#anyway i love the purple and pink and blue feeling of this prompt

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 255

Adjective: Burgeoning

Noun: Wisteria

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Burgeoning: beginning to grow or increase rapidly, or flourishing

Wisteria: a climbing shrub of the pea family, with hanging clusters of pale bluish-lilac flowers, and native to North America and eastern Asia, ornamental varieties are widely grown on walls and pergolas

[tallulah477]

Hey! have u seen the avatar blood moon prompt yet? its sooo good!!

Hi!! I HAVE! This one right?

It’s such a good prompt! I love the idea of the blood moon making the Na’vi go absolutely feral. I’m sure anyone who’s spent even a second on my blog knows how much I love primal play (predator/prey kink) and the idea of them chasing their poor victim through the forest is sending me 😩

CW:// Dark!Na'vi, Primal Play (Predator/Prey Kink), Chasing, Blood Play, Painful Transformations, No Smut (shockingly) but definitely ***NON-CON***

Like . . . imagine your Na’vi of choice is reacting to this Blood Moon. You’ve never seen this before, how they look up at the sky in both a mixture of horror and awe, because this is a special moment for them, a pure primal and instinctual state offered to them by The Great Mother where they are made to let go of their inhibitions and just listen and react to the urges inside of them. But it’s like out of a horror movie for you, watching how they go from staring up at the sky with wide amber eyes to falling to the ground, almost writhing in pain as their humanity is ripped from them right before your eyes. Their muscles are bulging, rippling under their skin as they crawl and claw at the ground. Howling cries and guttural growls fill the air as their bodies twist against the soft moss of the ground, and you think you can feel the sound reverberate through your entire body. Their fingernails lengthen, sharpening into deadly points, canines growing to the point that they dig into their bottom lip, drawing blood if they're not careful. They're not.

Their eyes are red when they snap their head back towards you, the now crimson irises seeming to bleed into a scarlet haze amongst the whites of their eyes.

Run, little prey. Those eyes tell you. Run, and run fast - because the sadistic look in their eyes tells you they want to eat you alive.

You can't run fast enough, sprinting and crying in panic through the Pandoran forest as you hear whatever thing that's overtaken your Na'vi's body come after you. They're growling - snarling as they chase you, dark aborted laughter cutting through the trees as you flee. The forest offers no comfort - the usual bright bioluminescence and glowing pinks, purples, and blues that usually light up the forest at night are now covered in the deep red glow of the moon.

They've left their bow discarded on the forest floor, their hunting knife having fallen off their body in their furious thrashing during their painful transformation. They don't need it to hunt you now - every primal instinct they have is locked on you.

They catch you in less than a minute, tackling you to the forest floor and pinning you on your back. Your arms come up to keep them back, desperately trying to keep them away, but they grab your flailing arm, holding it still in a tight grip by your wrist and slowly drag their razor sharp nail down the length of your forearm.

Your screams are like music to them in this state, your pitiful sobs as they lean down and catch your dripping blood on their tongue is like a shot of ecstasy straight into their veins as they lick possessively up your arm, making sure not to waste a single drop. Their nails find their way to your collarbone, tongue dragging along the pooling red, moaning at the sweet taste of it on their tastebuds.

There's blood dripping down their chin from their mouth, and it's impossible to tell if it's coming from the twin puncture marks in their lip or if its your own. It doesn't matter, they make you taste it anyway - their hand gripping your chin as they roughly press their lips to yours, smearing the shared blood along your lips and tongue.

Long scratches mark up your body - torso, chest, and arms smeared with blood and their bloody kisses as they work their way lower and lower and lower.

Your heart rate is still through the roof, pounding in your chest so hard you think it might burst out, but your screaming has stopped, replaced instead by full bodied sobs as they nip possessive kisses on your hip.

Their crimson eyes stare up at you, somehow both glaring and full of mirth as they grin and bite at the flesh on your hip, their nails savagely digging into your sides to keep you pinned. Those eyes stare into your soul, telling you that they own you now - and the red haze of the Blood Moon above mocks your fate.

ANYWAY~~ LMAO. I didn't mean to write a whole drabble about it. The way I could have kept going is insane. I hope you like my little thought process here tho . . . maybe . . .

What are your thoughts on the prompt, Anon? I'd love to hear them! 🧡

[shoshiwrites]

from the 100 paired prompts list - ⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar for Jo and Joe. (yes you heard me.)

The sun rises early in late July, the beginning of August. She’s too warm, lying here in bed, unable to fall back asleep. Outside, a blackbird in a backyard tree sings. A warbler too, as she watches the light on the floor barely touch the murky outlines of their furniture — the dresser, the vase, the lamp, the mirror.

A sleeping Joe lies heavily beside her, soft snores and uncombed hair, the faintest stubble he’ll be shaving away in an hour at most.

Her tongue sticks in her mouth, tastes like teeth. Craving something. None of it’s been too strange, or at least no more strange than how she normally eats. Salt with the sweet, sour with the fat. She won’t ask him, she decides. She can take care of it herself. She can’t sleep anyway.

A few scattered mornings have seen her do this, take the car. Joe doesn’t mind, of course. He doesn’t put the work into it for nothing, he says. She’s dressed loosely, throws an old jacket on over all of it. Takes her wallet, her sunglasses. She almost smiles — it feels almost like stealing a Jeep. The air outside is fresh and cool, not yet hot with the afternoon sun.

The stand she’s thinking of is indeed open, a wooden sign wet with dewy grass. Plump peaches — Sugar May, the farmer calls them — brilliant nectarines and deep purple plums, delicate apricots, a few containers of cherries, like a lipstick ad in Technicolor, come to life.

She doesn’t know him well enough to dissuade the help loading a small box of the peaches into passenger seat, and something tells her he would’ve offered anyway. Something about him reminds her of something gone, his kind and wrinkled smile, faded flannel and work trousers, a lost summer afternoon before the war. He tells her to enjoy the fruit; she tells him she will.

Joe’s up by the time she’s back; she smells coffee from the open door when he’d gotten up from the table at the sound of the car pulling in. She sees his steaming mug on the blue-checkered tablecloth, hers set out on the counter. He’s dressed in blue too, collared chambray work shirt and darker trousers.

He looks surprised, at her early-morning mission, but doesn’t say so. Doesn’t look at her like anything other than who she is — the woman he married, the girl in love, the writer who chased the story halfway around the world and came home to him. He looks like a boy in love, when he looks at her.

“These look good,” he says, taking the box from her after his greeting, the good morning, the kiss he’d pressed to her lips after she’d set hers to his cheek. “Thank you.”

“I thought I might try and bake with them,” she says. “Evie sent over a recipe.”

She pushes her hair back behind her ear, catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Disheveled, hair a little wild from the open car window. Pink-cheeked. She wonders when the doctors are going to try and put her on bedrest. She’s getting there. She doesn’t know how she’s going to handle it.

He’s already holding one in his hand.

“Go on,” she says, smiling. “He wouldn’t let me leave without extras.” There’s a nectarine or two nestled in there, two clusters of plump cherries.

He doesn’t argue, only leans over the sink and bites. The door’s closed, the light beaming through the curtains he didn’t open. She can do this, now. Press her fingers to his, sticky from the sweet white flesh, ignore the clock on the mantle, kiss him breathless against her heart.

[quietlyimplode]

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 19 - A floral bouquet

Warnings: child abuse, nightmares

Word Count: 1.7k (gif not mine)

Summary: after Clint proposes, they both need time to recover and recuperate.

A/N: this is completely unread, forgive the mistakes bound to be embedded. I don’t have the energy to read it though.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

2011

IOWA

Recovery time is granted as a courtesy and requirement. It sets Natasha’s teeth on edge but even she can see that Clint needs it.

She wants the next assignment, the almost dying part not really phasing her. She’d almost died many times before.

If she was a cat, she would have used her nine lives by now. It doesn’t mean the panic for Clint doesn’t permeate into her dreams.

She dreams that she can’t breathe, and wakes up gasping, when she gets back to sleep, she watches Clint gasping for breath.

She performs CPR only to break his ribs and watch him die anyway.

It’s disconcerting and always results in her focusing on him sleeping into the hours of the morning.

He comments that she looks tired, but she always retorts that he does too.

.

There’s a cabin south of Iowa, he invites her to, she knew he had it but they’d never been able to go.

The dainty log cabin smells musty when they arrive, but as soon as it’s aired out, Natasha takes in all the details.

Surrounded by trees, the cabin is four rooms, a kitchen and main room all together, a bedroom and a bathroom.

There’s wood everywhere; bow and arrows on the walls, and a shot gun for good measure. He watches her surveil the place and stands in place, waiting for her assessment.

“Whatddya think?” he smiles.

“Did you make these arrows?” she asks in awe, touching them and continuing to look around.

“Yeah,” he nods, “the bow too.”

The wood fire sits inert and Clint promises to light it at night.

“Come for a walk,” he offers, taking her hand and leading to her to the door, “the weather is good and we can gather some wood.”

Natasha smiles and grabs her jacket as they head out.

The lake surrounds, birds chirping and flowers line the path they take.

It’s renewing in a way she’s never felt before; maybe that the air feels fresher than in the city, and whilst since they’d been released from hospital, breathing had been a little more labored, it feels like it can loosen off.

“Pick some flowers,” Clint prompts, “I’m going to get some twigs and kindling.”

It feels like an odd request, but Natasha follows it, starting with small flowers, pink ones that have tiny petals, she then finds some white ones, cutting them cleanly with her switchblade. She moves away from Clint and finds other flowers, longer ones that look like bells, the purple blending with the others as she traverses around the lake.

The yellow flowers spread everywhere, and she chooses them more selectively. Large petals, and smaller cone shaped ones.

As she heads back up the incline, Clint calls for her to come over.

“This one too?”

The delicate blue wildflowers were small, easy to pick and went well with the bunch that Natasha had picked

“They were my mums favourites,” she smiles.

She holds the bunch up for his approval and he smiles.

“Perfect,” he tells her.

They walk back, conversation easy, light gossip and commenting on the world around.

“Do you think it will storm tonight?” Natasha asks.

Clint shrugs, opening the door and allowing Natasha to enter first.

“Maybe, depends if the temperature drops, then you’re in for a chance.”

They both go about unpacking some food and Natasha starts cooking and cutting vegetables.

He sets about lighting the fire then puts her flowers in water and smiles as he places the forget me nots to the front.

“Tell me about her,” Natasha asks, “your mother? What was she like?”

There’s a beat of silence before Clint acquiesces.

“She loved nature. I think we would have got an animal if it wasn’t for him. I think she knew that if we did it would become another thing for him to destroy or use against us, but she made it up in other ways.”

He moves to the kitchen to help her, grabbing a carrot and chewing on it.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t —“

He waves her off.

“Nah, I want to, otherwise she just lives in my memories, and I’d like her to live in yours too,” he smiles, crunching down.

“She had brown hair, maybe a bit shorter than you, smart but in a clever way. Not book smart I think, as she struggled to read, but the way she could deduce and read people was easy. It always made me wonder how she ended up with my father.”

Natasha turns the portable gas heater on, and passes him the chicken for cooking.

“Did she like to cook?”

Clint laughs.

“No, not at all, we would eat the same thing over and over, meat and vegetables, or potatoes; there were lots of potatoes.”

He takes onions and places them in the pan.

“Barney liked to cook,” he says a bit more softly, “he’d take over from my mother when my father wasn’t home. He loved making sauces and mixing flavours.”

The sizzle on the chicken is loud and so the next words feel more for him than anything else.

“He found Barney once, cooking with my mother looking on, yelled and ranted that it was women’s work. He threw the hot saucepan at him and burnt him across the arm, here,” he says gesturing to his forearm.

“Barney still liked to cook, but was just more careful about how he did it after that.”

Natasha stands next to him.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him.

“It’s okay, I was telling you about her, not him.”

Clint puts the next piece of chicken on the small fryer.

“She liked stories, any stories. So I’d tell her them from school, also, Gus; he had the best stories, so I’d tell her them too. I think she liked to think about them, maybe they helped in some way.”

Natasha takes over the fryer, motioning to the cooked meat for cutting.

“She could be forgetful, and told me things usually more than once, but I didn’t mind. She had the kind of voice that when she spoke you’d listen regardless of what she was saying.”

He stops cutting and thinks.

“I think she would have liked you,” he says generously.

Natasha looks to the pretty little flowers.

“Yeah. I think I would have liked her too.”

.

The distinct smell of the wood fire brings Clint out of his nightmare. The disorientation makes him freeze on the spot dampening his breathing so that he doesn’t wake Natasha.

He ruminates on the images the dream produced, the dodging of beer bottles before one caught him, the way he was small and his father was big, and his mothers face, blood coming out of her mouth and the familiar bruise covering her cheek and throat.

He sorts the images and finds the truth in the lies, then separates it further, smelling and grounding himself with Natasha’s gentle breathing and the smell of the fires.

He’d hoped talking about her would be cathartic, and in a way it was. He’d just not anticipated the memories it produced.

He sighs wanting to get up but knowing it would wake Natasha.

If they get married, he’s not going to become like him. He’s not his fathers son, he is his mother’s though.

He pulls out his phone and googles how far it is to visit her and settles back down with a plan for the next day.

.

The grave reads Edith’s name, the date of her birth and death and words that read ‘beloved mother’.

The fact that she has a headstone at all is something Natasha can’t help but comment on.

“The circus helped us pay for it, it came about a year and a half after her death, maybe 6 months we’d both been there. We agreed to work for free to get it done.”

Gently, Natasha moves the moss and Clint pulls the weeds around it.

It takes them some time but they clear it and make it neat in its appearance.

Natasha pulls the little bouquet of forget me nots she’d picked and places them down.

Clint hugs her and they stand side by side in silence.

.

The ride home is comfortable, soft country music playing as Clint taps his finger to the beat.

“Do you think my mother has a grave?” Natasha asks, a question she’s never thought to think.

Clint reaches across and holds her hand.

“I hope so,” he says, squeezing it.

“Maybe she had a sister or someone to lay some flowers at her grave too,” she hopes.

Clint nods.

“Maybe she’s hanging out with my mother, wherever they may be.”

Natasha smiles, then laughs.

“They’d tell lots of stories to each other I think,” she says.

“My mother would like that,” he nods.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, squeezing his hand.

“I know you had… dreams last night, but do you think this will make sleep hard as well? Can I do anything?”

Clint shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe? Nothing you can do, but maybe we can play a game or watch a movie together before sleeping.”

He sighs.

“It’s been a long day.”

Natasha nods, opening the window then closing it with the smell.

It breaks the mood and he laughs.

“Cows are certainly an acquired smell,” he grins.

.

“She liked magic too,” Clint offers, the movie finishing.

“Can I show you some?”

Natasha feels a curl of excitement.

Giving him her full attention, he produces a bunch of flowers.

It makes her burst out laughing.

“Can you do it again?”

He pulls a coin from her ear and then makes the flowers disappear again.

She takes the coin and rolls it over her fingers.

Clint nods in approval.

He smiles again.

“One more.”

From her ear, he produces two rings.

“I know we were dying, and that you may have just said yes—“

She doesn’t even let him finish.

“I want to marry you Clint Barton,” she tells him, taking the rings off him and examining them carefully.

Both of them thin, one with a red ruby and the other larger in size but just as thin, the metal infused with a purple hue.

“They’re for us, like your necklace, no one has to see them.”

He loves that she puts it on straight away, kisses him again and then tries to imitate the magic trick.

“Teach me,” she requests, “show me how to do magic just like you do.”

.

[bratanimus]

33. you are such a nerd

@khaleesa, thank you for this awesome prompt! It was a lot of fun to write. And thanks to the lovely @pipergirl17 for betaing! I hope to work on the other prompts in my Ask box soon.

~*~

Hoard

Eddie sprawled on his stomach across Chrissy’s white eyelet comforter and peered over the edge of the bed, like the invisible Bilbo peeping at Smaug. All around herself, his girlfriend (someday he would stop italicizing that word in his mind, but today was not that day) had spread a veritable dragon’s hoard of paper, folders, notebooks, flashcards, pencil cases, and pens of all colors on the pink shag carpet. 

Sitting cross-legged in her running sweats, framed in a patch of afternoon sunlight, Chrissy looked luminous as she carefully pried open the lid of a box of new pencils as if it were a treasure chest.

“Tell me again,” Eddie said.

He pushed up the long sleeves of his T-shirt and rested his chin on the heels of both hands in what he hoped was a coquettish and distracting manner, his jean-clad legs bent and kicking his socked feet behind him like he was at an honest-to-god Annette Funicello pajama party. 

“Why are you doing this, exactly?”

Chrissy gave him the briefest of eye rolls, because she’d already started to explain on their way upstairs…though she’d been interrupted when they’d passed the Cunningham household’s actual dragon, who’d bellowed after them, “Door stays open!” Eddie could almost feel the mistrust billowing like acrid steam from Laura’s sewing room. Well, the old reptile would get used to him sooner or later. Or not. 

“Make fun all you want,” Chrissy huffed (oh, she was cute when she was miffed at him, and maybe he shouldn’t rile her up, but he was a dumbass still getting used to having her undivided attention, so sue him if he occasionally resorted to his old habits of poking and prodding and other sorts of ill-advised provocation, and anyway, she didn’t seem to mind). “But it’s the end of spring break.”

With that, Chrissy pinned him with a friendly glare, as if a reminder of the calendar date should’ve made everything crystal clear. 

Smirk (and dimples) still firmly in place, she broke the eraser off one of those brand new pencils, an unexpected act of violence that made Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upward. She tossed the nub into the flowery little trash can under her desk. Then she grabbed a fat, pink, arrowhead-shaped cap eraser from a pile of them and twisted it onto the top of the pencil. 

“Ah, I see,” said Eddie, not seeing at all. 

Chrissy only laughed at his confused expression, so he lay flat on his chest, chin on the bed’s edge, letting his arms dangle so he could fiddle with the felt tip pens scattered on the carpet. He stole a glance at Chrissy and pondered why one eraser might be somehow inherently better than another, so much so that she had to amputate and reattach, like some nerdy bookworm version of Mary Shelley.

“School starts back in a couple of days, right?” Chrissy went on as she attacked the next pencil.

“Uh-huh.” 

Eddie shoved aside her big green binder and slid his fingertips along the pens as he lined them up, orange and purple and red and blue—

Bonk! Another brand new nub landed in the trash can, and another cap eraser got reamed by a wooden writing instrument.

“I always reorganize my school supplies after fall break, Christmas break, and spring break. It helps me stay focused.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he bullshitted, as if he had any idea about systems for focusing.

He arranged the pens according to the colors of the rainbow, remembering Roy G. Biv, the acronym his seventh grade art teacher had taught for the progression of colors. But Chrissy owned way more than the seven basic shades here. There were at least two dozen. Did she carry these to school every day in a pencil case, a small treasure trove in her pink backpack?

“I love school supplies,” she gushed, continuing her mutilation of the pristine set of Ticonderogas, popping off a dozen heads one by one and replacing them with bloated Frankenstein ones.

He knew she had a thing about control, and Eddie had seen her do her fair share of feverish erasing in the two classes they shared this year. But were twelve cap erasers really necessary?

Messing with the felt tips on the floor, he must’ve asked that last bit out loud, because Chrissy said tightly, “Oh, you know. Just in case I need to correct a lot.”

Oops. He’d touched a nerve. He needed a distraction.

“I bet you pack five extra pairs of underwear for every overnight trip,” he mused, “just in case you have a blowout.”

“Ew!” she squealed.

An eraser nub hit him square between the eyes, which made him flinch and blink. 

“Seriously, Eddie.  Are blowouts something I should worry about?”

“Oh, I dunno. Hang around with me long enough—”

A larger arrowhead eraser smacked him on the cheek. He caught it before it fell off the bed, stuck it on his pinky, and made it speak over Chrissy’s giggles.

“Look, lady,” he Muppet-squeaked, “you have an eraser problem. And possibly an underwear problem. You need help!”

Chrissy pointed to his pinky. “Speak not to me, nor my Trapper Keeper, ever again. You’re just jealous of my loot.” 

“I have absolutely no use for dragon-guarded treasures,” Eddie murmured, quoting Tolkien as he slipped the eraser from his pinky and laid it reverently in Chrissy’s outstretched hand, “and the whole lot could stay here for ever, if only I could wake up and find this beastly tunnel was my own front-hall at home.”

Watching him, Chrissy’s eyes glimmered, prettier than any gemstones. His cheeks warmed. 

It was something to be looked at by her, wasn’t it? To be admired? He dropped his gaze back down to the pens he was arranging and hoped his face wasn’t too red.

“That’s it.” The words were barely a breath.

Eddie’s gaze rose again to find Chrissy staring down at her hoard of loot, hands upturned helplessly on her knees, the arrowhead eraser still in the center of her palm like the One Ring.

He tried to match her hushed tone. “What?”

“That’s how I feel. All the time. This house. All my things. It’s just…stuff.”

And she had no other home but this beastly one.

Eddie's heart pinched.

“Come up here,” he said.

She did, lying on her stomach next to him, chin resting on her folded arms as she watched him arrange the felt tips into different configurations with one hand. Gravity made his veins bulge a little; they looked knobbly and greenish-blue in the bright light from her window. His hand could almost be a pale dragon skittering over its mountain of treasure.

He didn’t know what to say, because he couldn’t say what he wanted to.

Come away with me. Let me be your treasure. You are already mine.

Leaning into her with one shoulder, he reached awkwardly into his front pocket and scrounged for the ever-present handful of mismatched polyhedral die, which he tossed to the floor, a field of shimmering stars around what he’d written across the landscape of her Pepto-Bismol carpet.

“Wait.” Chrissy’s head lifted from her forearms. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Does that say—”

It did indeed. Eddie had arranged her plethora of pens to read 

NERD

“You are such a nerd,” he whispered, creasing his brow and dipping his chin for emphasis. He wondered if she could somehow read on his face what he was really thinking.

Chrissy looked back at him and smiled like he’d just placed a crown on her head. He swallowed. Maybe she could read his thoughts. Eddie tucked her lovely smile away into his own mental hoard, for safekeeping.

“Takes one to know one,” she said, cutting the inhalation for his retort short with a kiss.

He nodded his fervent agreement until her widening grin made further kissing more difficult, but not impossible.

The eraser lay forgotten on the floor with the rest of the hoard. 

[lapetitechatonne]

Slept on Ships P1: Space Princess

Slept on Ships: Space Princess; Silent Jasmines hello!! so after taking a look at the very long Batpham shipping chart and seeing so many slept on ship dynamics, i decided to start a series all about highlighting romantic and platonic dynamics that---in my professional opinion---deserve more love. i'll be starting with the first dp/dc ship i created: Space Princess.

Space Princess: Dani Phantom/Mar'i Grayson

Relevant Background

so, in general, if you're not knee deep in the DC Fandom, you might now know who Mar'i Grayson, aka Nightstar, is. Mar'i Grayson is the daughter of Dick Grayson, aka Nightwing, and Koriand'r, aka Starfire, from Earth-22. she appears in the Kingdom Come series, where she has her own issue and everything! she's shown as protective of her family, like her father, and just as strong-willed as her mother.

if you'd like more info on Mar'i here's a like to the wiki article: Mar'i Grayson (Earth-22)

fun fact: in Kingdom Come, Dick and Kori are actually divorced, while in most fanfic, people portray them as together. Mar'i is also part of the Teen Titans on her earth, along with Lian Harper and Irey West.

in this post i'll be reference a few head canons such as; Dani being considered a Princess in a Ghost King Danny au and Dani possibly having an ice core (we don't know what core she has in canon.)

Why is the dynamic interesting?

they are prime Sun and Moon couple energy

Mar'i who lives her life in the sun as a public figure, her powers fuled by the sun and just as bright as her, while Dani hides in the shadows of society, lurking. giving Dani and ice core adds an extra layer of opposites.

they are equal parts soft sapphic girls, and battle hardened heroes. they're both incredibly capable political figures (in a Ghost King Danny Au) who always have to put up a front, they have to be the perfect leaders their kingdoms need them to be. they would understand each other in ways that other people couldn't

i also imagine them bonding over being the child of very famous/rich parents.

they also have colorful girlfriend and grunge girlfriend vibes.

Dani deserves to run Tameran like a fortune five hundred company while Mar'i is off being a superhero. the dynamic works strangely well for them.

Dick and Kori would love Dani, and if Mar'i doesn't marry her they're adopting her

Mar'i can be scary when she wants to, just like her mom. Dani thinks it's very hot.

Mar'i inherits her mother's height, which makes her both taller and stronger than Dani, and Dani would love it.

i like to imagine Dani having purple eyes or powers later down the road (since Vlad's are pink and Danny's are green/blue) which would make them almost opposites. it could be a fun story device to use.

A lot of people compare Mar'i to her mother, but realistically, i think she would be a lot like her dad's family, specifically Tim. it would be fun to explore the dynamics between Mar'i and Tim as niece and uncle, and they dynamic between Mar'i and Damian as sort of siblings (yes, i am a 'Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's dad' fan). it could be prime real estate for a little bit of Danny/Damian or Dan/Tim or Jazz/Cass on the side.

Mar'i inherited her mom/dad's anger, and he Uncle Tim's ability to compartmentalize her feelings until she breaks. enough said.

through Mar'i, and by extension the batfam, Dani learns what real love looks like. she finally understands how abusive Vlad was to her. this could be in the context of a Vlad trying to redem himself, or a Vlad trying to manipulate Dani back into his life, but now she knows better.

with how much Mar'i hung around Raven as a kid, it would be interesting if Mar'i knew that Dani was not normal before everyone else. maybe Mar'i even knows a little bit of magic.

Some Prompt Ideas

a photographer and model au

Dani joins the Teen Titans and meets Nightstar

Vlad and Bruce are business rivals, but neither Dani or Mar'i particularly care and get together anyways.

Mar'i sees a clip of Dani in her ghost form with her green powers and thinks she's Tameranian. Mar'i channels her inner Uncle Tim and goes all detective to find Dani.

Dani is a mechanic and Mar'i is a student who refuses to get her very old car replaced.

Mar'i gets lost in the Zone after the destruction of her universe. She had no idea what to do or where to go. Dani finds her, and together they traverse worlds they were never meant to see.

Fic Recs

(i will admit the second one is self-promotion but i'm working with a small pool of fics lol)

Our Love Will Last Us by foldingfacets (READ THE TAGS)

Dani fell in love with the hot girl who watched her smash her skateboard into a dude without care. Little did she know the girl saw her first and fell in love faster. Maybe, just maybe, Dani doesn't have to be alone anymore. Maybe Mar'i would stay.

Can I have this Dance? by petitechatonne

When Dani goes to a gala with Sam, originally intent on keeping her friend company, she meets someone who sweeps her off her feet. Literally.

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this paring has the ability to be cute and horrifyingly angsty at the same time, with a good helping of family chaos on the side!!! i will admit i'm quite bias about this one as the first ship i really made, but i also think they have the potential to have interesting and complex stories. there aren't enough sapphic pairings in the dp/dc fandom and yes, i am trying to single-handedly change that. join the revolution today!!!

-- find the wonder in creating. love, Kate💗

[prince-rowan-of-the-forest]

silly soulmate au prompt: the characters can see all colors except for the one of their soulmates eyes until they meet them? (from @virgeandhis-pocket-protector)

@virgeandhis-pocket-protector hi :)

Over The Rainbow (1/4) - Patton

-----

Reds oranges and pinks almost always took centre stage in his drawings and paintings - after all, they were the only colours Roman could see, but the backgrounds were always made up of shades of grey - for him - that would be bright, vibrant colours for everyone else. They represented how he saw the world, and being honest… Roman was a little scared for it to change.

Later on, he would wonder why he worried.

He saw blue first.

----

| Ao3 | Next Chapter -> |

Fic Warnings: Nothing overarching aside from Remus being himself - any chapter-specific warnings will be in the notes.

Pairings: DLAMP, platonic creativitwins.

Notes:

This one got away from me a little and now I have a whole college/soulmate au. oops?

I've sat down and written almost 5k in one session... oops???

Anyway, this is eventual DLAMP! Each chapter we get a new soulmate added to the pile :))

I really hope you enjoy!

----

Roman couldn’t see colour. 

That was a common soulmate tell, and he knew it was a soulmate tell and not regular colourblindness because he coud see pink and red just fine. 

What was odd about Roman was just how many colours he couldn’t see. 

He’d been drilled enough by his family and friends - and even a colourblind specialist to make sure this wasn’t just regular colour blindness - to determine which colours he couldn’t see, which was… most of them.

They’d determined he must have at lest two soulmates - if both of them happened to have heterochromia - or at lesat five if they didn’t. There was always the chance for there to be more than that, considering many people had the same eye colours. Though having five was rare enough anyway. Even having two soulmates was rare enough. 

Roman didn’t know how to feel about it. Not entirely. 

He was excited to meet his soulmates - of course he wss! He was Roman, for goodness sake, he wrote romantic poems in hopes that he might recite them to his soulmates whenever he was to meet them. He read romance novel upon romance novel that included soulmates meeting in wondrous ways, he was so excited to meet them. 

Especially the ones with Violet and Yellow eyes, because those certainty weren’t common eye colours - hell, even the doctor had been surprised - by the yellow especially, since purple was at least possible if not rare. 

So yes, as Roman prepared to move states for college, he was excited to find his soulmates. 

But he had also… struggled. 

Roman was an artist. People told him he had a talent with pencils and paints. He loved putting paint down on a canvas, creating shapes and patterns with his brushes - and he’d found a way to make colourblindness almost part of his brand. 

Reds oranges and pinks almost always took centre stage in his drawings and paintings - after all, they were the only colours Roman could see, but the backgrounds were always made up of shades of grey - for him - that would be bright, vibrant colours for everyone else. They represented how he saw the world, and being honest… Roman was a little scared for it to change. 

Later on, he would wonder why he worried. 

He saw blue first. 

—

In college Roman was sharing a dorm room with his twin brother. He’d considered when applying that rooming with a stranger might be a good idea - a way to make a friend, or maybe even meet a soulmate if he was lucky - but in the end he’d backed out. He was glad Remus was coming to college with him, and while he was near certain that sharing a bedroom with his brother wasn’t going to be amazing, it would be… better, than a complete stranger. 

He’d immediately gone about applying for jobs on campus - god knows he needed the money - and that’s where he’d come across Blue, or as he now knew them, Patton. 

It was a rather sunny Saturday morning, and he’d been invited to a campus cafe for an interview after he’d submitted his application a few days ago. The place was nice - Roman had no idea if the walls were actually grey, or if they were just painted a colour he couldn’t see, but it was nicely decorated and smelled like fresh coffee and spice - as a coffee shop should. 

The person behind the counter was currently wiping down the espresso machine - the morning rush had died down by now so the shop wasn’t so busy. They had curly hair that brushed their jaw in a pale grey - Roman couldn’t know what colour it really was, but he suspected blonde from the lightness. They were turned away from him now, but Roman couldn’t help but still think they were pretty.

“Excuse me?” Roman said as he approacthed the counter, “I have a job inter- holy shit!”

“Language!” The person with sparkling blue eyes seemed to say almost on instinct, before gasping in surprise, “You’re orange!” 

“What- oh! Yes! You’re blue!” Roman said, face breaking into a bright smile as he blinked his amber eyes, “And so are the walls in here, oh my goodness!”

The barista - who’s nametag read ‘Patton’ leant across the counter, reaching for him, and Roman stepped closer to take his hands, “This is amazing! I didn’t expect to meet you here - oh! I’m Patton, um, I’m majoring in children’s education, and, uh, uh, what else? Well obviously I work in this shop-”

Roman chuckled, “Easy there - I’m sure we can get to know each other properly soon? I’m Roman, uh- do you have a napkin?”

“Yes, why?” Patton asked, passing him a napkin, on which Roman wrote down his name and phone number in sparkly red gel pen - he carried it everywhere, just in case. 

“I have a job interview I really need to get to,” Roman said, “But here, take this, and we’ll get coffee soon, yeah?”

“Absolutely! Oh I’m so excited - wait - you’re the guy here for the job interview? Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! I’ve made you late!”

Roman shook his head, “No worries, really, I’m actually quite glad about this particular distraction.” 

He winked and then grinned as he watched Patton’s face go red as they started spluttering, before shaking their hands and giggling. 

“I’ll um, I’ll be back with the manager,” Patton squeaked, before running out of a side door in about three seconds flat. Roman couldn’t help but chuckle, unable to keep the grin off of his face - he’d met the first one of his soulmates! Oh he couldn’t wait to tell Remus about this!

—

“So,” Patton said, elongating the vowel as they leant forward to look at Roman, who laughed. They’d gotten coffee as promised, but decided to take a walk through the campus instead of sitting to drink it, “Have… you met any of the others yet?”

Roman took a sip from his coffee, smiling at Patton before looking up at the bright blue sky - Roman hadn’t been able to stop staring at the sky since he’d met Patton, he’d probably painted it enough to make anyone else bored of seeing it by this point. 

“Not yet,” Roman answered with a wistful sigh, “I wonder if we share them all?”

“Id hope we do!” Patton said, nearly hopping with optimism, “I mean, I know some poly people prefer like - relationship chains, but I like it when everyone’s dating everyone, so that would be my ideal - you?”

“Oh same, I think I’d get jealous if my partners were dating people I wasn’t also dating,” Roman nodded, “So we’re still looking for… maybe four people?”

“I still can’t see green, purple, brown or yellow,” Patton said, bouncing on the balls of their feet as they walked, “Oh I can’t wait to see how pretty rainbows are! Or the grass! I’ve been told the grass and trees look lovely.”

Roman couldn’t help but smile at the other’s excitement, “Me too-! I really want to make a big painting symbolising all of us once we’ve all met - using all the colours properly.”

“You paint?” Patton gasped, grabbing Roman’s arm with one hand to stabilise themself as they almost tripped, “That’s so neat! I’m so awful at art.”

“I do!” Roman nodded, before glancing up at the sky as he got another idea… for later, “I’m sure you’re not that bad?”

“I am,” Patton chuckled, “I am that bad, thanks for trying to reassure me, though.”

Roman shook his head, “Maybe I can show you some things.”

“Maybe!” Patton grinned, “That could be fun! Oh - what’s your major?”

Immediately, Roman brightened, “I’m doing theatre, with minors in creative writing and illustration.”

“Wow!” Patton gasped, “That’s a lot! You look happy with it! Are you in the theatre club? I know my roomie Remy is part of it.”

“You’re roommates with Remy?” Roman asked, shocked, “I’m genuinely surprised you’re still sane.”

“Awee c’mon, he’s not that bad,” Patton waved a hand, “I take it that’s a yes?”

“Yeah! I’ve only been to one meeting so far though.” Roman grinned, “But Remy already seems like… he had a lot of character.”

“You can say that again,” Patton giggled, “Okay - next question…. Hmm…. thoughts on cats?”

—

“Hello, I’m-”

“Patton, the soulmate Ro’s been raving about nonstop the past two weeks to the point where I actually went outside to sleep in the dumpster, yea, I know who you are,” Roman’s twin brother interrupted Patton, his giggles counteracting the words, “Not that I wouldn't’ve done that anyway.”

“Remus!” Roman hissed, “You’re gonna scare him off!”

Remus rolled his eyes, “I’m not gonna censor myself for your fucking soulamte-”

“Language-”

“-If Patty here can’t handle me he doesn’t deserve you,” Remus continued as though Patton hadn’t even spoken, he walked over and plopped down on his messy bed, “So, have you two sucked face yet or what? Any kinky shit?”

“ Remus! ” Roman cried as Patton squeaked and covered their face to hide the dark blush, Roman did nothing to hide the equally vivid blush on his own face, “ No! ”

“Awee that sucks,” Remus huffed, “What have you two even been doing if you haven’t fucked yet? It’s been like - a month.”

Roman just sighed, “Patton, you don’t have to listen to him.”

“It’s- it’s okay,” Patton said, chuckling awkwardly, “Um, yeah, it’s uh, it’s nice to meet you, Remus.”

“Wow!” Remus grinned, “This guy really is resilient! Maybe he does like you after all, Ro!”

“Of course I like Roman!” Patton yelped, “We just - we wanna wait for a relationship to happen naturally, because being a soulmate doesn’t mean you have to rush into a relationship - and besides, we still have others to meet! I don’t want them to feel left out!”

Remus made a gagging noise before rolling his eyes at Roman, “You really had to find the sunshine one first? Not like - I dunno, someone cool?”

Roman just sighed, “Patton I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay!” Patton giggled, winking at Roman before bounding over to sit on Roman’s bed across from Remus, “So, you wanna hear about the time I beat up a kid outside a Denny’s in highschool?”

“ Do I! ” Remus gasped, grinning and leaning forwards so far that Roman thought he might fall off of his bed - he seemingly pulled a bag of popcorn from… somewhere as Patton began to explain and Roman could already tell that they’d won Remus over with this one. 

Roman couldn’t help but sit down at his desk to listen intently too.

Apparently, the kid in question had been in Patton’s year - a junior, at the time - and had been bullying a few freshmen Patton had been decent friends with at the time. Somehow, Patton defending the kids had gone far enough that they ended up fighting the kid outside a Denny’s at night - and winning, mind you. The kid hadn’t done much bullying after that. 

they’d become something of an older brother figure to the younger teens in highschool - with the teachers not wanting to do anything about reported bullying, someone had to step in. Honestly, Roman was impressed by the dedication that Patton seemed to have for taking care of people.

“That,” Roman said once Patton had finished their story, face a flustered red, “Was…. so unexpected.”

“Not bad, though, right?” Patton asked, worried, “I mean - maybe I should’ve have gotten physical-”

“No man!” Remus interrupted, “That’s so fucking cool, dude, how the hell did you win a fight like that? You look like a breeze could knock you over!”

“Oh, well, I uh, I did a lot of sports as a kid - swimming, gymnastics, some soccer,” Patton listed, “So I got pretty strong, and my mums made sure I knew self defense just in case…”

“That is awesome ,” Roman grinned, “I’m glad our soulmates can count on us to protect them!”

“Aboslutely!” Patton nodded rapidly, “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt any of you!”

“Hear hear,” Roman nodded.

“If anyone hurts either of you I will rip their throats out,” Remus cackled, “With my teeth .”

“Glad to know you got our backs, buddy,” Patton said, giving Remus a thumbs up.

Yeah, Roman thought, t his might work out alright after all. 

---

tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @reptilianrapscallion420 @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti

| Ao3 | Next Chapter -> |

[cielcreations]

Colorful Solidarity - Prompt/Idea

I blame @rainbowchaox because they commented on my Colorful Tango prompt and then I got brainrot and now we’re here-

Anyways, the Jimmys! For this idea, I thought instead of just doing different emotions, they would be different types of bird hybrids. Depending on the bird determines their personality! And, of course, they all love Tango!

Solidarity Clones:

Red - Cardinal Solidarity, super lucky, always smiling and laughing, tries to help everyone he can, goes mining and somehow comes back with 2 stacks of diamonds, loves to just stare at Tango because pretty

Orange - Sun Conure Solidarity, extremely confident and impulsive, seems to have no fear, will often just be flying around because he loves the wind in his wings, he loves to feel free, takes Tango flying the most

Yellow - OG Solidarity aka Canary Solidarity, unlucky, very clumsy, wet cat of a man (bird?), clingy to Tango, just normal Solidarity

Green - Ruby-Throated Hummingbird Solidarity, super sweet, extremely encouraging, hates when people fight, super fast, mind is running 100 miles a minute, cannot stay still, Tango has to hug him to keep him still

Blue - Bluejay Solidarity, the smartest of the Solidaritys, can actually do redstone, more often than not reading a book, because he prefers to read he doesn’t always talk, will read to Tango if asked

Purple - Violet-Backed Starling Solidarity, easiest to communicate and express feelings too, best at comforting people, the most sympathetic and empathic, really good at calming people down and making them cooperate, actually really shy with Tango 

Pink - Rose-Breasted Cockatoo Solidarity, loves to entertain people, will team up with Oli to preform a song, loves to dance and show off, often preforms at Chromia, gives Tango private shows where he sings about love

Grey/Black - Raven Solidarity, a lot of people are scared of him, mute, is actually really scared of people because he knows ravens mean death and he doesn’t want to hurt people, cries when given physical affection because he feels loved, Tango makes sure to remind him he’s amazing and pretty and that he doesn’t need to hide

White - Dove Solidarity, always has a soft smile on his face, calm cool and collected, breaks fights up and makes sure the people make up, only gets angry when you purposely mess up his wings, other than him only Tango is allowed to preen his wings because “I only want the best to tough my wings”

I have a problem-

[what-if-i-just-did]

Destiel Prompt List 25. Dean has internalized homophobia.

Trigger Warnings: internalized homophobia, mentions of dead homophobic father

P R I D E

Dean looks at the colours and the people in front of him, and he feels something he's gotten quite used to, only magnified to a thousand; it's the feeling of wanting something desperatly, while simultaniously feeling guilty or even hating himself for wanting it. But well, if he's here on a case anyways, and Cas is here, and there's some kind of Queer Pride thing going on in this little backwater town that nobody will ever care about, (and his Dad's been dead for quite a few years,) then maybe, maybe, he could perhaps, possibly, slightly join in on the festivities.

Dean's been getting better at this, he really has. He can call himself bisexual in his head without flinching, and he's said it to Cas a few times, and even though he's never said it to Sam he knows Sam knows because he's not exactly been subtle. He's stopped feeling guilty when he kisses Cas, because how could he feel guilty about his angel ever, and okay it's still hard to admit that he's a natural bottom, even to himself, but he can admit it. So.. maybe this is exactly what he needs? ...

So that's what he tells himself when he subtly brings it up over breakfast the next day. "So, you've probably noticed the whole.. queer thing going on here, right?", he says nervously. Okay, maybe not so subtle. "...Yeah?" Sam says, confusedly. "Well uh, I was just thinkin', if it's still here once we've wrapped the case, we might.. well, we could join in? I mean, Sammy you don't have to come if you don't wanna or whatever I just thought me and Cas might go, y'know, -" "Dean, it's fine. I'd love to go with you. The whole official support thing, I guess. I'd love to." "Oh. Okay" Dean smiles. He's still bad at this. He's getting better. "Cas?" "It's a great thought, Dean, I think I'll enjoy it. I don't technically belong to this group, being as angels have no gender, so my being attracted to you is neither hetero not homosexual, but seeing as the sex of my vessel is male I suppose it would be appropriate. And I'd be willing to suport you either way." Cas looks at him lovingly.

So that's how they end up, the next day, between all the people and colours and flags, so many of which he's never seen before... there's so many teenagers, and Dean's heart clenches when he sees a blonde freckled 17-year-old boy kissing another boy, because what if he could have done that and John woulda had his ass if he caught him doin' that and he actually needs to take a second to remind himself that his father is dead, now. He stares at the face-paint flag on a teenager's cheek for a little to long and suddenly she's asking if he wants one, too. "Oh- sure. I don't- I don't know which ones mean what.." he says, feeling a little stupid. (Is she a she? She doesn't seem like a she but she doesn't look like a he either.) She looks at him with a little pity and a lot of casual acceptance when she says, "That's fine. I've got.. queer, lesbian, trans, enby, bi, genderfluid and ace, so.. take your pick." "Uhm. B-Bi. Bisexual." "Cool." She says, and now he's got pink, purple and blue on his cheek. He.. doesn't hate it.

When he finds Sam and Cas again, Sam's wearing a pin that's black and white stripes with a kinda upside-down rainbow V in it and he says it means he's an ally. Cas explains to him about these words he just learnt like agender and demisexual and demiromantic and the difference between asexual and allosexual and Dean listens and enjoys it because he loves it when Cas loves something, and he loves that this is giving Cas exactly what it's supposed to; recognition, self-chosen labels and a feeling of belonging. He thinks maybe it's doing the same for him.

So yeah, Dean still has that voice in the back of his head and that sinking feeling in his gut. But the voice is pretty quiet and it isn't even talking, just letting out a long whine, and the sinking feeling in his gut is getting passive-aggresively waved away by the flaps of butterfly wings as he kisses Cas, and some part of him might always still panick at the thought of his Dad seeing any of this, but somehow he also feels safer than he ever has before. He has a home, he has a boyfriend, he has his brother and his car, and maybe, just maybe, life can be good today.

[kanamori-kamper-moved]

Astral/Shark kissing for the writing prompt (hmm I have to specify the kiss??? "Passionate"? Hmmm maybe? D:)

never wrote anything about this pairing but i'm excited!! hope you'll like this :DD

Here's the prompt list for anyone who wants to request anything!

--

Astral does not expect to fall in love with anyone, after all, his goal was to collect the number cards and regain his memories. Nothing more. But.. he did. And it was puzzling.

And to his surprise, it was not with Yuma. He did love Yuma, of course, how couldn't he? He was endlessly lovable, even if he tended to get sidetracked with the most benign things. But, he did not love (well, what he thought was love) him, for his affection belonged to Shark. (Or Reginald, which he seemed to hate being called).

He didn't know why he liked him. It was odd, frankly, for Astral to hold such a liking for this purple, flaming ball of aggressiveness.

For starters, Shark was reactionary, he was quiet, he always pushed Yuma away, and the worst of it, he was a bit of a tsundere. He abhorred those things. What was wrong with Astral?

It was the same for Shark, and it came as a surprise to him. They'd barely ever spoken, just a few passing words and glances. But why couldn't he get him off of his mind? It was clearer for Shark than ever for Astral.

Shark isn't romantic, and he isn't charming in the least bit. At least that's what he thinks. He's barely even affectionate to the people he loves most.

But, even with his self-doubts, the tension is getting to be too much. The both of them know it, hell, Yuma might even know it too. It's suffocating, whenever Yuma comes around with Astral (whose always stuck to him by the hip), he doesn't know whether to say hello or to blurt out that he likes him.

He was tired of watching him from afar. Shark absolutely detests these feelings.

So Shark finally does something about it.

He invites Yuma and Astral to go out and get lunch together. He knows Astral will tag along. After all, wherever Yuma goes, he seems to go.

Astral doesn't eat much. Anything, really. Nobody can see him anyway, and Shark would NOT go through the embarrassment of ordering for a blue ghost (He's sure Yuma would, though). But, Shark hasn't eaten much, too. There he is, quietly sipping on his cappuccino, all while Yuma talks and talks like the ADHD-brained, lovable fool he is. Astral is sitting next to him, intently listening. it's the middle of the day and barely anyone is around.

But, Yuma suddenly gets up from his seat, "Ah, I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back!" Yuma explains, "Maybe you shouldn't have asked for so many refills." Astral replies, eyeing Yuma's half-finished glass of soda on the table, among 3 other empty ones with half-melted ice miserably dying at the bottom. "Shush!" And then he's off.

It's almost like the stars are aligning in his favor. Yuma is gone, and they're all alone.

"What's your problem with me?" Shark swallows, breaking the silence between the two. His heart almost jumped out of his chest right then and there.

Astral always remains neutral, in most cases. He has always been a sort of injured baby deer, if it made any sense, "What problem? I don't see the problem."

"You know what I'm talking about." He huffs, Astral's studying his face closely. "There's no need to be gentle about it, Reginald." Shark tenses up at the use of his first name, "Do you love me?" How could he have known? Did he make it obvious? There were so many questions swarming in his head, buzzing like flies and honeybees.

"Fine. We can call it love." He's sweating, shaking, almost. Shark doesn't even realize it at first, but he's flushed and turning pink.

"Yuma will be back soon. Kiss me or leave it."

Straight to the point, huh?

 Quickly, Shark grabs Astrals illuminating blue shoulders. He pulls him close and smashes his lips against his. He does it so fast, Astral would scoff about it if he wasn't being kissed.

Astral doesn't feel at all like he expected. His skin is cold, almost as if it had been freezing for years. The soft glow that emanated off of him was tingly on his skin. It only adds to Sharks' desperation, and Astral's too. Their tongues dance in a rhythm, each movement an unspoken declaration of their desire. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and connection, a kiss that transcended words and touched the deepest recesses of their souls.

Shark's lips are warm, the lips of humans were always so comforting to Astral but he never knew how to put his ghostly finger on it. Shark has that coffee smell on him too, it's intoxicating, almost sweet as a flower.

And finally, Shark pulled away. He needed to breathe, Astral did not.

"Hey, what'd I miss?" Yuma walks back to the table.

It was like nothing even happened. How did Astral do it? The afterglow of the kiss is plastered on Shark's face. "Nothing, me and Reginald were just having fun while you were gone." He replies.

Shark will so get Astral back for this. But not now, later.

[moonstonesundrop]

After Enid recovers, Wednesday falls ill (Playing Nurse, Part 2)

Read it on AO3!! Tumblr version below the cut.

Prompt: Despite taking an exuberant amount of Vitamin D while taking care of her sick girlfriend, Wednesday falls ill mere hours after Enid recovers.

“Wen, you’re sweating buckets.”

“I don’t sweat.”

Enid crosses her arms. “Then why are you glistening?”

Wednesday doesn’t reply. They’re standing at the divide in their room, sans the black duct tape on the floor. Enid makes a quick motion with her hands.

May I?

Wednesday nods.

Enid touches her forehead and squeaks. “You’re burning up. I got you sick! Get in bed, come on.”

“I don’t like to be doted on like you do.” Wednesday says, climbing into her bed anyway.

“I know, but I feel so so bad. What can I do that won’t upset you?” Enid wrings her hands, looking sad.

Wednesday thinks for a moment. “I want to wear one of your shirts. And sleep in the same bed.”

Enid beams at this, her blue eyes sparkling. “I have a black and white one!” She bought it at one of her preferred boutiques on one of their dates last week, specifically in case Wednesday ever asked. And she slept in it a few times before falling ill herself, so it definitely still smelt like her.

Enid jogs to her closet and pulls it out, spritzing it once with her perfume to be safe. She recalls how stuffy her nose was and knows Wednesday will likely be unable to smell her if its more subtle.

“For you, my sickly love.”

“That has a nice ring to it. Thank you, Enid.” Wednesday raises her arms and Enid carefully helps her out of her shirt, pressing her lips to Wednesday’s bare shoulder on the way up.

“Don’t get distracted.” Wednesday murmurs, leaning into her.

“You sure?” Enid trails a line of warm kisses up her neck, open-mouthed.

Wednesday shivers, tilting her head back and reaching to hold Enid’s shoulders.

“You’re making it incredibly difficult for me to be sure, but yes, my head is starting to hurt. I’d like to sleep soon.”

Enid retreats and hums softly, helping Wednesday into her shirt.

“Okie dokie. Can I get you some medicine? Or something to eat?” Enid’s purple shirt is so soft in Wednesday’s hands.

She knows exactly what she wants.

“No, thank you. Will you join me now?”

“Mhm, just let me set some stuff up first.” Enid kisses her cheek, and Wednesday smiles a bit.

“Alright.” Wednesday reaches in her nightstand and pulls out her black earplugs. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Wen.” Enid moves quickly. She collects everything Wednesday used to take care of her: a face cloth, trash can, a thinner blanket, and some cough drops, swapping her pink items for Wednesday’s black and white equivalents.

Once Wednesday is all set up, Enid drags her bed over so they can snuggle and watch something on her laptop, which Wednesday allows herself to watch, if only to understand Enid’s interests.

“Is this too much doting?” Enid says, rubbing Wednesday’s back and kissing the top of her head. Wednesday is practically wrapped around her, eyes drooping with the sustained effort of staying awake.

“Never tell anyone. Not even Thing.” Who is luckily taking a vacation in Yoko’s room after burning his thumb trying to make Enid’s soup that afternoon. He needed space.

Enid grins, focusing on her show. “Promise I won’t.”

Wednesday is out like a light.

[small-sinclair]

Forgiveness is the Hardest Part

This is a warm up for another writing prompt.

Another idea based off this post by @sketchy-rosewitch. I thought about it and went through it over the phone with my sister (she doesn't know what HoW is, but she likes that I'm finally writing again :3). Anyways, enjoy this angsty one.

Maybe there's a part 2 or something? Let me know!

Bo x male!Oc (Anthony)

Tw: mentions of deaths and murders, character injury, gun, near death oc, religious themes mention, blood, mention of past tortures/abuse, hints of homophobia, not proofread

The soft pinks that light the dusk sky lowered to a deep purple, fading into the night's heat in Louisiana. The clouds from the day left to give onlookers a clear night's view, and the full moon shined its light below to guide a path through the dense forest road leading back to Ambrose. Lester's truck jumped back and forth as he drove with the passenger next to him, who was clenching a small black backpack.

His white collar under the black folds of his shirt shined like a stars in the sky that night. His dark brown hair was tucked under a Green Bay Packer's ball cap, worn from work and faded by the sun. His heavy green eyes were tired from tonight's events that left him at the mercy of a stranger, and his head pounded as if he was by the loudest speaker. His left leg broken and bruised, but he didn't seem to wince at his pains as he held his mother's rosary between his fingers. He was the youngest clergy server in his group strong and built well enough to lift two spare tires with ease, and he's the only one that was... tainted. Maybe that's the men did all those things? Tortured him by burning his arms and back, cutting too deep into his legs until he couldn't walk, kept punching him until stars was seen in the sunlight.

His God suffered, so he has too as well. That's how sinners are forgiven--that have to suffer to find the light once more before relaxing in the waters in the spring.

"'Bout there," Lester reassured again. "Bo'll fix ya righ' up, Father."

"Please, Lester," the pastor looked over at Lester, trying to meet his brown eyes, "call me Anthony. Ain't a Father yet."

Lester tapped nervously at the wheel as they came closer to the town's lights and the soft music from the speakers above the streetlamps. He didn't feel comfortable bringing a man of faith to this place to die. Talk about leading the lamb to the slaughter, huh? Still, Lester forced a caring smile. "'S a nice name, Anthony."

Anthony leaned his head against the glass, silently sending a prayer of blessings for Lester and his kindness. If he didn't show up when he did to haul off the roadkill deer, Anthony might've been through worse. He closed his eyes, praying Lester would have carefree days with ease and to have thanks for his service of deposing God's creatures. He rested his hand on the seat, praying over his truck for safe travels and for it to take Lester miles away from here.

When he was finished, he felt the truck die and Lester getting out. Anthony opened the door and helped himself out, Lester joining his side to help support him to get inside the little gas station. The gas station looked like it was stuck in time as if it was still the 1950s, but he loved it! He loved the orange and blue lights and the little "Gas" sign over the pumps; he felt like he stepped into a slice of heaven. Inside the station, it smelled like rust and oil, a smell he knew all too well from his childhood thorough working in his dad's shop.

He groaned as Lester sat him down in the black chair by the door, and Lester hurried around the counter. "Le' me go see if he's still 're."

"Take your time," Anthony said through a painful smile, trying to stay as polite as he could. "I got all night."

Lester gave one last look behind him before going into the back. Of course, Bo would be down stairs in his... what the hell should Lester call it? Sex dungeon? Prison? Chamber of Torture and Pleasure? All he knows is he hates going down there to see if Bo is there with a "pretty little thing". He knocked on the closed door before entering, almost regretting his choice. He turned his head away at the smell of fresh blood and Bo's spice, but he was glad to see no dead girl strapped to the chair like the last time.

Bo was at the chair, cleaning it with bleach and vinegar. He looked up at Lester and raised a brow. "The hell's matter with ya?" He snapped, throwing the rag down. "You know betta than ta be down here!"

Lester flinched at his voice. "Bo, we have another one--"

"Good," Bo said, wiping his hands on his blue jeans. "Still in the mood fer some killin'."

"Not this one."

Oh... this is new.

Bo stepped over his cleaning supplies and towered over Lester. "The hell do ya mean?" He tilted his head as his eyes stated dangerously calm.

"There's a hurt pastor upstairs," Lester stated. "And I don't want ya to kill 'im."

Bo's hands gripped Lester's faded red jacket as he shoved his brother against the wall. "Tellin' me wha' to do? Because the last I checked, ya don't kill people, yellow belly."

Lester's face harden but his eyes fell. He knew he couldn't stop a storm or a tornado, but he was hoping to to tray and calm this one. "Fine," his voice was low and sad, "but make it quick? Don't want 'im to suffer more than he 'lready has."

Before Bo could ask what he meant, the sound of tires pulling overhead outside made them look up through the drain above. They stayed silent as they heard car doors slam, men laughing and howling when they see something--or someone-- they've been hunting. Lester's hands pushed his brother back and led the way upstairs, Bo, who was still confused as all hell, went up after him.

Pastors don't fight, unless you're Father Quintin, who kicked Bo's ass when he was caught stealing from the alter plate when he was a teenager. So, why did it shock him to see two men drawing a man with a broken black collar towards the street? Why did his stomach hurt when he heard one of the four men hitting the other's eye, bruising it raw until blood flowed from the brow? Why did his eye twitch in anger when one pulled a knife to stab the other? Why did it feel so right to run back into the garage and take the shotgun off the wall, taking off the safety, and rushing out to join his brother--

Anger boiled heat as his blood ran cold when he saw Lester on the gravel. Blood trickled down his forehead as a one of them men stood over him with a blooded, hardback Bible in hand. Lester lifted his head to meet Bo's bright blues before his head laid down, his body doing limp in a snap...

Then there was a flash to something from before. The sight of the bloodied Bible corner and his little brother on the ground took him back to the time when his father was drunk, and he tried to "beat the devil" out of his little brother. He felt like he was reliving a frozen moment in his life, but the only difference between that helpless boy and now was that Bo has a fully loaded shotgun.

"Hey!" Bo's voice was hard as he got the man's attention. Without warning, he shout the Father between the eyes. God, that felt good.

The gunshot rung throughout the silent town, making three men look towards Bo and their fallen friend. Bo grinned wickedly as he pumped the shotgun back in action, pointing it at the man who was hitting the other. Forgiveness won't come easily after this, Bo knows this, but he was far from holy light. He was bathed in the muddy waters of the swampland and blessed by led and iron.

In a hurry, they dropped their "friend" and ran off in different directions. Bo raised his gun and shot the back of one and missed the other two, but they'll do. They were heading right towards Vincent's hellscape. He hoped that it was hell on earth for the holiest of folks.

Bo unloaded the gun as he walked over to the bleeding pastor.

He was clinching his rosary tightly as Bo's shadow crossed over him like an angel's shadow over a fallen devil. The click of his gun made the stabbed pastor jolt and he lifted his head, but Bo didn't find his eyes to be fearful or horrified of him. Bo's stomach emptied as he watched the man struggle to his knees, black shirt ripped at the sleeves, and he sat on the back of his legs. Glazed eyes looked up at him, right at him, as a river of blood flowed from his lips and nose. The white under his black collar stained from dirt and bloodshed by his own brother, and it made his chest swell in hurt and butterflies.

He looked like Saint Sebastian. the one with arrows littering his body but still alive.

"You... you Bo?" The man breathed out, tired and hurt. "'M Anthony." Why did the lights hurt his eyes? Where was the fog coming from? "Les-Lester talked of... of you?" Anthony's eyes rolled back as his body fell to the side. He readied himself to hit his head, but rough, callous hands caught him, and he was rested against the warmth of someone's thigh.

His eyes parted to see the most beautiful angel in blue mechanic uniform and curly brown hair under a "Sweetbird '69" trucker's hat. But those blue eyes... goodness, grace him with the ocean and he would turn away just to see those instead. He could've sworn he saw the River of Jordan reflecting in Bo's eyes, forever locked and still in rage and sadness. How many sins does Bo feel on a daily? How many times did he fall to his knees for forgiveness at night? Anthony wanted to hear every hymn pour from his lips and answer any prayer he had. But why is God showing him his best angel at his last moments on earth? Why now?

"Hang in there, Father," Bo said, his hand over the stab wound. "I'll get you help."

"Bo," Anthony repeated, a small smile curling on his lips. Everything was feeling darker than before. It was getting harder to stay awake as his head pounded. His chest raised and fell, feeling skin from the wound rip slowly. He heard the echoes of screams and painful cries from a darken wax house, but his eyes drifted to the clear skies above. So many stars painted on a black canvas tonight. What a blessing it is to share it with him. "Bo," he whispers, saying his name as if it's the most holiest thing on his tongue; as if it was the beautiful name he's ever heard. He had to say it one more time, just once more. Let him call his angel by his name one more time, dear Lord. "Bo..."

The moon reflected off his eyes, showing the stars above back in Bo's. Bo swallowed dryly as he held the Father closer in his arms. His listened to his dragged breaths and drawn-out sighs. Bo closed his eyes as the warmth of the blood flowed through his closed fingers, falling like a river on the street below. He felt like Mary holding her son for the last time, and it wasn't a feeling he wanted to have. It's like he was born to hold dying faiths and believers. Inside his arms, he was the keeper of death and final wishes for the dead, and deaths like these made his heart break.

Lester hated seeing people die, and now he knows why. He knows why he doesn't kill a human or want to be around when their last breaths caved out of collapsing chests and lungs.

Wheezing, Anthony tugged Bo on his button shirt. Glazed eyes looked upon him as if he was more than a killer, more than human and flesh mixed together. His lips moved, but no noise escaped. He tried again, wanting to forgive Bo for his sins, but his words were choked and hard to force out--

"It alright, Father," Bo reassured, a sad smile formed over his lips. "You c'n res' now. I'll take 'i from 're."

The full moon casts her light through twisted trees and branches from behind. Anthony squinted his eyes and gasped softly. The angel in the mechanic suit looks as if he was a fallen angel crawling back from hell after being rejected from the Lord, and it broke his heart more. His lips a soft pink and smooth to look at; skin warm and rough from hard work. Shining blue eyes filled with regret, and Bo's heart started aching just to see the fading air that escaped Anthony's lips. Maybe in a different life he and Bo would be happy? Maybe he would've came sooner and found safety in Bo's arms and gaze? Anyone would be lucky--

Bo clicked his tongue as he stood up, carrying the father in his arms as if he was a child. "No, Father," Bo said in a hushed voice. The warm southern wind wrapped around him, the leaves in the breeze sounding like wings wrapping around a strangling snake. How pathetic he must look to the ravens above and the stars that cross the careless sky. "Yer not dyin' 're." He shook his head as he heard Lester stir in the gravel. "Not in this hell."

Anthony wanted to know more, but his eyes rolled. the last thing he saw was the fading, wicked horns that the branches casts along Bo's skin.

[cascadedkiwi]

Colors [Comfortember 2023]

Characters: Micah Yujin x "Angel" Visual Novel/Game: Error 143 Genre: Comfort (more fluff, I'm feeling) Summary: Micah turns Angel's nails into a rainbow. Word Count: 703

Alternative Prompt: 5. Colors

“Micah. Yujin.”

Micah chuckled, bouncing happily in his seat at the table. “Ah, ah. You lost our wager, Angel. I get to do what I want with these nails. All TWENTY of them.”

Angel looked over the spread of nail polish on the coffee table. Her boyfriend had every single color in her collection sat between them, along with some new colors she didn’t recognize. “You were planning this.”

“No, I wasn’t!” He cried innocently. “I bought them all for you as a gift. I saw them in the window at the store and they made me think of you!”

Angel held out her hand like a floating handkerchief. “Just get it over with.”

“Nah, ah-ah,” Micah singsonged. “I wanna start with these cute little toes.” He slid out of the chair and took one of her bare feet, sitting it on his thigh. 

She offered no resistance aside from wiggling her toes. 

Micah fit in toe spacers between her three middle toes. He pulled down the two closest colors from the tabletop, studying them for a moment. “Baby blue and silver, huh? That sounds cute.” He opened them both and set to work, alternating colors for each toe.

Angel watched his fingers. “You are… really good at this…”

“Only the best for my love,” Micah chirped without looking up. He switched out her foot for the other, patting around the table for new colors. “Red and black!” He pulled down another. “And pink!”

“You sound so excited but the colors really don’t matter, do they?” Angel asked, rocking her painted foot on its heel as it dried. 

He looked up at her, sticking out his forked tongue. “I want to at least make sure it’s a good combination to work with.” He placed one color on each toe, repeating pink on the pinkie toe and covering half the big toe’s nail. “Red or black?” He looked up at her.

She tilted her head.

“I’m actually giving you a choice here, Angel.”

“Black.”

“Great minds think alike.” He swiped it on smoothly. “And NOW the fingers!” He carefully rested her foot on the ground before popping back up onto the chair. 

Angel spread her hands, resigned to her colorful fate.

Micah waved his hand over the assortment, plucking one up at random. 

“That’s crackle nail polish,” Angel pointed out.

His eyes lit up. “Oooooooh, interesting! So we’ll crackle orange on top of…” Another random selection. “Yellow it is.” He lifted her pinkie finger.

Angel closed her eyes, leaving Yujin to his fun. She focused on her breathing, listening to Micah hum his song. She felt when he moved over to her left hand, listening arbitrarily to see if she could tell how many new colors he opened. He seemed to especially take his time, lifting each finger individually and carefully handling each digit between two of his own. After a while, her hands were placed back on the table.

“Angel~” Micah sang the nickname sweetly, like when he wanted something. “I’m all done~”

“Do I actually want to see what you did?”

“It’s not that bad, I promise!”

“I don’t trust it.” She opened her eyes anyway, examining the right hand first. Five different colors, including the orange crackle over the yellow base; her index and middle finger was purple. Her left hand sported only three colors, black, white, and green. She compared the two. Both her ring fingers were green, and her thumbs half black, half white. The left hand actually looked kind of cool, with her index, middle, and pinkie fingers sporting a black and white design, leaving the ring finger as an accent nail. He could've done both hands like that and she would've been fine. “Staking your claim?”

“I just wanted to try it out. The haf-and-half look is cool.” He twirled a lock of his striped hair subconsciously. 

She studied her left hand some more. "I gotta give you props for this hand, at least. I may have you do my nails for real sometime." She glanced at the other hand, then down at her toes where she had placed her feet on top of Micah's.

“And how long do I have to keep my nails like this?”

[epicaxolotls]

Worldbuilding i left out of the story/didn't make 100% clear because i wanted a hopeful ending (just skip to the cut if you just wanna read the fic):

Soulmarks that are already chosen come at age five. You choose your soulmark at 10/whenever you feel like it when you're over 10. When you choose your soulmark, if your soulmate is older than five, it immediately appears on them where you've chosen your soulmark to be- that soulmark doesn't appear on you, tho. you gotta remember it

Colors mean the type of relationship you're gonna have w/ your soulmate. Some of these are in the fic, some of them are not, some of them i just made up on the spot

None of them have much reason

Pink: Person who gave you the soulmark is/is like a parental figure

Red: Romantic

Orange: Person who gave you the soulmark is/is like your kid

Yellow: Friends (Like BFFs levels of friendship)

Green: Person who gave you the soulmark is/is like like extended family (hyperspecific but idrc)

Blue: Person who gave you the soulmark is/is like your sibling

Purple: Platonic love

Yayy rainbow for pride

Anyways Tommy's parents are kinda crappy they're soulmates but hate each other and decide to make it Tommy's problem

Prompt: Soulmates

Words: 2,528

Tommy knew that soulmates were dangerous. His mom had explained it perfectly clear to him too many times for him to remember. Soulmates had one job: kill the other. That's what she and his dad had always told him.

Before they died, that is.

And before Tommy got his soulmarks.

He had to count them, over and over again, when he first woke up on his fifth birthday.

Three.

One on his ankle, a pink sword.

One on his left wrist, a blue guitar.

One on his right pinky finger, a green crow.

Three. He had three soulmates.

Three people that wanted to kill him.

Tommy never knew why foster parents would congratulate him on that. How they said that they 'hoped he'd find them soon' and shit.

Tommy was six. He couldn't kill anyone, and definitely not three people.

At least some kids were nice to him. Luke the older kid at the foster home he was at right now. They told him that they hoped Tommy would never find his soulmates. That was nice of them.

Tommy kind of liked the symbols, though. They were kind of pretty, even if they were really simple. He thought they made him look kind of cool, sometimes. Like tattoos!

But that probably meant his soulmates were really old, though. Kids Tommy's age can't even pick out their soulmarks yet! You can't do that until you're ten! So his soulmates have gotta be at least ten!

That was scary. So Tommy didn't like to look at his soulmarks too much, when he remembered that. It was hard to not see them, though, since there was one on each of his hands.

Tommy did watch for his soulmates, though. Anyone who had a matching symbol to his. That would mean they would be a soulmate of that person too.

Once he thought he saw someone with a crow on their wrist when he moved to a new school, but it turned out to be a cardinal. They got annoyed at him when they found out that they didn't have the same soulmate, but how would Tommy know! They looked the same from a distance!

Anyways, Tommy was moving into a new foster house today, because the older kid in the other one kept being mean to him and his foster mom didn't want to put up with it anymore.

His social worker drove further than usual to get to his new foster home. That was kind of weird. She had brought him to a really big building that she called an 'apartment complex', explaining, "You're probably gonna only be here for a bit, it's an emergency foster placement. We didn't get any warning before she gave you back to us, so it might take a bit for us to get you into a more permanent foster home."

Tommy nodded, even though he wasn't quite sure what that meant. Adults didn't usually like it when he asked too many questions, so he tried not to. Even though he kinda wanted to.

They went up an elevator, which Tommy thought was really cool. It didn't have windows, like some of the ones in movies, but he could still feel them moving up, and his social worker even let him push the buttons!

Then the elevator stopped, made a 'ding' sound, and the doors opened. When they stepped out, there was a really long hall that went both ways, which made Tommy pause. His social worker hadn't, though, and went right without a second thought. Tommy was quick to follow behind. He didn't want to get lost…

Honestly, the hallways were all a bit scary. Scarier than when he thought he might've found someone with the same soulmate as him. They had to walk around for a few minutes, and even his social worker looked confused! That wasn't good. What if they were lost, and they were stuck here?

But then his social worker found the door they were supposed to get to!

His social worker knocked on the door, and Tommy heard barking behind it.

They had a dog?

"Floof, no-" A man muttered as he opened the door, holding back a very fluffy dog. He then looked at the social worker, and explained something about the dog being excited.

Tommy wasn’t really listening, because he saw something. The man had pink hair! Pink! Hair!

The man then looked over at Tommy, and chuckled, "Tommy, right?"

Tommy realized his mouth had been open, quickly closing it and nodded. Still, pink hair! That was so fucking cool!

"Floof's not gonna do anything, he's just excited." The man assured as he opened the door wider and let them in. The dog immediately darted over to Tommy, and Tommy was about to do the thing where you let the dog sniff your hand, but Floof just started to lick Tommy's hand, making him laugh.

Tommy's social worker began talking to the man, but Tommy was happy to just play with the dog. None of the dogs he's met have ever been this friendly. They usually didn't care about him too much. Probably because they already meet a bunch of kids when one gets put in their home. But Floof was excited! Tommy liked that.

Tommy just stood there and petted Floof for a bit, only moving when the man came over to close the door.

Eventually, as the social worker and the man went over to the kitchen to keep talking about some things, Tommy got a bit bored. Floof was nice, but Tommy wanted to look around. So he did.

The apartment was nice. Tommy didn't really know what else to say about it. It's a bit smaller than the houses he's lived in, but that's gotta be big for an apartment! Probably!

He was careful not to open any doors, though. Foster parents usually didn't like it when he opened doors he wasn't supposed to. And Tommy didn't know what doors he wasn't supposed to open yet. He also didn't know if anyone else lived here, and if they would get mad if he opened any doors. So he decided to not do that.

Floof kept following him as he looked around, though. Tommy kept petting him, thinking that it would make the dog finally decide to leave, but that did the opposite, with Floof continuing to follow Tommy.

Eventually, Tommy got back to the kitchen, and his social worker smiled down at him, "Everything okay for me to go, then?" she asked, looking over at the man then back at Tommy.

Tommy nodded, and once he did, the man gave a small smile, "Then yeah, I think we're all good."

The social worker nodded, "You can call if you need anything." she said, then left.

Tommy stared up at the man.

The man crouched down so they were at the same level, "I'm Techno. You can just call me that." He said.

Techno already knew Tommy's name, so he didn't see why he needed to say his again. Instead, he said, "Your hair's cool."

Techno smiled, "Thanks. I think so too."

Tommy nodded. Techno was right, then, because Techno's hair was cool!

"Want me to show you your room?" Techno had then asked.

Tommy nodded.

《𝒻ᵤₙₖᵧ ₗᵢₜₜₗₑ ₜᵢₘₑₛₖᵢₚ》

Tommy liked living with Techno. He was nice, and Floof was nice.

Tommy found out that Techno did have a family, but they just didn't live with him. He said that his brother was a singer! Tommy had asked who, but Techno had said that he wouldn't know him.

Tommy's been here for a week, even though his social worker said that he wouldn't be there for long. Techno had said that his social worker just couldn't find any other foster homes right now, but that was okay, because Techno could take care of Tommy for as long as the social worker needed.

Honestly, Tommy didn't like the thought of leaving at this point. Floof would be sad!

…And Tommy would be a bit sad, too. Techno was a lot nicer than a lot of Tommy's foster parents. And he didn't talk about soulmates a lot, so that was nice. A lot of his foster parents talked about soulmates. Some even asked to see his soulmarks, to see if they were any of theirs.

They never would match up, in which Tommy was glad every time. Imagine one of his soulmates was one of his foster parents… that'd be scary.

But Techno never asked him. Tommy was glad about that.

Tommy was just coloring in the living room one day. He was trying to get Floof to sit still so that he could draw him, but the dog kept getting up and licking his face.

But then, Techno suddenly got up.

Tommy had jolted, looking over to Techno, who was staring…

Who was staring at his ankle.

"I gotta make a call." Techno muttered, going into the kitchen, and grabbing his phone on the way.

Tommy looked over at his ankle.

His sock had slipped down, and his soulmark of the pink sword was showing.

Tommy got up. He stared at where Techno had left.

Tommy was gonna die.

Tommy was gonna die, and Techno was gonna kill him, because Techno was one of his soulmates, and-

No, no, no-

Tommy ran down the hallway to his room. Floof ran after him, barking. Tommy tried to shush the dog, Floof obviously not understanding how bad this was.

This was really bad.

Should Tommy try to run?

No, because one of the locks on the door was too high up for him to reach. Techno would grab him before he could get out.

Tommy went into his room, and crawled underneath the bed. Floof followed, laying down next to him.

"Shhh." Tommy tried to shush the dog. At least Floof wasn't barking anymore.

Then, Tommy heard footsteps come down the hall, "Tommy?" Techno's voice called out. When Floof heard Techno, he darted out from under Tommy's bed, going straight to the man.

Tommy stayed still. Maybe Techno hadn't seen where Floof had come from-

Tommy could see Techno's pink socks in the doorframe of his room, "C'mon, kid, nothing's wrong. Why're you hiding?" Techno walked over to Tommy's closet, opening it up, looking for a bit, then closing it again.

Tommy was gonna die. Techno was gonna kill him. He was gonna grab Tommy from under the bed and kill him, because that was what he had to do.

Tommy didn't want to die. He could feel tears well up in his eyes, because he didn't want to die and Techno was gonna kill him and-

Tommy let out a sob.

Techno stopped.

Tommy froze.

No.

Tommy scrambled to the corner of the bed, the one where the two walls met. It was way too small for him to sit up, so he laid on his side, trying to curl up and be as small as possible.

He let out another sob. It didn't matter anymore. Techno was walking towards his bed, he was crouching down, and he-

He saw Tommy.

"Hey, kid, why're you crying? Tommy, hey-" As Techno moved onto the floor, Tommy watched his hands. Techno was gonna reach out, grab him, any second now.

"Tommy. I wanna help. Can you tell me why you're so scared?" Techno asked.

Tommy didn't look at Techno. He looked at the carpet on the floor as he shook his head.

Techno sighed. Tommy braced for him to grab him, to pull him out from his hiding spot and-

"Tommy. You can't just hide under there forever, and I can't do anything to help unless you let me." Techno said calmly.

Tommy looked up at Techno for a moment. Techno was looking right at him, and gave him a small smile, "It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it right now, though. D'you want me to go?"

Tommy didn't know. Because he liked Techno. Techno was nice! But Techno was his soulmate, and that meant that Techno was supposed to kill him, but Techno wasn't. Tommy knew Techno could reach under the bed and grab him if he really wanted. But instead he just stayed there.

Tommy shook his head. He didn't want Techno to go. He just didn't want Techno to kill him.

"Then could you tell me what's wrong?" Techno asked again.

This time, Tommy managed to mumble it.

Techno paused, "I couldn't hear you, kid. Could you say it a bit louder?"

"You're- you're one of my soulmates," Tommy said, voice small through his crying, "Aren't you?"

Techno paused, then nodded, "Pretty sure, yeah." And then he smiled. Like that was a good thing.

"Then you're gonna kill me!" Tommy shouted.

Techno paused. He blinked. His smile faded.

Tommy waited again, staring at the carpet. Now he was gonna die. Techno was gonna kill him, he knew that there's no way to trick Tommy now, or whatever he was trying to do.

"Tommy." Techno paused, "Tommy, who told you- who told you I'm gonna kill you?"

Tommy paused. Techno… didn't sound mad. But then again, Tommy hasn't really heard Techno mad, so he didn't know if…

But why would he ask-? That didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

But maybe if he explained it, maybe Techno would just give up on trying to trick him. Because that's gotta be what it is! Techno thought he was dumb!

"You- that's what soulmates do! They gotta kill the other one! Or they- I dunno! But- and Mama told me so!"

Tommy looked up at Techno. Techno was staring at Tommy, face scrunched up a bit. Tommy waited.

"Your mom told you that?" Techno finally asked.

Tommy nodded, "And Dada!"

Techno took a breath, "Tommy. Tommy, that's not what soulmates do."

Tommy blinked. What?

"What?"

No, that didn't make sense. His mom and dad told him what soulmate do. They gotta kill each other. That's what happens.

Techno took another breath, "Kid, soulmates are just people that- they're people that're supposed to care about you. Look."

And then Techno stuck his hands under the bed. Tommy flinched back, but they didn't go for Tommy. Instead, his left hand was turned over, a blue guitar on his wrist. His right hand was resting flat, and there was a pink crow on his pinky finger, "They're just- they're just people you're supposed to be with. You got these too, don't you?"

Tommy nodded, "They're not- the crow's a different color for me?"

"Yeah. Just means that the person- my dad- doesn't mean the same thing to you as he does to me."

Tommy blinked, "That doesn't make sense."

The hands retreated as Techno hummed, "How about you come out, and I can explain it better?"

Tommy paused. But Techno was still being nice. He hadn't done anything to Tommy, and he told him soulmates were good.

So he crawled out.

And Techno waited, a small smile on his face, "It's okay. Let's- let's figure out what's happenin'."

Tommy nodded. Maybe- maybe his soulmates weren't so bad after all. At least this one was nice.

[ashes-of-ailell]

working on that Ashe stories based on colour thingy I brought up a little while ago, here's a sneak peak at the prompts I'm working with:

Red - Anger

Orange - Warmth/Comfort

Yellow - Happiness

Green - Jealousy

Blue - Fear

Purple - Belonging/Acceptance

Pink - Love

Grey - Numbness/Sadness

Point of this is to try and write a few one shots on Ashe's feelings (or what he might have been feeling anyway) during certain parts of the game. Honestly it's been a while so he might be out of character for some of these and for that I do apologise! I'm trying my best haha, I just wanted to see what he might have been feeling.

Hopefully I'll be posting these soon! :3

[bigmeandragonlady]

you get my thoughts right away this time! :) kick it off with what you can get if you win no fights at all, and i had to try to strike a balance between nicer then street clothes but not too nice. not many accessories, if any.

The pale-green short dress:

the green dress is... a dress i have in my closet in a different color. (you'll probably notice the shading is much more simple, i was planning to do that with everything b/c it takes way less time but uhh i got carried away immediately)

The dark purple vest and white blouse with ruffled sleeves:

i may have gone overboard with the ruffles but i don't regret anything.

The dark red tunic and trim trousers:

i feel like the red tunic was mean to be more... fancy? formal? i wanted to lean into the cleaned up fighter aspect with bronze and leather. didn't draw the pants b/c leave me alone.

The black military coat with a blood-red pocket square:

I know it's just supposed to be a pocket square but i wanted more red, i almost gave it red gloves too. red and gold, pressed corners

The long, white, flowing gown with a plunging neckline and a slit up the leg:

I really wanted this to have long sleeves for some reason. I think it has to do with it being described as cold on the way into Heth Macoll? anyway- Red gems, white/silver jewlery

The gold, stately robe with wide, trailing, elegant sleeves:

I ended up changing this last minute, the first version will be below, if i do anymore robes i want to explore versions that arent this so i went with it this time. Gold cuffs with red accents. also, turns out i like painting gold.... i got so into the zone, i had painted the whole sash before i realized i was on my sketch layer. which is why the lines are so dark on this guy.

The gorgeous ballroom dress in silvery-blue and off-the-shoulder sleeves, with pink blossoms at the bodice:

The skirt was inspired by the 2015 cinderella dress, not as big obv, but sparkly and voluminous. Neckline gave me a bit of trouble but im a sucker for a nice sweetheart. The petals extend onto some of the bottom hemline- like they're falling and gathering there- i would also add some more actual flowers along the waistline. Silver jewellery, maybe some more little pink flowers/petals.

The sharp and fashionable dark blue suit with elegant embellishments along the trim:

i'm still surprised this guy is here and i didn't bin the whole thing- the amount of time it took for me to get this right? embarrassing. Any accessories are silver

The flowing summer vestments in pale sage and yellow with blooming roses along the hem:

the nice thing about vestments is that they're simple shapes and don't adhere to the body. the bad thing about vestments is that they're pretty much rectangles and thus boring to for me to paint. they rely really heavily on patterns and layering to be more then blank cloth, I'm not great at these things. And I doubt I'll do more vestments in the future.

anyway, i really drew a blank of what to put on the yellow panel but a beautifully embroidered pattern is what i would put there if i was better at patterns. 'sage' is a fun prompt b/c there is a color called sage but there is also the sage herb: kind of frosty in the light with varying shades of green, looks soft.

The cloudy pink imperial robes with a lovely flowing train:

'how many times did you redraw the top?' shut up q.q

i ended up not wanting something too heavy, even if 'imperial' indicates royalty and heavy fabrics. instead i interpreted cloud as part of the design with a light gradient, soft edges, and a gauze-like shawl/coat that probably has a cloudscape embroidered on it. light and delicate accessories.

other versions:

there are actually 4 versions of that green dress! the neon green one was my initial idea, and despite the other options i can't get it out of my head. my favorite thing to do with it is imagine the mc fighting jarkarth in it :)

thought that version of the military jacket was too 'fashiony' when there are all these other options. between this and the other white gown i cut out the faux sleeves completely, they're not what i wanted in a cold, dusty environment.

now i do like this version of the elrond robe but it was a direct rip of a robe from lord of the rings b/c im still new to robes. if i do any robes with the lockwood set they will probably be in this style.

I'll take a look at the outfitter's selection.

(my interpretation of the clothes you can buy at Heth Macoll!)