of a noble family, and ice is ****basically water**** right?? So even though literally no one knows what she’s supposed to do, what lies within the Western Ocean, or who/what she’s even supposed to be negotiating with in the first place, this task becomes Rukia’s problem.

To ease the burden, Soul Society sends Rukia off with what proves to be a very dysfunctional assortment of Captains/VCs, with the intent that such a high-ranking entourage will make it look like Soul Society respects the negotiations and, possibly more importantly, has their shit together. (They do not have their shit together.) And that’s the story of how Akon ends up technically being the mission leader, LOL. 

Other than that, er, the "plot" is that everyone is real sad and kind of fucked up about TYBW. I am not a strong plot-writer, so I dunno how well that’s gonna pan out. But I really wanted to know where the ocean was!

--

Oh no I forgot to tag people! Uhhhh I’m not sure who our mutuals even are and of those, who likes memes. O_o @backwardshirt, @ulkoilla, @crysuzumushi, if you’re into it? <3

[humaforever]

Colors/A Huma Fanfiction

When Harry met Uma she wore purple and black. Probably because that was the pallet of colors she had. But it changed shortly after he met her. He never thought much of it, just her branding herself as her own person and not just Ursula's daughter. But maybe there was a reason for it.

A lot of VKs took their parents colors and based their wardrobe on that. It was a way to show people who they were messing with. Just by seeing Mal's purple, green, and black outfits you would know she was Maleficent's daughter and steer clear of that. The hook children all wore their fathers signature red coat so everyone knew exactly who they were. But Uma was different, she didn't wear purple and black. Or at least not for very long, not for very long at all. Her branded color was very curious though. No one really knew why she chose those colors. The people closest to her just thought it was from her love of the ocean, and really it kind of was.

When she chose these colors they also chose her. Those who had magic in their veins, the ones whose parents had used magic, had a very interesting ability. When they were young children, when they attached themselves to a color the color did the same and their hair changed. This how Mal had purple hair, how Evie had dark navy blue hair, and how Uma had Teal, turquoise hair. Because that's how she wanted it.

Harry loved everything about it though. He loved how perfectly it contrasted against her skin, giving her a beautiful glow. He loved how even though her eyes weren't blue they were still brought out by the vibrant green/blue. He loved how fierce it made her look. He really loved how it reminded him of the ocean. But what he loved most is that it was so uniquely her and it made him feel safe. Whenever, wherever he was, when he saw that color he felt safe, he felt happy.

Everyone knew this was HER color. So it was quite odd when Evie started asking about everyone's favorite colors, like isn't it obvious. The princess had decided that Uma and Mal's crews needed to do more socializing and get to know each other better. Even if it was just the simple stuff.

So that's how they ended up here. In the living room of Mal and Ben's castle, each telling different, interesting facts about themselves. Evie for some reason decided each person needed to tell the group their favorite colors.

"Why don't we start with you Gil" Evie said

"Oh, uh I like brown. Oh and yellow, and black. Pinks pretty too. Orange is nice. I like all the colors, my favorite is maybe yellow. No, brown. No, yellow. Yeah yellow" Gil explained very befuddled

"Nice I like yellow too" Evie replied sweetly, being very patient with Gil "And you Harry?"

"What do you think princess?" Harry said annoyed

"C'mon Harry"

Harry sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. "Crimson. Happy?"

Evie nodded in reply "And you Uma"

Uma also sighed, but decided to answer so the conversation would be over quickly. "I like green, when it almost looks blue. And I like blue, when its almost green. So Teal, aqua, turquoise. Whatever you wanna call it." Uma stated

"Question" Mal piped up from her spot on the couch. "Why did you choose that color? I always wondered?" Mal asked Uma

"Cause I like it" Uma stated simply

"Yes I gathered that much, I was wondering if there was a real symbolic meaning behind it" Mal said

Uma shrugged "it makes me feel safe...and happy"

Harry furrowed his brow at her. He felt the same way about the color because it reminded him of Uma. Uma always made him happy. But he couldn't help but wonder why it made Uma feel "safe and happy."

"Wow, great explanation" Mal said sarcastically but decided to drop the topic.

"Wait, Why?" Harry said his thoughts aloud the words kinda just coming out of his mouth.

Uma looked him in the eyes and cocked her head to the side confused by his question.

"Sorry... Nevermind" Harry said looking back at her.

Although it was a stupidly simple question they had never talked about their "favorite colors." Probably because they were fighting and watching their backs every second of every day. Probably because they lived on the isle and even talk like that would be considered weak. But she was his best friend, it would still be nice to talk about this stuff, even if it was so stupidly simple.

"Whatever" Uma waved him off

Evie then continued with her little game and that's how the night went on. It was actually nice catching up with their new friends. Although none of them would ever say it, it was a very enjoyable evening.

It would only be months later, when Harry figured out a deeper meaning behind her favorite color. Months later when they were "officially" dating.

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

"Uma" Harry said smiling at Uma looking her in the eyes

"Harry" Uma said looking back

They were currently out at the beach. Not a lot of people were there, especially at the spot they were at. They weren't going to call it a date because they had invited Gil, but he was busy. But yeah, it was a date.

"You know Uma we're pretty lucky" Harry said brushing his hand through the sand

"What do you mean?" Uma asked

"I mean, not a lot of people can say they've known each other for as long as we have. The fact that I can say I've known you for my whole life is pretty awesome. The fact that I've not wasted a whole lot of my life looking for you, but spending it with you." Harry said smiling

"Yeah" Uma trailed off "look at the sunset Harry"

It was a beautiful sight. Something they never got to see on the isle.

"Look at where the sun meets the ocean. The reason for your favorite color. That iridescent blue." Harry said

"That's not the reason for my favorite color" Uma said

"The ocean?" Harry questioned

"No" Uma responded "Well kinda"

"Do tell" Harry said curiously

"When we were on the isle it was in my blood to be drawn to the ocean, I yearned for it the day I was born. But as you know there was hardly any water, definitely not enough to call an 'ocean.' But I still saw the ocean as my home and like I was just far, far away from that home." Uma stated, Harry listening intently. "But then I met you. I took one look at your eyes and I knew you were my ocean. The home I'd been searching for." Uma looked at Harry. "The way your eyes are blue but they seem green, or maybe they're green and they look blue. I never knew, but that little area where the two colors intersect, it's beautiful. That color made me feel Happy, it made me feel safe, so I made it mine. So I would always be reminded that I had a little piece of the thing I yearned for most. Guess that's another good thing about knowing you my whole life" Uma said smiling

Harry was quite shocked by this confession. Feelings were still new to them and this seemed like a lot, all at once.

"I love the color too. Because it reminds me of you, because your what I yearn for." Harry said

Uma knew this. Uma knew Harry was drawn to her as any pirate would be drawn to the sea. They were two people that loved the sea.

"Promise me something Harry" Uma said

"Anything" Harry replied

"You'll always be my ocean"

"Always"

As odd as that sounded, both knew exactly the depth of that statement and what it truly meant. So they would forever keep that promise.

[playlistmusings]

Make your mark on me (a golden tattoo)

2,532 words

Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Jude is fed up with Cardan having the upper hand when it comes to antagonizing each other, so she gets dressed up. Cardan has no idea that there was any competition to begin with—but he's not mad. (set post Queen of Nothing) 

Just some fluff with my two favorites messing with each other and a little spice at the end (but not a lot because I can’t write smut lol) Title from Dress by Taylor Swift

Also on my AO3

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Jude had definitively decided she didn’t mind revels anymore. In fact, if pressed, she could almost be persuaded to say she liked them. It wasn’t because she thought they were more fun or that she didn’t have to manage all of the dangers hiding among the food and dance anymore—just because she was queen didn’t mean that she wasn’t still vulnerable to faerie food induced madness. But there was just something about revels that made them better than when she was dragged to court during her school days. While Jude could be persuaded to admit that revels weren’t the worst, she’d be damned if she ever said what the something that made them better was.

Luckily for her, she didn’t have to. Because for every moment she spent biting her tongue, there was a matching moment where Cardan was whispering in her ear saying that “You should just admit that you think I’m irresistible, we both know that’s what you’re thinking”. Which was not true, even if he always looked a particular shade of devastatingly handsome with his elaborate outfits and shimmering paint on his cheeks, his crown tipping off the side of his head. Even if Jude could barely resist him when he got to that stage of just tipsy enough that his cheeks flushed with color and he didn’t mind leaving the courtiers to slip into hidden rooms with Jude. Even if he grinned with a special light in his eyes when Jude whispered things like you’re so handsome and I could stay like this forever while wrapped in his embrace after one of their trysts.

It was a true dilemma.

But, Jude, after all, was not known for backing down from a challenge, not when Cardan was antagonizing her during their school days, not when Orlagh and Balekin tried to manipulate her, and definitely not when Madoc tried to take her crown, she there was no chance in hell that she would fold because Cardan looked too handsome. So, in conjunction with admitting to herself that she didn’t mind revels, Jude pledged that she was going to go on the offensive and show Cardan that he wasn’t the only one who could use their looks to get what they wanted.

Hence why Jude was looking into a mirror at herself with a far too happy Tatterfell looking on with pride at her work. Jude’s hair was done up so it was out of her face, rubies threaded below her crown in a way that made it seem like there were flames crawling towards it when the light shined on her just right. Her dress was another shade of shimmering red, with silken skirts flowing down from her waist, and a neckline that cut down her sternum in a way that none of the other dresses she owned did. It was truly beautiful, even if it wasn’t like anything Jude had worn before, which was exactly what she wanted. She felt like she could command the attention of a whole crowd with a single look, which was all very good considering she just needed to command the attention of one particular faerie.

It was all out of her comfort zone, dressing up proactively so she could catch someone’s eye, but Jude was nothing if not determined to, at least this once, make Cardan break before her.

-----

Cardan was smug as he prepared for the revel. He knew that every time he put just a little extra effort into his clothes, while playing it off as just another boring thing he had to do, Jude couldn’t resist him. Revels would always hold a special place in his heart now that they began with good food and a little alcohol and ended with a lot more alcohol and Jude dragging him away from the crowd, frowning as he laughed softly at his comments about her eagerness. And, though he would be loathed to admit it, the way Jude dressed for revels, with beautiful gowns and her crown sitting atop perfectly done hair—no doubt the work of Tatterfell—got under his skin just as much as he seemed to get under hers. His only saving grace was that he had been hiding his feelings for years of her effortless beauty, working everyday to keep himself from accosting her. But now he didn’t have to worry, and it was much more fun to stave off his impulses as his wife glared at him, trying to pretend that she wasn’t as much of a fool for him as he was for her.

So, Cardan felt pretty happy as he slipped into the grand room where the night’s revel was being held. Even without his wife on his arm, as usual—someone had mentioned that she would be late and it had slipped Cardan’s mind to ask why—he already felt himself buzzing with anticipatory energy for what the night would hold.

As he walked through the crowd towards his throne, greeted by all sorts of courtiers that laughed and danced around him, Cardan grabbed a glass of wine from a servant. Walking up the steps to the dais that his throne sat upon, he nodded to the knights that protected it before turning and sitting upon the throne with an air of practiced ease. He was much better at sitting on his throne while listening to the problems of his subjects, now, but that was mostly due to the way he didn’t usually have to do anything except watch Jude while she gave advice and guidance and even the occasional punishment. But now, alone, he still couldn’t be bothered pretending that he didn’t enjoy the personal aspect of ruling.

Sipping on wine, Cardan spent time listening to his subjects, offering advice when it was needed and accepting gifts only when he understood the terms completely. He wasn’t aware of specifically how much time was passing but knew that it was especially odd that Jude hadn’t appeared yet, and his mind began to wander—as it often did—to her twinkling eyes and disarming smile.

-----

Jude knew purposefully arriving late to the revel so that Cardan would see her for the first time that evening while, most likely, working his way towards being tipsy and amongst a crowd of other people was at the very least petty, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. After all, most of her plan involved doing things she wouldn’t normally do for the sake of being petty and getting Cardan flustered. So, when she walked into the revel, she was already anticipating some reaction, she was walking in late in an uncharacteristically attention-grabbing outfit. However, Jude didn’t anticipate the way nearly everyone was staring at her by the time she reached the dais where the thrones sat. As she worked her way through the crowd, she was aware of all the eyes on her, of everyone seeing their queen in a new light, but she only paid attention to Cardan. Cardan, whose eyes had snapped towards the entrance to the room the second she was announced, who was clearly trying to figure out why his wife was wearing an outfit like that, who appeared to be choking on air as he saw the determined glint in Jude’s eyes as she lowered herself into her throne.

Everything was going perfectly. Jude knew that Cardan was struggling to maintain composure, mainly because his tail was swishing back and forth behind him, the tip occasionally flicking sharply towards her. She suppressed the grin working its way to her face, turning towards Cardan and looking him dead in the eyes for the first time since she had entered the throne room. His breath hitched ever so slightly.

-----

It was torture. Jude walked into the room confident and stunning, and immediately began ignoring Cardan in favor of speaking to people that came up to the dais in search of advice and conversations with the King and Queen. It took what felt like hours for her to say anything to him, evening though he was acutely aware of the way she suppressed a smirk every time she glanced his direction.

“So, how has your evening been?” Jude’s voice was cool and detached, as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to Cardan. He wanted to scream.

His mind was blank, all he could think of was the way Jude seemed to be glowing in the light of the throne room. If he tried very hard he could think about how this was definitely on purpose—why, he didn’t know—but every thought of Jude’s motives were very quickly interrupted by how ethereal she looked. He was trapped by her—which, if he was honest, was absolutely not a new thing, but it was definitively different this time.

“It’s been fine,” he finally choked out, trying his best to pretend unaffected. Jude smirked, clearly hearing the effect she had on him in his voice.

“Very well. I am so sorry for my late arrival, Tatterfell just spent longer than normal on my hair.” Cardan didn’t know enough about doing hair to say anything that contracted her excuse, but he did know enough about Jude to know that it wasn’t true.

“It’s alright.” Cardan decided that short responses would be best. Anything longer than a few words and he could accidentally blurt out too much—something about how stunning she looked or how he could usually barely resist her but like this, done up and confident and determined, made him vulnerable of giving away everything he had for her.

-----

Jude knew her plan was working. It was better than she had imagined. Cardan’s cool demeaner disrupted, leaving him stuttering short responses, looking as if he was going to lose it if he had to sit in his throne for a single second longer.

But, she couldn’t taunt him enough like this, while he was feet away on his throne and every word they said could be overheard by knights and wandering courtiers. So, Jude stood at the end of the current song, reaching her hand out to Cardan.

“Come, my King, won’t you dance with me?”

Cardan looked like he was fighting himself, his tail rapidly flicking back and forth, his dark eyes shimmering with lust and a spot of confusion, but eventually he stood without a word and took her hand, steering her down the stairs and into the crowd. But instead of going towards the area where faeries were congregating for the next song, he gripped her hand tight and led her to the secret room behind the thrones. His whole body was tense when he lightly pushed her through the door, firmly shutting it behind them.

“Cardan, what are you doing? We can’t exactly walk out in the middle of—” Jude was barely able to finish her sentence as she turned to face him before his lips were on hers.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asked when his lips finally left hers, leaving them both panting and disheveled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jude replied breathlessly as he worked his mouth down her neck, pushing her hair out of the way.

Jude didn’t even receive a verbal response, just a groan and a vague gesture at her body. It was enough to nearly make her laugh, if she knew all she had to do to create a barely coherent and perfectly agreeable Cardan was pretty outfits, she might have let Tatterfell dress her however she wanted back when she was Seneschal.

However, it perhaps wouldn’t have been a perfect solution seeing as she was quickly losing her coherence as well, only focusing on the way that Cardan’s lips felt on her rapidly heating skin and the desire pooling in her stomach. It felt like a dream. Like something she’d wake up from right when it got to this point, left alone in a cold bed, wishing that it were real.

-----

Cardan had never been happier that this was real. That his reality could consist of working his way back up Jude’s neck, leaving bruises in his path, listening to the sharp intake of her breath as he got to her jaw, just before he kissed her in earnest again. Then it was her hands in his hair, tugging sharply against his scalp, leaving him groaning and gasping into her mouth, vaguely aware of his tail snaking its way around her leg. It felt like the kind of thing he would dream of back when they were in school. The kind of thing that he would wake up from and go to that paper and write Jude Jude Jude until the paper ripped and his ink blotted the words, hoping that it could leave his mind. But this was real and happening right now and Jude was kissing back in a way that made him worry that his legs would give out and they’d be left sprawled on the floor.

He steered her toward the couch, as gracefully as he could with their bodies pressed against each other and his mouth never leaving hers, before slowly stepping back. Somehow Jude looked even better like this, eyes alight with passion and love, hair just barely messed up from his fingers, lips swollen and gasping for air. He couldn’t even be bothered to care about the way she looked smug, like she had been expecting this, hoping for him to lose control.

She twisted them around, pushing him to sit on the couch, before maneuvering herself onto his lap, one of her legs slipping out of a slit in her dress he hadn’t noticed before so that she held him down with her hips. It was all he could do to stop from groaning as she began to slide his coat off his shoulders before unbuttoning his shirt, her mouth following her fingers on the way down. As she got his shirt off of him, he was acutely aware of the arousal that had been building up all night reaching unbearable heights, and as she looked into his eyes, before moving to kiss him deeply, he could tell that she knew too.

He kissed her back as every ounce of self-control left his body—which admittedly was very little ever since he had led them to the hidden room—running his hands along her back, up her sides, everywhere he could reach. But as he struggled to find the tie to her dress, doing his best to not just rip the damn thing off, because he very much would like to see Jude wear it again, she pulled away.

Even with her eyes wild, looking halfway to thoroughly debauched, Jude managed to smirk in a smug way that made Cardan suddenly aware that he had lost some unknown game. As he tried to pull her back, pull her dress off, something, she simply leaned in, whispering in his ear, “You should just admit that you think I’m irresistible, we both know that’s what you’re thinking.”

And in that moment, he knew she would ruin him—if she hadn’t already—and all he could do was love her.

[solivar]

The Left Hand Path: Three Years Ago

aka the One In Which Genji and Zenyatta meet.

The Standing Stones of Santa Ana Pueblo

Location: Just above the Red Line off I-25 N/Old New Mexico Route 68 N, Sandoval County north of the Albuquerque Military Exclusion Area.

Before the Crisis, Santa Ana Pueblo was a thriving Tamayame reservation, part of the Greater Albuquerque Metropolitan area, and a major tourist draw in the region owing to its world-class golf courses and club, a well-regarded spa resort, a casino and Michelin-starred restaurant, and a multitude of easily accessible cultural sites and events spread throughout the year. All of that changed on the afternoon of August 13, 2046 when Omnic forces advancing on Albuquerque breached the containment cordon along Route 40 and the US military, massed there to stop them, unleashed experimental high energy weaponry designed for that task.

Once the dust settled, the city of Albuquerque and much of the surrounding area, including the Sandia and Santa Ana Pueblos, was almost completely leveled. In the aftermath, the military cordoned off the ruins of the city inside the Albuquerque Military Exclusion Area, which remains under heavily patrolled Federal military control to this day. Evacuees from the surrounding area were strongly encouraged not to return, with offers to purchase their land at pre-Crisis market value to sweeten the deal. Many accepted, a handful did not, and those that chose to do so returned to a pueblo whose buildings were reduced to rubble and scattered with wreckage -- and something weird that was neither.

The Standing Stones of Santa Ana Pueblo occupy a relatively compact chunk of land on the grounds of what was once Santa Ana Golf Club, shielded from casual view by a stand of cottonwood trees that somehow survived the explosions that leveled the clubhouse and most of the other course structures and did significant damage to the surrounding area. There are nine of them, standing in a geometrically perfect circle, varying in size from from well over six feet to a little over five, perfectly hexagonal in shape, crafted of a dark stone that at least superficially resembles basalt. The inner surface of each stone is densely carved with petroglyphs incised deeply into the rock. The outer surface of each stone is carved with one petroglyph unique to that stone and which cannot be found on any of the others, inside or out. Local experts on Native American petroglyphs continue to research this topic but, as of this writing, none of the petroglyphs that appear on the Standing Stones resemble any glyphs that appear on historical sites in the region.

Nor were the Standing Stones a feature of the area before the Omnic Crisis, as confirmed by surviving photos and video of the course and local residents of the area, including the former owners of the golf club. At some point after the evacuation of Santa Ana Pueblo, the Standing Stones appeared in their current location, unnoticed by anyone despite the heavy military presence and regular patrols of the area, and despite the amount of effort such a project would entail. The stones, though tall and relatively slender, are still estimated to weigh several hundred pounds each -- not something that could be loaded, unloaded, and placed by a single person working by hand alone.

The hundred or so families who make Santa Ana Pueblo their home give the Standing Stones a wide berth, citing weirdly colored lights that appear close to the ground around them and occasionally in the sky above, strange disembodied sounds, and a deep thrumming hum that periodically rises from the area. These phenomena have appeared on official reports from area law enforcement and also on official notices issued from the Albuquerque Exclusion Area’s patrol base. Perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, most of these phenomena have been observed around the anniversary of the Battle of Albuquerque on August 13th.

If you want to try to catch the weirdness in action, make certain you’re prepared to handle high desert summer weather and get your permissions in order accordingly. The former grounds of Santa Ana Golf Course are private property posted against trespass and the area is periodically patrolled by both the US military and tribal coalition police.

“Tonight’s the night, everybody. August the thirteenth. The anniversary of the Battle of Albuquerque. It’s taken months to get my uncle to trust me enough to go out on perimeter patrol but this is our pay off.” Cody Peshlakai lowered his voice, dramatically, because there was no real danger of being heard, to hype up the audience watching his live HollaGram stream. “Tonight I will investigate the Standing Stones and tonight you will be with me.”

He flashed a grin and a V-for-victory sign into his camera then clipped it to the stabilizer harness strapped around his shoulders and across his chest, one more piece of survival equipment among the molle pouches carrying the rest of his gear, no different from anyone else’s. It sat there, neatly hidden next to his cellphone and the primitive walkie talkie his uncle insisted the security crews carry, through the team muster and meeting at the pueblo ranger station, broadcasting all the while. Nobody objected when he called dibs on one of the spiffy little hybrid hover/wheels ATVs, a good chunk of the all-volunteer patrol crew being old enough to value the superior shock absorption of the service’s Jeeps and trucks. The ATV yielded a much better POV for the viewers as he jetted out across the scrubby desert hardpack on the eastern bank of the Rio Grande toward his goal: the grounds of the former Santa Ana Pueblo Golf Club.

Which was, unfortunately, on the western side of the Rio Grande.

On the way, he passed clusters of habitation: the small, self-contained farmsteads of single families, an artist’s commune, the little solar farm that served the area and its caretaker’s hacienda. He paused at each and exchanged a few words with the residents, radioed a handful of coyote sightings back to base, and continued on, the excitement churning higher and higher in his gut the closer he came to his goal, as his numbers climbed on his viewership monitor.

“So, yeah, that’s my job, stream -- I help keep my community, my friends and neighbors, safe. Sometimes that’s chasing off coyotes that are getting a little too comfortable raiding the compost bins but sometimes...sometimes it’s a lot weirder.” The remains of the old Highway 550 bridge loomed out of the twilight, crumbling concrete pilings jutting out of the shallowest, siltiest part of the river and he pulled to a halt, executing a slow pan to give the stream the best view possible. “On the other side of the river and a few miles west is what’s left of the Santa Ana Pueblo Golf Club. It used to be a world-class course, fancy-ass hotel and casino inclusive, made a lot of jobs and money for the community. All that, of course, came to an end during the Omnic Crisis.”

He revved the motivator, fired up the hoverpods to their highest yield, and skimmed across the surface of the river and up the opposite bank. A vista of devastation, stained in shades of sunset and shadow, spread out before them and the stream chat went absolutely wild. The residential neighborhoods south of 550 had been utterly flattened during the Battle of Albuquerque, hardly a brick left stacked or a wall left standing, blown all-but-flat by some incomprehensibly massive force. That, combined with the occasional blast crater and random scattering of unexploded ordnance, had discouraged resettlement so thoroughly nobody even wanted to risk putting up a solar farm. Wreckage still lay scattered as far as the eye could see and the eye could see quite a distance, even with twenty-plus years of desert scrub overgrowth blurring the harshest edges.

“Nobody really knows what happened here that day -- August thirteenth, the Battle of Albuquerque,” Cody narrated as he kicked the ATV back into motion, navigating carefully down the cracked and pitted remnants of 550 toward his goal. “Just about everybody was evacuated and the ones that stayed behind...well. Let’s just say that, when all was said and done, there wasn’t anyone left to tell the tale.”

The bombed-out, burned-out remnants of the old hotel-casino came into view, its parking lot still filled with the rusting hulks of abandoned vehicles. “The casino and golf course were used as a rallying and evacuation point for the nearby communities on the west bank of the Rio Grande in the days leading up to the battle. The US Army and local militia forces were massing along I-40 -- the Red Line -- and the Air Force and Air National Guard were flying refugees out by helo, the National Guard had commandeered every bus, van, and free personnel carrier they could get their hands on to get people out of harm’s way. This entire area was an absolute hive of activity, you can find video of it all over the internet.”

He paused long enough to link some of his favorites in the chat as he turned off the main road, easing the ATV along something that was once a paved maintenance access point, running roughly parallel with the river. He hit the first scraggly bits of “green,” grass genetically engineered to survive the heat and dry of a high desert summer, a few minutes later and he pulled up onto the flat, opened up his holomap, and pinged his location for the audience. “I’m here -- just south of the lower water trap which is, at this point, completely dry. Our objective is...here.” He touched the copse of cottonwood trees a mile and a half to the north. “The Standing Stones. No one knows how they got here -- they weren’t here before the battle and they weren’t here during the evacuation. But when the recovery teams swept through to see what, if anything, had survived...there they were.”

He gunned the motivator, turned the headlights up to maximum, and muted the call trying to come in from his uncle, likely demanding where the Hell he was. Oh, he was getting fired for this. So very, very fired. But very soon that wouldn’t matter, because after tonight his career was going elsewhere.

The stream picked up every jounce and bounce as he skimmed over ruts and bits of wreckage flung miles from their origins, swerved around scrub becoming less and less scrubby as he went and the wild descendants of decorative plants that had somehow survived despite it all. The cottonwood stand was still the tallest thing around and he slowed as it came into view. “My plan is to set up motion-activated cameras in a perimeter around the Standing Stones and several inside the circle of the Stones, as well, along with a super-sensitive microphone pickup and electromagnetic monitoring equipment. If something happens tonight, we’ll see and hear it.”

He stopped as the ATV’s headlights washed over the trees and struck glints from the Standing Stones themselves, dark stone reflecting darkly -- and more. Cody froze, still straddling his seat. “Oh, fuck -- there’s someone else in there --”

Cody killed the headlights and the motivator and rolled off the ATV into the relative cover of the underbrush in one smoothish and only mildly panicked motion. He even managed to avoid squeaking too much as he whispered, “Chat, did you see that? Did anyone else see that?!”

Yes!

Me, too!

I saw it -- it was TALL

Dozens of messages bubbled up in the chat as his audience scrolled back and scrutinized every frame for him. For his part, he dug his brand new Panopticon binoculars out of gear bag, clipped them into place on his tactical visor, and tried to get a better look of his own, zooming in on the Standing Stones so closely he could clearly see the petroglyphs incised into their surfaces, even with the last of the light bleeding out of the sky behind them. None of the grainy-green of old school low light optics with these babies, and he scanned the area and slow and careful, looking for some hint of what he saw, something, anything --

A flicker of motion caught his eye, something moving among the Stones, mostly obscured by their mass.

“Fuck.” This...was not a complication he had considered, much less prepared for. This whole area in general and the Standing Stones very much in specific were so far out of bounds that he never imagined encountering another person out here at all much less…

On the night of the anniversary of the battle of Albuquerque.

He had to physically resist the urge to facepalm. “Chat, I...think I know what this is.” He crawled back out of the brush and hunkered down next to the ATV, tried to get a better angle on the inside of the circle. “You know how every year there’s a remembrance ceremony at the big Crisis Memorial up in Santa Fe? Well...what if I told you that some people come down to the pueblo for their own private remembrances, too? It’s the anniversary, after all. Let me see if --”

A shriek of audio distortion drilled his ear with the enthusiasm of an icepick straight to the brain and it was all he could do not to howl as he clawed his audio pickup out. “Holy fuck, what was that?”

The chat, in the corner of the heads-up display on his visor, was losing its entire fucking mind -- whatever it was, they had heard it, too, and --

A second pulse of sound, deep and resonant, punched him in the chest hard enough to make both his heart and breathing stutter, and the chat went absolutely apeshit again as it fed through to them, as well.

“You know what, Chat,” Cody said, as soon as he got enough breath back to speak, “I think I’m going to take your advice and get the Hell --”

Golden light blossomed inside the circle of the Standing Stones -- for an instant, to his eyes, it looked as though the petroglyphs themselves were lighting up, searing their patterns into his retinas with a single unwary glance. He reeled back and looked away as he clawed both the tac visor and the binoculars off his face, blinking afterimages out of his vision, the light washing out of the stone circle, over him, over everything, and --

Calm flowed over him, over him and through him, a wave of perfect serenity that stole away all his fear between one breath and the next, left him wobbling on legs made of rubber, legs that folded up underneath him and left him sprawled on his back, eyes and camera both pointed at the swiftly darkening sky, hazed in golden light. He could hear the pinging of his stream’s chat freaking out a few physical inches and a couple thousand conceptual realities away, but couldn’t bring himself to care. That sweet golden light was all he knew and that majestic bone-deep music, and he allowed himself to drift away on it, blinking away like a pinched-out candle between one breath and the next.

It was some time later that the rescue team found him, sprawled out next to the ATV, boneless, blissed out and drooling. But not, as they feared, dead.

“I told you this little moron was up to something,” Julia Tso nudged him in the ribs with the tip of one hiking boot. “He’s been streaming crap on HollaGram for months, Joseph.”

“Yeah, I know.” Joseph Peshlakai sighed and signaled the medical evac team to come in from the road. “Keep an eye on him until they get here, yeah?”

Julia rolled her eyes but nodded and Joseph crossed the remaining distance to the Standing Stones, where a golden light still pulsed among them, within them, the petroglyphs alight. He stopped outside, cleared his throat, and said, “Thank you for not killing him, Wanderer. He’s an idiot but he’s my kid brother’s favorite child.”

Youth and folly are not offenses punishable by death, my old friend. The voice echoed in his mind, warm and amused, but not less awesome because of it. Thank you, as always, for watching over them in my absence.

“My honor, Wanderer. I’m honestly a little surprised to see you this soon. It’s only been, what, five years?” Five years to the day, Joseph thought but did not say.

Yes. I...think I will be staying for a time. Not here. But close. I feel...A frisson of unease passed between them, mind to mind, a chill crawling down his spine. I feel that I will be needed, sooner rather than later.

Joseph took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “Things have been...a little stranger than usual, I will admit. It will be good to have you back, even if only for a time.”

It will be good to be home. Farewell for now, old friend.

The golden light blinked out, and Joseph knew he was alone. The Stones faded more slowly at his back, as he walked back down the shallow rise to his lieutenant and his idiot nephew and the knowledge growing in his mind that things were going to get worse before they got better.

[yannasunflower]

Chapter One | Kuroo x Reader | Zombie!AU

Rating: M Warnings: gore, violence, zombies, a fair amount of angst. still not sure about smut, but we'll see. characters have been aged up, but not all of them. eventual character death. Genre: angst/hurt/comfort, romance, survival-is-all-we-have Pairings: Kuroo x Reader Word count: 2.8k

i decided to actually expand this and make it a full story. not sure how long it'll be, guessing around 5 chapters. please reblog, like, comment, show some love! will be cross posting to AO3 as well!

Chapter One

There was a time, not so long ago, you would have killed to have a man on his knees before you just like this. But this man is bloody and bruised and the rancid scent of rotting flesh is heavy in your mouth. You resist the urge to spit. The unnatural corpse to your right was once a person. A man, you think faintly. Who may have once had a family. A home.

It’s been months now, but it’s still a fight to push the images of sun-drenched gardens and trips to the grocery store away.

The gun you have pressed to his temple is doing its job well. He is meek, eyes darting across the tile floor blankly. The way his shirt hangs from his tall frame and his wrists tremble make you lower the gun. This is a man who hasn’t eaten a meal in days. And his dirty clothes are covered in dry blood, none of it fresh. He managed to avoid getting bitten before your people swooped in. The sight of Daichi wrangling a nighstalker off someone is almost comical compared to his everyday activities – going on jogs and reading a book.

The stranger finally looks up at you and his dark, dark eyes are too dull. They are framed by a face that was once handsome, traces of good humor and vivacity still embedded in the lines around his mouth and eyes. Black hair forms almost a halo around him, the thick waves obviously in need of washing and trimming.

“Daichi,” you call and the man steps forward, baseball bat slung across his broad shoulders. “Get the man a snack. We’re taking him with us.”

Daichi nods, a question in his eyes that you ignore as you turn away, issuing orders. You sweep the shelves with your eyes, trying to find something of value. A forgotten box of cold medicine is swept into your bag without a second thought. A can of chicken noodle soup falls in after it. You hear the man huff a silent thanks as Daichi heaves him to his feet.

Heave might be too strong a word. The man looks thin enough for wind to blow through. You swallow, hard.

“Do you mind coming with us?” you hear Daichi murmur to him, always the graceful one, unable to keep the motherly concern out of his voice. The man must shake his head because Daichi sighs with relief. “Don’t mind the Captain. She’s got a lot on her mind.”

His conspiratorial tone makes your skin prickle. You turn just enough to shoot Daichi a venomous glare. He cheerfully ignores it.

“What’s your name?” you think to ask, turning fully to face him once more.

The man offers a weak smile. His lips tremble and his face wrinkles uncomfortably.

“Kuroo. Kuroo Tetsurou,” he answers. There’s a beat. You realize five seconds too late he’s expecting you to announce your name.

You remember your name, for a moment. It brings with it memories of fresh air and your parents, singing a silly birthday song to you, glee lighting their faces. A lurch in your gut nearly makes the world spin. You turn away from Kuroo again, hair framing your face.

“Just call me Captain, or Cap. Either will do,” you reply, far too nonchalantly and much too late. “We can offer a place to stay and some food, at least. Protection from the nightstalkers.”

You can’t see the look on his face and you wonder how long it’s been since he’s slept easily, deeply. His black eyes are too sunken to tell.

“It’s not much, but it’s something,” you admit.

Daichi huffs.

“She’s being modest,” he assures Kuroo. “We have running water and a water heater, as well as enough people to keep guards on rotation, and electricity and beds.”

“It sounds,” the man, Kuroo’s, voice grates, like it hasn’t been used in weeks. You realize it probably hasn’t. “It sounds too good to be true.”

Daichi laughs his big, booming laugh and someone, Sugawara you think, hisses at him to shut up. Daichi grins at the silver haired main, whose golden eyes are spitting venom at him, pointing gleefully at Kuroo as he says, “The poor man hasn’t slept on a bed for who knows how long, let him have a little joy.”

“You were the one laughing loud enough for every nightstalker in five blocks to hear you.”

That shuts Daichi up with an apologetic wince, although he still shoots Kuroo a wink.

“Let’s get you a granola bar and some water before we start moving,” Daichi whispers. Kiyoko steps from the shadows, more liquid than solid, more shade than human. Her glasses flash in the faint light and she is a cat, lithe and silent. She says nothing, just slings Kuroo’s arm around her shoulder and places a steadying hand on his chest. If Kuroo is surprised by the slender woman’s strength, he doesn’t show it.

She catches your eye and you see approval there, which warms your chest. Kiyoko has the best instincts in the group. She’s also your only nurse – if she doesn’t think the emaciated man will take up too many resources, you’re inclined to trust her. Her seal of approval settles the twinge in your gut, the one that screams to protect the people at the Pit at all costs.

Up from the ground, you realize with a jolt that Kuroo is taller than you thought, at least a full head taller than you. And you sense, in the same instant, that he is turning his eyes towards you, and that you are still looking at him.

You glance away, spying a pack of batteries in the back corner of a shelf. With a triumphant grin, you shove them in your pack. A lucky find. You make a mental note to thank Suga for suggesting the group drop in here. Trust him to be worried about their toothpaste supply at just the right time.

His fretting is the most likely reason Kuroo is still alive.

After the group, a small scouting party with just four people, packs as much as they can, you pull your mask back up over your mouth. The black cloth serves a few practical reasons: the smell of rotting flesh is much less likely to make you sick, and the color is useful. Nightstalkers have awful vision — it’s why scouting during a full moon can be dangerous and you are thanking the stars that the sky is dark and the moon nearly absent. Kuroo is in no condition to travel, which means you’ll have to move slowly. More slowly than you’d like.

His own dark clothing receives a nod of approval from Daichi, who supports half his weight still.

You watch as your group lifts their own masks, Kiyoko thinking to offer Kuroo one. A familiar thrall runs down your spine. You run through the route in your mind. Flashlights click off and for a moment, you stand, breathing in the taste of fear, growing thicker every moment.

“To the Pit,” you murmur.

“For the Pit,” Suga answers and the rest repeat it. The terror abates.

Outside, the air is cool, no bite to it, the fresh March night almost pleasant enough to forget for a brief second. But the smell of the nightstalkers chases after it and the illusion isn’t even fully formed before it dies. Your chest heaves.

The walk through the city is uneventful. The nighstalkers are thin in the city now, partially culled by the survivors who skulk the streets. Signs of human life are small, but everywhere. Fresh cigarettes, a pile of nightstalker corpses still smoldering. A child’s truck, lights still flashing. Your chest tightens again.

You take only a few seconds to leave a strip of yellow cloth tied to a signpost. Below it, you leave a smaller strip, this one purple, and scrawl Kuroo’s name on it as well as you can in the dark. With a knife, you cut off the old blue one that had been left a week ago and shove it into your pocket. The color blue used to be your favorite and now, seeing it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

There are two other survivor groups that you know of in the city. With an array of color coded messages, your three groups communicate important information. Yellow for all is quiet, red for in need of emergency supplies. Blue for the death of a human.

It’s a courtesy to let them know you’ve taken in another survivor, but you know if you don’t try to show the other packs a little bit of trust, the system Daichi and Kiyoko came up with won’t do anything to help your people.

You’ll be damned if you ever let another group into the Pit without a blindfold and ropes on their wrists, however. They showed you the same hospitality when you were in desperate need of medicine three weeks ago. Sometimes, you still feel the ropes around your wrist. Iwaizumi, Oikawa’s sturdy second, had been gentle about it, but it still chafed.

Out of the city, your entire group breathes a little easier. You do a quick head count, feet never slowing on the dirt path. The Pit isn’t far, just a few miles outside the city limits. Still, the lights don’t reach here, and you are too afraid to click on a flashlight or speak out loud. You keep your ears straining for any noise at all. Nighstalkers aren’t the only danger out here, outside the uneasy truce that exists in the city limits.

Kiyoko is still helping Daichi support Kuroo’s weight; as you watch, Suga slips to her side and taps her elbow, taking over for her. She relinquishes gratefully, stepping away to walk beside you.

Kiyoko rolls her shoulder and you lean over to rub it for a moment with your fingers. She flashes you a grateful smile. You still remember the night she got the injury – she had saved your life and nearly lost her arm in the process.

It only takes half an hour filled with Kuroo’s gasping breaths and the quiet footsteps of your crew for the guard towers to come into view. Someone flashes their light three times, the signal, and two shadowy figures pull the gate open. You can see the two figures perched in the parallel watchtowers peering down at the group curiously. They’ve kept their lamps low, as instructed, and you make a mental note to praise them in the morning.

They left with four and came back with five, which is a welcome change, you think.

Kuroo’s eyes are wide, mouth open.

“A prison,” you see him mouth and Daichi shoots you an amused glance.

It’s not pretty, especially at night, with its gray stone walls and barbed wire. But it’s fortified and in the day, you can see the beginnings of your garden just starting to break the earth and the children being taught by a patient Suga to help.

Tanaka lifts the pack from your shoulders, dipping his head in greeting to Kiyoko. Yamaguchi is already at Suga’s side, lifting both his and Daichi’s pack to his back, murmuring in hushed tones.

“A stray?” he asks in a quiet, crackling voice with one eyebrow raised, facing toward Kuroo, who is still staring in wonder at the tall stone walls.

You watch Daichi offer him water, explaining the watchtowers, the gate. His hand gestures in the direction of the gardens, Suga struggling to look proud and humble at the same time. Kuroo’s eyes are gleaming and you look away.

“Even strays deserve a bed to sleep on at night,” you murmur.

“If people hear we’re taking in –,”

You cut him off quickly, growling, “Who’s going to spread the word? You? We couldn’t just leave him there to die, Tanaka.”

There’s only a moment of silence, Tanaka’s dark eyes roving over your face before he backs down with a single nod.

“Grab Noya and get him to the showers and a cot,” you order, brushing past him. Kiyoko lingers, waiting to fall into step beside you again. “And see if Cook has any hot meals to spare.”

You feel more than see Tanaka approaching Kuroo, Suga and Daichi introducing everybody. Your entire group shuffles through the entrance, following you down the hallways to the cafeteria where they will drop their packs off before finding their friends or families.

Kuroo is still staring hard enough to pierce the walls and you hide a smile.

“Tanaka will show you where to shower and then bring you back here for some food,” you tell him. His eyes snap to you and you have to look away from them again, unable to keep looking at those dark holes. “After that, you can get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

You don’t give anyone a chance to respond. The worn heels of your boots hardly make a sound against the polished floor. The cafeteria is deserted at this time of night, when most people are in their cells. Kiyoko trails after you, Daichi just one step behind her.

“Daichi, get me an itemized list of everything we got tonight. I need to do inventory in the morning with Ukai and Takeda, let them know for me.”

He nods, hesitating where the hall branches off toward his own cell.

You wait. Daichi sometimes needs a moment to gather his thoughts, or maybe his courage. His lean, strong body doesn’t shift nervously, however. He looks thoughtful.

“Kuroo mentioned he was a doctor in the before. And a chemist,” he finally explains. You can physically feel Kiyoko come to attention next to you. Her body thrums with tension.

The information takes a second to sink in. The little boy with a bad cough in cell block B and his younger sister with a fever dance before you.

“He needs to get his strength back before going on any forages,” you point out, frowning. Daichi nods.

“Just thought you should know,” he answers easily, waving as he strides toward his cot.

Kiyoko follows you all the way to your cell. She leans against the cement wall as you light a lantern, keeping the light low, before sinking to sit on your cot. She folds her arms over her chest.

“Kuroo could give us a list of medicine to get,” she points out, voice barely above a whisper. You nod, lacing your fingers together and resting your chin on them.

Your mind is already churning with the information, only a slight congratulatory tone to your thoughts. A doctor is invaluable, a prize worth risking one journey home for. A chemist, too…

“I’m hoping he can help us grow our own herbs, as well,” you murmur. “Eventually, the medicine will run out at the stores.”

Kiyoko’s eyes narrow.

“There’s something else,” she challenges you, mildly but directly. Just her style.

You spare her a grin, shaking your head as you pull your hair from its ponytail.

“Can’t let me get away with anything,” you hum, waving her off, a dismissal. Because Kiyoko is Kiyoko, she doesn’t ask questions. She hovers at the entrance to your room, eyes flickering from you to the small window on the other side of the hall.

“You can lean on us, you know,” she says before she’s gone, always needing the last word, always right.

The pillow is a cloud beneath your head as you collapse, barely reaching out to extinguish the lamp before your eyes fall shut. But sleep doesn’t come easily. Your thoughts race, plummeting towards one inevitable conclusion. Kuroo’s face can’t be shaken, his sad eyes burned into the back of your eye lids.

But with his face comes the possibilities. You hadn’t lied to Kiyoko. Growing your own herbs, knowing how to properly use them, will be invaluable. A true asset.

Yet, the gleaming ideas don’t stop coming, the ways you could protect your people now. You can see them, laid out before you, like a map. Your fingers twitch, itching to pick them up, examine them all one by one. You almost can’t stop yourself from just considering what this could mean.

There is one person these people trust to make the hard decisions, the difficult, life and death ones. The quiet sounds of them sleeping, breathing, living, they surround you. Your heart beats in time to the little girl’s cough in cell block B. With every hitch of her brother’s chest, your own heart stutters. Thinking of their little faces is almost enough to make your eyes open again.

These are the people who are depending on you. Children, sick people, even more people who have nothing to live for anymore. Time is wearing them all down, you can tell.

The pressure doesn’t make your shoulders droop. Your back remains unbent, your stride unbroken as you mentally explore all avenues of thought.

The moon is low in the sky before you finally let yourself drift off, three plans beginning to form in the back of your mind.

[mischievousmoony]

Power Couple

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, are the most intimidating duo in all of Hogwarts. However, things are a lot different behind closed doors.

Warnings: none

Requested

Masterlist

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You were just eleven years old, a first year, when you mastered the color changing charm and began to use it on your hair. 

You started with blue. Then went red, then purple, and then a risky green that not many other people could pull off. 

You were even a ginger, at one point, but only for a few minutes. It was for some childish bit at Ron Weasley’s expense. 

And that specific bit is what gave you your first taste of power. You liked the way the other Slytherin’s laughed at your joke and respected you for making it. You even liked the way you were able to make Weasley’s face grow beet red, as sinister as that sounds. 

So, you put the ambition that placed you in Slytherin to use and made that kind of behavior a regular thing. 

It was pretty easy to gain popularity and power at Hogwarts. You came from an old pureblood family, so power was practically granted to you the day you were born. 

To keep that power, however, you had to work for it. That’s where the intimidation came in. And with your now bright pink hair, piercings, and even some enchanted tattoos, a glare could get you whatever you wanted. 

Finally, you knew that in order to meet your goals you had to stick with the right crowd. That’s how and why you became friends with Draco Malfoy in first year. 

It is not, however, why you started dating him, contrary to popular belief. 

People speculated that you were dating just to keep your bloodlines pure. Or maybe, they thought, you two decided you would be more intimidating as a pair. 

The truth was, an evening at the Yule Ball followed by a cinematic kiss under the moonlight was what got you two to start dating. 

But that was your and Draco’s little secret. You both liked what everyone’s assumptions did for your reputations. 

It is why people would do you favors without expecting anything in return. It is why prefects never took points from you or gave you detention. It is why your housemates let you copy their homework every time you asked. And it is why you were able to strut through the halls and have everyone move out of your way at this very moment.

After a long day of classes and messing with first years, you were ready to relax by the fire. And you didn’t even have to worry about whether or not there would be an open seat. They would move for you.

However, you did not have to deal with shooing anyone away. The common room was completely empty except for one person. 

You let your lips shape into a rare smile and flopped down on the emerald couch, letting your head fall into your boyfriend’s lap. 

Draco wasn’t even startled. His hand immediately went to rake through your hair, “Hello, darling.”

“Hey, handsome,” your grin widened, “What have you been up to today? Haven’t seen you much.”

“The usual,” his other hand made its way into the grip of yours, “Messed with Potter. Scared some first years. Had some lessons in between.”

You giggled as you let your fingertips caress his hand, “Sounds like you had some fun.”

“Speaking of fun,” Draco said sarcastically before mocking a very pretentious tone, “My mother and father wanted me to formally invite you and your family to attend our Christmas dinner.”

“That sounds like loads of fun!” You said honestly, “I love your mother.”

“Yes, well, she loves you too,” Draco said, a soft smile on his lips.

“Did I ever tell you about the time she told me how highly you apparently speak of me?” You began to smirk.

“Oh, I don’t like where this is going.”

“According to you, apparently, I’m the prettiest girl at Hogwarts,” you mused.

Draco wanted to bury his face in his hands to hide his uncharacteristically red cheeks but didn’t want to let go of you.

“And that I’m the most cunning Slytherin in the entire house! And she even told me that you said-”

Your boyfriend finally sacrificed the feeling of your soft hands around his own to cover your mouth.

“I,” Draco cleared his throat. You were the only person who could ever get him so flustered, “I think I might’ve said something like that.”

Your giggles were muffled by his hand but they still made his heart fluttered. He wondered if his mother had also told you that your laugh was his favorite sound.

Eventually, after your laughter died down, his hand shifted from covering your mouth to caressing your cheek.

You released a content sigh, closing your eyes and letting your head lean into his hand.

Just as you were the only one able to fluster Draco, you were the only one who could make him so sappy.

“I love you,” he blurted.

You opened your eyes to see that the look in his eyes mirrored his statement.

You pushed yourself up so that your eyes were leveled with his loving ones, “I love you too.”

Immediately following the declaration, you pressed your lips against his.

His hands immediately reached for your waist. He gently tugged you closer until you were seated on his lap.

As your hands tousled his hair, one of his arms tightened around your waist. The other rose so he could place his large hand on the back of your neck.

Your fun was cut short, however, by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs from the girls dormitories.

You shared on last peck before you completely removed yourself from him.

He checked that his clothing was in order as he stiffened his posture.

Meanwhile, you made your way to the fireplace to rest your elbow against the mantelpiece.

If only everyone knew how theatrical you two were.

Your eyes met Draco’s after you both were settled. You winked at him before hardening your features and the both of you turned towards the stairs with matching glares.

Two third years walked out, cheerily conversing until they realized whose presence they were in.

For a second, they faltered, stopping in their tracks. Then, suddenly, the third years’ eyes both widened and they picked up their pace.

Just as they were leaving you caught one of them say to the other, “They really are just as menacing in private… you’d think they’d at least smile at each other.”

Once they were gone, you and Draco immediately began to laugh.

He slumped back into the couch as you let yourself fall back into his lap.

Draco buried his head into your shoulder to muffle his laughter and your hand made its way back into his hair.

Once you had both calmed down, Draco lifted his head to look at you.

“Now, how are we gonna get back at that third year for trying to talk about us behind our backs?”

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Note: I hope it does anon’s idea justice! Also I wrote half of this on my phone so lmk of any errors 

[vanchlo]

Green Eyes

*Thanks so much for reading! c: There are now several parts you can read here:   2    3    4 

I’m so happy to share that I won a fiction writing award for this short story through my college’s art journal! c: 

Blurb Synopsis: You had been subbing for Mr. Styles for the last couple of months, but you’ve yet to meet him. The notes you leave for each other have sparked a friendship, leading you to want more, and you wonder if he does too.

Genre: Teacher Harry, lots of fluff, friendship, and maybe even some romance? ;) 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.5k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Green Eyes by Coldplay (click to listen)

*

His shelves were full of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Rumi, and Charles Bukowski. His desk was covered in scribbled Post-It notes, Bit-O-Honey wrappers, and empty mugs of tea. 

This is what you noticed the first few times you subbed in his classroom. 

These were the only details you knew about the man whose face you’ve never seen. As you gradually began to substitute for his high school English classes more and more, you learned about him more. This was due to his students, and his personal belongings. 

What he didn’t and didn’t like: all the way from no fringes on a notebook paper, no red pen ever because that was his grading color, no using the word ‘can’t’ in his class, and students can eat all the snacks they want as long as the trash goes in the bin where it belongs. 

The CDs in a stack on the shelf told you which ones he actually listened to because they were the ones that were on top and without dust. 

You learned that the pristine book on his desk was never the one he was reading. No, it was the weathered and used copy beside his mug with dog-eared pages and penciled notes. 

His drawers told you another story with their contents: boxes of teas ranging from peach to vanilla macaron, journals filled to the brim with words, adult coloring books with tv show themes, and books on Van Gogh and Monet hinting at his artsy background. His students slowly warmed up to you, and through them, so did he. 

At this point, you’d only been subbing for Mr. Styles the last five months, racking up around two and a half weeks worth of subbed days. He always left precise and concise lesson plans for you. The books were where he said they’d be. The webpages he mentioned were bookmarked on his desktop. The teacher copy of the textbook and current group book were on his desk. At the beginning, his desk looked like a professional organizer had gotten their hands on it. Slowly, as you came to sub more for him, it grew messier, albeit you kept it tidy during your appearances. As the first few months passed and you became one of the few subs in his room, you started to find notes. They weren’t just any notes. They were more than the straight forward sub notes for the day’s agenda. No, they weren’t that simple. You can still remember the first one you found on a Post-It note - it went like this: 

Y/N, peanut butter on your waffles or syrup? 

It took you by surprise, but nonetheless, you answered his call. Each time, you’d find a contrasting pen color and scrawl your answer underneath his. Then leaving it somewhere he would find it the next day. They were one-liners at the beginning, and always interesting. Walking to his classroom from your car on those mornings, you’d fill with excitement at the anticipation of finding the next one. Sometimes it took you the entire day to find where he had hidden them. 

In the closet. 

In a nook in a drawer. 

Under the chair. 

On the backside of one of his books. 

Hidden in plain sight amongst his current choice of notes and lists. 

They never failed to spark a smile on your lips, whether it was quirky, confused, astounded or humored. 

Guitar or piano?

FRIENDS or The Simpsons?

Vanilla or Chocolate?

Would you rather become a superhero or a wizard?

The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Slowly, the questions became more personal, and more than just ‘this or that.’ His questions became longer, and so did your answers.  

What was the moment that made you decide to become a teacher?

Is Donny a good student for you, or is he lying to me about that?

What color are your eyes?

What book/film do you believe had the largest impact on you while growing up?

What is the one meal you always order at a restaurant?

Do you have a family?

Should I splurge and buy a new desk chair?

What book should I buy for my classroom you think I need to have? Why?

Why don’t you have a classroom of your own?

When is your birthday?

Star Wars or Lord of the Rings?

They were never a chore for you, or tedious. No, they were fun and you felt as if you saw a little sliver of who he really was with each note. After a while, you started to write and leave your own notes for him to answer. At first, many of them were similar to ones he had left you, because you wanted to hear his responses, too. 

*

The newest one stares back at you, his half-cursive registering in your eyes.

What’s your favorite part about subbing in my classroom? Don’t say the students, that’s what everybody says. 

Giggling to yourself, you reach over to his Pink Floyd mug to pull out a green pen. You take a moment to think of your answer. This time you found the note peeking out from behind the smart whiteboard. The sounds of the end of a school day tickle at your ears as you scribble down your answer. Pressing it to an open square of wood on his desk, you turn back to the royal blue pad of Post-Its. Peeling one off, the green pen hovers over the paper, but you can’t get yourself to write the question you’ve been wanting to know all along. 

He didn’t have a Facebook, or an Instagram. 

The high school doesn’t have a wall of staff pictures like others you’ve subbed at do. 

It’s late winter, so yearbooks are still a ways off. 

For all you know, you could have seen him here before in the halls when you subbed in another classroom. 

Exhaling, you press the pen to the paper before you can convince yourself to stop. Unlike the many times before when your fears got the best of you. 

What do you look like?

With a proud but nervous smile you stick it to the desk, layering the first note on top. It sticks to your lips as you bend down to reach your hand into your bag. The glossy bag greets your hand, and you pull it out to set down beside the note. 

A small bag of Bit-O-Honeys. 

Looking up, your eyes scan the empty classroom. Few footsteps, voices, and lockers slamming trickle in from the halls. You suddenly realize that this is the same view he sees, these are the same sounds he hears, and the same place he sits in every day. Well, when he’s not away on personal days, sick days, on holiday, and at workshops, hence your appearances. The thought knits something together inside of you, making you feel just that bit more closer to him. Something that’s been slowly happening over time since you first stepped foot in his classroom. 

One of the first things that did this was the posters scattered across his walls. A poster from the 2013 remake of The Great Gatsby, The Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover, a cartoon of William Shakespeare, a unifying print of Keith Haring’s art, and several posters of quotes from famous books - To Kill A Mockingbird, the Kite Runner, Of Mice and Men, The Life of Pi, and even The Hunger Games. It delighted you watching him add some of them to the walls since your time here, and you’ve been itching to purchase him one as a gift. You’re unsure of what he would like though, and the fear of failure has held you back from doing so. 

A bleep! catches your attention. Casting your eyes to the dormant desktop screen, you wiggle the mouse. A red circle has appeared on the title of a tab opened to your professional email. Clicking over to it from a YouTube video he had you show the class, you find you have a new message. At the sight of who sent it, your heart skips a beat: harry.styles@isd . . . . . . . 

Hi. I reckon you’re still sitting at my desk this moment, now that’s a funny thought. I wanted to ask you a question while I remembered. I have to go out of town on Friday for a funeral. Believe me, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, but these things are a must. I apologize for it being short notice, but I thought I’d ask you if you would like to take it before I posted it to the sub database. Please let me know either way by tonight, so it has a few days to sit on the website to be claimed. Also, I wanted to say thanks for everything you do. My students really love you, and it makes me wonder what I’m missing. Enjoy your night! 

Sincerely,

Harry Styles

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you. - WW”

A smile warms your cheeks as you finish reading his words, and the familiar poem that ends every email of his. You quickly type up a response to him, agreeing to take the job on Friday, thanking him for thinking of you. A new email appears in your inbox shortly after from another colleague, which occupies you before you lose yourself in your thoughts again. 

Perhaps your favorite addition in his classroom is the Fender acoustic sitting on a stand in the corner. Of course, you’ve yet to see it move in the last five months. The stories his students have told you in a way have given it legs of its own in your mind. Much like the little notes you’ve been leaving for each other, something you dread ever ending. 

*

It was a Wednesday. You’re convinced that Mrs. Watson’s Pre-Calc class is surely the bane of your existence. You keep cursing yourself for taking sub assignments for math classes. Seeing that you’re terrible at the subject, you vowed you’d never take one of her assignments again, but you have to pay the bills somehow. You found your respite in the cozy staff lounge. Couches lined two of the walls, along with an arrangement of tables on the other side of the room. 

As you walk in, you see that one of the ancient history teachers has nodded off again on the plaid couch. Otherwise, the room is empty, and all to yourself. If that didn’t make you happy before, the assortment of food on the counter definitely does. 

Voices float in through the open door as the plastic lid to the cupcakes opens with a pop! 

“Ah, looks like ya got tha last chocolate one. I was savin’ that one fer me,” a voice comments from behind you. Turning, you find a tall man in his late 20’s walking towards you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you can have it,” you volunteer, holding the blue-iced cupcake out for his taking. 

His blush lips curl up with an amused smile. Dimples fall neatly into his cheeks covered with thick stubble. Its deep brown color matches that of the short quiffed curls atop his head. Misty green eyes stare back at you in the middle of his round, but sharp face. “‘m only joking. Go ahead and have it. I already had one earlier. They’re quite good actually, but I dunno ‘bout tha vanilla. Never really cared fer tha flavoir when it comes t’ cake and ice cream,” he comments, passing you to stop at the nearby sink. 

“Yeah, I like to forget vanilla exists half of the time,” you remark, peeling away the paper liner of the cupcake. 

Leaning against the counter, you watch as his ringed hand grabs a red coffee mug from the cabinet. “So do I. ‘s ratha boring, if I do say so meself.”

Nodding to yourself, a silence follows your words. The sweetness of the cupcake is shocking when you take a bite. It makes you wonder how you devoured these sugar bombs as a child. A few beeps and a hum from the microwave echo throughout the room as you check your phone. 

“Y’know, I haven’t seen ya here at tha school befo’. Are ya new dis year or a sub?” he asks, bringing your eyes back to his lean figure. He pulls a yellow square packet from his tight-fitting black slats, a blush button-down tucked into its waist. 

“I started subbing here this year,” you answer before taking another bite of the cupcake. Half of it consists of the sickeningly sweet frosting that makes your teeth ache. 

“Mmmm I see. How d’ya like it so far? Are ya a new teacher, ‘s that why yer subbin’?” 

“Yeah, I went back to school kinda late in the game after doing something else. I figure I’d sub for a little bit for some experience, because what’s another year of waiting by this time?” you comment, observing how he fiddles with his black tie while searching in the refrigerator. 

“Well, congratulations. ‘s a big step t’ go back t’ school fer sumthin’ ya love. ‘s a good profession, I reckon. I’ve been teaching fer 7 years, and here at dis school fer 5. Sumtimes schools even hire subs they’ve had when a position opens, so keep yer eyes open,” he tells you, turning to you with a smile, a yogurt in his hand. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, returning the smile. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Sure thing. I know it helped loads when I was a newbie. ‘ll see ya around, I gotta get back t’ class befo’ me students do first. Have a good one!” 

Walking towards you with the steaming cup of tea in his hands, he pats your arm with his other hand on the way out. Nodding at your ‘thank you’, a small ‘you’re welcome’ falls from his lips before the door closes behind him. Eating the last bite you can muster of the cupcake, you toss its remains in the bin. A thought worms its way into your mind as you sit down at the table. 

Wow, I wonder who that guy was? And is he married, because shit, he was handsome. 

*

The smell of orange essential oil greets you when you stepped foot into his classroom the next time. The state of his desk made you frown, and made you want to scratch the itch to clean it. You resisted it and didn’t, and that thought was taken away when his students began to find their desks. 

Another day of 7 classes came and went. 2 classes of Introduction to Creative Writing. 3 classes of American Literature. 2 classes of World Literature. Amusing YouTube videos broke up the monotony of your day, and those of his students. The lesson notes he left for you had become more concise as the months have passed, and as you learned from each other. The same couldn’t be said for the dish of Bit-O-Honeys on his desk that he’s kept stocked for your appearances. You’re just glad he’s put the bag you left for him to good use. All throughout your day you had been looking for his newest note, but this time it wasn’t in any of his usual spots. After correcting some quizzes from today, you finally found it in the bottom left-hand drawer of his mahogany desk. Stuck to a tall can of Coke, your favorite drink of choice. 

I’m sorry it’s warm, although I’m not sure how you like to drink it. I just find warm soda to be rather nasty. The answer to your question is I have green eyes, brown hair, I’m rather tall, and I like to dress up. Is that good enough for you? Now, what do you look like, love?

Your insides melt at the sight of his answer, but then you groan at the vagueness of it. Off the top of your head, you know there are at least 10 male teachers here at this school with brown hair, maybe more. Maybe even with green eyes, too, and you know that because you’ve seen them in the staff lounge or in the halls. The thought only grows worse when you lose count of  how many teachers there are here at this school. Let’s just say, there’s a lot. Yeah, that sure helps a whole lot. Annoyed, you pluck a pen from the green mug and answer his question with as little detail as possible. Two can play at this game, you think to yourself as you sigh. 

If you could have a jam session with any musician, dead or alive, who would it be?

Sticking the new note where its corner peeks out from under his tabletop calendar, your eyes return to the Coke. It’s undeniable, you feel a little less perturbed at him just at the sight of it. Only a little bit, that is. Sure, you’ve subbed for a countless number of teachers at this school, and more so in this school district. A few of them are even friends or relatives of yours, but you’d never connected with one before like you have with Harry. You just wish more than anything you could find out what he looks like and what he’s really like. Continuing to take his sub jobs doesn’t really help with that. It only drives you crazier wanting to know the other side of this fascinating human being. 

*

There he was, snoring on the couch again, tv remote in hand. The weather channel is playing, surprising you very little. Snickering, you yank open the door to the black refrigerator. After retrieving your striped black and blue lunchbox, you place the container of leftovers in the microwave. A laugh is heard over your shoulder, and when you turn, you find Green Eyes from the other day. 

Tittering as the door closes behind him, he says, “No fail, John ‘s always passed out on dat couch, I swear.”

“I know, it’s every time I’m here. Maybe he should just retire already so he can take his naps at home. Then maybe we could watch something on the tv for once,” you comment, shaking your head. Unpacking your lunch box, you take out a clementine, vanilla yogurt, and silverware. 

“Nah, he loves it too much. I don’t see him leavin’ anytime soon,” he remarks, walking past you to search the shelves of the fridge. “What’re we having’ t’day? Couldn’t find any cupcakes dis time?”

“No, those ones were too sweet anyways. They gave me a stomachache,” you complain with a grimace. The beeeeep! of the microwave interrupts your thoughts. 

“Mmmm, I dunno, I thought they were pretty good.” Rubbing his tummy, he pulls a breathy laugh from your lips. 

Your steaming container of leftovers almost burns your hands, and you dread trying to eat it within the next 10 minutes. Setting up for a lesson in Mr. Harrison’s classroom was a pain, making you wonder why you take any sub jobs besides Harry’s anymore. 

“No free food fer us t’day,” he pouts beside you, closing the fridge door before venturing to the vending machine in the corner. Your eyes drift to his outfit choice today - a white button-down topped with a buttoned vest the shade of ochre, all tucked into brown slacks.

“That’s why you pack a lunch. I thought you’d know the drill by now, since you said you’ve been teaching for a while.”

“I do, but sumtimes I forget. Yer already ahead o’ me with dat part, love,” he who doesn’t have a name answers with a short laugh. Sliding a leather wallet from his pocket, you see him type in a number before you sit down at the table. “Who are ya subbin’ fer t’day then?”

“I’m on the west side in the Science wing for Harrison. Bloody Bio.”

“Ugh, I neva cared fer science. Where were ya a few weeks ago when I last saw ya?” he questions, sliding out a chair across from you. An assortment of vending machine food hits the table with a slap - peanut M&M’s, a nutrigrain bar, and a bag of Sun Chips. 

“Upstairs in Watson’s Maths class. Remind me to never sub for her again, because I can’t understand Pre-Calc for the life of me. I never could in high school so I don’t know why I thought I could know,” you chuckle. A warmth fills your cheeks at the sight of his lips spreading into an amused smile. 

“Yeah, I neva cared fer Maths meself eitha. Numbas neva made a bit o’ sense t’ me, words were always betta,” he explains. You nod along with his words, your mouth occupied with a bite of spaghetti and meatballs. “What subject would ya like t’ teach once tha year’s ova an’ ya go searchin’ fer a job o’ yer own?”

“Um, probably something in English since that’s my focus area. Dabbling in History has been fun, though. I enjoy learning about it myself, and I always have a better time subbing in either of those classes,” you reveal. 

“I see,” he replies, his head going up and down. The crinkling of the granola bar wrapper fills the silence between you before he takes a bite. Crumbs pepper his chin, but he wipes them away from his thin beard. “How often d’ya sub here then?”

“I’d say probably 3 days a week typically, but some weeks are 4. Otherwise, I sometimes sub for a friend or somebody I know over at the middle school.”

“Ah, so yer license is sumthin’ like 8 - 12, ‘s it?” he inquires, picking up the black mug you hadn’t noticed he had. 

“Yeah, I thought that would give me a good range for those grades. With my experience now, I think I’d like to stay at the high school level though,” you continue, twirling you fork around in the noodles covered in tomato sauce. Crossing your legs, the satiny fabric of your black dress pants moves with you. 

“We could always use anotha good teacher here. Ya neva know what’ll happen,” he smiles, standing to his feet with his snacks held in his large hand. Returning his smile, he adds his mug to that hand, patting your back once on his way out. “See ya next time, love. Keep yer head up, it’ll get betta.” 

“Thanks,” you automatically respond with. When you go to say his name, you’re lost for words, because you suddenly remember you’ve never gotten it. Now, he’s already too far away to ask for it. 

Shrugging your shoulders, you stab a meatball with your fork, wondering when the next time will be that you’ll see him again. Because, he sure is nice to look at, and he’s nicer to you than anybody else here. 

*

Stevie Nicks or John Lennon, it’s a tough call. Okay, I’m doing two questions from now on, because you ask such good ones :( Who would you jam with then? Question #2: What was the last concert you went to?

This time, you found the Post-It before the school day even started. It was on the seat of his chair, making you think he wanted you to find it right away. You’re thinking maybe he remembered one of the last times you complained about how hard he had made it. Sometimes you worry about how excited you get to look for these each time you sub in his classroom, but then you remember it’s only once every few weeks. 

That can’t hurt, can it? 

That day the hallways were louder than they usually were after school. You attributed that to the boys’ semifinals basketball game set to be played tonight in the gymnasium. The school’s home team against a nearby rival school. Students couldn’t stop talking about it all day, and many of them shared they’d be sticking around after school to attend. Checking your watch, you note that you should have enough time to stop at home to eat dinner before coming back for it. Even though you hadn’t even known about it before today. 

The Sufjan Stevens song floating from his desktop fills the room as you get out books for tomorrow. Your hands are full with copies of The Kite Runner, making you feel grateful again to Harry- Mr. Styles for picking a decent classic for the class to read. Although you’d only read it a few years ago yourself, and it broke your heart, you’re excited to sub next time to help his World Lit class with it. 

“Oh hey, be careful there, yer gonna slip and fall with all o’ those,” somebody says from behind you, distracting you from your mission of bringing the pile of books from the closet to a desk. 

Don’t I know that voice? Turning your eyes to the doorway, you find Green Eyes walk in with a coat slung over his arm. Wait a second. 

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter, but your actions that follow negate your words. Your eyes run over his familiar features, and slowly the puzzle pieces start to click in your head. Harry? A thought bomb explodes in your head, and the books tumble from your arms. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yer okay,” he murmurs, stopping in front of you. Kneeling down, you both begin to pick up the books, stacking them on top of each other. “Thanks for gettin’ me set up fer t’morrow though. I appreciate it.” 

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can say, because any words that want to come out can’t get past the lump in your throat. One that’s there because of the realization you just had.

Green Eyes and Harry are the same person. 

How did I not figure this out sooner? 

“So, ya must be Y/N, huh?” he giggles, his head bent down as he helps you pick up the books. 

“Y-Yeah, surprise,” you admit, and your laugh soon joins his. Before you know it, the both of you can’t stop laughing. 

“Here,” you hear him say. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you holding his hand out for you to take. A cozy looking maroon sweater covers his upper half, and blue jeans don the rest. “Fancy meetin’ you here,” he jokes in between laughs. 

“You’re right about that,” you answer, taking his hand. He helps you to your feet where you smooth down the violet skirt of your dress. “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”

“Yer not tha only one, love,” Harry comments, bending over to grab a stack of books. He begins to set one on each desk as he walks down the aisles of them. “But I s’pose there wasn’t any way t’ know.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find you on Facebook,” you confess, cursing yourself for the slip up a few seconds later. Lifting your head from the book you just set on a desk, you find his amused eyes on you across the room. 

“Ah, so ya were stalkin’ me, were ya?” he smirks, his delightful laugh following his words. 

“No, I wasn’t! You’re just one of the only colleagues I’ve subbed for who I’ve never met, or like don’t know what they look like.”

Your small stack soon disappears and when you return to the pile at the back of the room, he does too. 

“So, what d’ya think? Are ya disappointed then?”

“No,” you say automatically, lifting your eyes to his green ones that land on you. His cheeks lined with a thick, neat beard crease with dimples as he smiles at you. 

“Neither am I . . . .  Ms. Vance Joy fan,” he returns, holding your gaze. The sincerity in his words gets under your skin, going straight to your heart. The sarcastic joke inside of them makes you giggle. 

Clearing your throat, you look away with what you’re sure are blushing cheeks. Most likely, an entire blushing face. “What are you doing here, anyways, if you were gone for the day?”

“I can’t miss me boys’ big game, a few o’ me students are on tha team. I thought I’d catch up on sum emails and grading befo’hand, but didn’t know ya’d still be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just leaving, anyways,” you mutter, your movements stilling. 

“I didn’t mean it dat way, love. ‘m glad we finally met, it was about time, anyways,” Harry insists, and you nod before continuing to place a book at each desk. “Hey wait, you said you were short and all plain in yer note. No, yer not, ya fibber.”

“Oh like your description was any more accurate,” you scoff lightheartedly, setting down a book before grabbing another from your dwindling stack. 

His rich laugh meets your ears, and you can’t resist looking over to him. “Ya didn’t give yerself enough credit, ya know,” he almost coos, and you swear your heart melted into a puddle right then and there. That’s if it hadn’t done so already when you realized he’s Green Eyes. Swoon. 

It’s hard to hold back the excitement curling at the edge of your lips. Soon, you run out of books again and when you take a peek at him, so has he. 

“Were ya gonna go?” he questions, and you deal him one when you look at him confused. “T’ tha game, I mean.”

Your body feels like jello, and that any move you make would be sloppy. Embarrassing. That’s the last thing you want to look like in front of him. With his dazzling smile, adorably dimpled cheeks, and the cozy vibes he’s giving off. Not to mention, the clean citrus scent wafting off of him. A smell you certainly would be okay with smelling for hours on end. If only. 

“Well bloody Rob around tha corner bailed on me, so I have an extra ticket now. Would ya like t’ join me? I was thinkin’ o’ grabbin’ a sub from ‘round tha corner befo’. Concession food ‘s always too expensive, and never worth tha lines at halftime,” Harry suggests, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. One corner of his mouth climbs up his cheek, making you feel like maybe you’re not alone in these jumbled feelings. Or in the fun you’ve had carrying on this blind relationship with him. 

“Yeah, that sounds like fun. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better than the few words Post-It notes can hold.”

Slowly, the other corner of his lips curls upwards, making the dimple fall into his cheek once again. Nodding, his lips split into a full-fledged smile, singing with a chuckle. “I’d really like that,” he reveals before venturing to the door and shutting off the light. Extending an arm, he waves a hand towards himself.

“Hold on, let me get my things.”

“No rush. ’s not like ‘ve waited seven months fer dis or anythin’,” he quips. By now, you’re certain your face resembles a tomato. You hope that in the muted light, perhaps he won’t notice. 

Hurriedly, you slip on your light coat and drape your bag over your shoulder. Your eyes catch something as you’re tucking your phone in your pocket. Grabbing one last thing, you turn to find him watching you from the lit doorway. 

“What?” he wonders aloud, still with that smile etched onto his face. One you’re fairly sure you could get used to seeing. 

“Here,” you tell him, placing the Post-It note in his palm. His fingers dotted with dark hairs brush against you, just for a second longer than need be. 

“Ah, can’t forget dis now. Important stuff here.”

“Indeed,” you note, stifling a laugh as the sarcasm floats in the air. 

You observe his eyes flit across the paper holding your cursive as your steps echo down the empty hallway. 

“Hmmm, funny. It says ‘would you like to meet up sometime’ on here,” Harry reads, casting his twinkling eyes to you. Green eyes. “I was jus’ ‘bout t’ ask ya tha same thing on me next note. But I had sumthin’ that woulda took tha cake fer sure.”

“What’s that?” you remark, wondering how that could be. Those thoughts fly out the window when you feel his arm come around your shoulder. A squeal sounds inside of your head, but hey, at least that’s far less embarrassing than doing it out loud. 

“I was gonna tell ya dat Tracy across tha hall from me ‘s leavin’ afta dis year, and I may have recommended a certain sumbody t’ tha principal t’ replace her,” Harry hums, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes as they hover over you. “What d’ya say t’ bein’ colleagues instead o’ bein’ me sub?”

“I think I could get used to that,” you answer, letting your smile take over your entire face.

“So could I, love. So could I.” 

[alotsgonnachange]

Isabella’s Bio

Isabella Ciccino

October 28th birthday (scorpio)

Female

She/Her

5’10

Sexuality: Lesbian

Favorite food: vinho verde, lemon chicken orzo

Magical specialties: Green Witch

Familiar: none

MBTI: ISFJ-T

Patron Arcana: Justice

Ethnicity: A small mediterranean esque island off the coast of Venterre called Valletta. Similar to Sicily and Malta

Family: Mother, Angela Ciccino (deceased), Younger sister, Annamaria Ciccino (deceased), Violetta Delmonico, cousin

Occupation: Seamstress

Love Interest: Nadia

Personality

Isabella is a mysterious and alluring magician. To most people she is kind and charming, but private. She is incredibly helpful and caring to those she is friends with and cares about and will drop what she’s doing to assist. Likes to do quiet introspective work like reading, sewing, knitting and caring for plants. She’s a bit of a homebody in that sense. She comes across as level-headed and assertive in formal settings and does not allow others to talk down to her. With friends, she is a bit more sassy and teasingly flirtatious. She hates answering personal questions and has strict boundaries, which can lead to her being standoffish and stubborn at times.

Magic Overview:

Though her careers have been in Dance and seamstress work, her specialty is actually plant oriented. She has an affinity for plant care and can identify almost any from memory. Like some sort of sniffer dog, she can tell immediately what’s poisonous, magical, edible, etc. She can also manipulate plants (make them grow, bend them to her will, kill them) with just her hands, but usually chooses not to unless there’s an emergency.

Height and Appearance

Isabella is a relatively tall and thin young woman with smatterings of freckles over her face and body. She’s around 5’10 or 5’11 depending on the shoes. She has medium dark brown eyes with long lashes. She has medium to thin dark eyebrows that are meticulously trimmed. Her lips are full and usually red. Her face shape is narrow and doll-like. She has very long dark brown hair that is a bit wavy and usually braided to one or two ponytails and bangs. She has just 2 lobe piercings.

Mostly white and tan linens or other breathable comfortable fabrics. She makes most of her own clothing or it’s handmade so she tends to look very put together even if she doesn’t see many people that day. Mostly dresses but will also put on comfortable linen pants depending on the day. Is known to sometimes wear heels (she thinks they make her seem more authoritative). When she’s feeling more bold she’ll go for any and every color.

Abridged Backstory

Isabella Ciccino grew up on an island between Venterre and Zadith (Think Sicily/Malta) with her mother Angela and younger sister Annamaria. Their lives were relatively quiet and uneventful. They lived in a small home on the countryside growing vegetables and fruit and foraging. Isabella’s mother was a talented seamstress and tailor whose skills were sought by many throughout the land. From a young age, Isabella became fascinated by the dancers leaving rehearsal at the opera house on the mainland of Venterre and vowed to become a ballerina. Her mother was fine with this and allowed her to take ballet classes which made her very happy and she cultivated her skills well, getting an offer to perform in a major ballet in an area near Nevivon at the age of 17. This upset her mother because she did not expect things to get this far and she would need help in the shop.

Fortunately, her mother would get an offer to work for better pay and housing in Vesuvia, so they all ended up going separate ways. When Isabella began working for an opera/ballet company, there she met her close friends Danielle and Ivan (Vanya) and his siblings Ekaterina (Katya) and Vasiliy (Vasya)

Isabella was visiting Vesuvia when the plague came and it made her mother and sister sick and they both died. Devastated, she returned to the lands east of Nevivon and threw herself obsessively into her work to avoid her grief and nearly got Married to Ivan in an attempt to cope (despite not being in love with him OR attracted to men). Her friends basically gave her an intervention and she spent 2 years in near solitude except for an elderly Tailor who she helped and lived with and his friend in a small village in southern Zadith, near her hometown.

In A Relationship

Loyal and committed, gentle and very doting. Not opposed to just having a fwb or hookup situation though.

She needs to work through some shit though because she’ll expect vulnerability in a partner and then be unable to provide that on her own part?? Make it make sense girl!

Despite her flaws, she’s a great pick, and dating her would be very fun. She wants someone who’s as interested in the arts, cooking, and plants as her.

To be honest.. she’s a little bougie! She likes someone who takes very good care of their appearance and has good taste and behavior. Bonus points if you’re an artist or musician! BONUS bonus points if you will dance with her (she’ll outdance u tho i fear..)

[maskedpeach]

RPG Maker Fever Hero & Issues

Warning: This article may contain spoilers and the content inappropriate for children…or may not contain.But get the children away from the screen just in case.

Five little authors went out to write. One little author has missed the deadline. Four little authors didn’t pay him much mind. Three authors are left since fourth drank the lye. Three little authors are bursting with confidence. One overworked himself and other two ignored his absence. Two little authors try to finish hard task. Teddy bear hugged one and one stands at last. One little author is left all alone. He hung himself on the chandelier and then there were none…Then who has finished this article? And why this teddy bear is giving me a weird look?

1. Walking on a Star Unknown

Walking on a Star Unknown is the latest game made by Segawa and most heartwarming out of her three games (while End Roll was more heartbreaking than heartwarming, and Farethere City is somewhere in-between). Game  tells a story of two alien siblings, whose ship has crashed on the unfamiliar planet, where they decide to participate in the cooking tournament to get their ship fixed. Gameplay is simple yet very fun - most of the time you gather ingredients, learn new recipes, do side-quests and make friends with the planet inhabitants. Game has memorable cast of characters with their own interesting stories and  bright and stylish visuals. As previous Segawa’s  games Star also has some disturbing themes and some areas are dark and creepy, but overall tone of the game is bright and optimistic.

2. Witch’s Heart

Actually I wrote the detailed review on this game few posts ago, but  I’m still including WH in the article for those who are lazy to read that enormous wall of a text. The most notable part of the game is its plot (which is interesting to follow and full of good twists) and memorable cast of well-developed characters. Along with it WH has  entertaining  gameplay (mini-games included), great presentation and catchy soundtrack. Overall it is one of the best games I’ve ever played, so if you like rpg-horrors I suggest to at least give it a try. Game is still unfinished, currently only one ending (out of four routes) is available, but even in the present state it means about 15-20 hours of gameplay.

3. The Mystery Files of Detective Inaba No. 1, 2, 3

Here goes a game trilogy about Sogo Inaba-a tsundere detective with adorable side and Nina Arimura – his energetic assistant, together they solve various cases, some of the cases are pretty normal, and others are somewhat paranormal. First game of the series is a detective with minor supernatural horror elements – some rpg-horror typical puzzles and minor chasing sequences included. Second game is purely realistic and much more simple gameplay-wise comparing to the first game. Stories in first two games resemble Agatha Christie’s detective  novels mixed with japanese psychological horrors. Third game of the series is closer to pure survival horror with minor detective elements and plays like many other rpg-horrors . To be honest, the third game is my personal favorite, since it is the most polished game out of three and the good conclusion for the Inaba and Arimura’s story. All three games are about 2 hours long and have great presentation (like quality art-style and great in-game music).

4. Asadoke no Majo

Asadoke no Majo starts with our protagonist  Yui arguing with her father and as a result running away from home to …another country, where resides their old family mansion along with dark family secret and a handsome guy managing the estate as a bonus. Game is about 2 hours long and has pretty simple puzzles, minor jumpscares and several chasing scenes (but a final chase is the only frustrating one). Despite being pretty typical rpg-horror Asadoke no Majo leaves very positive impression thanks to bright cast of characters (the Nogi guy here is something else), good story and atmosphere along with well-chosen soundtrack. Currently game is available in japanese and russian.

5. Hero & Daughter

H&D is a dungeon-crawler made by tachi (Headless Prisoner, Moonlight Ghost, Hello?Hell…o?), which mocking famous fantasy cliché “hero defeats a dark lord”.Our hero Ralph get his level reduced to 1 because of his arrogance, and with this permanent level 1 he is tasked to defeat the Demon Lord. Again. That’s where Ralph’s friend of the haremancer class comes to rescue. This guy can summon pretty girls (including heroines from previous tachi’s games like Erina and Akari) to help Ralph in his quest. H&D is fun and entertaining, battles are fast-pacing, dungeons are complex, visuals are nice, also game has enormous level-cap and loads of optional content and many playable characters. Plot may be simple, but H&D has good humor and characters ( even generic Ralph got a nice personality). If you like quality role-playing games I highly recommend to try it out

6. Ai korosu yori, Ai korosaretai

An ordinary (alright, maybe a bit eccentric) family moves into new house. Soon after that their daughter Lucy falls with high fever.When she gets better, she discovers that her parents are gone  and various weird phenomena is occurring in the house. To find the missing parents Lucy will have to search the house and learn about its history full of mysterious disappearances and tragic events. AiAi has very interesting story (good mix of horror and sci-fi) and entertaining gameplay with interesting puzzles and action cut-ins. Also beside proceeding the story you can also do some optional stuff  like gathering collectibles and later saving runaway cows. If you like quality horror-adventures I highly recommend to try this game out. AiAi is currently available in japanese and russian.

7. Escatpade

Here goes another quality game for those who is tired from horror and tragedy and wants something warm and relaxing. Escatpade  is about the girl who falls into the pit and finds herself in the weird place full of adorable talking cats. Game is nice and fun, have a bright, adorable designs and simple yet elegant puzzles. Also some items in the inventory can change appearance of our heroine (like clothes, glasses and stuffed kittycats).

8. Tower of Feles

ToF made by the author of Escatpade and also full of adorable cats. But unlike Escatparade this game is slightly more challenging. ToF is an action-puzzle where your objective is save your little sister from evil witch. In order to do so you have to climb on top of the tower, solving various puzzles and avoiding witch’s servants in the process. Every floor has a time limit, and if either time runs out or your health drops to zero you’ll have to start the floor over. Game is a bit tricky and very fun to play. If you have beaten Escatpade and want more cats and cuteness- Tower of Feles is what you need. 

9. Twilight Epic

Twilight Epic is a sequel to Amayado Bus Stop. This time the main character is Akane’s and Akari’s cousin Akino, who  receives a call from unknown girl, who tells him about certain “promise” and right after that he finds this girl’s dead body (or not quite dead). The boy decides to find out the truth and grown-up Chitose and Akari are helping him out. Game is far more simple than its predecessor-puzzles are mostly gone and chasing scenes are pretty straightforward, but still the game is very enjoyable, since story is good and heartwarming. Also game has quality art-style and skit system similar to one in Tales series. Twilight Epic is currently available in japanese and russian.

10. Peret em Heru: For the Prisoners

Peret em Heru is survival horror with rpg-elements about a group of tourists, lead by an archeologist, professor Tsuchida, exploring  ancient  ruins underneath the Great Pyramid of Giza. Needless to say, that these ruins are filled with deadly traps and Tsuchida’s intentions are far from mere scientific interest.  Gameplay resembles Sweet Home and Corpse Party –Rebuilt-, but more simple and straightforward – you play as one of the tourists,  fight monsters, grind levels,  and save your teammates from booby traps. Overall Peret em Heru is a nice game with stylish old-fashioned visuals and good music, game is about 3 hours long and have one ending, which varies depending on how many of your teammates have survived.

11. The Object

You awake in the dark room in the unknown place and find out that not only your memories are gone, but your head is gone as well. On top of that  you can attach literally anything to an empty place where your head once was. Now your goal is to regain the lost memories along with the head and leave the house. Game consists from exploration and simple yet elegant puzzles, which you solve by swapping  your heads. Game is pretty interesting and  has five endings , to get all of them  you’ll  need about 30 minutes.

12. Colors: Lost Memories

This time you play as a little girl who finds herself in the colorless world inhabited by talking animals. To get back home she must return this world its colors. Colors have stylish visuals highly reminiscent of old GBC games as well as unique puzzles based on using various colors you get during the game at the right places. First you can use only one color (for example red is needed to light or put out fire), later you will be able to activate up to three colors at the same time.Game is cute and fun to play, approximate time of the playthrough is one hour.

13. Nemoral

Nemoral is a short game about two cops who end up in the abandoned mansion while chasing the cult followers, assuming that they have something to do with the recent disappearances of children. And this mansion hides pretty dark secret about a project based on the famous fairy tale. Nemoral is quality action-horror, where both visuals and gameplay is somewhat resemble very first Resident Evil (in the good way of course). The only con of Nemoral is anti-climatic ending (game was made for the contest, and author was short on time). But even in present state the game is still enjoyable.

14. B*x. Colorful.

I’ve decided to unite both games in one mini-review, since they are both made by the same author and both are very short. B*x is about lonely girl in bunny outfit, who lives with her boyfriend, the only person who cares about her. But it seems like he’s hiding something from her. Game is about 30 minutes long and have few easy puzzles. Colorful is only 10 minutes long and have no puzzles at all, and more depressing than B*x. In Colorful you just listen to the story and watch pictures. Both games have very nice art style.

[laceymorganwrites]

The damn jacket

Word count: 2,210

Pairing: none rlly

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs, like a sentence of Mötley Crüe slander xD, um bad structure??

A/N: this is a mess. modern AU, kinda character analysis, idek but it was fun. Inspired by @pirate-shrimp  (if any of u catch the MSI reference I will marry u on the fucking spot)

Kid had bar vibes. He was the kind of guy you found sitting in the corner of your local pub, just far away from the others not to be forced into a conversation but also not far away enough to seem lonely.

He was the local phenomena of the man you didn´t want to get close to but whose story you wanted to know at the same time. The guy who pushed people away because he was more scared of hurting them than being hurt.

Hell, he doubted he could get hurt anymore at this point, over the years he´s lost so many friendships, been betrayed so much by the people he considered the closest to him, it was laughable.

Maybe that was why he didn´t let anyone get close anymore, why he always seemed so distant, his thoughts stuck in a past long gone or perhaps a future he knew he´d never have.

A good for nothing college drop out, those were the hard facts he had to face every day.

It wasn´t because he was dumb that he quit, far from it. Kid wasn´t thrown out, he quit himself because college was too restricting for him. There were some classes that were nice enough, but working towards exams really wasn´t his style, he wanted to do something, anything really.

People like him didn´t have it easy, society measured your worth in degrees and results. But what if the way was so much more fun than the end result?

Kid had a lot of jobs to make a living, never staying in one though, he got bored so easily. How could anyone expect anyone to keep doing the same routinized thing for over 40 years? It was insanity. To him anyways.

Being punk, never fitting in, living the life of sex, drugs and rock n roll…. It all seemed so much more fun than it really was.

Kid´s band was a bad ripoff of Mötley Crüe, though some might argue that the band itself was.

Yes, he fit into some stereotypes that he was so sick of hearing: playing in a band, being that eccentric lead singer that caused too much trouble for his own good, though the second part wasn´t true anymore. Lately he just wanted people to leave him alone.

It was nice being a small town band, the bonds with your audience were so much stronger, it felt like hanging out with friends rather than playing a show for money. Kid never wanted that feeling to end, he never wanted to end up like those big bands who lost their spark, who lost that glimmer in their eyes, their racing heart when Killer counted and initiated their first song, the immense feeling of belonging whenever the crowd would sing his words back to him.

This.

This was what he was made for. Passion. That was what was missing when he was studying, he needed to do things, be that sketching or tinkering with his car or writing everything down that was going on in his head.

In truth Kid started writing because it all got too much, too many fake people around him, too many people acting like his best friend and leaving him cold the next day, too many people telling him they loved him and then spitting at him, gossiping behind his back.

A part of him missed the times when he cared, when he was shocked and hurt by this. By now it´s become so common, like the energy drink before work.

Kid didn´t have the dream rockstar life, not the one where people looked so cool shooting up in those movies, that shit was fucked up and society was sick for portraying it like that.

He only had bad experiences with drugs, living in a small town like this he saw the addicts everywhere, sad creatures who couldn´t support themselves anymore, who got dependent on things that destroyed them because nobody would help, because nobody gave a shit about them. Why would they? They were good for nothings who couldn´t work ten hours in some shitty job that didn´t pay them enough to pay rent.

The system wasn´t corrupt? Yeah, bullshit.

The problem he faced was that of a fleeting society, a society that sped up so much, never once slowing down and looking around to see what was out there. They never thought about expanding their horizons.

Schoolings were looked down upon, but at the same time cheered for. It was so strange… the craft was dying but also needed.

Nothing held value anymore, nothing lasted, nothing strove to.

Kid was happy with his life as it was now. He hated being selfish and arrogant but learned that a certain amount was needed to survive, you needed to look out for yourself before you could look out for anyone else. A local rockstar, frequent bar visitor, the best mechanic in town. All those fit him so well but at the same time he looked the part, oh how he hated it sometimes. The acquaintances he made because of his looks, because people spread rumors about him, making him more myth than man, it was pretty tiring.

Especially when they all were disappointed by the rather bland truth.

Not that Kid was bland in any way, it was just that people expected so much more from him, they wanted him to be this rebel, this punk, this heartbreaker.

Expected him to have tattoos and piercings but the truth was that he had such a low pain tolerance it was embarrassing. Yes, he bore every punch and kick he ever got without any complaints because there were parts of him that told him he deserved it, parts that hated him more than anything else.

Just try it…. there´s nothing you can do that I haven´t already done myself, you can´t hate me more than I hate myself.

Ah yes, the typical phenomenon of this generation: being way too soft and overly sensitive.

That was it, they weren´t more considerate and aware of their mental health and other people´s wellness, of identity and morals, of things that got swiped under the rug because ´it was always this way´. Why the fuck would people so desperately try to keep something misogynistic, racist and homophobic up? Just because it existed the majority of time doesn´t mean it was a good system.

Fuck, it never was.

And Kid was sick of everyone playing down those things. So what if he was a fucking crybaby and didn´t get humor? He wouldn´t take this shit anymore, yeah it mostly didn´t affect him but he got angry beyond belief for the people it did affect.

It wasn´t fair.

He couldn´t do anything? It wouldn´t matter anyway? It wouldn´t make a difference? So fucking what. He´d never know if he didn´t try.

Just now Kid finished up his work at the garage, closing up shop for the day. It was a busy day, many people who were driving through came to him to do a check up, others came by for their regular reparation. He loved that busy meant fun in his world. He was so fucking happy that he could do the things that brought him joy, that burned like a fire in his heart. And no, he didn´t care how cheesy that sounded.

Washing his hands and closing the door behind him he called Killer to let him know he was done. Killer was also just now finishing up his shift at the record shop. Now was their time to rehearse, band practice was always the best part of the day, though quite honestly most of the time it was just the guys hanging out and having a good time. And they wouldn´t have it any other way.

Kid grabbed his jacket and locked the doors before making his way to his car.

The jacket. That damn jacket.

It was where it all started. He bought that old thing from his first ever pay at the garage, his boss told him to spend it on something nice for himself, something that´d make him a man. He didn´t ever ask what he meant by that, his boss said weird things at times. But this was true, at least in a sense.

It was the first time Kid ever stepped foot inside of a second hand store and it was like heaven revealed himself to him, it was pure paradise. Just going through the aisles, finding treasures like no other, it became one of his favorite things to do.

The jacket was the first thing that ever caught his eye, the firs thing he purchased. The black leather with the yellow and dark red details, the skull on the back… it was calling to him. Those were his favorite colors, he didn´t even have to think about it before he bought it.

But what about it made him a man? It was just a jacket after all. But that´s where you´d be wrong.

It was so much more than that.

The very next day he started wearing it religiously, he noticed people staring at him at the streets but this time it wasn´t because he was a loser, it was because he looked fucking cool. The jacket boosted his confidence immensely. And it showed.

His boss complimented him and said that from this day on his journey was only beginning, and how right he was with that.

It was the day he reconnected with his high school friend Killer, he didn´t even know he was back in town, let alone working at his favorite record shop and searching for a band to play drums for. So Kid got his first guitar and played it to death, jamming with Killer and searching for others, thus meeting Heat and Wire, the coolest guys on earth.

He grew so much, finding more and more passion in his life, only his jacket stayed the same. He decided that it was time to change that.

Kid went to the crafts store and bought red leather protectors with a quilting pattern, sewing it to the shoulders of the jacket. He also decided to pimp the skull, making it his own personal jacket in painting on the goggles he wore at work, two knives as a cross because it was edgy and of course: his hair. His untamable hair that would never hold up so he got used to wearing any sort of silly glasses, sometimes even the goggles from work. Hair gel was a lie to him, so was hairspray.

He painted bright red flames in homage to his dyed hair, yeah, it wasn´t just a phase.

Everything was coming together.

He grabbed his stupidly large square blue sunglasses that made him look like a dad. Yes, Kid had a dad style. He loved second hand shirts more than anything, not the boring ones, the ones with the stupidest prints, he wore dad shoes like no one´s business and he was proud of it. He was the cool dad, the cool dad with the big car and puns that were so bad they somehow got good again. But damn, did he have talent with words. Screw not being able to formulate shit in speech, that man could write like a god, or rather the devil. Because, let´s be real, the devil sounds so much better on the mic.

Starting the engine, he drove home to at least make some room to sit for his friends, on the way he shopped for groceries too. Now that he was home he got the snacks, drinks and notebooks ready as well as the tons of pens where he never knew which one worked but never threw any away because somehow he thought he´d exchange the mines. Yeah, as if.

He threw on a black shirt and some black joggers before tying his hair up into a tiny ponytail, still his bangs fell in his face as always. It was annoying so he clipped them back with some black hair clips. He didn´t care if he looked stupid with that, at least he could see clearly now.

But getting a hair cut? No way, he looked too cool for that.

Kid opened the door when the others came and sat down on the couch with his acoustic guitar, lately they decided to play around with reimagining their songs after supporting and motivating Kid to sing rather than growl. He had such a nice guttural and gruff voice, these imperfections when singing, the edges just made the song that much more genuine.

Listening to Kid you just couldn´t help but get mesmerized, the way his biceps flexed when he held the guitar, the emotions in his eyes, the way he frowned and squinted whenever the lyrics got emotional and close to home, it made you want to protect him, to keep him happy, to keep this alive, this wonderful world he created for himself.

The others also scribbled down ideas and practiced new melodies, tried out new lyrics and solos. After a while work mixed in with private chats and the night faded into distant, nostalgic laughter and the crinkles around Kid´s eyes that showed how much it all meant to him.