#bushy eyebrow version for tumblr

[redfurrycat]

🐺⚾Top Gun: Peacock 🤠+🐓= 🦚 – ft the Stilinski-Hale Pack [Part 6]⚾🐺

[part 1] - [part 2] - [part 3] - [part 4] - [part 5] - [part 6] - [part 7] - [part 8]



(More to read below the cut.)

(DO NOT REPOST ANY OF IT!❤️)

Within the MNSB au, there is the Stilinski-Hale Pack whose alpha is Derek Hale. He regained access to the alpha spark, and once again died, only to come back with his now younger older sister Laura.

The Fates had allowed him this one favour given his death by fire in front of his son was never meant to happen. (Maybe Stiles who works in the supernatural section of the FBI had something to do with it. He may or may not know people, and may or may not have threatened supernatural beings…)

The Stilinski-Hale Pack kidnapped the Sheriff – you may as well retire now, daddio! – picked up Cora, and forever left behind the town of Beacon Hills and settled a new home in San Diego.

Stiles Stilinski-Hale now works in the FBI supernatural division of San Diego and brings his dad and husband on cases when their expertise is needed (Peter Hale also likes to worm his way in).  After all, even though John Noah Stilinski enjoys the San Diego landscape and new fishing grounds, he still needs to be kept on his toes (babysitting Eli helps too).

Derek Stilinski-Hale opens another Hale’s Garage with Cora. He had to, because of what happened to Roscoe – his husband was pissed, and Derek was put in the doghouse for a while. He already has a regular set of customers, including a Bronco dude and a Kawazaky guy. Derek thinks he could be friends with the Kawazaky guy… He seems to have a perfect taste of vehicles.

Cora Hale works with his brother, but she’s also working in the San Diego zoo where she helps taking care of the wolves.

Meanwhile Laura Hale is slowly getting used to be alive again. She made peace with Uncle Peter, although no one knows what they did during the entire week they were gone to “settle things”. After helping a young girl when some people were bothering her, Laura is offered by the young girl's mom a job as a bartender and a bouncer – being a werewolf helps – at a bar called the Hard Deck.

Eli Stilinski-Hale is in a much better high-school, where he can play lacross more often. And Uncle Peter does what Uncle Peter does.

*

After an indefinite amount of time. One day.

One day a young man with jet-black hair and bushy eyebrows and a freaking moustache comes crashing the Stilinski-Hale Sunday barbecue. In full base-ball regalia. Everyone looks at him, shocked. They’re shocked because he looks like the carbon copy of Derek.

Stiles takes one look at him and says “Oh, another sourwolf! But grumpier than you because of the eyebrows and the moustache…So not a ‘sour’ wolf but a ‘bitter’ wolf!”.

“Nice one,” says Eli grinning and high fiving his pops.

With a sigh so eerily similar to a Derek-and-John-combining-their-sighing-because-Stiles-and-Eli-did-something-again one, the young man replies rather grumpily with a “still not funny, pops”.

“Pops?!”

“I thought you told me time travelling isn’t real, son?!” shouts out John.

“What’s your name, dude?” asks the supposedly pops to his supposedly son.

“My name is Finnegan Noah Stilinski-Hale.”

The lovely art comes from @patbbangg. The complete version can be found here. (You should check the artist's tumblr as well, 'cause lots of 'wow' art! ❤️)

[purplesurveys]

1757

What can you smell right now?   I can't really make out a scent in my room.

What was the last thing you bought online?   Heh, just K-pop albums. Got Jungkook's album, all versions as usual.

If you drink coffee, when was the last time you went a day without having one?   I think there was a day sometime last week where I didn't have the time to fix myself a cup.

Do you have any appointments coming up?   Not til the next month.

Do you put appointments in your phone's calendar app to remember them?   Nah, I just backread through my chat threads since that's usually how I book appointments now.

Will you be visiting anyone's house in the next week or so?   I doubt it. The only other house I visit these days (besides family) is Angela's, and we don't have any plans made any time soon.

Have you ever been to a petting zoo? What animals did you pet? I haven't been to one and don't think I'll ever be interested in visiting.

What was the last movie you saw in theatres?   It wasn't a movie, but the last thing I booked tickets for was BTS' Busan concert. I don't really feel the urgency to catch anything else in the theatres since they'll usually be out in no time in any one of the streaming services anyway.

Do you know anyone who has done a PhD?   Apart from a number of my professors, no one I know personally.

How many unread emails are in your inbox right now? On my personal email, a little under 2,200. I always clear out my work emails so it's always at 0, but I would guess that anywhere between 2-5 would've come in today (Saturday). I just don't check it during weekends because that's one of the things I need to do to keep my sanity in check.

What four apps do you keep on the home bar on your iPhone? (Sorry, I'm not sure if Android has an equivalent!)  Contacts, Safari, Photos, Messages.

Have you ever used Tumblr? Do you still use it today?   Well yes, that's what I'm using to post this.

Are you tired right now?   A little bit, but I worked all afternoon + attended a party tonight so even though I'm a bit buzzed while taking this LOL I wanted some me time so here we are.

What's your favourite day of the week and why?   Friday. It just makes me happy and puts me in such a calm state.

How far away is the nearest major city?   Manila would be a good 1.5 hours away, even with no traffic. It's just so damn far which is why I always hate having to go there. So polluted and chaotic, too.

If you ever find yourself visiting the Philippines, I'll be the first to tell you there's nothing to miss if you're skipping out on Manila. In fact my #1 advice is to please just stay away from Manila. If you can't escape Metro Manila just go to BGC or Poblacion lol.

Do you own an electric kettle?   Nope.

Are your eyebrows wispy or bushy?   They're bushy.

Have you ever lost your wallet or purse? Did you have to replace a bunch of things?   I've lost a wallet once, but it didn't bother me all too much because I was in high school and had probably like only all of P200 on there.

Where are you right now? Describe the room or place to me.   I'm in my bedroom. It's technically the smallest room in the house but I like it because it feels very private/intimate – when entering, you'll immediately be greeted by a loft bed, wherein the stairs also double as cubbyholes where I've stored my K-pop merch. Directly below my bed is my work station and also a small 'sofa' which is really just two foldable sleeping bags bunched together; right across is my TV and TV stand which come with shelves, also home to more of my merch.

Do you prefer big dogs or small dogs?   I love all dogs but I am admittedly more likely to baby big dogs.

Are you good at understanding heavy accents? Which accents would you say you're the best at understanding?   I'm terrible with understanding accents. It's why I need subtitles all the time, even if what I'm watching is already in English. I don't think there is one accent I understand more than others, either.

Have you ever played on a real life pinball machine, or just on the computer?   I've played both IRL and computer-game pinball.

Do you have a lot of word documents or notes on your computer?   So many. The Notes app is my lifeline.

What's your favourite Ben & Jerry's flavour?   I never get B&J because they're so expensive.

Have you ever been to a school reunion? How was it?   Yes – we had our first and last (so far) reunion in around 2017, a year after we graduated. I remember having fun, although I cannot remember what exactly we did there. I imagine a present-day reunion would be even more fun considering so many of us have since gotten into K-pop, hah.

How many nights a week do you generally cook at home?   I don't cook.

What colour are the street signs in your neighbourhood? Are they the same all over town or do they vary? They're green text on a white background. No, it's different per subdivision.

Do you have good grammar and punctuation skills?   I would say so, yes. At work they always have me as an SOS line for any copywriting-related concerns lol.

Have you ever tried vegan chicken? Did you like it? I don't think I have, but I'm open to trying!

[mikacolt]

I can draw with my tablet again, glad I could do something for huwumi week!

[stampys-lovely-world-countdown]

HERE THEY ARE all of Stampy's (currently alive) wolf pack. Please note that tumblr murders my quality so clicking the image to get more than three pixels is recommended.

I ran out of space for images, so please reblog the reblogged version with all the dogs! It'll be in the notes when I finish typing it all out.

Some dogs (like Flippy sorry Flippy 💔) got kinda covered up, so for clear pictures check under the readmore!

Barnaby is a corgi! I took some inspiration from Alyx, Stampy's real life dog. He's got bushy eyebrows and eyebags because he's old.

Sherbet is a chocolate lab/german sherpard mix! He gets chocolate lab from Aqua (chocolate labs LOVE to swim) and german sherpard from Spring (apparently they're known for jumping, also Spring was the Playful Popo dog.) Him being known for his shiny fur made me give him eyelashes.

Fluffy is a pomeranian! She has a lot of alt outfits because she has just. A whole bunch of backstory but she's blind in one eye, wore an eyepatch during her trips on the SS Stampy, and after Tragic Day she has a new collar and a neck scar. In my headcanon, Stampy was so sure Fluffy was dead because he found her collar, while in reality, it was just ripped off and she ran away to avoid getting any more hurt. Also, her eyepatch has the symbol of a dog biting a bone!

Bengy is a pitbull! He's mostly a pitbull because I wanted Duncan to be a pitbull and Bengy is his brother, but I think it fits him pretty well. The spot in the side profile is only on one side.

Flippy is a golden retriever! She's old, hence the eyebags and grey muzzle. I had actually made a design for her a while ago, but redrew it here and edited a few things.

The other dogs are in the next reblog! Check the notes of this post.

[romioneficfest]

The Beholder

Title: The Beholder

Prompt: Ron catches Hermione in a moment of self doubt

Tumblr name:

Rating: T

Brief Summary: Hermione is not happy with the way she looks in her new lingerie.

cw: strong language

*******

Hermione stood in front of the large mirror in their bedroom, a prominent frown on her face. She let her hands glide over the black lace of the undergarments she bought today. It was a spontaneous decision, one she already regretted as the flimsy material showed in painful obviousness how her body had changed over the last couple of years.

She never had been a person who spent much time caring for her appearance. Her mother had not used make-up and Hermione figured this was the reason she never picked up an interest in using it every day, save for some special occasions where she put on some mascara and lipstick.

And the battle with her bushy hair had been given up a long time ago. Something Ron was vocally happy about since he kept on insisting he preferred her hair in its wild, curly state.

It was their wedding anniversary today, meaning they would go out for some fancy dinner. A real treat when parenting two kids, who were six- and four-years-old. The little dragons were at Ginny and Harry's tonight and Hermione wanted to make the most out of having the house all to themselves. And what better way to spice up their much-needed alone time with some sexy, rather uncomfortable lingerie?

Again, she examined her thighs showing above the stockings, her hands brushing over her hips and down to her bum, gripping the cheeks. Her once petite body wasn't petite anymore. Instead of the small, round arse she used to show off in tight jeans or a nice pencil skirt, there were wide hips and stretch marks. Where there had been a flat belly, her tummy now hid some of the knicker's waistband at the front.

Why she chose today to acknowledge this was beyond her, but Hermione shook her head and decided to put on a lace nightgown instead later, hoping her mood would brighten again by the time Ron would come home from work.

Sighing in defeat she gave her reflection one last sad look before quickly reaching for the bra clasp, determined to get out of the flimsy underwear to dress for their night out.

“Not so fast.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks and whipped around towards the bedroom door where Ron was leaning against the door frame.

“Ron! I did not hear you coming home.” Hermione stammered, her eyes wide and her hands trying to find a position that would provide the most cover to her half naked body.

She could already feel the heat of the oncoming blush flushing her cheeks as Ron smirked at her, still standing at the door with his arms crossed in front of him.

“I'd rather you leave this task to me,” Ron said, pointing at Hermione's black lace bra.

“I just-,” Hermione's voice faltered a bit and she took a second to clear her throat, trying to appear slightly more dignified than she felt, “This doesn't fit.”

“It seems to fit rather fine,” Ron objected as he slowly walked towards her, “These are new, aren't they?”

Hermione nodded and turned back to the mirror as Ron walked up behind her. Watching the reflection of her husband and herself she couldn't help but complain about the unfairness. “How can you eat more than everyone else, but still be so skinny? I just have to look at a piece of chocolate nowadays and it immediately adds to my midriff.”

Automatically, her arms slung around said body section but Ron caught her wrists, uncovering her waist and belly again. He stepped even closer until he stood flush against Hermione's back and wrapped her into his arms from behind. A soft moan escaped her lips at the feeling of Ron's hard body pressed up against her.

She usually loved the sight of his pale, freckled skin standing out starkly against her bronze complexion and usually, she would take her time admiring them for a minute. The only thing she could focus on today though was the way her body hid Ron's mid-section, so much slimmer than hers.

Still, she closed her eyes as Ron's hands started to glide down her sides and rested on her thighs, stroking the skin right above the lace of her stockings. His big hands always felt so good.

“So, you'll ditch me should I get fat?”

Her eyes snapped open and found Ron's blue ones looking back at her, a mischievous glint in them. “Of course, not!” She rolled her eyes at him.

“Because,” Ron placed a soft kiss on her shoulder, “You apparently think a little body fat makes one less attractive. And since I don't plan to reduce my sugar intake, it's not entirely impossible that you'll have to deal with a bigger version of me someday.”

“Like that will ever happen,” Hermione raised an eyebrow at him but couldn't suppress a smirk, “Your arse will be skinny and tiny forever. A bean pole for eternity. Plus, I didn't marry you for your stellar body.”

Ron barked out a laugh but a second later he continued roaming his hands all over Hermione's body. His touch made her tingle all over and combined with his intense gaze meeting her in the mirror, she almost forgot about her imperfect body parts.

“Hermione,” Ron said with a hint of demand lacing his voice, making sure Hermione was looking him into his eyes, “you know I think you're fucking gorgeous, right?” He gave her tummy a light squeeze.

“As my husband, you have to say that.” Hermione put her own hands over Ron's.

“As your husband, it's my duty to tell you when you're being mental,” he told her, sweeping Hermione's curls to one side and started to kiss the now exposed side of her neck, “And if you think my mouth didn't go completely dry the second I saw you in these,” He traced one of her bra straps to emphasize his words, “I sure as hell need to remind you how beautiful you are.”

“I'm having a hard time finding myself beautiful nowadays,” Hermione admitted as she lowered her head to the side to give Ron easier access for his kisses and nibbles on her soft skin.

“Well, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Ron said and when he squeezed her breasts through the bra, Hermione couldn't help but be happy about one positive side effect of gaining weight; her boobs filled out more and especially wrapped in black lace, they looked mouth watering, even to herself.

“So, let this beholder show you exactly how damn sexy he thinks you are,” Ron whispered as he let one of her bra straps glide down over her shoulder and captured her lips in a deep kiss.

Unsurprisingly, they missed their anniversary dinner, as Ron took his time, showing in great detail how much he loved every inch of Hermione Granger-Weasley.

[smallcrystals]

if you dislike timber spruce, please be mindful with what you say about him

not only because ppl who have him as their comfort character will come across it when they just wanna see content of him, but a lot of the comments do come off as weirdly racist

it is important to note that eqg does not have anything racially intended in the show, but we also need to acknowledge that no matter the intent of the crew, timber looks brown. brown skin, bushy eyebrows, curly hair. it doesn't matter if it was not intended, it's done and that's his canon look!

people will project whatever they have against brown people onto him just because he looks like a brown person.

i had originally thought it was an unfortunate coincidence that timber looks brown while also being in a situation where his age is questioned, but then i thought about ragamuffin. even with the fact he was a joke character, it's still really weird. timber actually has reasons yet ragamuffin? why did timber get ambushed with so much hate yet omg hahah ragamuffin looks like applejack !! i won't say anything else, i just want you to think about it for a bit

making comments about his apperance and how it's "annoying", how "weird" he is, yeah no that's so strange coming from fans who are white or lighter skinned.

if you are brown or darker, i don't actually give a fuck about what you do, you can do whatever you want, i'm not talking about you

even if it doesn't affect the show, it will affect your brown friends. they will see those comments just because you so badly want to justify your hate against someone and they will think it's weird.

i think it's weird. i am brown. and so are a good few of my friends and all of them think it's weird.

please just rethink what you are saying about timber. if it's about him being a shoehorned in love interest, go ham! but these comments and hate just because you don't like him as sci twi's love interest... come on

where was this energy with flash. is it because he's sweeter, gentler, and "a better version of timber"? when timber has shown to be the same? yes he's flirty, yes he's got a little ego. those are character traits ??? no one is a better version of someone else just because you dislike the specific traits they have. and also, define better version. is it because flash is light skinned in canon and timber is brown? think about it.

if any other brown or darker poc wants to talk abt this, feel free to add on bc im always open for discussion. otherwise, i reccommend you rb. this is not so prominent on tumblr as it is on twitter and i just want to get this across just in case 😊

[searchingwardrobes]

The Convenient Groom: 8/13

I can’t believe it took me almost a month to finish this chapter, but here it is! None of this was even in my outline, lol. However, I like where the muse took me, and there’s more "oh shoot, we HAVE to kiss”, so that’s always good. Hopefully that all makes up for the long wait - especially for the girl this was a gift for to begin with. I hope you enjoy this, @spartanguard​!

I also realized that I accidentally posted two chapters labeled as chapter six here on Tumblr. The chapter count is correct on Ao3. This is chapter 8. I fixed the “second chapter six” on my tumblr blog as well. Sorry for the confusion!

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard​​ .

Rating: M

Words: almost 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4​ @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

“This dress is absolutely gorgeous,” Anna gushed as she helped Emma zip it up.

“Thank you,” Emma told her sincerely, “but I really didn’t have to wear it again. A simple sundress would have been fine.”

“Excuse me?” Anna snapped with an arch of her brows and a hand on her hip. Behind her, Elsa chuckled.

“Anna, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not!” she retorted, and Emma could easily imagine these two as kids. “I simply want to get the full effect of this wedding, okay? We didn’t get to be there, so today better be the next best thing.”

Elsa shook her head and caught Emma’s eye in the mirror as she adjusted the baby’s breath woven through the loose braids crowning Emma’s waves. It wasn’t the style she would have gone with personally, but she had to admit that Elsa had done a gorgeous job with her hair.

“It’s fine,” Emma assured the other blonde, “your sister has a point. And I don’t really mind recreating the wedding - in a smaller version, of course.”

The door leading from the basement out to the backyard rattled, followed by a frustrated shout from Killian. Anna shrieked as she raced for the door.

“You can’t see the bride before the ceremony, Kil!”

“We’re already married, A! This is ridiculous!”

“Humor a pregnant woman!” she barked, and Emma and Elsa couldn’t contain their laughter any longer.

“Fine,” Killian snapped back, “I’m just here to tell you that Liam and Kristoff want to eat soon, so we better do this.”

“Men and their stomachs,” Anna grumbled with a roll of her eyes.

“Look up,” Elsa told Emma, and she complied. Elsa gave her eyelashes one more swipe of mascara. “There, you’re perfect.”

Emma picked up her small bouquet of forget-me-nots (that matched Killian’s eyes, Anna had pointed out), and lifted the bottom of her dress so her heels wouldn’t get tangled.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Anna nodded, then turned back to the door. “Are you still out there, Kil?’

“Yes.”

“Well, go take your place under the arbor!”

Killian mumbled something about bossy women, but did as he was told. Anna peeked out, just to be sure the groom was where he was supposed to be, then she flung the door open. She and her sister went out first, walking out to strands of Canon in D. When the classical music faded out, Emma stepped out of the door. She almost burst out laughing when the music for her processional began.

You’re in an all-girl band, your futon is second-hand . . .

The arbor, which had been moved to Liam and Elsa’s backyard, wasn’t that far away from the basement door, and Emma was close enough already to see Killian’s wink. Emma couldn’t suppress the grin on her face, and Anna couldn’t suppress her glare.

“What kind of bridal song is this,” the redhead hissed as she smacked Killian with her bouquet.

Killian ignored her and waggled his eyebrows at Emma.

“It’s perfect actually, Anna,” Emma assured her, “let’s just say that it’s an inside joke.”

“Fine,” Anna huffed, “and we need to stop talking! This is a wedding.”

“A fake wedding with a grand total of seven people,” Killian muttered.

Anna smacked him with her bouquet again. At this rate, there wouldn’t be any petals left on the thing.

“Dearly beloved,” the officiant intoned as Emma turned to face Killian. She glanced in surprise at the elderly man, then whispered to Killian.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Can you two please take this seriously?” Anna exclaimed. “This is Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie.”

“Is he even ordained?” Killian asked.

“I’m standing right here,” the old man said dryly, “and I suggest you let me continue. You’re getting married.”

“We’re already married.”

“Then who cares if I’m ordained?”

Killian and Emma shared a look and then shrugged. The man cleared his throat pointedly.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today to join these two in holy matrimony. If anyone knows why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Had the officiant said that at the first ceremony? She didn’t think so, but then again, everything that day passed in a blur. Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie paused . . . and paused . . . and paused some more. Killian narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Emma gave a small shake of her head.

“Oh my God,” Anna exclaimed in exasperation, “no one objects! Just get on with it!”

“Well,” Grand Pabbie said slowly, his bushy eyebrows moving expressively across his forehead, “Kristoff had mentioned a concerned brother, and I just -”

“Liam,” Killian growled.

“Have I said a word?” his brother countered, both hands raised in surrender.

“You can get on with it, Grand Pabbie,” Kristoff told the elderly man, his face flaming red.

“Okay then, where was I . . . “ the old man narrowed his eyes as he shuffled the papers in his hands. Emma’s eyes met Killian’s, and they couldn’t help bursting out with laughter. Emma could hear Anna huffing in frustration behind her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to get herself back under control. Killian cleared his throat and clenched his jaw, though she could still see the merriment in his eyes.

“Ah yes, here we are . . . Marriage is a sacred union in which two hearts are joined as one. Emma and Killian, repeat after me . . . “

Emma was more aware during this second ceremony, which made sense. She wasn’t in shock like she had been the first time around. Yet she also was surprised to realize that this wedding was more suited to her personality than the one she had spent a year planning - and this wasn’t even real. There was just something about the simplicity of it and the small crowd who was there because they were emotionally invested, not so they could get free food and an open bar.

Then they were pronounced man and wife for the second time in a month, and Killian was told he could kiss his bride. He hadn’t kissed her since that day on the beach with the paparazzi. She hadn’t forgotten what a good kisser he was, but somehow it felt different. It was a simple kiss - more than a brush of lips, yet far less heated than the one he had laid on her at their first wedding. It probably had something to do with his brother glaring at them two feet away. Yet for some reason, Emma felt light headed when he pulled away, and she swayed towards him like he was a magnet she was drawn to. Or like a moth to a flame? Or being pulled out with the tide? It was some sort of romance novel cliche like that, and what made it twice as embarrassing was that she didn’t open her eyes until she almost lost her balance.

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked as he grasped her by the shoulders to steady her.

“Yeah,” she hurriedly assured him as she gave her head a quick shake.

He tilted his head, and his lips parted on a breath. Before he could question her further, Anna clapped her hands and made an announcement.

“Now the bride and groom will have their first dance!”

“What?” Kristoff blurted out. “I thought we were eating!”

“Not until after their first dance; that’s how it’s done.”

“But I’m hungry!”

Anna leveled her husband with a look that could melt ice. “You don’t think the pregnant woman is hungry? We won’t starve while they dance!”

“Fine!” Kristoff muttered, throwing up his hands. Then he grumbled under his breath, “Isn’t even their first dance since it isn’t their first wedding.”

Killian shrugged at Emma, and she laughed. Elsa pulled up the song they had selected on her phone which was hooked up to the outdoor speakers. Killian set his hands at Emma’s waist as Paul McCartney began to sing, and Emma slid her arms around his neck.

“Are you sure you were alright a minute ago?”

His face looked so concerned that Emma told him the truth. “It just felt different kissing you this time, that’s all.” Her face burned as Killian’s eyes widened. “I mean - not like that or anything. It’s just that we . . . I mean, I . . . I know what pickles you like now.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Pickles.”

“Yeah, pickles.”

He tilted his head and studied her. “I see. I wasn’t aware pickle preferences were such a sign of growing intimacy.”

The way his accent rolled over the words made the whole thing sound far more serious than Emma intended. She let out an indelicate snort. “You know what I mean. I know you better now. Like . . . like the pickles -”

“So we’ve established.”

“And . . . what you watch on Netflix . . . and . . . I’ve seen you . . . sweaty.”

Killian arched one brow and quirked his lips into an absolutely sinful, crooked smile. She swore she could see his eyes darken slowly under those stupid thick eyelashes of his.

“Don’t say it!” she warned him.

“Whatever do you mean?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and she swore he must have worked for some sex phone line thing to be able to make syllables drip like that.

“Whatever dirty innuendo you were about to make,” she told him through gritted teeth. “Just. Don’t.”

He nodded but gave her a smug look. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Killian leaned closer, his nose in her hair and his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. He whispered in that low timbre of his, “I don’t need to say it, love, because you’re already thinking it.”

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

Emma watched the flames in the backyard fire pit lick at the marshmallow on the end of her stick. It caught and was engulfed, and Emma smiled as it charred.

“You burned it,” Anna observed as Emma pulled it out and blew on it.

“Nope,” Emma said, spinning it and admiring its black crust, “it’s perfect.” She gestured to the slightly browned marshmallow Anna had just slid onto a slab of chocolate. “Yours is still raw.”

Anna sandwiched the treat between two graham crackers, then replied around a messy bite. “I guess everyone makes their s’mores differently.”

Emma watched her catch a glob of marshmallow with her pinkie, and was relieved to see that her table manners didn’t matter with this crowd. Walsh had elegant tastes and took her places where you had to know which fork to use with what course. It had been exhausting.

Emma’s gaze flitted to Killian, who was laughing over beers with Kristoff. Behind them, Elsa was talking to Liam with a bundle of sparklers in one hand and a lighter in the other. Her brow was furrowed as she asked her husband something, and Liam looked intense with his arms crossed over his chest. Emma thought about her agreement with Killian and thought now was as good a time as any to do a little recon about his brother’s marriage.

“So . . . “ she said slowly and casually to Anna, “is Liam just as bossy with your sister as he is to everyone else?”

Anna literally snorted and almost choked on her s’more. “Are you kidding? Liam would walk on broken glass for Elsa if he had to.”

“Really?” Emma asked incredulously. Her gaze landed back on the couple. A gentle smile broke across Liam’s face as his hand closed over Elsa’s where she grasped the lighter. Elsa laughed, her eyes sparkling, as Liam pulled her to his chest and kissed her tenderly. Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“But they’re both opinionated.”

“Well yeah,” Anna said with a shrug, “but so are you and Killian, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

Anna gave Emma a little nudge with her elbow. “Paul McCartney was a great choice. Especially since The Beatles were Alice’s favorite.”

“Alice?”

“Yeah, their mom.”

“Oh, of course,” Emma replied hurriedly, her face burning, but Anna seemed more interested in the messy chocolate that was dripping down her wrist.

“God, I’m a mess,” she chuckled.

“I’m not much better,” Emma laughed, trying to lick sticky marshmallow off her thumb.

“I really have never seen anyone love someone the way Liam loves my sister,” Anna said with a smile. “I mean, not that Kristoff doesn’t love me in an amazing way, he totally does, and he’s - like, super supportive, it’s just . . . Well, Elsa was closed off for so long. She got hurt really badly when we were in high school. To say her heart was broken is a huge understatement. Anyways, I didn’t think she would trust anyone with her heart until Liam came along. Of course, you know from personal experience how Jones men are.”

“How so?” Emma asked before she could stop herself.

Anna tilted her head and looked at her like she was completely dense. “They love completely and fiercely. When they commit to something, they’re all in.”

“Oh . . . “ Emma trailed off and quickly stuffed more dessert in her mouth. She hoped the chatterbox would move on to a different topic, but for once the woman was silent. Emma swallowed and gave her a nervous smile. “Guess that’s why he’s into rom-coms, huh? When we were picking out a wedding song, he seemed to know the plot of most of them.”

Anna’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Killian Jones watches sci-fi and fantasy. The only reason he knows those rom-coms is because of me. I had a horrible break up before Kristoff, and Killian asked me how he could help. I said ice cream and rom coms, not really taking him seriously. He was over within an hour with a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough and While You Were Sleeping.”

“Really,” Emma said thoughtfully, her eyes landing on Killian once again.

“Yeah, he came over every night for like a week.”

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

Emma wrapped her sweater around her shoulders tighter as she made her way across the dunes. It was dark now, and almost time for the fireworks over Storybrooke harbor. They wouldn’t have the best view in town, but the privacy was worth the trade off. Killian came up next to her with unlit sparklers in his hands.

“The wedding coordinator demands our presence once again. Something about kissing with sparklers all around us. Very popular Instagram pose, apparently.”

Emma laughed as she turned to face him. “How are we supposed to kiss and hold sparklers at the same time?”

“Very carefully?”

She took the metal stick he offered her, but the jolt she felt was attraction, not electricity. She could admit it now. She was attracted to him. Honestly, who wouldn’t be? He fit the bill of tall, dark, and handsome to perfection. And then . . .

“Anna told me about the rom coms.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “The what?”

She made a circling motion with her hand. “You know. The reason you know all those cheesy rom coms is because you binge watched them with Anna. To cheer her up after a break up?”

“Oh,” he said, his hand going straight to that favored spot behind his ear, “um, yes. It was the least I could do, really. That Hans was an absolute git. No, worse, a complete and utter narcissist.”

His jaw was clenched now, his eyes narrow, and Emma’s heart flipped over how angry he still seemed on Anna’s behalf. You know from personal experience how Jones men are . . . They love completely and fiercely. Emma realized her gaze had dropped to his lips, and she shook herself out of the stupor she’d fallen into.

“Anyways,” Killian shrugged, “my heart just broke for her, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It was sweet, and far more than most men would do. Unless they wanted to get in a woman’s pants.”

Killian wrinkled his nose in offense. “Please don’t even hint at me and Anna’s pants. She’s like the kid sister I never had. It just sounds . . . wrong.”

Emma smiled up at him, tapping his chest with the tip of her sparkler. “Exactly. That’s what makes it so wonderful.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Anna shouted from the edge of the yard. “Get over here and act romantic for the camera!”

It turned out the Instagram shots consisted first of Emma and Killian holding the sparklers out in front of them while they kissed, then Killian dipping her and kissing her while his family held up sparklers behind them.

They were starting to get really good at this kissing thing. Emma was getting a little bolder in her response, and tonight she could taste the mixture of sweet and smoky from the s’mores on his tongue.

When he righted her, his brows were lifted, and she braced herself for a quip about her new enthusiasm when he kissed her. Instead, he merely smiled that crooked grin of his. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“It has to look real for Instagram.”

He moved his lips to her ear so he could whisper back, “Who said I was complaining, love?”

[marielambs-corner]

HEY!!!! Happy (belated) HOLIDAYS!!!!!!!

StrawberryAeris, I'm sorry I'm kinda (pretty) late with this. I wanted it to be great and perfect and something you'd truly enjoy, but time caught up on me and well, I thoguht dividing it into chapters would be better than keeping you waiting ^^u

So, with no more ado, Here I bring you the beginning!!!

Hope you enjoy this and that you had some wonderful holidays, and wishing you a happy and healthy 2021!!!

Enjoy it!!

*See Tumblr version under the cut*

Days were becoming cold and nights chill in the old New York as winter already settled in. And in the old studio, through cracks and loosely boarded holes in the upper levels, snow could be seen gently falling and covering any crevasse with its white blanket, and a little toon-shaped Dancing Demon was truly amused by its sight.

It's not like Dancey hadn’t seen snow before, it was always a sort of spectacle for the little demon. Though always his experiences with it were from as far as possible; first through the old reels with cartoons of the original Bendy, and currently, just admiring how it delicately piled up between the cracks that still exposed the studio to the outside world. There was only one time he dared to play with it, too amazed and curious, wanting to replicate what he saw in the cartoons, and that was an immediate mistake, for the ink that composed his body froze at the direct exposure, and everything from his forearms to the tips of his fingers totally paralyzed; any attempt at moving his limbs resulted in a painful crack, his ink breaking apart like a crumbling cookie from the movement strain. It took about a couple of hours and quite an amount of fresh ink from the machine to gain back mobility, another hour for the dullness and pain to ebb away, and a whole week of constant nagging and reprimands from his big sibling for him to understand to never do something like that, ever again.

Not like anyone else would believe how caring and protective the Ink Demon truly was, but he just was like that, always with an eye over the Dancing Demon, and with rules to make sure the little one wouldn’t get into much trouble.

If only the rest could see him the same way as Dancey saw him...

Watching the snow fall, though, really put the little demon in quite a nostalgic mood, thinking on his sibling, on the cursed creatures below, on how he’d like them to enjoy something as simple as snow as much as he did, or soup, or music! That’d be so nice, for all of them just enjoy the simplest things.

What was not so nice was the coldness. A chill draft leaked through the crevasses, sending goosebumps all over the demon’s body, shaking and rattling like the toon he was. He crossed his arms, rubbing his upper arms in a bleak attempt at keeping some heat, but wasn’t enough. Either he just dropped the snow-gazing, or went to find something to wrap himself up.

...the first choice meant to go back to the lower levels and that’d also mean no more fun at the snow-gazing, so even if his big sibling didn’t approve, checking on the old locked closets in hopes to find something useful was it. And just as he expected, most of them were locked. Some, though, would budge if he was insistent enough, and it was the case for 1 door out of 13 he tried, with the door busting open so strong it sent Dancey rolling all across until he hit the opposite wall, upside down.

Shaking out the dizziness, he quickly recomposed himself and went to check on the now-open closet. A corner had a box full to the brim with bacon soup cans—a small victory he’d save for later. A few projectors occupied a shelf in a haphazardly manner, as if just thrown over in there, thing that surely would upset the Projectionist if he came to know about it. A stack of paper used another corner of a shelf, self-explanatory given how close he was from the old Art Department. And in upper shelf a box, which contents couldn’t decipher due to the location and height; he’d have to climb up to get it.

Lucky for the Dancing Demon, he was rather light in weight, and the shelves still were pretty sturdy, so climbing them was not a problem. What meant a problem was taking the box itself; as soon as he edged it to take it down, its weight immediately followed gravity curse and, with Dancey being helpless as he had to use at least one hand to hold himself as in a ladder, the box went straight to his face, pushing him and making him drop his hold on the shelf, falling and being squashed under the box’s weight.

A little undignified “Oof!” was released along with a grunt, but sooner than later, Dancey once again recomposed himself, sitting up and checking on the box’s content. Indeed, there was some pieces of cloth, he could use one to cover himself! It was soft but a bit raspy with some strange patter and, of course, covered with dust. Seemed like an old sweater long forgotten by time. Well, he now could give it new purpose as his own winter sweater!

What else was in the box? His curiosity mused to himself.

There were a couple of tapes, maybe he could play them later in one of the recorders, ask Sammy for help. There was also a tied-up bunch of some yellowing paper/cardboard thing, he wasn’t sure, as it was thin as paper but rigid as cardboard. Could be both? They had some pretty pictures in one side while the other had smeared ink that made what was once written in there unintelligible. The bottom of the box was filled with little reddish-brown—maybe withered—balls along with crumbles of leaves that kept turning into dust the more he rummaged around the box (he gave a guess of it being old dry leaves, from what he’d seen of those strange plants that keep growing in the deepest levels when their leaves fall). And last thing was a smaller box inside.

With solemnity and anticipation, he took the smaller box, pushing aside the bigger one. In expectance for something, he didn’t know what, slowly, dramatically slowly, he placed his hand on the lid, and inched its way open. What he found inside were... pictures, old, yellowing, some fading, but still pretty recognizable. The pictures, of course, were from the old times, when the studio still worked as a studio and not the cursed place it currently was. They varied from people standing alone, in couples, in trios, or bigger groups; some blurry from movement, some sideways, but most capturing the moment without the people noticing, letting them to just do whatever they were doing and it being captured by the images. They all were varied, but given how the people wore the same clothes photo after photo and how the background seemed to be pretty alike in every take, the only conclusion Dancey could get to was that these all were taken the same day. But that as a way to discard any other options and confirm some suspicions, as there was some other thing that caught his attention.

Admittedly, he couldn’t recognize all of the people in the images, but some, he was familiar with them, and among them was a way too familiar face.

Joey Drew.

No matter who in the wrecked studio, everyone was capable to recognize such name and face. The sad and sour (and almost angry) taste his image left in the little demon’s mouth, though, was not rival for his still growing curiosity as to why people in the pictures was so happy and comfortable around him. He kept studying the images, and even he had to admit, Joey’s smile seemed almost... real, authentic. Maybe it was a real smile.

A picture showed him with his arms slung around Sammy and Norman, and even if they both seemed like they just rolled their eyes, there was a smirk, a smile in their faces, over Drew’s antics. Another one showed a group of three people sitting where they could, as they unwrapped some small boxes and opened their lids to see their contents, with smiles, warm, tender, excited smiles in their faces looking what was inside, as Joey was standing in the middle, rather smug. Another showed the janitor and the toy-maker, Wally and Shawn, that were holding Joey down, or maybe pushing him down, as Wally jumped over his back and Shawn was hanging from his neck, and Joey was still smiling, maybe even laughing at the antics. Susie hugging him and giving him a peck on his check, making him smile with eyebrows shot upwards, and his face even looked darker in this one. A side-hug from Mr. Piedmont, both grinning and giving thumb-up to the camera. Even Mr. Cohen was in one, smiling with tiredness but smiling nonetheless, while sitting on a chair, showing something he picked up from one of those wrapped boxes, and Joey beaming, standing right behind him.

All the pictures were like these, with smiles, and laughs, and joy, with lights strings, and a decorated tree, and bushy garlands, and ribbons, with people wearing sweaters with strange patterns, holding mugs whose steam was still visible through the old images, and one was wearing a hat with a couple of leaves and some little spheres—like the ones at the bottom of the big box—hanging of it (those in the picture caught below such garment, no matter who they were, were kissing, with varying kinds of faces they’d do while at it, but the one wearing the hat behind them always sported a triumphant grin from ear to ear).

Figurative gears were churning inside the Dancing Demon’s head. One thing he was sure of, and that was he liked what he’s seeing. He liked to imagine that was actually full of color, like purples and blues and greens and oranges (very little was his experience with color, only what he managed to see from the cracks in the upper levels, just like the snow, but was enough to make his imagination blow up with the possibilities, especially in a sepia toned hellish place like this).

They all, he also concluded, looked happy. Were happy, even with Joey being there. Maybe regardless of Joey being there. No, still didn’t sound right. Definitively was with Joey being there. But why? Wasn’t he the most despised person in the studio? Definitively, the pictures were not from before the Ink Machine times, as he could see some dark pipes gleaming in the background of some pictures. What made this day so special that everyone could be... okay with him there? Happy with him there? Was he forgiven? ...No, definitively not that, it had to be something else. Was the day itself? A day to leave behind differences? No-quarrels-allowed kind of day? A truce day?

...Truce day...

That... that’s it! It had to be! They made a truce for the day? After all, it was pretty obvious that people still loathed Joey up to that day, but still in these pictures, they were able to put aside their differences and spend at least a single day, merry and happy.

He really would like that something like that happened to them now, for them to be able to be together like this, regardless...

Why not try it?

...yeah... Yeah! Why not! He even could invite everyone in the studio! The lost ones, searchers, the Butcher Gang, miss Alice, just- Everyone! Even Inky... Excitement grew more and more in his minute body from all the possibilities. Dancey sprawled the pictures, trying to identify and mentally list everything in there so he could recreate it as close as possible. He might not have had an idea of when it was actually made, but the people in the pictures wore sweaters, and he does feel like in a sweater season, collecting the rest he found back in the big box and taking the pictures back in their own container, and back in the box too. If he wanted this to work, he truly had to pan out this well and smoothly. But first of all, and before anything, he had to go and show Inky.

*-*-*-*-*

Expect next chapter in a couple of days~ ^^

[swanimagines]

Info :)

I thought I’d make a post of this before going into action. But yeah. 

In case Article 13 won’t affect Tumblr (but earlier if my inspiration moves into my head again and doesn’t come to visit only when I’m trying to sleep, it happened again and it’s 3am and here I am distracting myself and writing this because if I wrote the next oneshot now, it would be 7am in no time and I would have an hour to sleep because I have things to do + I have to clean my apartment today):

Sometimes when I write, I have the inspiration for writing it, but I just can’t gather enough inspiration to write a full version of the request (= I only manage to gather 100-300 words and though I know I have the right to write as long or short oneshots as I please, I feel like it’s not enough if I write something so short and say it’s a oneshot. Now, I’ve just forced myself to write the full version because I want it out as I’ve already written like 200 words and though I’m really happy with it, it’s really short. But as the longer one it turns out to be crappy or the end part is crap and I just don’t know how to fix it because my inspiration could fly for just a moment and won’t come back at all for that request.

So in future, in these situations, I might do a gif imagine of your request instead of a oneshot. Of course, if you requested a oneshot, I’ll primarily try to follow your wish but sometimes I might make a gif imagine out of it. I hope it’s okay for you!

And for newcomers/people who don’t know what’s a gif imagine: my definition for a gif imagine is this:  

You choose a character and a topic, I’ll find a reaction gif of that character/fandom being in that situation with you and I’m writing a short text from the situation with it. The word count can be anywhere between a couple of sentences or about 500 words, depends on how inspired I am.

I updated this to my rules, it’s rule number 11 now.

+ Another thing. You may have noticed this in my earlier imagines, but I’ll say this here too. 

If you request a reader who’s, for example, short with blond hair and green eyes + dresses colorfully and has dimples, bushy eyebrows, plump lips and freckles and the imagine tells about how they and the character, who’s the reader’s crush, go to a picnic date together, I necessarily won’t include how the reader looks like, if it isn’t relevant for the shot. Like if you make a sandwich for yourself and find yourself staring at the character and blushing when they look at you, it would be silly to mention that oh btw, you’re short, blond and green-eyed. You would still be capable to make a sandwich, stare and blush even if you were tall with rainbow hair and brown eyes. It’s a different thing if the reader would be insecure about their looks or something.

It’s the point in x readers that you can imagine that the reader is you. If you’re short with green eyes and blond hair, Y/N is too or if you’re tall with brown eyes and curly hair, Y/N is too. I’m not drawing pictures of the reader and the character, I’m writing oneshots and it means that the reader is different-looking to everyone who wants to read my oneshot.

It’s just that some people sometimes make a full list of how they want the reader to look like and I just wanted to point out that their looks necessarily don’t get included in the fic if it isn’t relevant. It’s a different thing if you request a reader who’s shy, has never been on a date and is lonely, because that kind of thing can be easily included. Like in that picnic example, the reader could avoid eye contact and blush immediately if the character compliments them, doesn’t open up much because they don’t have any experience with dates etc.

(And I won’t include eye color/hair color anyway in my shots btw, I just made examples to describe how the reader looks like in case you were wondering)

[chaos-burst]

[ID: a digital drawing of Cyrus Wyvernwind from Critical Role. He’s drawn from the waist upwards and turned at a 45° angle towards the right side of the picture. Cyrus is a blue-skinned air genasi man with short, blue hair that’s shaved into an undercut. The longer, upper hair are floating upwards as if under water. Cyrus has black stubble, bushy eyebrows, a silver septum piercing and pointy ears that are also pierced. He’s wearing a blue turtleneck with white clouds on it. He’s holding both hands up in front of his chest and in his hand is a flat, grey rock with white googly eyes and a small smile. The background is mostly black with another version of the rock in the top right corner. The artist’s signature is written in the bottom left corner and reads “erlij*twitter, erlie*tumblr”. End ID]

Rocky, gone but not forgotten.

[yyamms]

SMTH I wanted to post here on tumblr: my FFXIV OCs! I might post FFXIV screenshots/OCs here for fun (I rarely use my main tumblr for text posts and art so hjgkhhl).

Dia Algera is based on my 15-year-old OC (male version). I created his sister when I was in college (4 years ago) for my webcomic story. I mainly used both male and female designs whenever I play MMOs. There’s also spicy “Dia” I made when I was a kid. To be honest, I didn’t give them a full name until I decided to give them for my webcomic. I also gave the spice version (male) name but prob re-name him :thinking:

Arslan Qalli is my second Aura OC (There’s Ylamae but I currently don’t have pictures of her atm). I made a lot of changes on her since I wanted to give her Sexy/Femme look (and im happy with her new look!)

Atlas Tanin is based on my OC (my OC version, he has pink hair) but I wanted to create his previous life version (plus I added the bushy eyebrow also cuz it looks dang cute on catboys tbh)

I actually have more (like my second Balmung alt and my lala alt) but I keep both of it as a private cz I rarely play on both so hfkrlhg)

[angstymarshmallow]

92 Things

Thanks for the tag Holly :’) @hollyashton

THE LAST: 1. Drink: Water (please help cure my hangover) 2. Phone call: called my mom 3. Text message: “eyy when do you wanna hang out today?” 4. Song you listened to: Take Me Somewhere Nice, Mogwai. Just putting my phone on shuffle. 5. Time you cried: Can’t remember because thankfully it’s been awhile.

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: Nope; rather not make the same mistake twice. 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Nope. 8. Been cheated on: Yup. 9. Lost someone special: Yes 10. Been depressed: Bingo. 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: OH GOSH yes. It happened once a few years ago - and one is already too many times.

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12. Teal 13. Lime green 14. Lavender

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: Online and offline! I have remarkably grasp some sociable talents during the past couple months. 16. Fallen out of love: Nope! 17. Laughed until you cried: Yes, there’s been a lot of that lol. 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yes 19. Met someone who changed you: Yes 20. Found out who your friends are: I’m not sure I understand in what context? But yes. 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Aha, yes. There are multiple people on there that I’ve kissed.

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: I did a Facebook purge not too long ago so probably a good chunk of them. 23. Do you have any pets: Yes and no? I consider the dogs that live with me my pets. 24. Do you want to change your name: No, I quite like my name. It’s uniquely spelt and it’s a part of what defines me. 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: I think I ended up going out at sushi buffet with a couple of friends and then we went downtown for karaoke. 26. What time did you wake up: 7 am and I barely slept. 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: I went out clubbing with some of my favorite people. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: Game of Thrones season 7 premiere! 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: A couple hours ago at a barbecue. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: My bushy eyebrows. They are a plague and constant gripe on my soul. 31. What are you listening right now: The sound of traffic from outside my friend’s apartment windows. 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Nope, never. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: Unsettled stomach from drinking and not having enough water. 34. Most visited Website: It is a toss up between tumblr, youtube and twitch to be quite honest. 35. Mole/s: One alarmingly sized one kind of near my left ear. Sometimes I forget it exist because it’s usually covered by my hair. 37. Childhood dream: To be a psychologist but then I realized how many years of school + high tuition costs so that became a giant nope. 38. Hair color: Black, with tinges of lighter brown from years of chlorine water as a kid. 39. Long or short hair: Short currently 40. Do you have a crush on someone: Do you mean the list of fictional characters - otherwise nope. 41. What do you like about yourself: I go out of my way most of the time to make people laugh, sometimes at my own expense. I genuinely like hearing people laugh and seeing them smile. 42. Piercings: Three and I want one more! 43. Blood type: I can’t remember, the next time I see one of my doctors I’ll try to find out. 44. Nickname: Most of the time it’s Krysy, some of the times it’s Kris and there are maybe two or so embarrassingly strange nicknames that I will never repeat. 45. Relationship status: Happily committed. 46. Zodiac: Virgo. 47. Pronouns: She/Her. 48. Favorite TV Show/s: Right now it’s Castlevania, How I Met Your Mother. The Office. Supernatural. The Walking Dead. Skins (UK version). 49. Tattoos: None yet. 50. Right or left hand: Right. 51. Surgery: Yes, did a neck biopsy under a year ago. 52. Hair dyed in different color: Nope can’t do that right now. 53. Sport: Not really into sports, but I kickbox 55. Vacation: Want but can’t afford. RIP ME. 56. Pair of trainers: I forget the name.

MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: Nothing right now. 58. Drinking: Water. 59. I’m about to: lose it if this hungover doesn’t go away anytime soon. Gaaah. 61. Waiting for: Divine intervention. To go home and sleep in my own bed. 62. Want: Sleep. A latte. Tacos. 63. Get married: Maybe someday. 64. Career: Administrative. 65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs because I love hugs! And I’ve been told I give the best hugs not to toot my own horn or anything. 66. Lips or eyes: Eyes, definitely eyes. Let me sink into them. 67. Shorter or taller: I’m sort of tall, and I prefer taller people. 68. Older or younger: No preference but I tend to gravitate to older guys. 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: My arms are finally starting to tone up so definitely arms. Working on that nice stomach though! 71. Sensitive or loud: It depends really, I have friends that are both. 72. Hook up or relationship: I’ve never really hooked up with someone for the sake of hooking up. So by default my choice is relationship lol. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Depends on who you ask. But for argument’s sake - troublemaker.

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a stranger: No but I bet that would make for a great story! So maybe I will one day, just because. 75. Drank hard liquor: Yes, nights outs requires that sometimes. 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: I’ve never owned contact lenses but yes I’ve definitely lost my glasses more than once. 77. Turned someone down: Yes. 78. Sex in the first date: Hasn’t happened. 79. Broken someone’s heart: Yup. 80. Had your heart broken: Yup. 81. Been arrested: No and the thought alone terrifies me, I can’t survive prison. 82. Cried when someone died: Yes but not at first, still processing it - crying ensues later. 83. Fallen for a friend: Yup.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: Sometimes, on good days - yes. 85. Miracles: Nope, not at all. 86. Love at first sight: Nope. 87. Santa Claus: Never did, half of my childhood was spent in a country where no kid believed in Santa Claus lol 88. Kiss on the first date: I never have. 89. Angels: Debatable but no.

OTHER: 90. Current best friend’s name: I mean I have a couple. Offline: Michael. Anique. Trumaine. Online: Lana @lanapowellblog 91. Eyecolor: Dark Brown 92. Favorite movie: The Princess Bride

I tag the following folks but no pressure or anything: @lanapowellblog, @kara-choices, @mewly , @diamondsaregold, @hartfeld, @xo-endlessmayhem-xo, @tkxo-ashton, @zigisbisexual, @punexpectedly, @mermaidwarriorqueen, @kaitloyalist, @storiesbehindyoureyes, @quinn-kelly, @justapapercut, @pixelbatsy , @joyfulchoices, @annyvil, @warham40k, @pbophelia - and anyone else that wants to do this!

[classywastelandbread-blog]

Moving Color - Vers. 1

Another old assignment I found in an old collection of writing from college. If I am remembering correctly, the assignment was to write two versions of the same story or maybe I just had two drafts. 

While she knew that no one thought her particularly bright, Gladys was sure that the empty line of shops she passed on the way to school that day had been that - empty. But now on her way back, there was a shop, a tattoo parlor. It looked very much like something kids her age would be into and she briefly wondered when the first kid from her high school would be bragging about getting inked there.

It looked like a very nice place with the backlit sign above the entrance reading HUMMINGBIRD TATTOO and bearing a very colorful rendition of its namesake. The hummingbird’s wings were spread and something impish seemed to flicker behind the plastic eyes. Something drew her there, something that made her want to go inside and look around.

“Perhaps it won’t be so bad if I just looked?” she murmured to herself, now staring openly at the little shop. It looked painfully bright and out of place among the other run-down shops and maybe a red flag should’ve gone off in her head. “It won’t be so bad,” she told herself, taking a bold step toward the door. “I’ll just run back out if it’s bad.”

Behind the tinted doors lay a very professional-looking suite, though of course Gladys didn’t know what a professional tattooing suite looked like but she assumed that it would look like Hummingbird’s interior. The only other person there was a large and terrifying man with scars across his face and an elaborate sleeve tattoo of a demonic skull with sunken eyes but he seemed kind enough, calling a polite “afternoon!” to her. “Can I interest you in anything?” he asked as he stood up from where he was lounging and lumbered over.

“I-I-I’m just...I’m just looking.” Gladys stammered, trying to look anywhere but the puckered scars of the man’s face or the skull tattoo that seemed to be grinning lecherously at her.

The man smiled again. “Well, I have a few albums of my work if you’d like to look,” he said, gesturing to the small pile of books on the desk. “I’m also having a sale. 50% off. Grand opening, that sort of thing. Now until Friday.”

Somehow she was charmed by him. “I’m not allowed to get a tattoo,” she demurred. “My parents would kill me.” As the words fell from her mouth however, she felt a sudden compulsion to buy a tattoo, something pretty.

The artist shrugged his massive shoulders. “Well I can’t help you there. You have to be 18 to get a tattoo without parental permission.”

“Oh no, I’m 18,” Gladys reassured him. “It’s just that they’d be so mad at me if I got one. No offense, I’m sure you’re a great tattooer...um...I mean…” Feeling her face start to burn, she looked down and kicked herself for being so awkward.

The artist said nothing and sat down behind the desk. “Hang around if you like,” he said as he pulled out a sketch pad. “I don’t got no one here anyway. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Shyly and unsure if she should stay or go, Gladys picked up one of the albums he had gestured to and found a place on the couch. In the album were things she’d expect, like crosses, various expletives on the knuckles, and Chinese dragons. On the very last page, however, a jewel-like hummingbird caught her eye. It seemed ready to pop right off the skin and take flight. “Did you do this?” she asked, startling the big man out of his reverie. She held up the book and showed him the hummingbird. “Was this yours?”

He grinned at her. “One of my best works.”

“I want it,” she blurted then dropped the book to cover her mouth with her hands.

The artist’s bushy brows rose. “I thought you weren’t allowed?”

Gladys made a face at him, feeling suddenly affronted. “I’m eighteen,” she snapped back. “I can do whatever I want.” Carefully she picked up the book and found that it had fallen on the page of the hummingbird. It called to her, she wanted this tattoo, this particular one. “And I want this tattoo.”

Rolling his big shoulders, the artist carefully took the book from her and closed it, putting it on the counter. “Take the night to think it over.” he said very seriously, dark eyes glittering at her and crazily it seemed as if he was simultaneously trying to scare her away and lure her in. “If you still want it tomorrow, come back and I’ll give it to you.”

Gladys shook her head so violently that some strands burst from her plain ponytail. “I want it now. How much is it?”

The man hesitated but only for a moment. “One-fifty for the tattoo, not including the 50% discount for the grand opening. Still want it?” he asked, brows raising as if challenging her to say no.

Even with the discount it was still a decent sum of money. It was almost a turnoff. Almost. If she hadn’t looked down at the album she would have caved in and fled. But she saw the beautiful hummingbird tattoo whose eyes seemed to tease her playfully, don’t be such a wimp. That decided it. She was tired of being plain and boring Gladys. She was tired of being a quiet pushover.

The artist smiled when she said, “I’ll take it.”

“Let’s get started then,” he said as he ushered her kindly into the back room and gestured for her to seat herself in one of the padded chairs. “It’s an additional 50% off if you go for the GhostInk option. And where do you want the tattoo?”

The question made her pause. “Um...my ankle I guess. What’s GhostInk?”

Bushy eyebrows rose as he took her leg and applied the stencil to the area she indicated. “You haven’t heard of it? Well I guess you wouldn’t, this is your first tattoo. But I would have thought that it would have spread to you high schoolers by now.”

Stung by that remark, Gladys jutted her chin and lips out. “Oh, that,” she said, flapping her hand. “I thought it was something else.”

“You’ve heard of it then?” the artist pressed as he checked the adhesion of the stencil and handed her a mirror to inspect its placement. “And you know the risks?”

Gladys handed the mirror back to him. “Yes,” she grumbled. “I know all about them. And I’m fine with it.” she reassured him. “I’ll take that then.”

The artist shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He began pouring the ink into the little capsules and arranging them around his station. Her leg he pulled into his lap where he could steady it while he worked.

For half a second, as the artist grabbed his gun, Gladys considered turning back. But seeing the vibrant and beautiful colors in the little containers and the stencil of the hummingbird on her ankle steeled her resolve. Gritting her teeth, she prepared herself for the pain of her desire.

Flushed with victory and nursing a red and swollen ankle, Gladys thanked and paid the artist. “Here,” he said gruffly, handing her a sheet of paper. “Some instructions on taking care of it. It’ll be fine quick, don’t worry.”

Thanking him again, she fled, making her painful way home. She dodged her parents and locked herself in her room. Peeling off her sock and the plastic saran-wrap the artist had wrapped it in, she inspected the glittering hummingbird on her ankle. Somehow the artist had made it look iridescent and as she turned her ankle this way and that in the light, she thought she saw the colors shift as a real bird’s feathers might. Brushing it off, she rebandaged her tattoo and went down for dinner.

Later that night as she washed and lotioned the tattoo before bed, she noticed that the wings appeared to have moved, as if it had beat its wings. She swore they had been reaching upwards. “I probably should’ve paid more attention to my tattoo,” she murmured as she admired it under the light. As she fell asleep, she thought she felt little things crawling on her ankle over her tattoo. “Oversensitivity,” she mumbled to herself. “I’m just imagining I feel the needle.” Rolling over, she went back to sleep.

The next morning when she woke up, she checked the hummingbird first. It was still on her leg - as if she had expected it to just fly off! - and was as beautiful and colorful as ever. As she tenderly washed and lotioned it, Gladys noticed that it seemed to be an inch or so higher than she remembered and its wings were once more reaching for the sky. Shaking her head at her foolishness - tattoos don’t move! - she finished getting ready for school.

Throughout the day, the tattoo seemed to inch up her leg until there was no way that she could ignore that it moved. By the end of the day, it was halfway up her calf and the wings had definitely shifted. Swallowing her fear, she walked quickly toward the tattoo parlor and when she pushed at the door, she was surprised to find it covered in dust and boarded up. Leaping back, she looked around for the beautiful sign and found no sign that the little suite had been touched in years.

“Hello?” she called, trying to peel a board back from the door or window, trying to look inside for the friendly tattoo artist. “Hello?” she called again, more desperate this time and yanked on the boards until a splinter jabbed her in the soft skin between her fingers. Running home, she went online.

Google told her that there was a Hummingbird Tattoo Parlor in the United Kingdom and that Ghost Ink was a book on magic and illusions. A search for ‘ghostink tattoo’ yielded a tumblr account run by a tattoo artist. She stayed up late researching, trying in vain to search for something that she was slowly beginning to accept wasn’t there, didn’t exist.

“If it didn’t exist, then how did I get the tattoo?” she whispered to herself. “And what is GhostInk?”

You shouldn’t be doing this, an insistent voice in her head said.

Gladys shook her head. “I need to. I need to figure this out.”

It’s not so bad, the voice insisted. I mean, who else has a moving tattoo? No one. You’re one of a kind.

“Maybe you’re right,” she murmured. “But it’s kind of freaky. I want to know what happened. I need to know what happened.”

No, you don’t. The voice replied. You can be popular now. All you have to do is get used to the weirdness. It paused for a moment. Maybe you should lie down and go to sleep. You’re just scaring yourself. Sleep. Rest. Figure it out tomorrow.

Gladys sighed and pushed herself away from her desk and eyed her bed. “Maybe I should just go to sleep,” she mused to herself. “I’m just scaring myself. It could be nothing but I won’t figure it out now. I can do that tomorrow.”

Sleep well, the voice whispered back.

In the morning, she left the house in clothes she normally wouldn’t dare go out in. The hummingbird tattoo had moved in the night to her lower thigh and she wore shorts specifically to show it off. Gladys basked in the compliments on everything from her legs to her “badass tattoo”.

At her locker, she heard the other side of her compliments. “Look at her,” someone muttered to their friend. “Just because she has a tattoo she thinks she’s so cool.”

Don’t take that from them, the voice told her. How dare they speak about you like that?

Fury boiled in Gladys’s veins and she forced herself to remain calm and close the door of her locker. “It’s fine,” she whispered to herself. “It’s all right, they’re just jealous.”

They think they’re so cool, the voice hissed.

Gladys scoffed. “They think they’re so cool.” She flipped her hair at them and walked away, ignoring their glares. “Well I know better.”

This disrespect cannot be tolerated, the voice continued as she walked away to her next class. They need to be taught a lesson.

“They need to be taught a lesson,” Gladys muttered to herself as she continued walking, completely ignoring her friend who was waiting for her at the door. “How dare they.”

A hand on her shoulder made her flinch. “Gladys?” her friend asked in a soft voice. “Are you okay?”

Gladys shook herself out of her friend’s hold. “Fine,” she said with a sniff. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m just-”

She whirled around, eyes alight with fury. “You’re just what?” Gladys sneered. “Just boring, uncool Carrie? Is that what you’re trying to say. Because you’re right. I don’t know why I’ve ever considered you my friend. I can see that you’re a complete loser.”

Ignoring the tears pooling in Carrie’s eyes, Gladys sat at her desk and crossed her legs. Very good, the voice whispered. Very...regal.

“Queen Gladys,” she murmured to herself so no one would hear. “I like it.”

They are disrespecting you, the voice whispered to her one day. You need to teach them a lesson they won’t forget.

“I need to teach them a lesson,” Gladys hissed to herself as she walked home. “How dare they.”

Yesss, the voice encouraged her, goaded her on. By now the hummingbird had moved to her ribs and moved along her ribcage throughout the day, much more active now that it had gained momentum. They doubt you, they don’t believe you ever had a tattoo.

Gladys paused. “But...you moved. It was because of you.”

Pain shot through her side and she gasped, instinctively clasping a hand to her side. No, the voice hissed. They do not respect you! They must be taken care of. They must die.

“No,” Gladys whispered and whimpered when more pain flared through her ribs. “No, I can’t kill them!”

Hearing voices, she whirled to find a group of girls staring at her strangely. She began to run home, crying like a child every time the little hummingbird tattoo dug its claws into her. By the time she locked herself in her room and peeled off her blouse, her sides were bleeding and the tattoo had settled itself in the center of her chest and was staring up at her. “Oh God,” Gladys moaned, dabbing at the blood with wads of Kleenex from her desk.

God is not here, the tattoo hissed, eyes flashing. It fluttered its wings in a perfectly avian gesture and Gladys felt hot tears slide down her face. There is only me. Now obey.This time it dug its little claws into her skin harder and more blood poured from her skin.

The tattoo ignored her while she sobbed and begged for it to stop. It wasn’t until she screamed that she’d obey it that it ceased mutilating her skin. “I’ll do it,” she sniffed, wiping the snot from her face with a blood-stained Kleenex. “I’ll do it. Just please...stop. Please…”

Claws dug into her chest - comparatively lightly - in warning. Good.

Taking a shaky breath, Gladys opened the door and darted into the bathroom where she hastily patched up the gouges in her flesh and pulled on a bloodless shirt. Still shaking, she made her way downstairs into the kitchen where she gulped down a glass of water. She felt the tell-tale signs of the tattoo moving along her chest and down to her arm where it stared accusingly at her as she refilled her glass. “I need to calm down,” she whispered to it. “Please let me just calm down a bit.”

You will never be calm after I’m done with you, the tattoo hissed, eyes narrowing into furious slits. Now hurry. There is much work to be done.

A hot tear slid down her face and she swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. As she was putting the cup in the sink, she felt the tattoo move to the back of her hand and she saw a fork in the drain rack.

There are so many people that need to die, the tattoo hissed, digging its claws into her skin lightly in warning. Let’s start with your boring little friend Carrie.

Before she could convince herself otherwise, she snatched up the fork, sending the other plates in the drain rack clattering in her haste, and buried it into her hand over the tattoo. Gladys screamed as she furiously stabbed at the tattoo which was quickly lost beneath the gore of her mangled hand.

Her mother came running and screamed when she saw the blood splattered over the counter and the bloody fork in Gladys’s hand.

That was the last straw. Worried about her daughter’s increasingly bizarre behavior, Gladys’s mother had no other choice but to take drastic measures.

Gladys took a shaky breath and lay back on her cot, cradling her bandaged hand against her chest. She hadn’t heard from the demonic tattoo, not since she had stabbed her hand. After it was bandaged she saw only the smallest tip of its beak and tail left unscathed and she had breathed a sigh of relief, finally feeling free of its terrible whispers.

Of course no one believed her when she told them what really happened. Her parents were furious that she had gotten a tattoo and that she had been so stupid about the shop. But this bout of apparent insanity could not be overlooked and they took her to the local mental hospital. No one believed her when she insisted that she wasn’t crazy, but then again, everyone says that.

She sighed and kicked her feet up on the bed, crossing them at the ankles. “It’s not so bad here, I guess.”

Gladys, a very familiar voice called and she clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream.

After a moment she relaxed and laughed shakily. “Just my imagination.”

Gladys, the voice called again and this time she sat up straight, clutching her bandaged hand to her chest. Now Gladys, remember what we talked about.

“No,” she whimpered, clutching her head to her knees. “NO!”

Yes, the voice whispered back. Oh, yes. Remember what I told you? You talked about me. That’s not supposed to happen.

“You’re not real,” Gladys whimpered. “You’re not real. I’m just crazy. Rationalizing…”

No good of himself does a listener hear…

Gladys felt her skin rolling, the tell-tale sign of the tattoo moving around and she cried out as his beak - whole, unscathed - began to emerge from beneath the bandages.

…speak of the devil…

The last of the tattoo’s head emerged and it turned sharply to her, morphing into something grotesque and hideous.

...and he shall appear.

It swelled and emerged from her hand, transforming as it encountered the air until a physical apparition with a large grinning mouth and overlapping teeth stood at the end of her cot.

“Why?” she whispered, too terrified to look away from those fiery eyes and bloody mouth.

Because that’s what I do. I like to play. Would you like to play with me, Gladys? It made a show of looking around the room. Oh. There’s no one else here. I have no one else to play with. Its head snapped back to her and the mouth’s grin stretched impossibly wide. I guess I’ll have to make do with you.

Gladys screamed as the apparition’s hand, tipped with long and terrifying claws caked in blood reached for her.

Carrie kicked the stones along the path as she walked. She missed Gladys. The old Gladys, before that whole tattoo nonsense. It changed her for the worse and look where she ended up. The mental ward was a hard place to keep a friendship going so Carrie eventually gave up on it. Toying with her curly hair, Carrie was surprised to find a tattoo parlor in the old abandoned shop that she had always passed on the way to school.

“Good for them,” she murmured, looking at the sign. There was a slinky black cat and as she watched the sign’s bright green eyes seemed to wink at her. Inexplicably drawn to the shop, she found herself poking her head in the door.

The man behind the counter smiled widely. “Afternoon,” he drawled to her. “How can I help you?”

“I’m just looking, thanks,” she murmured back, looking around. “I was curious to see who bought it.”

“Blak Kat Tats,” the man rumbled kindly through his scarred mouth. “We have 50% now from now until Saturday. Grand Opening and all.”

Carrie shook her head though she didn’t want to admit that she was drawn to the sassy black cat emblazoned on one of the photo albums. She tore her eyes away from the album and looked back at the man to find that he was also looking down at the albums she was staring at. The angle of his neck revealed a bright tattoo of a jewel-like hummingbird with a red beak and claws. As she watched, she could have sworn she saw it wink at her and flex those macabre talons.

“Something wrong?” the artist asked and Carrie shook her head, dispelling the illusion from her mind.

“No, no,” she murmured, looking back down and running her finger along the curve of the cat’s tail. “Everything’s fine.” Hesitantly she glanced back at the artist with his creepy hummingbird tattoo then back at the cat. “I’d like this tattoo, please.”