#crown paint colour scheme ideas

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 05/10/2024 (The Weeknd & Playboi Carti, Nines Quits While He's Ahead)

For a sixth week straight, Sabrina Carpenter remains at #1 on the UK Singles Chart with “Taste” - we’ve got a week with several debuts from Nines today so… a riveting line-up, I’m sure. Welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

content warning: language, brief mentions of gang violence and self-harm

Rundown

As always, our episode starts with the notable dropouts, which are songs exiting the UK Top 75 - the region I cover - after five weeks there or a peak in the top 40. This week, we bid adieu to “Guy for That” by Post Malone featuring Luke Combs, and that’s pretty much it aside from this week’s one big cause for celebration: all three Oasis songs that were charting, those being “Live Forever”, “Don’t Look Back in Anger” and “Wonderwall”, have excited - at least for now - from the top 75.

This really is a bit of a dire week, especially when it comes to the actual content of our new arrivals, but it’s even evident in the songs gaining, as we don’t have any re-entries but we do see boosts for old songs like “Bye Bye Bye” by *NSYNC at #56 and “Yellow” by Coldplay at #55 - will be interesting to see if this stays or get replaced by a Moon Music cut. Then we have few gains in general, but what we do have includes “Free” by Calvin Harris and Ellie Goulding at #46, “Tony Soprano 2” by Nines at #44 (more on him later), “Diet Pepsi” by Addison Rae at #22 and that’s pretty much it outside of a surge for “Heavy is the Crown” by Linkin Park off of the debut to #18 - it’s not a good song, but it is interesting enough, it’s definitely got more energy than what else is here this week.

As for our top five, we have Sabrina Carpenter bring “Please Please Please” to #5, with “Die with a Smile” by Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars at #4, then more Sabrina with “Espresso” at #3, followed by Chappell Roan’s “Good Luck, Babe!” at #2 and of course, “Taste” at the very top. Now for a perhaps less interesting week than it should be, but still a handful of new songs to think about.

New Entries

#73 - “NEW DROP” - Don Toliver

Produced by Coleman, Dez Wright, Psymun, Wheezy and Brian Yepes

In June, Travis Scott protégé Don Toliver released HARDSTONE PSYCHO, an album that has more ambition and aspiration to be interesting than it actually shows up in its execution. For a while, this specific album cut has been having more traction, presumably due to TikTok or some other virality as there does not appear to be a single push or big feature here. I did not actually get to discuss the album on this series, but it did grow on me over time just through throwing enough different paints at a canvas to eventually make some complementing colour scheme. “NEW DROP” is not one of those, primarily because it is so unfocused. The tight drill of “ATTITUDE” that finds such a specific tone it struggles to deviate from, the hook overload of songs like “TORE UP” or “GLOCK” and even the closing rock ballad “HARDSTONE NATIONAL ANTHEM” all find themselves committing to the bit, so to speak, seemingly aware that there is a gimmickry to their musical or lyrical ideas and running with it. The third disc of the album is where everything really throws me for a loop, especially in our charting song, “NEW DROP”, which lyrically is about… who cares? I’m pretty sure it’s about a threesome, but it could not matter less - Don murmurs through the chaos of his pre-chorus-adjacent moments that tip off overly long, messy verses that can’t pit themsselves to a flow. Even when near-yelling, he fails to enunciate in all his Auto-Tuned jabbering, but at least he’s clear on the chorus which uses a slick vocal loop and the makings of a house beat that too quickly deviate into a trap dirge and unnecessarily eerie soundscapes for whatever remains of the content. A squeaky loop appears in the left channel for no reason, he emulates Kid Cudi’s least interesting ad-lib if all the humming wasn’t enough aping for you, and you do start to wonder what this song is actually trying to be, with no thematic construct allowing for these beats to constantly switch or for the more menacing or playful elements to come in and out. Perhaps it would be a cooler execution of an okay idea in better hands.

#69 - “Stars Will Align” - Kygo and Imagine Dragons

Produced by Kygo

Kygo and Imagine Dragons collaborate once again in the year of our Lord 2019 - I mean, 2024 - and it’s about as serviceable as you’d expect. Kygo has always been more cinematic with his whooshing EDM, I actually like the way the rising house percussion slides into a smashing gated 80s drum, but Dan Reynolds is uncharacteristically out of it here. You may not need to fully go into rock belting mode for a song like this, but he’s damn near whimpering, especially as he continues to go into the falsetto at the end of so many lines, with him being so absent from the song’s first build and most drops coming off so strangely. It almost feels like a song was written and a house production was made, with little communication between the two camps, and they were just slashed together to try and work. Once Reynolds can bring in harmonies and acoustic fumbles, he feels more at home, but there’s still two very basic ideas combating for space perhaps too kindly! Instead of filling up too much space, not much space is filled at all, and the two elements barely coexist in the first place. Like a lot of this week, it is somewhat lifeless and definitely refusing to make the most use of its ideas or artists, but at least it doesn’t embrace that lifelessness as a character trait or appeal, more just a way to flag its way into EasyJet adverts, which… is still a purpose I suppose.

#65 - “Cold Hearted World 3” - Nines featuring Marnz Malone

Produced by mike allure and J.B. Productionz

I feel like Nines has got to have some form of cult-like appeal I’ve just yet to understand, because for years he’s shown little in the way of lyrical substance or vocal charisma over what is usually pretty cheap, dime-a-dozen production, not often even being that close to trends of the time, since his flow is a sloppy slow burn more than anything. Yet he still charts more consistently than most, and we have two tracks here from his most recent album, Quit While You’re Ahead, acting somewhat as a swan song of sorts as it debuts at #4 on the albums chart. Maybe there is a new sense of consciousness or just actual life injected into this album? Well, if the tracks we have to review from it are any indication, that simply can’t be the case.

Thankfully, at least for this track, Nines isn’t really the main point of interest, but instead, guest rapper Marnz Malone, a Birmingham rapper who sounds similar to Nines but has a tighter flow to accommodate a chiller delivery over soulful beats, or at least is the case on his other tracks in this trilogy. Similar to Nines’ “Tony Soprano” series, the “Cold Hearted World” tracks are intended to be one long, more lyrical verse, except these are typically over liquidy R&B samples, and Malone has a bit more intrigue to his absolutely defeated cadence that doesn’t stop him from going in for up to three minutes about his reality, with less stupid lines than a Nines verse, typically. The two worlds collide on a track very similar to the other instalments, just this time with Nines’ clunkier flow just ruining whatever vibe you could get from the beat. The topics are very much as you’d expect, but at least Nines brings some cuter 2000s rap references alongside a really ugly, cheap trap skitter and a vocal mix for Malone that sounds frankly like it was recorded in jail… which oddly adds much more to his stoic bars about how closely intertwined he is with gang violence that it’s a core part of his identity. I love the rhyme scheme in the second half, it takes his verse to very interesting places, and I generally think Marnz Malone delivers here, but this may be the worst beat in the trilogy and Nines feeds off this song really lazily, preventing him from really shining… I know, there’s a certain irony in using that term here, but I just wish I could enjoy this more or at least see more elements of this song in Nines’ catalogue to help explain the appeal.

#59 - “Lights Camera Action” - Kylie Minogue

Produced by Lewis Thompson

Ironically, if there’s someone to count on this week, it’s a decades-into-her-career Kylie Minogue still keeping up with the trends on a single for her upcoming Tension II, really maintaining her focus on these heavily-processed future house tracks from in-demand producers like Lewis Thompson. This particular song is just about looking good, feeling good and name-dropping fashion brands and designers doing so. It really is a Kylie Minogue brag rap in some ways, and it is once again completely serviceable. I will give this the edge of having a really riveting pre-drop with the rise of the synth strings and sparse, quieter claps before that tunnelling synth digs into a bombastic final drop and a rubbery bass that is really worth the wait. The rest of the song is fine, but much more distant and perhaps less applicable lyrically than her more universal recent hits, and that may be why it couldn’t crack the top 40 since this doesn’t have the same all-encompassing sexy club energy as say, a “Tension”, “Padam Padam” or even “Dancing”. It’s still perfectly fun for a late-era Minogue bop though, and for this week, that’s really something.

#39 - “Going Crazy” - Nines

Produced by Karlos, Jacob Manson and J.B. Productionz

Maybe Nines was right to mention the 2000s rappers because I do tend to forget how closely his “thugs need love” or breakup tracks get to tracks from that era of that ilk, including an overly loud chipmunk sample that cascades over blocky drums, an uncredited female guest vocalist on the hook, awkward skits to book-end their relationship troubles and awkward sex-raps. He even directly quotes the dated references from Ye’s “Through the Wire”… why the line about Tom Cruise and not any of the actually timeless funny lyrics on that song? Nines’ general sloppiness has always showed up the worst on his “for the ladies” jams and LEILAH can’t save this from just being lazy and somewhat like he’s trying to revisit or dress up as a character he can’t really pull off. It is at least something with a soul, however.

#7 - “Timeless” - The Weeknd and Playboi Carti

Produced by Pharrell Williams, Ojivolta, Twisco, MIKE DEAN, BBYKOBE and BL$$D

The credits to this song read like it got left over from the Donda sessions, and fittingly, it is just as lifeless, being Abel’s worst song in years. The intent of this song was to be a massive smash that lives up to the hype and anticipation awaited by fans following its performance at a concert in Brazil, accumulating success based on the idea of getting a “grail” officially released, cleared and finished this soon. The problem here is that much like what a lot of Carti fans will hype up, this is utterly disposable and they’ve been latching onto substanceless drivel that hopes you plug into the idea that it’s just “hypnotic”, “vibes”, it’s just different, man… when it’s really not. Abel mumbles his way through a sprawling intro before the rote trap drums clunk in and completely overpower the vague sense of atmosphere created by MIKE DEAN’s rainy synths - we don’t even get a typical Pharrell four-count, and whilst I tend to love his production, when working with rappers recently, he can make very stiff, robotic trap slogs, and this fits perfectly within that category. Carti uses the gimmick of changing his voice to cover a verse full of absolutely nothing - there’s some fun to how he coughs in and out of the baby voice - whilst Abel decides to remark that he’s timeless on a song that does sound as such, but not because it will last generations or that it’s a vintage-sounding track. Rather, it’s “timeless” because it seems to be purely for the moment, made ephemerally for the one last hurrah of a long career combined with Carti’s memelord status. As a song, this could have been absolutely anything. It doesn’t matter to them… or you. Unless you love hearing Mr. Tesfaye croon about how if he was you, he’d cut his wrists, before DEAN sprays his synth ejaculate all over the outro to whisper some character into a mindless void of non-character. I know this is an easy vibe for Abel and Pharrell to tap into, I’m just disappointed that for such an important project as Hurry Up Tomorrow, that they’ve decided to fully play into a lack of personality, a quality the two have otherwise held proudly onto. I am aware that all of this week has been lacking in interest or character, but it digs the harshest when you know that they know they’re feeding you sludge.

Conclusion

Probably the oldest of these acts, Kylie Minogue, is sounding the most alive, so she grabs Best of the Week for “Lights Camera Action”, even if it is just pretty good. As for the opposite side of the spectrum… Playboi Carti and The Weeknd are firmly the Worst of the Week for “Timeless” and, remarkably, I’ll give it to Nines: he sticks to an idea, but on “NEW DROP”, Don Toliver doesn’t so he bags the Dishonourable Mention. Maybe I really am getting old now… or is it the Opium kids who are wrong? Well, we should see Coldplay mooning us on the horizon, alongside potential hits from Perrie Edwards and Ella Henderson, so we’ll be exchanging safe for safe. Joy. For now, thank you for reading, long live Cola Boyy, and I’ll see you next week!

[jamesbenjamin]

Using IKEA Cabinets and Stylish Cabinet Doors to Transform Your Kitchen

Introduction: Kitchen remodelling is an exciting endeavour, and selecting the proper cabinets is critical to achieving the desired appearance and practicality. IKEA has long been a go-to brand for households all over the world when it comes to kitchen cabinets. Their flexible and economical alternatives make designing a dream kitchen easier than ever. In this blog post, we will look at IKEA kitchen cabinets and how you can customize them with attractive cabinet doors.

IKEA Kitchen Cabinets Are a Versatile Option IKEA is well-known for its wide selection of kitchen cabinets in a variety of styles and price points. Because of their modular designs, which allow for easy customization, they are a popular choice among homeowners. Whether you like a modern or traditional aesthetic, IKEA has cabinets that may be customized to your own preferences.

IKEA Designing Your Dream Kitchen Planning a kitchen overhaul might be difficult, but IKEA's kitchen planner tool can help. You can use this online tool to visualize your kitchen plan and experiment with various cabinet layouts. To create a personalized kitchen that matches your needs, you may effortlessly mix and match cabinet sizes, shapes, and finishes.

Investigating IKEA Cabinet Doors While IKEA cabinets are well-known for their durability and functionality, you can improve their appearance by altering the basic cabinet doors. IKEA has a vast selection of cabinet door types, ranging from sleek and modern to classic and timeless. You can give your kitchen a custom-made look without breaking the budget by swapping out the doors.

IKEA Cabinet Personalization If you want to create a genuinely distinctive kitchen, consider personalizing your IKEA cabinets. There are several ways to accomplish this:

a. Paint or stain: Painting or staining your IKEA cabinets is one of the simplest methods to change their appearance. This allows you to match your cabinets to your selected colour scheme or create a focal point in your kitchen.

b. Hardware and Accessories: Changing the hardware, such as handles and knobs, can drastically alter the appearance of your cabinets. To suit the theme of your kitchen, you may select from a wide range of styles and finishes.

c. Decorative components: Adding decorative components to your IKEA cabinets, such as crown moulding or trim, can provide a touch of elegance. These minor elements can have a significant impact on the overall appearance of your kitchen.

Cabinet Door Installation on IKEA Cabinets Installing new cabinet doors on your IKEA cabinets is a fairly simple operation. You may get a professional-looking outcome with the correct materials and basic DIY abilities. If you are unsure of your abilities, it is always a good idea to get professional assistance to ensure a flawless installation.

The Advantages of IKEA Cabinets and Cabinet Doors Using IKEA cabinets and cabinet doors for your kitchen renovation has various benefits:

a. Affordability: Compared to many other companies, IKEA offers kitchen cabinets at a cheaper price point, allowing you to obtain a high-end aesthetic without breaking the bank.

b. Durability: IKEA cabinets are designed to last a long period. They are made of high-quality materials and are built to resist daily wear and tear.

c. Flexibility: IKEA cabinets' modular design allows for configuration and modification possibilities, making it easier to create a kitchen that meets your individual demands.

Conclusion: IKEA kitchen cabinet doors, when combined with beautiful cabinet doors, provide a practical and cost-effective solution for remodelling your kitchen. You may construct a kitchen that matches your particular style with IKEA's vast choice of options and customization opportunities. Whether you replace the cabinet doors or go the extra mile by personalizing them,

[spittyfishy]

"Remnant Angie corrupting her native religion into death and gedonism cult, then using Talent-enchanced teleevangelism to first spread it all over her island, then - over the whole world" versus "Remnant Angie being a nihilist materialist modern artist who uses her art to to mass brainwash people first into abaddoning all forms of spirituality, then - into abaddoning morality as well"

Both of those are super interesting ideas! I think I tend to favour the first one in general, but for my AU the idea I’ve got sort of incorporates bits from both.

Ok so Angie. For her we’re going to turn her religious zealot thing all the way up to eleven, in a very negative way.

For this au I’m working with the basis of the V3 kids were attending Hopes Peak along side 77 and 78, and Junko just picked them for her new Despairs instead of class 77. And once in despair, likely none took to her quite as much as Angie.

Angie can still hear Atua telling her what to do, practically screaming at her to stop all this, but she’s not listening, because Junko’s voice is louder.

I think gleefully choosing to ignore her god would be Angie's biggest possible source of despair. So now Junko's her new focus, she’s the new object of worship. Junko’s practically a goddess in Angies eyes, she’s all she’ll paint, all the art Angie does is just Junko in some way now.

I mentioned in the last post that Korekiyo and Angie would likely be at odds a lot of the time, that’s because Korekiyo is frantically trying to save records and pieces of the worlds cultures before they’re destroyed, but Angie wouldn’t see any value in that whatsoever. Why would anyone want one of those old boring cultures/religions/belief systems when they can have her new one! Junko and despair is so great it should be the only thing everyone can have! It’s all they need after all! She’d see what Korekiyo is doing as a ridiculous waste of time (and a little bit of an insult to Junko, so I think Angie would likely be trying to get rid of the things Kiyo saved)

As for the design I did, I’m well aware Angie’s heritage is polinisian and Atua is an actual god, but I made her outfit based off cristian priests to show just how much of a disconnect she’s put between herself and her actual beliefs. It’s not what she’s supposed to be like, which is why she’s doing it. (Plus historically christianity has been really good at stomping out other religions and cultures and that’s basically what Angie’s doing in the name of Despair so I thought it was fitting lol).

It’s hard to see on purpose, but if you connect the dots on her belt and headdress, they make imagines of Junko (the belt has her crown sprite, and the crown has the arm crossed funky hands sprite, idk what it’s called lol). I tried a bunch of different colour schemes, but I’m happy with the one I finally landed on.

These are so much fun to do, Tenkos up next since I got an ask about her!

[cosplayinamerica]

Princess Daisy : pencils_and_pincushions // photo: that_fedora_photographer

I’m a Canadian cosplayer who has been cosplaying since 2007. I’ve had a love for Victorian fashion since I very young age (my little kid brain basically made the connection that Victorian dresses = women dressing like Disney princesses IRL), but the thing that kickstarted my desire to learn sewing was going to a fabric store with my mother when I was in my senior year of high school and seeing a Butterick pattern catalogue that had Victorian-inspired costumes. Almost instantly I had a lightbulb moment that if I learned to sew, I could actually wear those big fancy gowns I loved.   

I entered university and, over the next few years, spent my free time reading and learning everything I could about sewing. In 2007, my best friend invited me to Anime North - she was going as a gothic lolita-inspired version of the Queen of Hearts, so I decided I would make a Mad Hatter to accompany her.

I was so excited that I jumped in completely head-first, and it ended up being my first foray into both sewing and pattern drafting. In hindsight it was wildly ambitious for a first project (and I’m still a little surprised that I actually pulled it off!), but I’m so glad that my enthusiasm made me persevere and psh through the challenges, because I learned a ton from that experience and ended up with a cosplay I was thrilled with.

I remember seeing myself in the mirror the first time and being so happy when I realized I’d been able to bring something to life from my imagination. When my friend and I got to the con, things only got better from there - the atmosphere was so energetic and colourful thanks to all the amazing cosplays, and it was filled with so many fun, enthusiastic, and friendly people. From that day I was officially hooked on cosplay.

I’m part of the Toronto Steampunk Society and, each year at Fan Expo Canada, we hold an Annual Costume Challenge where we pick a theme and encourage people to make a costume based on the theme. A couple of years ago, the theme was ‘steampunk video game characters’ and one of my friends in the TSS, Modern Myths Cosplay, thought it would be cute to do Princess Peach and Princess Daisy.

I loved the idea and, after more discussion, we decided to do a steampunk twist on the Super Smash Bros Brawl version since it was fancier and seemed to lend itself well to a steampunk interpretation. Though Daisy isn’t officially in Brawl, my friend was fortunately able to dig up some fan edits of Peach in Daisy’s colours, so with that we were set.

I usually make my outfits myself, but since my friend and I wanted to ensure our cosplays matched, we decided to work collaboratively and divide things: I would create the bodices and accessories for both gowns, and she would create the skirts and crinolines.

I started off by drafting the base bodice patterns. Since I draft all my costumes, I used my existing bodice block/master patterns for myself and drafted a bodice block from scratch for my friend based on her measurements. One neat thing about working this way was that it basically turned into a girls’ weekend where I was able to teach my friend more about pattern drafting, which ended up making the process unexpectedly fun and memorable.

After I finished fitting my friend’s bodice block, I got to work drafting our bodice patterns based on the reference pics we had collected. Being able to tackle both bodices ended up working well since it enabled me to draft them in a way that made them visually match identical while taking our respective body shapes into account.

A couple of mockups and fittings later, we had an idea of how much fabric we needed, so we went fabric shopping. My friend suggested that we go with richer, more regal-looking tones instead of strictly game-accurate colours, so when we found a place selling gorgeous peau de soie and sparkle organza, I was instantly sold on a gold and burnt orange colour scheme.

We split the fabric based on our respective portions and worked on them separately. I cut and sewed the bodices, which was fairly straight forward but time-consuming! The part that sticks in my mind the most was the center front panel because it had so many pieces and layers - two types of satin, two types of organza (including one that had to be ruched to the base panel in multiple places), five rows of lace, interfacing...and that doesn’t even include the lining!

I also created our jewelry and crowns. The brooches and earrings were made from filigree settings that I painted, glued gems, and attached pin backs and earring hooks to, and the crowns are made from craft foam painted in gold acrylic, with embellishments assembled from painted filigree stampings and gems.

My friend created our cage skirts from 1/4 PEX pipe and brown grosgrain ribbon, which ended up being the perfect hoop skirt material since it was cheap, lightweight, and strong enough to support the huge, heavy skirts. She cut and sewed our skirts (including attaching meters and meters of trim that I’d painted white to better match the game colours) and she also made our bloomers.

The gowns were a huge undertaking and, thanks to work and general real life eating up time, we did end up engaging in the dreaded con crunch, but fortunately in the end we were able to get them to a state where they were pretty and wearable!

The response at the convention was absolutely amazing - I don’t think I’ve ever had a costume elicit the reactions that Princess Daisy did. We figured that, since we were cosplaying the princesses from Mario, there was a good chance we might be recognized, but the thing I wasn’t prepared for was how genuinely happy and excited people were, especially when they saw us together. We literally had kids waving at us from across the street when they spotted us.

Even grown-ups loved it - we were frequently stopped for pictures, and even a couple of the folks in the dealer’s room who were running booths would break into huge smiles and ask for pictures. Plus, people loved the steampunk twist and were delighted when they realized how much our costumes matched.

The best, most heartwarming response to my Princess Daisy cosplay happened when I met up with some other friends and one tapped me on the shoulder, pointed behind me and said, “I think she wants a picture with the princess.” I turned around and, standing a few feet away, was this adorable, super shy little black girl who was staring in my direction. My heart instantly melted and I went over to her and had a little chat and took a picture with her.

As a black cosplayer who has run several panels on BIPOC cosplay and spoken about the importance of diversity and representation in cosplay, being able to show that sweet little girl that someone who looks like her can be a princess - and showing kids of other races that Princess Daisy can be black - was a vivid reminder that representation does matter.

Since I got into the hobby, cosplay has been a big part of my life and has positively impacted me in so many ways. It has been an incredible creative outlet that has given me the chance to express myself, and it has allowed me to meet so many wonderful people - many of whom are now among my closest friends. However, I think one of the most rewarding things about cosplay has been how it has allowed me to provide BIPOC cosplay representation and visibility within my local cosplay community. I often do Afro-steampunk cosplay, and one of the most unexpectedly moving things I’ve experienced has been other BIPOC saying to me that seeing my outfits make them feel like they can cosplay.

It has been humbling and has motivated me to get more involved in the cons I attend. For the past several years I’ve run panels on diversity in cosplay/steampunk as well as sewing and cosplay construction, which has enabled me to share the knowledge and skills I’ve learned. I also lead the steampunk section of the Anime North Fashion Show, and I’ve made a point to recruit as diverse a roster of models as possible. I’m happy that we’ve been able to showcase steampunk looks inspired by various cultures including Chinese, Indian, and Morrocan.

Another plus is that the sewing skills I’ve learned from cosplay have come in handy in other areas of my life. It has been fun - and surprisingly empowering - to be at a point where I can use my sewing ability to create one-of-a-kind outfits for formal work events (like office holiday parties) that make me feel pretty and confident.

Something I’ve frequently mentioned during my BIPOC cosplay/steampunk panels is that the simple act of showing up to a con or event in cosplay can have an impact because you never know how much that visibility can inspire other BIPOC to get into the hobby, so my advice to anyone wanting to get into cosplay is to do it! Overall I have found it to be a fun, creative, energizing experience.

While I’ve been extremely fortunate to have had overwhelmingly positive experiences while cosplaying, I recognize that, unfortunately, BIPOC do sometimes face harassment and outright racist comments (especially online) that can make getting into the hobby seem scary. Finding welcoming, supportive spaces in person and online can be a big help (the POC Cosplay group on Facebook is great for this) - plus, thanks to things like #28DaysOfBlackCosplay, there is more visibility and inspiration out there than ever before.

The other thing I’d add is to treat each cosplay as a learning experience. Being able to work so closely with my friend on creating a cosplay was a completely different creation process than I’m used to, and it was really cool to be able to learn from each other’s different working styles and experience. It was great to teach her pattern drafting and see how happy she was to learn skills she could apply to future cosplays, and I was so excited when she showed me her PEX pipe hoop skirt method. Looking back on my Princess Daisy cosplay makes me smile because it’s almost like a physical representation of the fun we have cosplaying together.

[doorsclosingslowly]

Someone, Broom in Hand

Kaz died before he turned sixteen. That’s the story. When he reappears, it’s at the side of the Dark General, wearing the thin fluttering robes of the Sun Summoner. Jesper travels to the Little Palace to punch his fucking teeth out.

Kaz[/&]Jesper | 7.5k | content note: nonlinear narrative, past and offscreen abuse

The purple kefta is too big for Kaz. Jesper doesn’t want to think about why he dumped his coat over Kaz’ head, except that Kaz looks weird and cold in his ugly fancy yellow paper taffeta shirt, his one layer that he’s wearing apart from the underpants that leave his knees bare.

That he looks uncomfortable at all should be nothing but a trick of the violent light: there are two separate lit fireplaces in the bedroom, so awkwardly placed that they were probably retrofitted by a Fabrikator. It might have been David, though then Jesper would surely have heard a treatise on the stones used to erect the Little Palace, or Gaz, or Lizaveta or any of the other Materialki Jesper’s been bunking with but—but anyway, if Kaz felt like wearing more, he could order an attendant to fetch another shirt or two. Unless there’s nothing he owns that isn’t thin and revealing and fucking yellow. Unless he’s not allowed… Unless he can’t even dress himself anymore without a gaggle of attendants. Man moves up in the world and forgets everything he knew: tale as old as time.

“Just like you forgot us,” Jesper mutters, less viciously than he should.

The Kaz-doll makes no comment. No protest. No further manipulation of Jesper’s old affections. No snide mockery for Jesper passing his kefta on to the man that less than an hour ago, he tried to kill.

He just pulls the coat on. With his odd bare fingers—no claws after all, just thin and human—he closes button after button, including the top four that Jesper’s never once used, struggling to pull the material over the bone-tines sticking out of his chest. (And who back home would believe that Dirtyhands has ordinary fingers and a totally fucked up chest?) It would be easier to leave it open, but Kaz, even now he’s a sunny lapdog, doesn’t do easy. When he drops his arms, the too-long sleeves fall down over his hands, and with his thumbs he traps the fabric there. Sad little improvised half-gloves, more than Jesper’s seen him wear in the month since he let himself get conscripted into the Little Palace. He looks back at Jesper.

There’s no Thank you—Kaz Brekker never knew that word, and it seems in the two years they had him, whatever else they forced on him the Ravkans failed to teach him any more manners—but there is something new in his glare. It’s not just the purple washing the colour off his smooth—his way too smooth face. No. It’s something old: defiant, and angry, and scheming, just barely breaking through the placid paint and the rust beneath it.

Bit by bit, as he buttons up Jesper’s kefta Kaz simultaneously pulls on the moth-bitten coat of Dirtyhands he’s kept way back in the wardrobe of his brain, the ruthless killer, Bastard of the Barrel, Dregs lieutenant and future gang boss unless he gets murdered first. And it didn’t stick the first time. Pulls it over whoever it is that he was before. Over the doll beside Kirigan.

Over that person in the corner, that cornered boy, brittle and alone and stripped of armour and weapon and self, and Jesper wants to kill every single fucker in the Little Palace.

“Back home, you had a plan for everything,” he says instead. “I’m not assuming it’s a B or even a Z or a Q squared, but I know you. I know you’ve considered it. What do we do now your beloved long-lost friend’s shown up to help you steal the Sun Summoner?”

☼

Yesterday, Kerch accepted the terms of the Ravkan crown. Ex-crown. Dark fucking empire. Whatever. Test all children and send the Grisha to the Little Palace, conscript some people into the First Army—though what they still need an army for when they have the Fold is anyone’s guess—send food, booze, and, worst of all to the fastidious greedy Kerch, pay tribute without receiving anything at all in return. It was in the mouth of every paperboy on the streets, every mercher, every gang boss. By Ghezen how could we just surrender? they moaned, and Do you want to end like West Ravka? and Didn’t you see him? Kirigan’s going to crown himself king of everything. He’s unstoppable. And that boy next to him, the Sun—

Honestly? Jesper doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s paying fifty kruge just to sit on Inej’s bed for an hour and braid her hair. Ketterdam can burn to the sopping wet ground for all he cares. The world can rot. Like the Dregs did. Like everything Jesper cared for.

Inej, though, watched it.

“I had to see,” she’s whispering into Jesper’s ear, barely moving her miserable red-painted lips even though his hair should block out most lines of sight already. Inej’s smart, though, and desperate: if Jesper keeps returning to the Menagerie as nothing but a smitten small-time gangster with an incredibly vanilla hair fetish, he won’t catch attention. Tante Heleen will have fewer reasons to raise Inej’s rates. Jesper can barely pay for a visit a month as it is, and even those he allows himself mostly because he’s given up the hope of ever paying off her indenture unless he wins big.

“I snuck out yesterday. I had to see. Heleen got a new girl from Ravka six months ago, and she believes, too. Had a cheap pamphlet with her, last thing she had, of the new Saint. The illustrations… they looked just like Kaz.”

“Fu—” Inej elbows him. Jesper presses his lips into the braid over her ear. “Forget about Kaz Brekker. You’re the only one who matters now. He died, and you ended up here.”

She’s trapped in the Menagerie now because Kaz disappeared into the harbour like so many orphans before him; because he didn’t tell Jesper jack shit about Inej’s situation that might have helped him keep her safe in the Dregs; because he allowed senile Haskell who knows the names of all his five hundred thousand miniature boats and literally nothing else to stay in charge of the Dregs instead of killing him as soon as possible, which allowed Haskell to let the payments for Inej’s indenture lapse, which meant three months after Kaz just disappeared from his life Jesper got back to the Slat to find that Inej, too, had gone without a trace, and it was only luck and a pervert old Dreg that Jesper soon afterwards ‘accidentally’ shoved off a roof talking about the girls at the Menagerie that meant he found her again. Found her, only to realize he can’t help her at all.

Inej pulls Jesper’s ear back to her mouth. “I saw him, Jesper. I saw Kaz. Kaz is alive. He was there. I saw him.”

“You what?!” A sharp elbow darting out of her red sad nightgown that would have slipped right in-between his ribs if it was one of the knives she still mourns, and he’s not even given anything away. Heleen’s a hell bitch, but what use would she get out of random surprise?

“I saw Kaz. He’s the Sun Summoner. I was far away but—it was Kaz, standing next to General Kirigan, holding his hand, when the Merchant’s Council signed the terms of surrender. It was Kaz. I’m certain. Sankt Kaz.”

“I—” Jesper burrows his face into Inej’s hair. “You didn’t happen to have a knife on you, did you? A really tiny one she couldn’t confiscate. A super lethal one. Might never get as good a chance again.”

“Jes—”

“Fuck him sideways with a rusty shovel. That traitor. Did you forget how you ended up here? He left us. Saw a bigger pile of cash and skedaddled, I bet. He always wanted to be king. Guess becoming the Darkling’s queen was the next-best option.”

Inej doesn’t even defend Kaz. Jesper pulls away from her so he can look at her face. She always looks sad these days, unless she has specific painful orders to perk up, but it’s deeper now. She’s not doing the gesture, not holding her hand against her chest. Faith, now, is just one more thing Kaz Brekker took from her. Jesper can’t blame her, even though he never believed. Not even when Ravka’s new ‘Sun Summoner’ started gaining them the whole continent. Power’s power, though, no matter whether the stories around it are true. If Kaz truly is the Sun Summoner, then it’s not just Kaz Brekker who sent her back to the Menagerie—but one of her Saints. Fucking asshole.

He buries Inej in his arms. It’s all he can do now, to hold her until this month’s hour is up, because it’s not like he can just murder the Ravkans special weapon in retribution, can he? Can…

“This changes nothing,” he whispers. “The only priority is still paying off your indenture. Kaz quit the Dregs. He left us, and that means he’s nothing now. Less than nothing. I have a good feeling about the Makker’s Wheel at the Emerald Palace this weekend. Lots of pigeons there for the ‘Fete of Unity with Mother Ravka’ or whatever, and the minder thinks I’m hot. It’s risky, of course, but if I do this right—”

☼

Jesper’s just about to crawl right back out from under the bed—weapons raised, since hell knows what Kaz was planning back there, and fuck Jesper for apparently still harbouring enough trust in the guy to follow his lead two years after he deserted—but then, a series of clicks and rumbles heralds the opening of the door. Footsteps, and it slides shut again.

Shit, that was close.

And Kaz wasn’t bluffing, after all. Well, well… it certainly means something that Kaz, beloved Saint and Sun Summoner and ally to the Darkling, just told his attempted murderer slash old friend and-or stooge to hide. Kaz never did anything without a motive, be it profit or power or vengeance, and even this degraded, polished version surely isn’t so far gone as to engage in ideas as base as altruism. Ergo, Kaz will want to use Jesper for—something, though what is there he wants when he’s basically a prince of—but he isn’t, is he? He’s in a cell. A cell Jesper can unlock.

Three pairs of footsteps move around the room. One of them might be Kaz, but without his limp, it’s hard to recognize him. None of them says a word, which… it probably means this is a routine visit. Whatever’s going on, they all know their role.

Two pairs stop moving, while the third one—circles around them, it sounds like, and then someone else stumbles a little and catches themselves. Jesper hopes they’ll hurry up. He’s in mortal danger, technically—Kaz can still choose to reveal the intruder inside the Sun Summoner’s private room and-orprison, but, prison. Jesper’s far more useful alive, and so, hiding under the bed is fucking boring.

There’s not even anything interesting in-between the slat frame and the mattress. It’s the only place where you could hide anything—that Jesper can think of, at least, but there’s just nothing there at all, and Kaz used to be a real magpie. It’s a gaping void, just like everything else in this room. Like everything else in this palace, a chasm painted over with gilt and power. Unless—something’s stuck to the underside of a cross brace. Jesper slides a fingernail under the edge, and it comes loose easily enough. Not exactly a cache worthy of Dirtyhands, and anyway, it’s just a… a mangled piece of paper. A paper that looks like it’s been chewed on and spat out—and an entire corner actually torn off, or bitten, maybe—and whatever used to be printed onto it mostly rubbed off except for a couple of letters here and there, RAV. Curved lines and tiny hats. What would Kaz need to hide in his room? Apart from weapons he doesn’t have. Other people’s jewellery, dito. The only thing that Jesper knows about him now is that he’s trying to open the door. Trying to leave. It’s probably a map, then.

Which means an escape is planned, and Jesper’s just providing the desperately sought means. Good. That means he should have even more leverage here.

Somebody stumbles again, this time taking two steps to catch themselves. Almost as if they’ve jerked away.

“You’re falling behind,” slimes the smooth, rich voice of the Darkling. “On second thought, our people would miss you at the celebration. I’ll inform the staff that you wish to dance, all night long.”

☼

“You’re hanging around here because you heard that General Kirigan and the Sun Summoner are due back this hour, aren’t you?” The woman in a tidemaker’s kefta that just sidled up to Jesper speaks unaccented, high class central Ravkan. Even if her dark skin is an indication of Zemeni heritage, she came to the Little Palace long before the Darkling’s recent territorial acquisitions. She’s no ally, just like the rest of the crowd that surrounds them: an old-school Grisha, veteran Second Army, not someone whose loyalties may yet be pliable. Not someone like Jesper, whose skin started crawling the moment he showed his skills to a Ravkan occupation officer so he could sneak into the Little Palace. She’s friendly, though, and looks at Jesper’s face with clear appreciation. “You must be new. Hi. I’m Nadia.”

“Jesper,” he says, throwing a flirtatious grin like a blanket over his nerves and anger. It’s almost fun, playing the suave infiltrator assassin Grisha. Except Inej’s still in the Menagerie. And Kaz is still a piece of shit. “Yeah, I just got here! They didn’t test for Grisha ability in Novyi Zem when I was little, so I barely knew who I was… but once I heard about the Darkling, about this place, I crossed the True Sea as soon as I could!”

“That must have been so hard. So lonely. This place is…” She grimaces. “This place was our sanctuary. You’re lucky you’re Materialnik.”

“Why?” It’s the first time since his arrival that anyone’s had even a neutral opinion of Durasts, let alone good, and granted, it’s not like he cares that much about the ability his Ma died from, and he’s only talked to a dozen people since arriving yesterday, but…

“Listen, I know you want to see the Sun Summoner, and don’t tell anyone I said this but…” Nadia pulls Jesper a few paces away from the crowd on the training grounds, into a corner formed by two enormous bales of hay. Well-chosen: he can barely see the crowd that just surrounded them peek out behind the yellow stalks. “You’re sweet—”

“Listen, you’re gorgeous, but we just met—although, on second—”

“No!” She laughs, but it’s bitter. “You’re cute, but no. It’s my duty, to her, to protect you. The new ones. You’re Materialnik, so you’re not combat, so you’re not going to actually meet the Sun Summoner. Ever, if you’re lucky.”

“He’s that bad?” Kaz was always a dick, if Jesper’s honest—it was part of his charm—he was just a charming magnetic one, and back with the Dregs Jesper hated his ruthlessness just as much as he admired it. He was worst to his fellow Dregs and his enemies, though: he could charm a mark when needed. So it’s a tad unexpected that Kaz earned himself the hatred of a Grisha indoctrinated from childhood to see him as her Saint and saviour. Apparently, he’s just that talented. That obnoxious.

Well, Jesper’s not complaining. That makes his plan much easier.

“He killed my best friend,” Nadia whispers urgently. “The last time I saw her they were taking a walk, and then I found her, blisters and burns all over her body. Who else? There’s a reason he’s not allowed to have weapons. I heard the Darkling doesn’t let him go anywhere alone, or he would murder us all. He killed Baghra too, I’m sure—she was our teacher, but she disappeared two years ago. Just stay away from him, alright? He looks harmless, but he’s a rabid dog. Oh. There he comes.”

Jesper barely manages to whisper, “Thank you,” before she pulls away from him and returns to her previous place. Back to the crowd of Etherealki and Corporalki on the training field, but she finds her place in the last row, standing—hiding—behind two men much taller than her.

Jesper follows into the crowd. No need to alert Kaz that the past is hot on his heels, and then—

Well. There he is.

There someoneis, anyway.

If Jesper trusted Inej just a hair’s breadth less, he’d have cursed her and sneaked back out of the Little Palace the second he sees the person holding General Kirigan’s hand. Sure, the Sun Summoner is male, with dark brown hair and dark eyes and pale skin, and just a little bit taller than Kaz was at fifteen, but that’s where the similarities end. Dirtyhands had his impeccable mercher’s suits in a grim mockery of Ketterdam’s upper class, and gloves to feed the rumours, and a cane to walk and kill. His hair managed to be at once floppy and severe; just like his gaunt face, in the right light, made him look utterly captivating and not just like an annoyed scheming rat. He looked exactly like the Bastard of the Barrel should. Not pleasant or easy, but the person Jesper once would have followed into any lion’s den.

This—this Sun Summoner, on Kirigan’s arm, is beautiful. Healthful. Pristine.

Barely even a fucking person.

It’s the face, mostly.

You could never tell what Kaz was thinking, just looking at him, because he was, after all, thinking in layers upon layers of incomprehensible schemes at all times of the day and then went to bed and dreamt about ploys and deceptions. Jesper could barely follow him the three times total he deigned to explain part of his plans. But you could always tell that Kaz was thinking. Planning, scheming, plotting his greedy bloody vicious way out of and into every possible house on every possible street.

The Sun Summoner looks empty. He’s staring straight ahead, but he’s not even doing thatwith any kind of purpose. He’s like a pet on the Darkling’s arm. He looks more airheaded than all blackout drunk heirs and heiresses in Ketterdam combined.

It’s incredibly eerie, because now he’s searching for it Jesper can sort of read Kaz Brekker back into the Sun Summoner’s face. This face is much smoother, without the marks of past firepox, plumped and rosy-tinted, but that might partially just be a testament to the quality of Ravkan cooks—or, how skint the Dregs always were. He has a normal haircut. It probably suits him better, unless your standard for beauty is Dirtyhands, and unfortunately Jesper—anyway. The Sun Summoner doesn’t have a cane, either, and he doesn’t need one, apparently, because he isn’t limping. Ravkan royal healthcare, but honestly, Kaz could have pressed a Grisha healer into service back in Ketterdam only he always insisted—well, whatever. Fuck his words of wisdom. Fuck him. Fuck Kaz. Jesper shouldn’t even be remembering that snake.

Kaz Brekker betrayed Inej, left her to rot in the Menagerie, so whatever role he’s playing right now in whatever scheme this is—because it has to be a scheme that put Kaz into the yellow robe he’s in right now, so thin it’s translucent, and sleeveless too in the Ravkan winter. The Dregs tattoo on his arm is gone. Two Inferni are flanking him and the Darkling, their hands perpetually on fire just so Kaz can parade about in a robe no Menagerie slave would go outside in, but still, it’s Kaz. It’s definitely Kaz Brekker. Jesper can see it now.

Fuck him. He traded the Dregs for this. He abandoned them to Haskell’s mismanagement and let Inej go back to the Menagerie. He betrayed them all.

(Of course, Jesper abandoned Inej now too, and without a word, but—after that last catastrophic loss in the Emerald Palace, there’s a zero percent chance the Dime Lions wouldn’t have strung him up by his own entrails—or sold him into indenture, trying to make back at least a fraction of the fifty thousand kruge he owes—so really, he had no choice. It’s the next best thing, right? If he can’t help her anymore, at least he can kill the bastard that started all their troubles.)

Kaz just walks off, hand in the Darkling’s grasp, towards the Little Palace. Carelessly following the other man’s lead.

The old Kaz would have noticed Jesper.

☼

Footsteps and then, a series of clicks and pieces of wood and metal rubbing stones. The door. Kaz’s legs, taking steps backwards to the bed in a perfect, healthy gait. The rich soft creaking of the bed as he sinks down again, and in front of Jesper—the same two muscular, pale, bare, identical hairy calves. Like the legs of a statue, or one of those de Kappels he used to like, except the right leg is trembling finely. Barely noticeable if it wasn’t right in front of Jesper’s face. Those Ravkans maybe aren’t so crafty after all.

Then: nothing.

After what feels like an hour in which Jesper doesn’t dare move, even though the Darkling must have left already, a hand drops off the edge off the mattress. Middle and index finger erect, then crooking twice in quick succession. It takes a moment to connect. Jesper hasn’t seen those signals in such a—move, path clear. Yes. That’s what it was.

Jesper wriggles out from under the bed, annoyingly free of dust. Pristine. Empty, just like everything else.

“Didn’t think the Sun Summoner needed to use our secret code, boss,” he drawls up at Kaz from the floor. Kaz, with his barren black eyes and his new porcelain doll face, picking at the wide open collar of his yellow shirt.

“Never drop a tool you can still use,” Kaz says. A beat. “Didn’t think I was your boss anymore.”

“You aren’t.” Jesper turns his head away, looking at the spotless floor and the intricately painted walls from his low vantage point. Exquisite, imposing, empty: a Saint’s cage, as beautiful and terrible as Inej’s room in the Menagerie. The bare wall hiding the inaccessible door. “That guy really fucking hates you.”

Kaz doesn’t reply. Jesper turns his head back to watch him again, even though that won’t give him anything more: Kaz used to be willfully inscrutable even back in the Barrel, but after whatever Grisha surgery they did to him, there are only traces left of the real person trapped inside him. Dollface, Jesper thinks again. Who’d have expected they’d turn fucking Dirtyhands into a dollface?

It’s Kaz who turns away, fingers clawed into his neckline. His voice is rough, even if it’s a shadow of the damaged rasp that used to be him. “I thought about it sometimes, back then. The first time.”

Every fibre of Jesper’s being wants to interrupt with, What are you talking about? I don’t speak cryptic anymore. I’m out of practice. He should get off the floor, raise his guns, resume—but whatever it is, whether it’s some stupid new Grisha power, whether it’s zowa, or his memory of Kaz is just coming back, he doesn’t—

“It was like this. I was on my bed already, usually, when it grew hard—and I thought you would be up for not being on the bed, and there wasn’t much else in my room. I imagined watching you. I didn’t touch it. That was better.”

Uh. What.

“He probably knows I threw up after we—I tried to hide it. I thought I could manipulate him into seeing me as his partner, I thought I’d healed, that I’d practiced enough—but he just saw that I was still weak. He saw he could control me. But if he didn’t do it again because I threw up, I’m—”

He was right. Jesper would have stayed on the cold hard floor back then for him. Even now, Jesper would crawl around like a worm jerking off for the fucking asshole he got himself trapped in the Little Palace to murder, if that meant Kaz never had to—

Kaz pulls the neckline of his flimsy thin single ugly yellow shirt closed. The shirt that doesn’t protect him. The shirt he didn’t choose.

☼

Jesper’s imagined the Sun Summoner’s quarters, of course. Most of the Grisha in the Little Palace are wretched gossips—or Jesper’s been charming as many people into spilling as many secrets as possible to him so he can plan his attack, same difference—and anyway, he needs a backdrop for his imagined kill shots. It’s Kaz Brekker, after all. Dirtyhands. The ex-Bastard. You’d want to rehearse that death. Think of some witty one-liners.

Nadia said it was gorgeous inside, like a dollhouse. Lizaveta, who Jesper’s been told to shadow so he can learn how to become a proper Durast, insisted it’s totally empty. Grzegorz said there were live kittens inside, so the Sun Summoner could sate his lust for innocent blood, Sayyna thought there was a giant swimming pool, and a lovely naïve boy from the edge of the permafrost up at the former border insisted it was just like the quarters of all other Grisha, except with a little more privacy. Since they’re all siblings fighting for a world that will be kind to Grisha.

Jesper, privately, imagined a few stolen paintings and a mishmash of furniture. Because he’s an idiot.

This is just like—

If it is the Sun Summoner’s bedroom at all. It should be. Jesper did his homework: he followed the Darkling and his Sun Summoner creature that wears the skin used to house Kaz, and a variety of Materialniks, to the end of this specific corridor, five times in total. Watched the Materialniks unlock a hidden mechanism, and then the two most powerful men in Ravka—in all charted countries, ruling everything this side of the True Sea but pockets of Shu Han and even that’s a matter of time—they walked inside, hand in hand. The Darkling always left, after a while, alone, and so it only made sense to assume that the hidden room that Jesper just snuck up to and unlocked is, in fact, the Sun Summoner’s room. Kaz’ room. It’s the best time for breaking into it, too. There’s going to be a party in two days, so hopefully everyone’s too busy, and even if the Sun Summoner’s out doing preparations then Jesper can just hide in here and kill him in an ambush. That’s probably easier, actually.

First, though, he locks and hides the door again, because… yeah, he went to Ravka expecting to get caught. At some point. This is a suicide mission for revenge, after all—suicide is in in the title. But it’s no fun if he gets caught before the gory glorious revenge part. Before Kaz admits he was a piece of shit. Both guns cocked and ready, he turns around, and actually inspects the room he broke into.

No. Nothing changes, even when he blinks and blinks again. That wasn’t a faulty first impression.

The room still looks like a fucking prison cell.

A fancy, clean cell, but a cell nonetheless. It’s empty except for the bed, and Jesper owes Lizaveta more money than he has on him (though to be fair, technically, Jesper’s fifty thousand kruge in debt anyway, so does it really make a difference at all if he’s a few Ravkan coins more in the red), and even the windows—Jesper’s had enough training now that he can look at the windows and see the subtly reinforcing mesh inside the glass. No curtains. No curtain rods. Nothing—there’s a subtle mesh inside the bedclothes too and the frame of the bed looks far too sturdy to be torn apart by anyone who isn’t a skilled Materialnik. There are meshes in front of the fireplaces.

Nothing in here that can be used as a weapon.

Not against others, and not against oneself.

No escape.

There’s nothing in this stark white massive room but a person, acting like he never did before and still looking more like himself than when he was walking through the training grounds. It’s probably the distance from other people. He’s got his back to Jesper and he’s in the furthest corner from the door, which should be a tactical misstep because he can’t escape from there but really—it’s as good as any other location, in this room. There’s nothing of use to anyone left, not even to someone as shrewd as Dirtyhands used to be before he lobotomized himself into the Sun Summoner. Or before he was—

Kaz pushes himself up from his kneeling position using the walls he faces. He mutters, “I beg your forgiveness for keeping you waiting, Aleks.” His voice sounds odd.

“Are you crying?”

“Jesper?!”

Kaz turns so quickly he has to brace himself against the wall again lest he fall over. His translucent shirt ripples. His dark eyes in his weird new too-handsome face trace over Jesper, again and again. If they were fingers, Jesper would feel like he’s being caressed. No, that’s the wrong thought. A thought from a book he won’t admit he’s read. Jesper’s got his guns out. He came here for a reason. A bloody, glorious reason.

“Inej wouldn’t want me to do this, but she’s locked up in the fucking Menagerie,” he announces, just to see whether Kaz can feel even a shred of guilt. “Just so you could be a Ravkan prince in ugly yellow lingerie.”

“Just follow my—”

No, then. Or maybe it’s just the new face Jesper can’t read. Not that it matters. “Shut up. Do you remember what you told me when I joined the Dregs? About what you’d do to traitors? Well, I have added a couple of my own ideas.”

“Shut up, Jesper. You can monologue when we’re done, but—”

Jesper aims right between his weird, smooth pebble eyes. “When you left us, you knew it would all go to shit. Inej’s in the Menagerie, and there’s no way to get her out again. Haskell let the Dregs collapse after you disappeared. No Dregs, no kru—”

Kaz flinches. “Quick. Get under the bed. Now.”

Whether it’s surprise, a sex instinct, or—far worse—a lingering sense of loyalty, Jesper obeys instantly.

☼

“We’re lost,” Jesper moans. They’ve been surrounded by trees for four days. He’s not even sure they’re trudging vaguely southwards anymore. Everything looks the same. What wouldn’t Jesper give to be back in Ketterdam already, with its lovely street names and pedestrians and garish landmarks (and gangsters about to string him up), or at least somewhere in Novyi Zem where he sort of understands the landscape. Or what’s left of Shu Han, so Kaz can unclench.

“We’re not lost,” Kaz rasps. “Keep going.”

“How do you—the map.” The half-chewed-up map hidden under Kaz’ bed, the map he snuck into his coat—Jesper’s kefta, whatever—even though he probably already knows it by heart.

“Yes. The map.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me to choose where we’re going if you’re memorized the map?!” What an asshole. Jesper just clean forgot what a piece of shit Kaz is. He forgot it so utterly he’s helping him break out of Ravka, without even extracting anything in return. He’s a fucking idiot. “Is it so you can blame me when we get caught?”

Kaz, the dick, rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t I rather not get caught at all? Think, Jesper—what’s the one advantage you have over me?”

“I’m prettier,” Jesper shoots back. “My winning personality. I have a better tolerance for hard liquor. Fashion sense. I’m funny. No, wait—I’m a much more generous lover.”

“He doesn’t know you,” Kaz hisses, making the pronoun sound even more slimy than the guy it’s referring to, which is honestly quite a feat. “Do you think this is my first attempt? He’ll send people to every single route out of his core territory that poses any advantages. He has enough soldiers for that. What he doesn’t have, though, is enough soldiers to watch every route your bird-brain might pick at random.”

And then, he stalks ahead viciously. No. Limps ahead.

It’s been growing much more pronounced over the days. At first, even without a cane he walked just like any person with two healthy legs, and that’s what Jesper expected. The Ravkans healed their Saint’s leg, didn’t they? That’s what they would do. Only Kaz can think around enough corners to make his bad leg into an advantage. But with every passing day, Kaz’ gait has grown closer to what Jesper remembers from back before the world went to shit. Kaz was touchy about accommodations back then, though, or people being nice in general, so Jesper hasn’t even brought up improvising a new cane. All he’s dared to do is slowing down his own steps to what he remembers would have matched Kaz, back then.

And insisting on taking breaks. Like he does now.

“It’s almost night, you refuse to make light despite being made of sunshine, and I’m hungry,” he complains.

“I’d assume that Ketterdam has made you soft,” Kaz rasps, “o cherished crown jewel of crime and commerce, and what’s the difference.” He limps back to the fallen tree that Jesper has chosen as their camp site, though, so he must be a just few steps short of utter collapse.

Jesper unwraps the two woollen blankets he’s been carrying on his shoulders. They didn’t get a chance to steal much, mostly because Kaz was a prick about it and didn’t even let Jesper go back to his room: apparently there was time for Kaz to fold up a paper bag into a facsimile of an envelope and write an address in Djerholm onto it and have Jesper talk a stable-hand into riding out to deliver it, right now, but no time to search anywhere else for supplies. They took just whatever they found in the stables, which amounted to extra coats, some boots, the blankets, and horse feed. And gloves. Kaz declared it was time to run as soon as he’d found gloves.

Balefully, Jesper chews on his oats. Even wrapped in his blanket, the night is cold, and Kaz—who’s still wearing nothing but underpants besides the robe/gloves/Jesper’s kefta/stolen coat combo and ill-fitting boots without socks—is shivering violently.

“We should steal you some real clothes from the next house we see,” Jesper mutters. “And some decent food.”

“We’re not stealing anything until we’re in Shu.”

They’ve had this argument before. Jesper shouldn’t be as thrilled about that as he is. There’s no way to resolve it, until they find the border—or until Kaz keels over from hypothermia, because then even his rational fear of detection won’t keep Jesper from finding some trousers. For the time being, though—

“I’m going to sit closer and steal your body heat. In exchange, you can wrap my blanket around your legs.”

Kaz glares. He can do it masterfully again: just like the limp snuck back as soon as he left the Little Palace, his face over the days grew thin and pockmarked. Vicious. Jesper’s commited it to memory, in case Oily, Tall and Dark steals it again.

“If you freeze to death tonight, this was all for nothing. I could be sleeping in a palace right now. Well, a dingy side house, with the other Materialniks, but joke’s on them. This whole escape would have been much more complicated if I’d been a Squaller. Or a Sun Summoner, who refuses to even use his power to warm us up.”

“Leave it.” Kaz runs a finger roughly over where his collarbone should be, and he shudders. The temperature, or something worse, some new pain he’s not revealing—but carefully, he leans his blanketed side against Jesper, and allows Jesper to throw his own blanket over him, too.

“I’ll make you a new cane tomorrow. With a head, too, if we can scavenge enough metal from the buttons. Not a crow. You haven’t earned that until we free Inej, but maybe… a worm.”

“That’s just a stick,” Kaz mutters. “Go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say: Kaz is taking the first watch, and so he’s not balancing on a fallen log in the cold without a blanket, trying to fall asleep sitting up while leaning against Kaz’ shoulder with as little contact surface as physically possible. After some hours or minutes, though, Jesper’s suffering is too much for even Kaz to handle. Who knew there was a limit! Who knew Kaz had heard of mercy! Maybe he just doesn’t like Jesper wriggling next to him. He fists a lock of Jesper’s curls and pulls his head down into his lap.

“I didn’t help you because I want to fuck you, just so you’re aware,” Jesper jokes, because this is actually—it’s actually almost comfortable curling up on the fallen tree with his head on the blanket on Kaz’ thighs, even though there’s the remnants of a branch digging into his hip and they’re on the run from all Grisha in the world and also the new, expanded Ravka that covers nearly every country on this continent and Inej’s still imprisoned and if they actually manage to get back to Ketterdam, Jesper’s going to be in so much shit. And still, it’s… “I mourned you, you know, when Haskell told me you’d died. I wasn’t just angry because the Dregs were a shambles without you.”

Kaz is quiet. Jesper sort of wishes he’d touch his hair again, or his shoulder—and he never seemed to have any trouble touching the Darkling, so what, is Jesper not good enough—but he also looked like a void back there, like in order to endure it maybe he had to smother—

“That’s not why I mentioned that fantasy back there,” says Kaz, lyingly. Sure. He just happened to invoke Jesper’s obvious past crush for no reason whatsoever. The awfully convenient infatuation Jesper didn’t have sense nor skill to hide back then. Kaz is exactly the kind of person who’d exploit someone’s first love. The person who’s realize, long before Jesper did, that maybe, he’s not actually completely over—but maybe that wasn’t the important bit then. It went on. And that story about the Darkling—

“You thought I’d help you out of pity?” Jesper would have done, if he hadn’t been so angry—if he hadn’t been already so freaked out by the placid expression, the clothes that looked expressly designed to torture the Kaz he knew, the cell… It wasn’t pity. What is it you feel when a person you knew—maybe not his secrets or his past or his thoughts or what trouble he just dragged you into because he’s a secretive dick, but still, you knew him, it was burned into your heart, his movements and the codes he taught you and just when a heist was about to trigger one of his fears he’d never mentioned and you needed to get him out now… What do you feel, when that person comes back from the dead, and comes back wrong. Like a stag with too many tongues inside its mouths and its hands locked behind its throat. Except the other way round, because Kaz Brekker was terrifying, and what he was made into or what pretended to be was only scary because it wasn’t. Anyway. Kaz is a manipulative commandeering asshole again, so it doesn’t matter. “You despise pity.”

“It’s a tool, just like everything else. One he couldn’t take. And pride just gave me—pity got me out of the Little Palace, didn’t it?”

“Something did.” Jesper tips his non-existent hat, and Kaz slaps the top of his head to make him stop wriggling. He keeps the hand there this time, knotted tight in Jesper’s hair. It stings, but it’s also… Jesper closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep before inevitably, it’ll leave.

“Pride. It was my fault.” Kaz’ voice almost sounds the way it did back home. Harsh, vicious—and damaged. Human. “I thought I could bear it. He was—the Sun Summoner could have no weaknesses, he said, nothing for our enemies to use, and I allowed myself to think… ‘our’ enemies. I practiced. It was easier, after a while, to bear touch. I thought—it seemed like the best option, to stand at his side, and to make him see me as his partner I should… I was tired of being a prisoner. I thought I could use him.”

That’s bad enough, but… “But you’re limping again,” Jesper hisses. “If he’s forming you like a clay doll to make you his perfect Sun Summoner, he should have started with healing you.”

“They did, when I first came to the Palace. I didn’t want—but I learned to accept it. After my first escape, he broke it again, personally. Had it tailored over, afterwards, every few days. Incentive for cooperation.”

There’s nothing Jesper can do to fix this stagnant, lifeless voice. He could hug Inej, at least, but this—

“It’s what I would have done, too. He was just better than me, and he didn’t need another one, so he had to change me.”

“By dressing you up and making you look like a doll. If you tell me it was a sex thing, at least I could—no, still couldn’t relate. His taste’s shit. That beauty was pretty ugly,” Jesper mutters into Kaz’ thighs.

Kaz pulls at his hair again—probably a rebuke, but the sting travels down Jesper’s spine to—well, it’s time to change the subject rather quickly. What’s there to… oh yeah, his head’s on a blanket. That’ll do. “I just had a great idea,” he says, and—yeah, his voice is still completely normal and steady. A little loud, maybe. Kaz hasn’t moved his hand away, though, so it can’t be too obvious.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off, my bright idea of breaking into the centre of Grishadom to kill you in a murder-suicide attack because what else was I going to do, let the Dime Lions grind me between millstones to press out the fifty thousand kruge I may perhaps still owe them—”

“You what?!”

Jesper powers on, because that’s really a conversation best left for when he’s not lying in a forest with his head in Kaz’ lap and trying to forget, desperately, the way it felt when Kaz pulled his hair. The way it feels when he does it again. “I’m just saying, it saved you. You’re welcome. So anyway. We only have one pair of trousers. I was going to suggest we alternate wearing mine, but we both know I wouldn’t get them back.”

“Your so-called idea is… interesting,” Kaz mutters, voice almost pulled asunder trying for both disturbed and mocking. “But I’m far more interested to hear about the fact you skipped out of Ketterdam without paying your debts. A crime punishable by death in every gang. Every gang in Ketterdam, the city where you want us to go.”

And yeah, that’s occurred to Jesper, but… “That’s a problem for later. You’ll think of something, boss, if we make it that far. You always have a plan. For now… I wouldn’t—well, I would carry you if your legs freeze off, but it wouldn’t be fun for either of us, so… You sewed yourself up constantly back home, and I’d wager sewing is just like swimming. Once you know, you can never forget.”

“Skills are useless if you lack every materia—Jes—”

“Yeah, I definitely can turn a button into a needle now. We just need to tear the second blanket into some vaguely trouser-shaped pieces, and for thread—well, we could just tear up your Sun Summoner robe, it’s useless anyway.”

“Jesper,” Kaz rasps again.

“I’m a genius?”

“No, you’re still an idiot. Why not, though?”

☼

Kaz Brekker disappeared between Sunday and Tuesday night. That’s all Jesper knows, and it’s that precise only because Kaz has been experimenting with the payroll recently. Apparently, handing out wages on late Tuesday maximizes the chances of flushing as much money as possible back into the coffers of Dregs-owned establishments, and he’s also taken to handing out the money personally. Some weird power play that Haskell hasn’t yet forbidden: everyone knows Kaz barely bothers to keep his accomplices informed about the job they’re currently doing, and the big boss tolerates him mostly because Dirtyhands is still more useful insubordinate than dead.

It’s Wednesday now, though. Wednesday afternoon.

And Jesper still hasn’t gotten paid.

Kaz is gone.

Jesper’s in Haskell’s office, inquiring about everyone’s money. Too irritated by the games of Makker’s Wheel he was forced to miss out on last night to perform anything but the most pro forma I remember my boss’ boss is technically my boss and can kill me pleasantries. Instead of promising to kick Kaz’ ass, though, like Jesper hoped, Haskell just tells him Pasko will give him his wages tomorrow.

Haskell won’t say anything else. Just, “That boy got himself mixed up in something he couldn’t handle alone, and it fucked him. You won’t like what you find, when you go looking for the dead.”

[levok]

I know you're really busy(and you're really doing a service to us and we all appreciate you so much😌) so you don't have to answer this ask if you don't want to. This is me just ranting about some S2 poster ideas I had in bed last night.

So, I read this phrase in one of YR posts which goes like, "They have a crown-shaped gap between them" so I was thinking about this(also I don't remember who wrote it but if you're seeing this and recognise the phrase then I appreciate you sm). So we can play with this idea for the poster. Like, Wille and Simon can be standing with their backs slightly towards each other, both seem to move in opposite directions, and their silhouettes are merging in the shape of a crown(bonus if Wille is looking at Simon and Simon isn't). And they are still connected subtly with a string(like Wille's red LED lights in his room for example) and it's loosely wrapped around both of them. And the colour scheme is somewhat similar to the Crown/Simon poster from S1.(Not exactly those colours, more brighter colours in my head but whatever works. I loved those colours)

Or we can have a poster for each separate character. Like, there can be a royal-portrait type of poster for each individual character(bonus if it actually looks painted by photoshop and stuff). Like Wilhelm with his crown and a mysterious smile(bonus if the crown is half-tilted or threateningly placed on his head so it can fall any time, FORESHADOWING), Simon with a paper-crown on his head and a paper sash on his chest(does Swedish monarchies wear sash? Idk) and he's in that purple flannel and orange t-shirt look and he's looking like he's ready to f*ck the monarchy(and he exudes so much confidence in his paper crown and paper sash as compared to Wille in a literal crown). And Sara is in her red-dress look from S1, looking like a full-on Hillerska boarder, and Felice is in her natural hair, in a fun pose(completely opposite to how people usually stand in portraits) and August(yeah, as much as we hate him, it does seem likely for him to get an individual poster if everyone gets it) is standing exactly like a noble, having a smug look on his face, in a fancy-ass royal outfit.

Anyways, these are just thoughts. I know the YR team will come up with something even better.

Sorry for posting this super late - but better late than never, right.

I would love if we get character posters for at least the big five! I actually demand it. Either something individually fitted their characters, OR some sort of yearbook photo ish.

[riisinaakka-draws]

part 5/6

5th part of my Black Sails scraps and doodles from 2016–2021. Not in any particular order.

And of course, please do not steal and repost elsewhere! But if you do get inspired, feel free to make your own interpretations :D

This time I have black and white Walrus study, Monsterman gifs, discarded inktober doodles, vane-jack-anne and jack-anne-max and max-eleanor moments, surprise collars, not-so-relaxing-asmr, daddies, another gazing lesbian, curious tentacles, biker girls, more speed with "black sails" and “oh no!” (I swear these are not as sexy as the list might make it sound...)

Under the cut, because this is a very long post again.

Above is the drawing I made for the Flint on “STAGE” pic (2020), although I think I already fixed some of the perspective mistakes after scanning it. I wanted to study the Walrus’ balcony but didn’t really have proper pictures so had to guess some parts. Also at this point I think I didn’t even want to draw Flint in yet.

I mentioned in the art post that I was listening to Lordi’s “Would You Love A Monsterman”  but it was also because it had the same working music and inspiration as my very old project of making a drawn(!) gif serie with the lyrics (because I didn’t want to make a fan vid... lol) and since that has been on hold for a few years (I mean, I started it right after season 2 aired and ended and then continued it while the s3 was going on...) and I really really wanted to share the idea already after sitting on it for so long xD

And I’m mentioning it now again although I won’t share all the notes because there’s just too much stuff... and the timing is off in the gifs and text a bit hard to read at some points, but you’ll probably get the idea!

Here’s a couple of the gif drafts and experiments from the “monsterman-gif” project I had (somewhere between 2015-2016-2017?):

(Also, I copied the menacing Flint from the drawing above when I was planning the set up for the “STAGE” art! :D)

(all of these were pencil / water-soluable graphite sticks + water and black watercolour drafts before I continued them on photoshop)

(hmm, I think I had a different version of this gif somewhere but it’s buried somewhere in the wip folders...anyway)

There reason I didn’t share them earlier is because I wanted everything to be ready and then... just didn’t do it. Also s3 and then s4 aired and I wanted to include something from there but things spiraled into even more complicated so I just left it to brew, lol). The whole thing is like 80% ready with the 10-11 gifs so maybe someday I’ll share the rest of it.

Next, some old inktober doodles (2017):

The prompt was “poison”. I liked the upper part but not Silver’s face and the bottle’s bottom with the spiky crown and pearls (and infinity loop) felt somewhat clumsy. I’m not even sure what I was thinking with this piece...

Another inktober, prompt “underwater” and in this case of course “underwater training” as Vane is teaching Jack and Anne to swim and dive and guerilla attack ships. I liked the idea but not how Vane turned out and I didn’t want to start over, lol.

An early version of the “G’morning, love” (posted in 2019). At first Anne was wearing a shirt but I wanted them all to be bare and open with each other. Although Jack’s scarf stays on, lol! Working title was also “AnneToulouse” because there’s a painting called “Sleeping” by Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec and I wanted to catch that mood a bit. Around the same time I was also working with the “LaundressFlint” aka “Would you still recognize me?” (posted in 2020).

Next, experimenting with “slices”, like how much story can you fit into a tiny slice?

“Betsy come here!” early sketches. Silver peeking under the desk and Flint’s boots as he caught them. There was also slightly NSFW-version, although I shared it only on discord, I think:

(I wasn’t quite happy with Silver’s face and run out energy to fix things...)

Next, the ASMR AU, 2020. (yeah it was my prompt that I submitted to the challenge... and couldn’t resist illustrating... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

The messy idea and further planning:

Still a few more doodles on this post!

Plans for “I will be your Daddy” or The Next Top Daddy for Vane (2019)

The “like, 30 brothers” that Anne mentions here are the other pirates and captains in the room and the nine step moms (or well, ex-step moms?) are the Blackbeards (ex)wives lol.

awww, this was a nice maxanor piece! I actually like Max’ face here more than in the final result (2017)...

Above, the first idea sketch for the Merbutt piece and the original colour scheme (2019).

Above, an early sketch about Eleanor and Max (finished in 2020) and tbh I liked this composition and style a bit more but for some reason I got caught up honing too much and thinking too much about heights, perspectives, where to put their hands etc... Eleanor had a short hair here and this had more a rockabilly mood.

first(?) sketch for the “black sails” shenanigans (finished in 2018). I really liked Flint’s ninja style and in the last pic’s sketch there’s also someone holding Flint’s coat/cape to be an extra-extra “sail” lol. Tumblr flagged the finished art post at the time, because of the Walrus’ figurehead and her shapes but luckily the appeal went through...

Last pic for this post!

draft for the drawing where Flint accidentally cuts Silver’s hair while they are training sword fighting, oh noooo~

So as you can see, sometimes my drafts are very loose sketches and sometimes very heavy with thoughts and inspiration (so much so that they end up in the never-ending-pile).

Thank you for checking this out, I hope you had fun! :D

[bakujho]

Strap in folks, it’s rant time.

So, let's talk a bit about manipulation and abuse present in fandom. It’s uncomfortable, but fuck it lets go, I’m tired of the “good vibes only” push that sweeps all this shit under the rug. I’m not pretending to be an expert by a longshot here and I’m happy to discuss, but I have dealt with enough abusive and manipulative people personally and professionally to spot em a fucking mile away and generally keep my distance. Unfortunately, I’ve noticed a gross trend where there are people being attacked, then are guilted into keeping quiet because the Abusers make it seem like it’s not worth mentioning or that it doesn’t really matter... Unfortunately, the Abusers know exactly what they’re doing, they’re really fucking good at it, and they know exactly the kind of response they’re going to receive (because in some cases, this isn’t the first fandom they’ve pulled this same shit in). 

Right off the bat though, lets get some basic facts about fandom out of the way. No one in fandom owns any character: be it interactions, personality or anything else about said character. No fandom creator owns an idea, or has any right to tell people off for having similar ideas/techniques/styles etc. There’s no such thing as a completely original singular thought, and pretty sure if you think of something ‘original’, there’s inspiration from another source. No one owns a hairstyle, a costume, a backstory, a colour scheme, an item, a scar etc etc. If someone has a similar thing, neat, clearly you’ve got similar tastes. If someone has a carbon copy of your creation on multiple points, ABSOLUTELY question it, but having the same hairstyle isn’t copyright infringement, and having a similar history isn’t ripping someone off, it’s coincidence. 

Going to put the rest under the cut, CW for manipulation tactics, abuse, and all those sorts of goodies.

So, I’ll start with the Abusers here. Everyone knows who they are, they know who they are, unfortunately the victims of them are worried about speaking out because, for the most part, the ones abusing people are in a position of perceived power and speaking out against them can put the victim in a tricky position. No one wants to be ousted from a fandom they enjoy for speaking out against someone that’s been around fandom since its inception. Which brings me to my first point.

Power: Abusers LOVE the feeling of having power (be it follower count, general clout, perceived hierarchy etc) and get really uncomfortable when they feel someone new comes to threaten their position. So, what do these people do in that situation? Option A is to completely ignore and hope they’re not dethroned, Option B is befriend immediately and subtly manipulate the person to keep a close eye on their actions. Keep your friends close, but enemies closer amirite? 

So how the fuck does a person subtly manipulate another person, shouldn’t it be obvious? Fuck man, I wish. But there’s a lot of different techniques used to keep people reigned in and submissive: guilt tripping, evasion/diversion, attention seeking, lying, intimidation, playing the victim etc etc. So obviously these will all present differently based on the abuser, but the goal of all of them is the same. To stay in power, and keep control over everything they can. 

So how would all of these present online? (of course these examples leave some wiggle room for context lost in text/translation/cultural differences etc, but for the most part it all fits the same pattern that the abuser would use in a face to face situation). 

Guilt- tripping: “Well you wouldn’t be here if not for me” “You owe me for your place in the fandom” “well if we really were friends you’d do this for me…” etc etc. Things that pit your emotional attachment to the Abuser against you, the closer you are, the easier it is. Suddenly the Victim finds themselves indebted to the Abuser for their ‘friendship’ that the Victim didn’t realize was conditional. 

Shaming: Invalidating the victims feelings by saying things like “even a child knows better than this”, “it’s okay you don’t understand, you’re probably young”, “I’ve been around fandom longer so I know how things go” etc etc. It makes the Victim feel like they’ve done something wrong by drawing boundaries for themselves, or sticking up for themselves. Remember, the Abuser doesn’t want to lose their crown so they will talk down to their Victims to make them more unsure of their stance, second guess themselves, and feel bad that they spoke up in the first place. 

Projection: “Others have done X to me, I would NEVER do the same” It’s a simple yet effective tactic. The Abuser takes the things they’ve done to people, say it happened to them, and shift the blame to the now faceless enemy so the Victim feels obligated to side with the abuser because, yea, those things mentioned fucking SUCK and no one wants to experience it. No one wants to be that asshole saying “no you deserved it” (because no one fucking deserves to be doxxed, swatted, hacked, etc etc)

Playing-the-victim: Abusers LOVE playing this game. It’s their bread and butter to set the stage for manipulation. “Having a really hard time rn, sorry im such a fuckup”, “struggling with mental health”, “this is all so hard for me” (legit though, if you are struggling please seek help where/when you can, mental health is important). So any of these statements alone can be harmless, and overlooking someone's mental health can have dangerous outcomes, HOWEVER, when these sort of statements are paired with the other things mentioned, it’s no longer simply a vent or a way to work past personal demons, it’s a way to gain sympathy and support, and it is very intentionally done to garner that emotional response from those that will listen to them. 

Attention-Seeking: can be as simple as “no one interacts with me anymore”, making a dramatic vague post, deleting that same post and making a newer, more dramatic post but this time seeking affirmation from the good responses of the last post, posting cryptic messages that ooze “ask me what happened” (vaguebooking is a plague), basically anything that is asking for a response without asking. How is it manipulative though? Guilt. If you’re aware of the Abuser, these types of posts are meant to abuse the Victim's sense of empathy, the natural response to these sorts of posts is “what happened, I’m sorry that happened to you”. 

Diversion/Evasion: straight up changing the subject or switching the blame to anywhere BUT the Abuser. The Abuser says “change X you’re copying me”, the Victim responds “I feel I didn’t copy you”, and the Abuser presses “well the fandom might not think so” and changes it from a personal issue to a larger, more aggressive problem. In this case, the Abuser is the ONLY one with a problem, but are purposely misleading the victim to take the blame off themselves. It’s not THEIR problem, it’s the FANDOMS problem...now making it the Victims problem. 

Blame: Abusers love to blame everyone BUT themselves for their perceived problems. Fandom isn’t interacting with them as much? It’s the fandom that’s dying. More drama in the fandom? Well there’s too many people here now. Getting called out for bad behavior? That’s the problem of the person who CLEARLY doesn’t understand how fandom must work. It’s the age old tale of “I’m perfect, it’s obviously everyone else who is wrong”. At what point does the Abuser realize that they may be the cause for their own misery? They don’t. 

Intimidation: This is a fun one that’s usually a last resort because if the Abuser is pretending to be a sheep caught in a snowstorm, it doesn’t look good for them to publicly announce they’ve been the wolf the whole time. It looks like “well I have X on you”, “if you only knew what I could say about you”, and “I could ruin you” type shit. Of course, in most cases, the Victim hasn’t done anything to warrant this sort of aggression, but the queen is losing her pawns and is now grasping for anything to fight back with. And who knows what sort of lengths the Abuser has gone to to gain information on the victim. It’s pretty easy to find out a lot about a person online, so the Victims back down due to the threat of the unknown.

Avoidance: refusing to talk about the problem, which is an issue I have with fandom itself, in this case. The “no drama good vibes only” is so fucking detrimental when there are problems that need to be addressed. An Abuser will push the narrative that they’re only here for a good time and don’t want drama, while actively creating drama in the shadows. Its not a problem if we don’t talk about it, right? If no one knows, it’s fine. It’s fine. No, it’s manipulative, and if there are problems they NEED to be talked about, because that’s how you find resolutions. 

Denial: This one ties in with avoidance and blame, in that the Abuser will straight up deny that they’ve ever been, or have ever created a problem. The Victim is making a big deal from nothing, they can’t control how others feel about them, so they’ve done nothing wrong. The Abuser will claim they had the best intentions when approaching someone, so clearly they have done nothing wrong. 

Lying: Including omitting any information from arguments that may paint the Abuser in a bad light. The Abuser absolutely doesn’t want anyone to find out what they’re up to, so they’ll say exactly what they need to to change the narrative surrounding them. It could be minor changes to conversations to complete fabrications. Ex “I only approached X to make sure they were okay after X happened”, but X screenshots tell a completely different story. It’s not always easy to catch an Abuser in a lie, especially when there’s the push for “no drama” so no one talks about their personal experiences and can confirm/deny what was/reported to be said. 

So bringing all of those points together and bringing it back to the Abuser wanting to have the power to control what they like/don’t like in fandom. Once they have that feeling of invincibility, they may coyly ask people to delete posts that could lead back to them looking bad, politely ask another creator to change their creation because the Abuser doesn’t like it, or them asking nicely to stop interacting with another member of fandom the Abuser doesn’t like. It may not seem like much at a first glance...after all they asked nicely. However, once you look a little harder and a little longer, it becomes very clear that the intention is to stay in control. The Abuser will do ANYTHING to stay on top, and will employ every trick they have in their arsenal to sew discord and mistrust amongst other members of the fandom to keep the fingers pointed anywhere but at themselves.

So, sound familiar to anyone? My inbox is open for anyone who wants to chat about the topic. If I’ve now made you uncomfortable and you’re going to unfollow/block, cheers, wish you the best. And if you’re feeling called out and attacked by my post? GOOD, stop being a fucking shitty person. 

A few last reminders before adding some resources:

Setting and enforcing personal boundaries is not abuse.

Choosing not to interact with those who make you uncomfortable is not rude.

It is important to call out abuse when you encounter it, it could save someone from becoming a victim themselves.

Always stand up for yourself, you’re your own best advocate. 

Now for some resources: I used a few of these while researching along with my old textbooks from my psych, abnormal psych, and human relations classes I took back in university.

Manipulation tactics

How to recognize a guilt trip

How to spot an attention seeker

[jonah-aesthetic]

That One pt. 4 I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey

Plot: Jonah escorts the reader to the gala finding out the pull to her wasn’t one sided.  

Word count: 6.0k+

Author’s Note: I really struggled with this piece but I got her done! It’s been almost two weeks and I’m happy I got it finished. The piece is a whole roller coaster so enjoy!

Rating: 16+

One Two Three 

--------

The sapphire dress was pulling tight around the small of your waist to your bust. The sleeves were circling your upper arms and resting just below your shoulders. The skirt of your gown flared at your hips lightly and continued to cascade upon the floor. There was a slit in the left side of the blue skirt reaching your high thigh.

Most of the day was spent with Ivette pampering yourselves for the gala that was taking place tonight. When you both came back Ivette’s entire team had been waiting in the den impatiently. Caroline a blonde stylist rolled her racks of shoes and jewellery. Aurora a brown skinned British hair stylist with a curling wand glued to her waist. Gamila an Arabic Makeup artist itching to use her brushes. 

Together they made an incredible team and you knew why Ivette always picked them for her events. Aurora respected your request for a simple hair style and only vaguely curled it into soft loops. Gamila created a stunning blue cut crease smokey eye look that colour matched your gown. Caroline picked silver heels that went with your gown like a perfect combination. 

The wounds on the tops of your feet had officially healed perfectly into light scars. You were now ready to slip into a pair of heels without wincing in pain. Just in time for the gala. 

Staring at yourself in the body length mirror resting in Ivette’s bedroom. You could hear the fashion team bonding out in the den as if they did projects together often. It blew you away at how they could make you look like a Richie in a few hours of work. You didn’t know if you enjoyed the view or despised it.

You watch your best friend’s head pop in pass the door frame. A proud smile stretching onto her red lips, “He picked a good dress, fits you like a second skin.” Her voice light as she came into the room hands resting behind her back out of view. Her black gown flowing around her body like the damn dress was made of her. Scratch that the dress was definitely made for her.

“I knew Daniel was a scheming little devil, but you? I trusted you.” You playfully narrow your eyes at her in fake accusation. She shrugs and the gown follows the movement. It was parallel to her personality, a stunning jet black gown. A deep ‘V’ neck ran down the front and kissed the waist band. Revealing the curves of both her breasts, and circled her shoulder into a long sleeve. The skirt of the gown flared and parted in the middle, the slit reaching her thighs.

“Just give him a chance he’s a good guy.” You turned around and faced her, taking a step back not realised how close she was.

“I’ll think about it as soon you stop doubt Mr. Drummer.” Her face falls at that,

“I brought a gift.” Her voice optimistic as Ivette steered from the topic of the man in question.

“I know. Did you really think I didn’t notice your hands hiding behind your back the entire time you’ve been in here?”

“It was worth a try.” She playfully says pulling her hands front behind her. A dainty crown immersed in diamonds sat into the palms of her hands. Your heart beamed recognising the head piece instantly wanting to melt in the presence of it.

“It’s a replica of the crown Harlow Reed wears in the book to movie adaptation of The Redemption Of The Wolf. This gala is the closest thing to ball and I don’t think you’d be complete without this.” Ivette’s eyes were hopeful as she offers the crown to you.

Your hands were claps to your lips holding the excited shock you wanted to let out. The chilling accuracy of the diamond placement and the detailing in the swirls. Almost made your blood run cold, you could’ve swore this was the exact crown Mavren gave Harlow as a piece offering.

“How much was that?” Were the first words to spill from your tongue. Ivette gives you a bored look saying ‘Really I’m offering a prop from your favourite book series. And that’s what you ask?’

“Come nerd, Aurora is itching to thread it into your hair.” Ivette links her arm in yours guiding you out of the room. 

-----

The overwhelming aroma of the gala made you excuse yourself from your table, leaving Ivette, Daniel, Jonah, and Corbyn behind. the contents in your stomach was threaten to pass your lips. A tightening sensation pulsed in your abdomen as you reached the most expensive ladies room. The main door blurred out most of the suffocating noise of people.

You rushed for the first open stall, shutting the door you realised it was more of a mini room then a stall. Locking the knob you could finally hear your own breathing letting the sound of it calm you down. It’s been years since your last panic attack. At first it didn’t click in your brain that you were having one. Must of been the reason why Ivette kept asking if you were okay, she knew.

You were laughing and in deep conversation and all of a sudden it dawned on you. The loud noise of many people and the rumble of the music, you began to suffocate in your mind as your body heated at the first sign of panic. The shine of the slowly spinning car in the middle of the room made your breathe quicken and bile raise in your throat.

Back pressing against the door you slid to the floor and paced your breathing pattern. How did Ivette live and survive a life style like this? You couldn’t last a few hours without wanting to throw up and go home.This was a horrible fucking idea, you didn’t belong here with all these high held people who knew they could afford that car without a dent. A car like that would cost your entire life and some.

You wondered if Jonah and Ivette would notice if you slipped out the door and into your bed?

You closed your eyes pretending to wrap your hand around a paint brush and create a new story. It surprisingly helped with negative feelings like this. Wasn’t long before your heart slowed and your body heat regulated. Gathering yourself on your feet you unlocked the door and headed for the sinks. You looked as if you didn’t experience a panic attack on the floor of the bathroom. You were fucking grateful.

Not a single crinkle creased into the skirt of the gown. The crown threaded into your hair never loosened nor was a strand of hair out of place. Ivette was right this was the closet you were going to get to a ball and it was damn close. although you never anticipated your fear reaching the surface. You weren’t Harlow, she was a badass with a dagger and you were....well you. As much as you wanted to be something from a fantasy novel you had to be patient with yourself.

“Not all of us were made for this life.” The sickly sweet voice had you twirling around. Julie stood there wearing a delicate pastel green gown gasping the aesthetic of princess Tiana perfectly. Confidence oozed out of her pores as she took in your entire outfit. “I must say you do look the part, but your expression tells me you’re overwhelmed.” She says watching your vulnerable presence fumble for words.

“Once you’re sucked into this life everyone knows your business. Enjoy the normalcy while you can.” Julie says not letting you grab onto words to share with her. As quick as she came Julie disappeared behind a bathroom door leaving you confused. Was that a threat or a warning.

Shaking the entire encounter away you catch the door handle in your hand. Stepping out you collide with another body, embarrassment gathering in your cheeks you’re about to apologised. But Jonah’s green wolf eyes catch your glance and you sigh. The plan to sneak away without catching their attention flew out the window.

Massive hands rested on your bare shoulders to stead your wobbling form. Familiar warmth bloomed against your skin. Beginning to travel down to your wrists, caressed the wings of your shoulder blades. You fought the instinct to shudder under his comforting touch. Your body reacted to him in such a way you didn’t want to admit.

Concern was carved into his eyebrows. “Are you okay?” His voice was chillingly gentle, Ivette must of told him.

“Yes, I just needed to use the rest room.” You cleared your throat with a forced grin that never reached your ears. “You sure?” He softly pressed with an expression that was unreadable. Sighing in defeat you caved into his gentle presence.

“No, It’s all a little much for me, I’m not cut out for any of this.” You felt frustrated with yourself. As if you didn’t finish something in time when you know you were fully capable of doing it. Angry at yourself for not adapting to this life the way your mind adapted entering a new book world.

“Close your eyes.” He says,

“What!?” You asked a little too loud catching a few eyes. His small command threw you off the train track.

“Close your eyes,” He repeated with a light smile. You stare at him searching for any wrong intention but you come up dry. Maybe it was his soft smile or the way his hands were placed, thumb rubbing comforting circles into your skin. But you comply closing your eyes cutting your vision into the dark trusting him fully.

“Now breathe. Inhale the positive through the nose, exhale the negative through your mouth.”

“Why?” You asked with a small giggle feeling like the exercise was childish.

“Just do it.” Jonah playfully snaps at you making you laugh more, taking the anxious thoughts away.

“Okay.” You say before doing the breathing excise you learned when you were six. You did it once, twice, and a third time. Your brain was calm and content once again and you were perplexed on how a useless calming exercise worked. Or so you believed when your mom told you to use it to chase away the icky bad feelings.

“Take my hand I want you to come with me.” You kept your eyes closed as you felt his hands leave your shoulders. Tracing the warmth down your biceps and down your forearms. Causing you to genuinely smile at the sensation but fought against the shudder your body wanted to make. Softly his hands entered your palms, heat spread like it always seemed to.

“Keep your eyes closed, follow my body.” Before you could respond you felt the muscles in his fingers and hands tense. Gasping lightly Jonah pulled you slowly and your body followed him.

“Good.” He says watching the way your body followed him. Trusting him with everything you had. Faster he pulled you through the ocean of people. A colossal of a function held in the city’s legendary museum, massive rooms connecting with spacious hallways.

With your vision gone your other senses heightened. Your nose drowning in his cinnamon scent. Callouses embedding into his finger tips from the strings of his guitar. You could feel the aroma of other people passing, hearing conversations near and distant.

You clung to Jonah’s arm then knowing he was guiding you through the sea of nightmares. Anxious blood running in your veins then washing  out of your system as him warmth engulfed your whole body.

Jonah’s head strained down to see you nuzzle into the sleeve of his blazer. Crown digging a tiny tear in the fabric, he could care less as a proud smile grazed his lips. “Are you okay?” His voice was dripping in honey, “I am now.” You hold on tighter to him feeling content like this with him as he never once tired to pull away.

It was a small journey to his destination.  You had a hunch he had brought you to the ball room. Delicate music flowed louder and bounced off the halls carrying it back to the centre of the room. The flooring was more slick like butter under your heels a lot different then the other rooms.

You knew Jonah was planning to stop as his muscles strained and weigh sifting in his body. Standing beside him you relied on the movement of him more then anything. He was silent as he grabbed your hand and placed it upon his left shoulder. Seconds later his slender fingers dug into the fabric of your gown and pulled your waist to his.Your body pressed into his fitting like missing pieces from the same puzzle. You let a breathy gasp pass your lips as you felt the shudder work through your body on its own accord.

“Follow my lead.” His voice smooth and deep at the close proximity of you. Words lodged into your throat and all you could do  was nod at his words. Now familiar with the way his muscles strained and shift you fell in sync with him on the first step. Slow pacing into the shape of a diamond. Jonah began to pick up the pace in the same pattern, noticing you syncing with his foot work perfectly.

“Why are my eyes closed?” You asked getting familiar with his body and falling into the melody of the music. “Personal experiment.” He says continuing his dancing pattern. Adding a body circle letting your dress flare with the quick movement.

“And would that be?” You asked feeling his fingers crawl to the middle of your back. Pushing your body further into his causing your breath to hitch. Your arm instinctively wrapped around his neck as your breath began to mingle with his.

“To see how your body reacts to mine with your eyes closed your reaction would be raw and real. because your mind isn’t conscious of who you’re with.”

You’re quiet as Jonah brings you into two ratios of his dance pattern.“Why would you want to know that?”

“I’m drawn to you in a way I cant explain and no matter how much you want  to deny it you are too. Tonight proves it.”  At that pure fact your eyes flick open. Jonah’s immediately connect while fierce passion swam in them. Your face mere inches away from his and you could spot out the things he’d might find as flaw. The crease in the middle of chin, or the way one side of his top lips was bigger. You couldn’t help adore those things.

Dancing in his arms all you could see and feel was him. Unaware of the other couples dancing in one of the most historic ballrooms the world as seen. Taking away the fact Jonah wrote you into your own fantasy world.  

Noticing your stare he smirked, green eyes shifting to your lips. Tongue poking out as he began to stare at them like they were the only source of his survival. “It’s rude to stare, Rockstar.” You mumble not sure if you should lean in and bring your lips to his. If you did you had no idea if you would be able to stop, Jonah was right you were drawn to him and you had no fucking idea why.

“Not when it’s you, Princess.” the intimate nickname caused the blood to rush upon your cheeks. You broke eye contact quickly looking at the way your feet chased his on the dance floor. A deep chuckle erupted against his chest and vibrated into yours. “I’ll let it go this time since there happens to be a crown on my head.’ You threaten playfully.

His eyes caught the sight of it in all it’s glory, “You should wear it more often, it fits you perfectly.” The diamonds sparkled into the green rings rounding his pupils. You almost snorted as you asked “Do you really think aimless flirting is getting you anywhere?”

“Usually does. Especially with the professors.” He winks at you teasingly. “God you’re so cheesy it wounds my soul to hear it.” You giggle and watch him beam at the happiness he managed to pull from your soul. Your eyes were brighter in the presence of him and Jonah never failed to notice it.

“Do you trust me?” A sudden question out of the blue,

“Seems like a trick ques-” You yelp as he twirled you a few times, hands still connected over your head. Anxious butterflies enter your stomach at the fast motion. You began to miss the warmth he brought you as if you were always meant to me in Jonah’s arms indefinitely. You giggle as Jonah pulls you back and you're relieved by his cinnamon presence.

“I trust you.”

“I know.”

The rest of the night is spent dancing in his arms, Giggling and feeling genuinely happy for the first time in along time. So distracted in him you both missed the auction. So lost in him that you hadn't noticed the couple danced a few feet away had been Julie with Trey.

------

A few weeks later 

The moon hung high in the night sky as the harsh wind howled against your old windows. The blue glow of the television washed over your sleeping form. Curled like a kitten into the wall until a loud pounding at your door woke you. Mind hazy and confused as you were brought to consciousness. The loud banging started again as you heard a deep slurring voice. “Y/n? Y/n are you home?” 

You almost felt like you were still wandering in dreamland. Who would show up at your dorm in the dead of night drunk out of their mind? Scurrying out of the covers you walked a couple steps to your door, your dorm was the small. Pulling the lock free you turn the knob and open the door. 

Jonah stood in the hallway swaying on the balls of his feet. The bitter scent of alcohol engulfed you. He looked so wasted, a state you’ve never seen him in. you always saw him sober even at parties his frat liked to throw. Crinkles and strains littered his clothing, a rip was torn in the collar of his shirt, blotches of dried blood spotted the light fabric. Eyes dazed as he glanced at you, dark bags weighed under his eyes. Bruises and cuts were spread across his face.  

“Jonah?” You asked beyond shocked, 

“I saw him and I lost it.”  Jonah lazily shrugs losing balance and his shoulder run into the frame of your door. Groaning he continues to lean against it too drunk too hold himself up. “I needed to see you..b-because you’re the only one that-” 

“It’s late Jonah you should go.” You say regretting your words, holding the door you’re about to close it. “Please.” Jonah begs trying to nudge the door with his shoulder. But leans his entire weight against the door instead causing it to fly out of your grip and bang upon the wall. Jonah falls to the floor with a softer then you thought. 

Without thinking you’re at his side helping him to his feet and you wonder how he got into the building. Once he’s onto his feet you guide him slowly to your desk and tell him to sit. He already barged in there was no point on kicking him out now. Shutting the door you flick on the light and your brain scolds you for it. Turning back to him you noticed blood seeping through his shirt on his side. 

“What the hell did you do?” You asked him gently shaking your head as you walk to him. Jonah doesn't say a word as he watches you gather his shirt in your hand. Lifting it you spot a large scrapping wound running up his rib the chest. Dried blood covered his chest not too badly scraped like the side of his rib cage. Blood ran down his side that wasn’t there before. The wound tore open when he face planted to the floor.  

“Take your shirt off I’ll fetched the first aid kit.” You speak to him sternly. “Yes ma’am.” Jonah chuckles darkly in a flirtatious manor and you ignore it. He didn’t have a right to that, not after dodging you like the plague for the last week. 

You could’ve swore Jonah’s chest is something forged by angels. perfect sets of muscles tempted you to drop the aid kit and sit in his lap. A lazy smirk played on his lips and you had to look away, Swallowing the attraction down you forced yourself to focus. 

“I don’t  want to know how you achieved to look like this.” You sitting down on stool and catching the rubbing alcohol from the kit. “I wasn’t planning on telling you.” He pointed and your heart wrenched at his response. 

In silence you drown cotton balls in the liquid and dab it on to his rib. They slightly shrink and expand sharply as he seethes through his teeth. You pull your lips in tight to stop the laugh that wanted to come out. It amused you to see him squirm at your hand. It was short lived as you remembered the situation between to two of you.

“Why are you dodging me like a bullet right now.” The liquid slides down his middle with ease. “I’m not.” He sucks onto his teeth as you work your way through his wound. Disinfecting it like he had that night at Chocolate Spot, taking care of you like no one else ever would. 

“How can you say that when we were..friends or whatever you want to call it. We saw each other every day from dawn to dusk, almost spending every hour together. I accidentally fell asleep in your bed one night with Sawyer when we were watching Cars. We got ice cream every second day cause if we went every day Marcel would cut us off. We walked through the city and you showed me your favourite places. You pushed me to start painting again, I came to your band practise so often Jack started calling me your groupie. “

“Then one day you didn’t answer my text, you weren’t answering my calls either. Daniel was a complete asshole when I dropped by the fraternity house. You stopped getting coffee with me and you never saw the way I progressed with my painting. You abandoned me Jonah, but maybe you’re right that you didn’t.” 

Your focus was surprisingly on the task at hand, not once did you look up at him. If You did you knew you would crumble into the palm of his hand and you were making good process. He was silent as he watched you work through it. You honestly didn’t know what you expected from him but it wasn’t silence.

Just over halfway through his wound and a few cotton balls later is when you felt  your eyes sting. Blinking softly hot tears rolled down your cheeks and you could feel you nose get stuffy. “I’m sorry.” His voice is a gentle slur. 

“Why are you sorry? It’s my fault for thinking I was different. It’s pathetic the way I believed you.” You both fell into silence vulnerable hearts beating the same rhythm, scared to say the wrong thing. 

Wasn’t too long before you finished disinfecting the wound. Plastering a bandage to his rib cage where the wound was deeper. Leaving the cuts on his face alone because that’d take too much mental energy to tend to them. 

“I don’t know why you chose to come here, but I think you should take your shirt and leave.” You say throwing the bloodied cotton balls in the trash and sliding the first aid kit back under the bed.  “Which one?” He noticed the shirt that your body was clad in. First failed band merch he lent the first time you were at his house and you weren’t planning on giving back. You liked sleeping in it. 

“The one you came in.” 

“It has blood on it.” 

“I don’t care, just get out.” You say heading for your bed way too tired to deal with him at the moment. “Wait.” Jonah’s hand catches your wrist and slender fingers wrap around it. A small shiver runs down your spine as if you were deprived of his touch. Body soon growing content from the skin to skin contact of him. Pulling lightly he turned you to face him, regret dripping in his eyes.  

“What?” You ask sharply almost in a snap. 

“I loved the time I spent with you, watching you fit into my life like you meant to be there. I see the way you get along with the band goofing around with them like they’re siblings. How you treat Sawyer as if he’s your dog, doesn’t help that the canine is in love with you. I just can’t help think that you deserve better then me. You know my past and you know who I was...still am. You don’t deserve to worry about me and expect to clean me up.” Jonah’s green eyes sparkle. 

You narrow your eyes at him. Yanking your wrist from his grip and cross your arms over your chest. “What gives you the right to tell me what I deserve Jonah?” Your voice filled with anger. “I think I’m the one who decides that okay?” You asked pointing a finger to his still bare chest. He only nods watching the fury burn from your ears. 

“I know who you are Jonah, and I’ll keep choosing you because no one. And I mean no one as ever made me feel the way you have in those few weeks.” 

Passion burning in Jonah’s eyes like nothing you’ve seen before. Fingers dig into your wrist again as he pulls you into him. You yelp at the sudden action and let yourself get entirely lost in him. His hands are delicate as they cup the sides of your face. Soon guiding your face to his giving you time to reject him, but you don’t. 

Once your lips meet his you swore you felt the entire world fall into place. He tasted of harsh vodka and coca cola while his whole being was drowning in the scent of it. You could care less in this moment as you melt into his arms perfectly. His kiss is gentle and careful as if pressing more into the kiss would shatter you into dust. 

Pulling away from the kiss you look to your nightstand breathless and rosy cheeked. Instantly you felt bare without his warm touch upon your skin. It was weird the way your body always reacted to him as if this man was your whole life line. Like your body couldn’t get enough of him. 

Jonah’s fingers caught your chin in his soft grip forcing your attention on his drunk hazy eyes. Exhaustion was wearing on his body now and you watched a dopey smile spread on his lips. “Beautiful.” His mumbles a soft slur of syllables as he tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear. 

“You’re tired,” You respond back with fond smile.

“Can I stay with you?” Hope begins to dance in his eyes and you nod, “turn the light off.” was all you said before you pull from his grip and crawl into bed. 

The light flicks off and you’re engulfed into the darkness only hearing light shuffles that Jonah makes. Soft thud of jeans hit the floor before you feel his body sink into the mattress of your bed. You giggle feeling him press his head into your stomach. The giddiness reaching your brain as his weight pushes into your legs. 

“God I love the sound of your laugh.” He says into the fabric of your shirt. You smile in response and thread your fingers into the curls of his hair. Jonah pulls you thighs tighter against his bare chest and you feel his sigh contently in your arms. And you too were content in him and you begin wonder if this is what home felt like. 

Jonah is quiet for a long while before you sense his breathing patterns slow and light snores erupt from him. You pull the blanket to your chest and surrender to sleep for the second time that night. This time was more rewarding then the first, because you had him. 

-------

Late morning sun light floods into the dorm through light mesh curtains. Mind growing conscious while you felt the man cuddling against you nuzzle his face deeper into stomach. Looking like a sleepy puppy while doing it. You smile softly to yourself and comb your fingers into his chocolate curls enjoying the moment. 

Until the Tuesday morning dawned on you, and by the bright light you knew you missed the first half of your eight am lecture. Desperately trying to get out of Jonah’s grip, he pulls you closer to his body instead. Rolling your eyes you try again, prying is arms from your thighs, but his hold is stronger then your resistance. 

“Jesus what the hell is in your protein shakes?” You asks more to yourself, 

“Protein.” Jonah murmurs into the fabric of your shirt. “You’re awake?” You asked surprised still trying to force yourself out of his grip. “Yes. Now stop trying to escape.”  

“Can’t and because of you..” You groan digging your fingers into his bare bicep and push. “..I’m really late for my morning class..” Your grip slips and you yelp. “...Let me go!” You sigh in defeat and fall back into your pillows. 

“I might be able to spare you.” He says reluctantly and pulls his arms from around you. You missed the feeling of them circling your body and as much as you wanted to put then back you couldn’t. 

“Thank you.” You say gratefully and scoot yourself to the edge of the bed. Jonah crawls higher on the bed, back muscles glistening against the sun beams. He face plants into the pillow abruptly and moans into it sending shivers down your spine. Wondering what it would sound like on the shell on your ear as you reach of your phone.  

The time displays on the screen and you swore under your breath as Jonah stirs in your bed and hums in question. “It’s 11:30am I missed the entire lecture, I still have time to get to my second class. I might have enough to grab a coffee on the way.” 

“Me one too?” He asked in a coo and looks up at you. Gasping lightly you rush to him and grab his face to inspect the swelling of a yellowing bruise. It definitely didn’t look like that last night and must’ve grown in the night. Softly you finger tips dance onto the swell and Jonah curses at you and winces out of your grip. You muffled a small laugh, “Sorry, I wanted to see how bad it was.” 

“Yeah I bet you did.” He snaps at the pain you caused him. 

“Okay I’ll let you rest Mr. Attitude..” You tease him. “..I have a class to get to, and you know your way out.” You gather up your bathroom things in your catty and before you head out the door, you glance to see Jonah already sleeping peaceful in your bed. 

----

After a long lecture you walk into Golden Biscuit and find Ivette already waiting for you. Ready for your two o’clock lunch date as she had ordered you an iced coffee and a sandwich. she sits in a spacious booth and you wonder how long she’s been sitting there scrolling on her phone. 

“Hey.” You greet sliding into the seat across from her. Instantly she puts down her phone, screen kissing the table. “Finally what took you so long?”  

“You do realise I don’t have a car right? Not to mention it’s a twenty minute walk from the lecture hall.” You reach for your sandwich and sink your teeth into it. “Calm down I know I was only teasing. I missed you and your dumb ass.”  She says and you roll your eyes as your mouth was full of a deliciousness. 

With Jonah on hiatus for the last week you kept to yourself. You didn’t think it was fair to come in between her relationship with Daniel. Especially since he was Jonah’s best friend and band mate. And in that time Jonah was avoiding you Daniel told you ‘if he wanted to be found you would’ve found him’ Honestly a dick move on his end of the plate but you understood his reason. 

You knew Ivette would tear out his throat for that one despite what she felt for him. She’d do absolutely anything for you, that’s who Ivette was. It’s the reason you never told her about it and said you needed space. Because at the end of the day Daniel was the only whose ever made her feel secure in a relationship. You weren’t about to take that away from her,  she’s happy with him.

“I missed you too and your loud personality.”  You take a sip of your coffee to wash down the bread down. 

“Speaking of loud I heard that a certain someone forced his way through your dormitories last night.” The excitement glowed in her brown eyes as she took a sip of her own coffee. 

A small smile crawled onto your lips at the mention of the man that slept in your bed last night. “Yes..” You start and tell her everything that happened last night. That he woke up at two in the morning absolutely wasted and bruised from the waist up. How you weren’t too pleased to see his face after everything that happened between the two of you. Yet you still tended to his massive wound that ate at his side, saying how you felt the need to do it even after feeling that resentment for him. How you two made up and kissed and fell asleep in each others arms like you were meant to. 

By the time you finished your coffee was gone and your sandwich was half eaten. Ivette held her coffee in both hands looking at you with an expression you couldn’t place. “The way you describe him tells me you’re in love with that one.” He voice is soft and light. 

You choke and cough on a piece of bacon, shocked by her words. “Me and Jonah aren’t together together. At least I don’t think we are, he never asked. I can’t be in love with him, not yet. That-that would be almost im-impossible.” You scramble for the words. Desperate to deny the idea out of your mind.

“The way you talk about him is as if your souls are made from the same stars. It wouldn’t be that impossible.” 

You muffle a small laugh, “That’s from a movie.” You point out, 

“I know. What do you expect from a theatre major who doesn’t devour books the way you do?” She shrugs and takes a bite out of her panini.  

You shake your head playfully as your phone vibrates in your back pocket. Eyebrows knit together while you fish it out. A white notification from eBay with a picture of you lion painting pops up. Blocking a picture of you and Ivette when you went to Disneyland last year. 

You tap on it and it takes you to your listing of the painting. A green banner is displayed at the top and in white lettering SOLD is written inside it. Your eyes fall upon more zeros then you could count, your phone slips from you grip. “Holy fuck!” you shout and clamp your hands to your mouth in pure shock at how much your panting sold for. Phone clattering to the phone and you could care less if the screen cracked. 

“What?!” Ivette leans onto the table with an urgent expression. eagerly wanting to know what caused you to respond the way you did. Hands shaking vigorously against your mouth as your eyes almost popped out of their sockets. Ivette watches you like this for the next five minutes letting you comprehend what the hell just happened. 

Slowly you remove you hands from you mouth and look at her bug-eyed. Still in shock. “My painting sold.” Your voice is just above a whisper as if you said it any louder it’d go away. 

“How much?” Ivette matches your tone, 

“Five-hundred-thousand dollars.”   

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

I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has supported me through this series. It honestly means so much to me since I’ve struggled heavily with this part.

Which was your favourite part? Mine personally was when Jonah took the reader to the ball room and danced with her. 

Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!

Taglist:  @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @someinsanefangirl​ @evans-dejong

[shelli-gator]

I was wondering if you had any general Ted headcannons. I'm not looking for anything specific, just more Ted stuff.

Sure! :D I have a few Ted headcanons! Let's get this bread!

- I hc that Ted's mom was a lovely and rather timid female, with a firmer military man husband. Ted's mom was naturally one of Julien and Maurice's care takers, so Ted sometimes got to see them and hang out with them when they were little.

-Despite his fathers disapproval, Ted's mom encouraged him in all his drama classes and theater performances. His father didn't see that as fitting for the son of a military man, but he was away from home too often to take much of a role in Ted's rather soft and gentle upbringing. He still craved his father's approval however, and after his father dies when he's still quite young Ted would later end up pursuing a military career himself, as if he might still be able to take some of that approval he never got by pursuing a career his father would have wanted for him. At the same time, he still acts, because that's really where his heart lies.

- He was always the most well liked boy in lemur school. Handsome and friendly, the ladies fawned over him, and most of the lads liked him well enough. He was the sort to eagerly help them with homework, and frequently brought treats to class.

-He always admired Julien, and often assisted him with homework and the like. It was by his insistence that everyone let Julien win at everything. Everyone likes Ted, so they listened to him. Whether it was out of admiration for Julien, or simply trying to amicable with the spoilt prince, I'm not sure. Probably a mix of both.

-In spite of Ted's efforts, his peers still voted him as prom king over Julien, regardless of what he told them to do. This was still painful for him however, because he knew he had to give it up to Julien no matter how much it hurt him.

-His main subjects were English, drama, art, and home ec (baking and the like). He also did biology and math, but he wasn't super great at those subjects.

- His best friend is Dorothy, and she took a lot of the same classes as him. Otherwise he would hang out with anyone really. He was on good terms with Willie, Horst and Pancho, and he often tried to hang out with and get closer to Julien and Maurice. He had a lot more success than Karl, though Julien would use his friendship to get his homework done, run errands for him, or otherwise dress him up/listen to his stories with little reciprocation on his part. Julien doesn't remember much of that up until the Prom episode, but after that he's sorry he took him for granted.

- Some of Ted's favorite colours are shades of cyan and magenta, two colors that look spectacular with sparkles. (Maybe that's why he liked the way Crimson looks? And why Horst painted him and Julien in cyan and magenta swimwear)

- Ted loves to wear women's clothing. He and Julien steal a bunch of goodies from one of the local resort gift shops, and Ted looks very fetching in a pink flower pattern sirong and white bikini/one piece swimsuit. He also loves sunhats, and they're great for keeping the summer sun at bay at their many beach parties.

- Ted is one of the kingdom's best dancers besides Julien, along with Willie. He knows many different types of dance styles, and he throws all of himself into his routines as a form of expression.

- He and Dorothy are big into crafts and the like. Dorothy makes their own soaps, conditioners and the like, and Ted l o v e s them. He helps her out with choosing ingredients, and they sell them/gift them to people. Thought most lemurs tend to prefer their own natural musk, Julien loves their conditioners to help keep his fur silky.

- With that said, Ted's prefered scent is Madagascar Vanilla.

-Ted's biggest fear is being unloved and alone. He's always been liked by everyone, but he longed for a male mate. But when Julien snubbed him before their prom, and took his crown for good measure, Ted was terrified of forever being alone.

-He then hooks up with Dorothy, his best friend, thinking this is how he'll have his perfect life and marriage, and it will make the pain and loneliness go away. It doesn't, and he keeps trying to fake it till he makes it.

-Ted is a romantic, and longs to have a secret admirer. He was enamored with the idea of Zora's secret lover, and very much wishes a man would write him letters or show his admiration/affection towards him. He loves the idea of being wooed, and would adore any attempts of such no matter how clumsy they may be.

-When pushed far enough, he's an excellent and often ruthless fighter, especially when he needs to protect his friends. Violence can sometimes leave him shaken though, especially if he gets seriously angry.

- After AHKJ, Ted starts working with Pancho as his Captain of the Ringtail Guard. They often play Good Cop/Bad Cop with perps, switching rolls on the fly to psyche out whoever is unfortunate enough to be interrogated by them. Though Pancho has a lot less tolerance for his fear tinkling than Clover did, and sometimes they can be at odds over some of Pancho's more wild/reckless schemes. Fortunately for him, Pancho is open to criticism and input, even as his superior.

-Ted has a rather broad range of music, and we already know he loves euro techno. Maybe he would like this genre of music, but I think about him the most to songs by Autoheart (they're an LGBTQ band too!). "Moscow', 'Anniversary' feel very Ted, and I use them for whatever ship he's in. They're bouncy and great for dancing, especially Anniversary.

"It's not hard, with you I have an alibi, you don't care the reason why I misapply. All I need is a fraction of your happy heart, all I need is you. And beauty's in the eye of the beholder, you have lips that permanently smolder! When in Moscow I just wanna fold you up and keep you warm."

"Now come here baby, come a little closer. You'll write words, and I can be composer. Let's get a dog, an Irish Red Setter, it's all we need to get better! It feels good to not be with a wannabe, I am free whenever you're in front of me. All I need is a fraction of your happy heart, all I need is you."

Edit: Just thought of another one! It seems like Ted is taller than most of the other lemurs when he's standing up straight. What if he makes himself shorter to be less intimidating to other leems, especially males as he wants to be the more submissive one of the two. And his smiling face and friendly demeanor makes him easily non-threatening.

That's a few of my headcanons for him. :D thanks for the Ted ask! I love this beautiful man!

[joannevixxon]

Love Comes At A Cost

An Elsamaren fanfic by JoanneVixxon on AO3.

Summary:

The Fifth Spirit is one of many myths that came to life. And, not all myths are meant to be saviours in times of woe.

Just as Arendelle welcomes Queen Anna into her reign, the Northuldra wade through their newfound freedom under the protection of their Snow Queen, Elsa. Unbeknownst to them, lurking behind shadows awaits a monster whose anger finds peace in the demise of others. Together, Elsa, Honeymaren, Anna and Kristoff must save Arendelle and Northuldra from prophetic destruction.

Meanwhile, Elsa and Honeymaren come to terms with their mutual attraction— as terrifying as it is exciting.

Preview: "How ever cold a fortitude of silence Elsa bore, it melted, came undone at the seams, shed its mask of immaculate armour, once Elsa leaned forwards to rest her elbows languidly against the railing, as if to ask for back rubs instead. Like a steed to its master, the Queen of Ice and Snow bowed her head ever so slightly to her Northuldra companion."

Chapter 1: Anna’s Astute Mind

Queen Anna of Arendelle had the likeable disposition of a puppy in summer. Her entire existence seemed to premise upon her providence of love and warmth, even when they were aplenty under the radiant sun.

She was fiercely loyal to companions, deft in maintaining her optimism through thick and thin, steadfast in altruistic commitments, to name a few of her many virtuous attributes. She carried herself like a fountain whose liquid provided welcomed relief to parched birds, except with Anna, she did it through sheer benevolence.

Fine, indeed, her feisty obstinacy prevailed at times, be it within the confines of council rooms or private quarters, patiently endured by royal advisors and Kristoff alike. But, it was Anna’s astute mind that allowed her to suspect that some volatile anxiety had been brewing amongst the spirits.

A gust of wind had been bellowing through her study every afternoon. Her fireplace had flickered pink time and time again. A distorted neigh echoed in her ears at every casual passing by the fjord. And, worst of all, she had been tripping over plain flat soil more in the past week than she had in a lifetime! That’s a lot of bruised knees, stained dresses and dismayed grumbles coming from the castle staff!

Maybe, it was just that— coincidences, or Arendelle’s weather throwing a temper tantrum (of its own accord, this time).

Or maybe, it was the spirits.

Maybe… It was Elsa.

It all happened during the second game night of January—the month following Elsa’s 26th birthday.

The sun of late had been setting at five in the evenings, painting the dinner table a warm cozy fuschia against the backdrop of a white crisp winter. Clanking away with their forks and knives were Anna, Kristoff and Olaf, joined by Elsa and Honeymaren.

This wasn’t the first time that Elsa had been accompanied by Northuldra guests, but it did strike Anna by surprise when she found the blonde descending Nokk at the docks with none other than Honeymaren.

Upon the touch of Elsa’s delicate fingers on her forearm, Honeymaren wore a courteous smile and said to Anna, simply, as though hoping not to invite any further query, “Ryder had to attend to private matters,”

The food was scrumptious that night, wine all the better. Anna’s keen gaze couldn’t help but linger at Elsa as she restrained herself from sipping a second glass. One may compare her sister nowadays to spirits and deities, but she was no god of alcohol. Mild intoxication alone was enough to convince Elsa that sauntering on rooftops was as safe as belting hymns, the prospect of death put aside altogether as myth.

“How’s Northuldra?” asked Kristoff, mouth chock-full of braised salmon. “Anna and I have been wanting to pay everyone a visit,”

“If my schedule allows it...” Anna chimed in, sighing. “Seriously, Elsa, how did you do it? We were able to share tea dates while you were Queen, and I’m struggling with...” A hand gesticulated in the air, as if to conjure words with magic. “...struggling with small things, like menus for dignitary lunches, village tours, picking dresses!”

Elsa stifled a giggle. “Northuldra’s fine, Kristoff. Thanks for asking. And, those aren’t small things at all, Anna,” Proving to everyone that she remained a stickler for manners, Elsa dabbed her lips lightly with the hem of her napkin before speaking any further. “Remember, I was eighteen when I ascended the throne. I had barely turned a new chapter into adulthood, let alone prepared myself enough to serve as sovereign, or be of age for coronation. Every single little thing was as daunting as it could have been…”

Catching sight of her reflection on the impeccably clean wine glass, she looked up at Anna and gave her the tenderest of smiles. “Dipping a pen to write letters was as scary as negotiating trade deals with kings of neighbouring states, likewise with picking dresses or menus for dignitary lunches. It’s all new to you, Anna. Give it time. I’m sure you’d find yourself comfortably acquainted with your role much quicker than I ever did,”

“You’re right. A-At least, I hope so,” replied Anna, fumbling with her hands. Her eyes frantically surveyed the room for a comfortable point of fixation. “I mean, it’s only been half a year. I shouldn’t expect to conduct myself as effectively as you did when it probably, no, definitely, totally, took years of practice on your end, I imagine,”

Elsa smile grew even wider. Having just endured being the subject of a portrait painting, Anna was dressed in full regalia that night, with her velvet train whipping in the wind and tiara twinkling lustrously under candlelight. But Elsa saw the same sprightly kid with pig-tails as she peered into the teal eyes of her younger sister—now Queen and no longer a Princess. “Yup, years of practice,” said Elsa, before adding, “You don’t have to reign as I did, Anna. Please, conduct yourself as you see fit. You are your own person after all,”

“Well, y-yeah, of course,” said Anna, returning the smile. “But there’s nothing wrong with—I mean—it’s recommended to follow in the footsteps of my predecessors, right?”

Pursing her lips, Elsa swirled her wine as though to exude an air of nonchalance, before, to everyone’s surprise, imbibing the wine all in one gulp. Anna felt her voice hitch. That must’ve scorched her sister’s throat for sure. It was far from difficult to notice the reddish hue that crept up to her sister’s porcelain cheeks.

Upon the loud creak of doors opening by the far end of the Great Hall, Kai stepped in to announce that dessert was ready to be served. Over citrus palate cleansers and parfait, Honeymaren endeavoured through the flurry of questions of which Olaf had a curiously endless supply.

“What are your thoughts on pranks?” asked Olaf, at one point.

“Pranks?” Honeymaren cocked her head. “Fun, in moderation,”

“Fantastic!” The three short twigs that sat atop Olaf’s crown gave the faintest quiver. “With an ample amount of time on my hands, I can afford to entertain my personal interests,”

“Like… planning pranks?” asked Honeymaren, brows furrowed. The royal family of Arendelle defied convention, but a snowman taking stock of ideas in horseplay was new terrain.

“Yes, pay attention,” snapped Olaf. “I recently made a list of pranks that I thought might be fun to try with a close companion of yours,” Honeymaren and Elsa shared a nervous glance. Bringing a twiggy palm to his forehead, Olaf heaved a theatrical sigh, “No, not Elsa. Nokk ,”

At that response, the four adults shared an exclamation of surprise.

“Oh, good!” continued Olaf, smiling. “I see my suggestion is already garnering desired effects! You see, I read that potassium explodes upon contact with water—”

“O-Olaf!” stuttered Anna loudly. “That’s a fantastic idea! I’m sure we’d like to hear all about it tomorrow morning. Didn’t you say something about, um, saving good stuff for later makes you feel happier, more excited, or something—?”

“Oh, why yes, Anna! How can I forget: greater satisfaction as a result of greater delays in gratification! An excellent suggestion. In that case,—” Olaf winked. “—I’ll save it for later,”

“Good!” Anna’s eyes sparkled, as she turned to face everyone else. “Who’s up for games?”

———

Games could not have come sooner.

Sitting still was never Anna’s best pursuits, let alone standing statuesque in full regalia with an orb and scepter in hand for a portrait painting. It took a painstaking two hours, enough for the newly anointed queen’s mind to wander from the colour scheme of bed sheets to apocalyptic war.

Rubbing salt to Anna’s wounds, the court painter then had the audacity to take a photograph as reference for his final touches— “Live painting still carries the best merit, ma’am,” he had said with his nose pointed up to the ceiling. Had Kristoff been elsewhere, the court painter would have met Anna’s fists shortly before being delivered to the doorsteps of his Maker.

Anna’s arms were itching to flail about. Her foot tapped impatiently against the timber as she gawkily handed her dress to her lady-in-waiting and fumbled to wear her nightgown, first inside-out, then backwards, and finally, as it should be worn.

Striding out in haste, Anna’s hair remained tightly wound in a singular bun, as had been the tradition with queens of Arendelle. But upon the doors to her study, Anna found herself nearing a dither.

Frantically, she ruffled her hair into loose locks.

Her heart had once beat aflutter when Elsa stared at Anna, as though to find their mother somewhere behind the fabric of her younger sister’s regal mien. “Mother’s gone,” Elsa had mumbled pensively, before realising what had tumbled out of her lips. “I’m sorry, i-it’s just… the resemblance is uncanny,”

“Anna?”

Returning to present time, Anna turned to find Elsa and Honeymaren jogging down the hallway in their nightgowns. “Oh,” said Anna, mustering composure. “That’s unlike you to be late—”

Elsa pulled Anna into a tight embrace without a moment to spare. “I’m actually excited,” she whispered, pulling away. “I’ve been practicing with Honey,”

“She has,” Honeymaren nodded over Elsa’s shoulder. “Though, there remains room for improvement,”

“Just last night you said I was excellent,” Tapping playfully on Honeymaren’s shoulder, Elsa turned the door handle with an adroit twist of the hand as she had done countless times before as queen, and held the door with a smile.

It must have taken Anna a full moment to realise that Honeymaren had been standing abreast, giving her the courtesy to enter first. Anna stumbled into the study. Every piece of furniture was in its rightful place— the sofa was riveted in the center, curtains drawn, paintings of her Father’s and Elsa’s coronation hung behind looming shadows— and yet, the expanse of the room felt foreign.

Anna suddenly blurted, “You two...were talking about charades, yeah?”

Her words hung in the air for a moment too long, waiting to be plucked as prophecy. Elsa darted a look at Honeymaren, before her nimble fingers started fiddling with loose strands of hair. “What did you think we were talking about?”

Anna shrugged, blushing. “Nothing... I-I don’t know. Never mind me,”

———

The midnight chime of the old grandfather clock came sooner than expected. Kristoff announced that he best retired to bed or he’d slip into slumber right then on the sofa.

“Just admit it,” said Anna. “You don’t want to clean up the mess you’ve made,” She pointed at the litter of paper on the floor. Kristoff could only offer a yawn in response, before racing out of the room with Olaf.

“Boys,” said Honeymaren. Raking in a load of paper balls with her hands, she piled them up into an idle bucket sitting dangerously close to the hearth. Its once blazing wood had now reduced to crackling embers, dimming the study down to the haze of blue moonlight.

“Thanks, Honeymaren,”

“I’ll put out the fire,”

“Oh, no, actually, don’t… It’s a bit cold...” Anna paused, trembling at the sudden chill that trickled down her spine. As she wrapped her arms around her middle, Anna’s eyes trailed around the room, tracing the familiar figure of a certain quiet someone. Sure enough, standing in solitude on the balcony was Elsa. Her loose blonde locks and purple satin dress fluttered in the strong breeze that drifted its way into the room, threading along curtains, lapping against carpets, hushing cinders to the lullaby of distant tides.

Without so much as a pardon, Honeymaren ambled towards the windows left ajar, making her presence known to Elsa by placing a tender hand squarely against the small of her bare back. Anna watched that very hand falter in its attempt to provide comfort, as it trembled to give gentle pats. Yet, how ever cold a fortitude of silence Elsa bore, it melted, came undone at the seams, shed its mask of immaculate armour, once Elsa leaned forwards to rest her elbows languidly against the railing, as if to ask for back rubs instead. Like a steed to its master, the Queen of Ice and Snow bowed her head ever so slightly to her Northuldra companion.

The whistle of the breeze lulled, leaving Anna in the placidness of stale office air. Quietly, Anna joined them, smiling appreciatively at Honeymaren’s warm nod of encouragement.

“Elsa?” said Anna. “Is everything alright?”

Elsa seemed transfixed at the undulating ridges of mountains, which caressed the heavens as much as it dived into the earth behind the town’s lofty roofs and spires. She turned to Anna, with a smile stretching across quivering lips. “My favourite view of Arendelle,” she said in faint whispers.

Catching Honeymaren’s averting gaze, Anna sensed that her sister meant to say something else.

———

Anna tossed and turned in bed at the break of dawn, begging herself to catch a few more minutes of sleep before Gerda would come knocking at her door. But, her attention seemed to have overstayed its welcome in the deepest recesses of her mind, hitched against some dark suspicion that her sister was shackled again by an old habit of hers—keeping secrets, namely ones that bode misfortune.

Elsa had three years following their parents’ departure to break to her sister that she possessed magic, but chose not to until she had casted Arendelle into winter. She had weeks to tell her family about hearing a voice, but chose not to until Arendelle had nearly crumbled into the earth. Elsa was never irresponsible, however, far from it. Quite simply, she was often paralysed by fear, and would care less about herself than to worry the people she loved about problems beyond her control. Anna learned that she needed to entice her sister into conversation, remind her of the unceasing support she had, or suffer the consequences.

It didn’t help that the chilly breeze of last night had invited itself into Anna’s bed. Getting up meant falling prey to shivers—all the more reason to stay warm under quilted sheets.

Just as Anna’s eyes fluttered shut, a loud bolt of footsteps trailed outside her room, dying down as quick as it came. Anna jolted upright.

“Gerda?” called Anna, breathless. Quickly, she tumbled out of bed. Opening the door just enough to pop her head out, she looked left and right to find the hallway properly deserted. “I must’ve been dreaming...,”

Convinced that the rush of adrenaline would have done little to allow for more snoozes, Anna decided to officially start her day. Game nights this past year were usually followed by a day off for Anna and Elsa to catch up, over tea cakes, horse rides, picnics, village tours, anything. This time, however, as Gerda had been sympathetic to remind the young queen, the governor of Jorgenfjord had requested an urgent audience with her for that morning. Replacing a sister bonding session with a meeting was the last of Anna’s desires. But, the least she could do for Elsa was to lend her ears, be a shoulder to cry on, to support however she can, before rushing into the first task of the day.

Dress neatly donned, hair tightly wound in a bun, Anna made her way to Elsa’s room. As with all monarchs following their coronation, Anna moved into her parents’ room, which had been Elsa’s until she abdicated. So, quite simply, Elsa was forced to return to her childhood room.

Anna rapped a familiar tune on her sister’s door, before rubbing her cold hands together.

No response.

“Elsa?” called Anna, knocking again. “I’m sorry if it’s a bit early. Wait, actually, this should be past your usual waking time, unless you’ve gotten lazy in the forest! Hah! Can’t blame you. I-I’d do the same. I can tell you that this is definitely not my usual waking time, though. Still isn’t! At least not for another year! Way too early. Anyway, Elsa, like I said yesterday, I have to attend an early meeting. Before you go for your walk around town, I’d really, um, appreciate it, if we can talk. Talk? That sounds too serious. I-I just want to have a little chat , really, that’s all.”

Anna bit her lip and clasped her hands tighter, hoping to squeeze some warmth into her palms. The permeating silence became indicative of another failed attempt to elicit a response. Taking a deep breath, Anna opened the door to peek inside, to check if Elsa had, for the first time in forever, overslept. To her surprise, the room was empty—so empty, in fact, that the stack of towels and fruits that Gerda had placed carefully on the bed seemed completely untouched.

Anna blinked, confused.

“Anna?” croaked a voice from behind.

Anna turned to find Elsa walking down the hallway in her white dress, rubbing circles into her eyes. “Elsa! Good morning,”

“Good morning,”

“I-I was knocking on your door but…”

Elsa halted beside her sister, squinting at the familiar row of snowflakes that adorned her white door. “...but what, Anna?”

“Elsa, did you… come from Honeymaren’s room?”

Elsa nodded. “Yeah?”

Anna’s eyes widened, sparkling. The redhead opened her mouth to scream but frantic hands clasped it shut. The epiphany slammed into her like a hustling reindeer, jamming all colours of emotions into her core, waiting to burst into shrieks of rainbows.

She and Kristoff had a fair share of amorous intrigues before their engagement— hiking up trails, serenades in stables, rowing in the great expanse of Arendelle’s fjords, sneaking into the castle just before her quiet disappearance caught the attention of her sister. This, with Elsa, was similar. She knew all too well.

Elsa looked concerned. “Anna, what’s wrong?” She placed a hand on Anna’s forehead. Anna shuddered at the touch and flinched away. “O-oh, I’m so sorry, Anna. Was it cold?”

“Elsa!” exclaimed Anna in hushed whispers, rounding her sister towards the windows. “This makes so much sense. I knew it! Something was bothering you!”

Shoulders arched, Elsa fidgeted with the hem of her sheer cape. “Y-you do?” said Elsa to Anna’s back. “Oh, Anna. I was actually planning to tell you last night with—“

“—Honeymaren!” yelled Anna, barely containing her excitement as she saw the confused young Northuldra approaching the two sisters. Anna dashed to Honeymaren’s side, tugged her by the wrist and nudged her towards Elsa. “I know, Elsa, I know. First, you didn’t bring Ryder because you didn’t want me to get confused,”

Elsa and Honeymaren shot a flabbergasted look at the redhead. “Wait, what?” queried Elsa, brows furrowed.

“During dinner, when I talked about following in your footsteps, you gulped down that glass of wine like it was coffee because, hah, I’m with Kristoff! Of course , I don’t swing in the other direction,”

“Anna—“

“And, oh, seriously, Elsa? I thought you were good with subtlety but I stand corrected. ‘Just last night you said I was excellent’ ? You really think I can believe you guys when you say it was about ‘charades’ ?” Anna winked.

Elsa and Honeymaren were now as red as berries, realising what Anna had meant. “A-Anna,” started Elsa. “You got it all wro—“

“Last night! At the balcony! You wanted to say it to me. You wanted to announce that you and Honeymaren are in love!” At this point, Elsa nearly ducked behind Honeymaren—god forbid anyone saw in her furiously blushing state. “But you couldn’t, so you talked about the view! And Honeymaren—“ The Northuldra turned to look at Anna but her gaze seemed to have pierced right through Anna’s body and out the window. “—Oh, Honeymaren, the way you rubbed Elsa’s back, how intimate, how romantic ,” Anna glanced at her old room, whose amenities were meant to extend to Honeymaren alone. “And now, you two are sharing a bed —”

“Y-Your Majesty—“ stammered Honeymaren.

“Say no more,” responded Anna, bringing a finger to her lips. “You have my blessing,”

Feeling a tug on her dress, Honeymaren found Elsa crouching by her feet, bringing her knees to her chest. Ice fractals crackled beneath her soles. “Elsa,” whispered Honeymaren. “I thought you were planning to tell her—“

“Oh, why, yes, of course!” gasped Anna. “You’re absolutely right, Elsa. It’s like I never learn. I take it back. I don’t give you two my blessing. You have to court each other, for at least three years like Kristoff and I, before you could even think about something as huge as marriage,”

As Honeymaren and Elsa stared blankly into space, the breeze outside howled louder and louder, whistling through the cracks of windows, rustling through scraggy trees. Either Gale, the Wind Spirit, was thoughtful enough to spare them the pain of listening to their own thoughts, or Gale was having the cackle of a lifetime.

“Your Majesty,” called Gerda from afar. She took a few quick steps towards the three young women before giving a deep curtsy. “Your Royal Highness,” She bowed her head at Elsa, and turned back to Anna. “Your meeting, ma’am. It starts in ten minutes,”

Anna wrenched Elsa by the arm, forcing her up her feet, and gave Elsa and Honeymaren a hug that squeezed all the air out of their lungs. “That’s my cue! I love you! See you for lunch!”

With the click of her heels, the young queen was off to the council room. Gerda followed closely behind but darted a concerned look at Elsa. In all her years of taking care of Elsa, she had never seen the blonde so pink.

———

Anna was practically hopping to the council room when Lieutenant Mattias came to her visual periphery with a steaming mug in his grip. He extended a polite hand, halting the young queen in her tracks.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing his head. “Would you like a cup of hot chocolate milk?”

“Why yes!” said Anna, accepting the mug. “Did you make this specially for me?”

“No, ma’am. There was a surplus in the kitchen,” Mattias responded. He shifted his weight and crossed his arms, waiting for the young queen to take a couple sips. His voice quieted down to a whisper. “The kitchen staff said that Honeymaren requested for two cups of hot chocolate at 5 in the morning. She was as pale as a ghost, they said,”

Anna nearly spewed milk at Mattias’ face. “Wait, what?”

“Ma’am,” continued Mattias, looking around. “It is not my intention to startle you before your meeting but I think it best to know if anything had gone amiss. I can help you… check on things while you attend the council meeting,”

Anna nodded slowly. “Oh… Okay…?”

“Did Elsa say or do anything that struck you as… strange or peculiar?”

Anna took a step back, her stomach tightening. “No, I mean…S-She seemed nervous and preoccupied, b-but—” Anna shook her head. “Nothing too suspicious. What’s wrong?”

“Several guards with clandestine posts have just reported to me that she had been in Arendelle for at least one day before she arrived in this castle yesterday,” replied Mattias, wearing the most empathetic look he could muster for the young queen. “She was first spotted northeast of the castle, in the forest, which I believe you would know to be—“

“—close to the Valley of the Living Rocks. The trolls...,” said Anna, brows furrowing.

“Yes, ma’am,” responded Mattias. He hunched forward to whisper further into Anna’s ear. “The same day, she was spotted in Jorgenfjord, whose governor, you are about to meet in five minutes,”

Anna paused. Tears formed at the rim of her eyes, as her breaths grew shallow. Elsa was keeping secrets from her. All those letters they wrote to each other and Elsa had chosen not to mention a single hitch. Anna felt the hollows of her chest kindle with fire, its cavities ignited with a fury that wanted burn every morsel of her sister’s failure once more to deliver promises of honest disclosure— promises to never shut each other out again.

The thing is, Elsa did express her intention of confidence. Just that, Anna hadn’t given Elsa the chance to even catch her breath this morning.

Anna stood in silence.

It was her fault.

Elsa wanted to talk, but Anna didn’t make it clear that she was ready to listen.

“Mattias,” sputtered Anna. “I-I don’t know what all of this means. For all we know, she was just giving Honeymaren a tour around Arendelle! But... I know one thing for certain. Elsa would only request for hot chocolate at that hour if she had a nightmare. A bad one. She started getting them before our journey to Northuldra,” Anna paused. “I need you to go into my old room—the one with crocuses on its door—and check for any sign of Elsa having blasted ice in the room,” Anna gulped her chocolate milk down. “And send for royal guards to follow her. Discreetly. Keep her safe,”

Mattias simply nodded, motioning for the queen to wipe the chocolate moustache off her lips.

As Anna steeled herself and entered the council room, Mattias dashed to Anna’s old room, wondering why Elsa had swapped rooms with Honeymaren. He entered to find the room clean and dry. Either the maids had done an impeccable job of discarding any evidence to suggest that Elsa froze the room or Elsa had gotten better at thawing every last snowflake.

Mattias had barely touched the door handle to make his exit, when a bowl of fruits on the mantelpiece caught his eye— what a curious place to put a fruit bowl. He approached it, and picked up an apple. It seemed badly bruised, as if it had been tossed to the ground and trampled by the hooves of a stampede. Squeezing it slowly, the apple molded into the wrinkles of his fist, smushed into gooey pulp.  

“You can’t find ice that has been properly thawed,” Mattias mused to himself. “But you can find the effects it’s left behind,”

———

A/N: I’VE NOT WRITTEN SOMETHING THIS SERIOUS IN 4 YEARS???? Please spare me

[cecaeliana]

          𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑   𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘  :

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟏.  :   THE OUTSIDE.

NAME  :   uma asherah nautica  EYE   COLOUR  :  so brown they look black, it’s easier to see the brown in the sunlight, but indoors or on a dull day it’s impossible to tell her irises and pupils apart because they’re so black.  HAIR   STYLE   /   COLOUR  :    uma’s hair has always been teal, the bright turquoise locks one of her defining features on the isle as someone ‘not human’. she often wears it in braids, particularly box braids using black and white extensions (a nod to her mother’s colour scheme). if loose it can be straightened into ‘beach waves’ or left alone to take its natural form. natural hair ref here. HEIGHT  :     five foot three. CLOTHING   STYLE  :   pirate chic. generally quite shabby looking leather, painted turquoise and decorated with sea related paraphernalia like seashells and pearls. clothes made of not-clothing materials like sack material, spray painted to the right colour. or old ballgowns stripped to parts and sewed back together. short skirts or pants are favourable and she will never wear a dress that restricts her leg movements. a pirate hat decorated with seashells and ribbon is the crowning jewel.  BEST   PHYSICAL   FEATURE  :     everything. (the hair.)

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟐.  :   THE  INSIDE

FEARS  :    being trapped. feeling locked in. not being able to make her own decisions. not having control over things. harming someone she cares about. people leaving her. being laughed at. 

BIGGEST   PET   PEEVE  :    anyone treating her like she’s inferior. being made fun of. being treated as though she’s stupid. being underestimated. someone not listening to her instructions first time around. 

AMBITIONS   FOR   THE   FUTURE  :   to finish writing and then completing her to-do list. which basically amounts to finishing the isle renovations and making sure the residents are safe, happy, well-looked after and that the isle is a self-sustaining environment in which people can live and work happily. but also to travel the world, find exciting new places and explore them. she just wants to live free and adventure. 

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟑.  :   THOUGHTS

FIRST   THOUGHTS   WAKING   UP  :   how long was i asleep? is often uma’s first thought, she starts the day (if she’s been asleep) by checking the time and the sun and seeing how much time she spent asleep. then she gets out of bed and heads for her desk to write down any ideas and notes she’s come up with overnight. she might go and get a coffee, but more likely she’ll be pulled into writing something and completely neglect the time until someone else interrupts her, unless she has something scheduled, then she’ll make sure she’s prepared for that.  WHAT   THEY   THINK   ABOUT   MOST  :    the isle. the people on it. she spends a lot of her time thinking about how they can do it better, how they can improve, what needs to be done. it takes up most of her time. she also spends a lot of time thinking about her crew, trying to plan the best possible future for them and finding the best way to give them the adventure that they want without sacrificing what she feels like she needs to do for the isle.  WHAT   THEY   THINK   ABOUT   BEFORE   BED  :  usually she has to be lured into bed by one of her partners. so most likely her attention is on them. but once they are asleep and she’s left awake, but not wanting to wake them, she thinks about the future and how she can make it better.  WHAT   THEY   THINK   THEIR   BEST   QUALITY   IS  :    her leadership. she knows she’s a good leader, she knows she’s charismatic and wants what’s best for her people, whether that’s the isle or her crew. so she prides herself on being able to lead and being wanted. 

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟒.  :   WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE   OR   GROUP   DATES  :   depends on the circumstances. because she’s poly uma likes group dates if they just include her partners (and their partners if they have them), but if it’s just her and a partner and then two or more people unattached to them, she’d want to be alone with her partner.  TO   BE   LOVED   OR   RESPECTED  :   both. she would deny any attempt to tell her that you cannot have both. in fact, to uma these things are intrinsically linked. once she might have thought you could gain respect through fear, but that’s not the same as gaining respect by gaining love. what she has been taught by her crew is that leadership out of mutual trust, understanding and love is far more effective than ruling out of fear. you cannot have true respect unless you are loved and appreciated and you cannot have true love unless you are respected. it is both or it is neither. if she could not have love she would force respect through fear- because not being respected is something that has deeply hurt her- but she wouldn’t be happy about it. 

BEAUTY   OR   BRAINS  :    brains. being able to have a conversation and being able to enjoy someone else’s personality and their views on life and the universe and everything is so much more important to uma than how aesthetically pleasing they are. (but being pretty doesn’t hurt). 

DOGS   OR   CATS   :    cats.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟓.  :   DO THEY…

LIE  :    no. not if she can help it. uma prides herself on her complete and total honesty, even when it hurts, even when it’s something the person she’s speaking to doesn’t want to hear. she’s still honest with them. she doesn’t want to be seen as a liar and a cheat like her mother so she tries very hard to change that view of her. 

BELIEVE   IN   THEMSELVES  :    yes. uma believes in herself above all else. some days it’s the only thing she believes in. she struggles to release control to other people because she cannot believe in them, but she will always believe in herself. sometimes to the point of stupidity. 

BELIEVE   IN   LOVE  :    it’s hard not to. impossible not to, really, in a world where the idea of true love conquers all is so important and intrinsically linked into the very fabric of reality. but what she doesn’t believe in is the idea that there is only one love for any one person and that once you find it, you’re done. it’s possible to have more than one true love, just watch her prove it. 

WANT   SOMEONE  :   she’d say no, but she does, like most other people. but she does feel like she’s found it, to an extent, within her crew, within harry and gil. she has the love and support she needs. she’s not looking for something else, but that doesn’t mean she won’t find it anyway. 

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟔.  :   HAVE  THEY…

BEEN   ON   STAGE  :    yes. in the chip shoppe a lot, but also she has played violin in school recitals. DONE   DRUGS  :     yes. anything to break up the monotony of the isle. but she doesn’t like being out of control, so she really doesn’t like it all that much.  CHANGED   WHO   THEY   WERE   TO   FIT   IN  :    yes. though it’s a little more complicated than that. when mal started the chain reaction that led to her being bullied, uma had to make herself bigger, badder and scarier in order to stop people from bullying her. but it actually taught her a lot of self-confidence and turned her into the person she is now. the experience changed her. 

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟕.  :   FAVOURITES

FAVOURITE   COLOURS  :    teal and purple FAVOURITE   ANIMAL  :    sea pony. FAVOURITE   BOOK  :   difficult to say, most of the books uma has read have been incomplete or damaged in some way, but she loves greek dramas, especially the tragedies and especially anything in which there is a strong woman who was fucked over by the gods. probably anything to do with medusa or cassandra or any others. though most of these stories were probably told to her orally by her mother instead of read from a book.  FAVOURITE   GAME  :   there aren’t many games on the isle, but she’s probably best at nine man’s morris. she’d also be good at chess if she put her mind to it, but she doesn’t have the patience for a long game. she’d definitely quit long before the end of a monopoly game. 

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟎𝟖.  :   FINISH  THE  SENTENCE

I LOVE  :    myself. I FEEL  :     hopeful. I HIDE  :     from no-one. I MISS  :     the sea. I WISH  :    this was done.

TAGGED     BY     :     stolen from @hecrowned​ TAGGING     :    you!!

[artificialqueens]

Elastic Heart Part 8/10 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

A/N: Thanks so much to artificialmeggie for the read-over and feedback on this update!!  And thank you to everyone who’s been reading and commenting. Fanfic takes a village, and the AQ village is everything.

We’re getting close to the finish line, and I hope to have it all done and posted within the next week so that I can stop worrying about canon messing with me. Also, if you want to know the inspiration behind this title and lip sync, check out Brooke Lynn Hytes’ performance of “Elastic Heart” on youtube.  Dear God, do it now.

Brock has this thing about winning. 

It’s a mean thing.

An ugly thing.

And it’s worked for him, for countless pageants, for Miss Continental, for Drag Race (for most of Drag Race, anyway.) He knows it’s connected to anxiety and perfectionism and self-esteem and whatever, knows it’s got something to do with that gasping hole in his chest (below the breastbone, left of the third rib) the one that’s always hungry, the one that can never be full. 

It’s a - whole mood.

It’s why he hasn’t had any real relationships, just short breathless hookups that ended in ignored texts and missed calls.

It’s why the thing with Jose was such a consummate disaster. Because it messed up the plan, the strategic and well-designed flowchart that Brock had for his life and the direction it was going to take.  Jose was not part of that plan.  A crown was.

And Brock had chances to change it, to back out, to cut ties. He had so many chances and after the Snatch Game - he tried. Like an asshole, he tried.  It was safer for them to be separate; Brock wasn’t so confused then.  It was safer when Vanjie wasn’t looking at him with those slanted eyebrows and soft smile, it meant Brock could focus. Could feed that part of himself that told him he wasn’t good enough.  

Told him he wasn’t enough, period.

If they had been talking much at the time he would have told Vanessa: I can’t think when you’re near me and I’m not going to put us both in the bottom two and that look on your face makes me forget what I’m doing here.

But instead he said nothing.

He watches the latest episode at a club in Nashville and performs some Ariana for them when it’s over.  As he leaves the stage, he realizes that his knee is throbbing.  It’s an old dance injury that returns now and then (a ghost to keep him company.)  Brock tries to stay and mingle but the pain is making him pricklier than usual; around 1 am he leaves in full drag and catches a cab home. He changes into his usual t-shirt and sweats, and is taking off his paint in the bathroom (leg stretched out on the toilet, icepack on his knee).

Then the phone rings.

When he sees Jose’s name, he almost doesn’t answer it. 

He’s just not in a place to talk to him right now.  He’s too wound up, and he’s in pain, and he’s worried his heart might give out like his knee if he hears Jose’s voice. 

The phone rings. Rings.

Fuck you, heart, Brock thinks and picks up.

At first there’s silence on the other end.  Then a breath.  Then another.

“Hey mama.”  The sound of the other man’s voice is like a lighthouse. “Weren’t you s’posed to call me or somethin’? I thought we’re gonna plan all this shit, all our statements and - then I get the cold shoulder, what’s goin’ on?”

There’s something a bit more musical than usual about the way Jose’s talking. A rolling rhythm, a slight drag on his vowels.

“You’re drunk,” Brock says, and Jose laughs, a gorgeously painful sound. 

Of course he’s drunk. Why would he call Brock if he wasn’t?

“Nah, girl, just - well maybe.  Back from the club, celebratin’ that my ass still on the show. You know. Everyone’s been talking at me about you, thought I better hit you up.”

“What club?” Brock wipes off his lipstick, turns slowly back to his beige-coloured self. “Where are you?”

“I’m in…” Jose pauses too long. “Shit.  Where’m I? Chicago.  That’s right.  Bitch, I’m from Chicago. Where you at?”

“Home.” 

“Damn. You on the other side of the world.”

Brock snorts, peeling off his lashes.  “A seven hour drive is the other side of the world, eh?”

“Look at you, soundin’ all Canadian.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking aboot.”

Jose laughs again, and the tipsy affection in his voice makes Brock squeeze his eyes shut, as if that will somehow block out the sound.  He doesn’t want to hear it.  It makes him miss Jose like he’d miss a vital organ, his left arm, his tongue.

“So.  So. Why did I - oh yeah, we’re planning. Scheming.  Gonna rob a bank or something.”

“Girl, you are so wasted.” 

“I’d be your getaway driver. You know, Fast and the Furious style.”

“Maybe if the whole drag thing doesn’t work out.” Brock’s smiling stupidly to himself, and he catches that look in the mirror.  It’s the expression he’s only ever seen on the show - the ‘Vanjie smile’, small and hopeless.  Seeing it in real life is a bit terrifying. “You can be Vin Diesel.”

“Shut your lyin’ mouth, ho! If I’m anyone it’s the Rock.” 

“Fine, Jesus. Be the Rock, if that’s your deal-breaker.” Brock leaves the bathroom, only half finished but unable to stand in front of a mirror any longer.  He sits down on his sofa, leg propped out on the coffee table with the ice pack balanced on it.  He smells terrible, like sweat and hairspray.  Christ, he needs a shower. “So. Just a couple more episodes left, and then -”

“Then you burnt it down. Not something I’ma forget.” The laughter in Jose’s voice fades. “How you feelin’ about watching it all?”

“Not great.  I don’t know – how it’s going to look, how they’re going to make it look.” Brock was basically moving on auto-pilot after it was over. There are a lot of pieces missing. “What if I, like, blacked out and did that Celine Dion impression again?”

“I dunno if I’d call what you did an ‘impression.’”

“And the library is open.” Brock winces a bit at the memory, because the reads during that last episode were too affectionate.  He’d been trying to play it cool then, make it clear he was all about the show and not just some sucker for a gorgeous face. But watching the edits, it’s almost like he went too hard in the opposite direction.  No wonder they were both fucked up about it.

“Also bitch, I was there that night. I think I woulda remembered if you went full Celine. Had flashbacks and shit.”

“You might have repressed it. On account of the trauma.”

“Guess we’ll both be in for a surprise then.”

God, Brock hopes not. That whole lip sync against Vanessa still feels unreal.  Some parts are so clear they’re like photographs, and others are like kindergarten drawings.  He knows they’re meant to mean something, but he can’t for the life of him figure out what. 

“So what are you going to say? When it airs.  We’ve got, like, two episodes left.”

“Does it matter?”

It does matter, it matters to Brock so much almost can’t put words to it.  

“Yes.”

“I’ll say… ha, I’ll say I paid you off.  Like boxing and shit. I was betting on the winner and gave you all my meme money to throw it.” Jose’s tone is bright like he’s joking, but there’s something underneath his words that’s a bit sharper. Something that sets Brock’s teeth on edge. “Or maybe I’ll say you’re a damn fool who forgot how to dance.”

“Yeah, you could.”

“Or maybe I’ll say -” Jose suddenly stops talking. Brock hears him rummaging around, hears some sort of movement in the background.  And then there’s silence.

“Hey. You good?” Brock asks after the silence goes on too long.  

He’s only a little concerned that Jose may have passed out, when Jose breathes a quiet laugh in response.

“So good, boo, you got no idea. Just - livin’ my best life. You know, walkin’ backwards.” There’s something tragic in his tone, and then more movement. “Brock -” 

The way he says the name sounds urgent, but then it trails off into nothing. Brock waits for the rest of it.   Waits.  

“Yes?”

“What? Nah, I jus’ like sayin’ your name. Brock.  Brooke. I like ‘em both.” Jose makes an odd choked sound on the other end of the line. “What you doin’ now?”

“Taking off my face. I was working tonight.”

“You get those dollar bills, mama?”

“Of course I did.”

“You got anyone there with you?”  

There’s an intensity in the question that makes Brock hesitate.  

“Anyone as fine as me?” Jose continues, and Brock’s mouth goes a bit dry.  

“No.” He swallows. “Um. Do you?”

“Fuck no. Who’d that be? Ain’t no one -” Jose cuts himself off, and Brock feels something rising inside him, a wave of wanting that started at the first rasp of Jose’s voice on the line.  “That damn lip sync of yours is still all over my pages.”

“Yeah?” ” Brock doesn’t know where this conversation is going, but something feels - too intense.  Too desperate. His heart beats against his chest a bit too hard.

Jose whistles. “Been playing it on repeat just to look at Yvie’s ass.”

“Bitch.” Brock grins, even though he’s starting to feel all blurry around the edges. “I knew it.”

“But damn, girl, you were fine as hell. I remember thinkin’ - watching you dance -”

Heat rises to Brock’s face.  Jose is drunk, there’s no way he would be saying any of this otherwise.

“- like how the fuck did she somehow - how did she end up -”

There is a feeling like electricity running over Brock’s skin and under it.  Through his bones, his veins. He can’t say anything in reply.

“ - with me? Like I get to to look at her, and fucking - kiss her -”

“Jose -”

“Wish I could see you now.  Miss your stupid face, your fucking hands.  I miss your mouth -��

“Jesus,” Brock gasps.  This is not how he thought this was going to go. “I miss you too.”

“Don’t - you don’t gotta talk none, just let me okay? Just let me.” Jose’s breathing is heavy, and there’s another sound like rustling fabric. “Gotta take my shirt off.”

“Jesus,” Brock says again, sweat breaking out over his neck, his chest.  This can’t actually be happening.  He hasn’t had anything but water and energy drinks tonight, he’s not - prepared. He’s entirely too sober.  He’s going to do something stupid, say something -

“You think about me?” Jose continues, voice rough. “You want me?”

What could it hurt to be honest? For fucking once, Brock. “Fuck yes. All the -”

“I think about you, about riding you.  Bet you would fuck like you dance, hey? So damn pretty.  Are you touching yourself?”

Brock wants to but he isn’t, doesn’t know the rules here. He’s hard in his sweatpants, and his free hand has started to travel down his abdomen, trace the fine hairs below his bellybutton.

“I am,” Jose gasps, “Brock, baby - please -”

“Oh my god.” Brock closes his eyes, imagining Jose on some shitty hotel bed, shirt off, pants undone. It’s like he’s there, right in front of him, almost close enough to touch. Brock can smell his sweat, smell his cologne, wants to drag his tongue up the crease between his hip and his thigh. His hand slips beneath his waistband and he - his body wants this, but the rest of him feels -

“Get off for me, baby,” Jose’s voice breaks. “I wanna hear what you sound like, wanna hear you -”

Brock strokes himself, feeling a bit like he’s having an out-of-body experience. He’s never done this before - sent the odd pic, but never - nothing like this. His body feels overheated, every inch of his skin is sensitive. Goosebumps are rising all over his shoulders, and his cock is so wet, like he’s already there, seconds away.  He can only hear Jose’s rasping breaths on the other line, a rhythm that’s rising. Brock wishes he could see him. Touch him.  

“If you were here - fuck,” Jose moans into the phone, “I’d let you do anything you wanted, let you -”

Brock’s hand is speeding up, his hips making tiny thrusting movements into his fist.  He drops his head back against the couch, lets Jose’s voice wrap him up in rough silk.

“ - touch me all over.  Those big hands of yours, I been thinking about them. Want your fingers in my mouth.”

“Jose -”

“I wish you were touchin’ me right now, wish it was your hand. I’m so close just - oh fuck, fuck I’m -”

Brock recognizes the sounds that follow. Recognizes them from that one night in the hotel room during Drag Race, his mouth between Jose’s legs, his hands everywhere and lit up from the inside like all his bones were matches. 

He can see Jose’s back arching from behind his closed eyes and it’s too sweet, too much. Brock’s voice breaks as a strangled, foreign sound forces its way out of his chest. He can still taste Jose in his mouth, and the memory brings everything to a crescendo.  Suddenly Brock is coming in his hand, and he doesn’t know how it happened so fast but it’s been so long and Jose’s voice and his laugh and oh Christ, oh my God, oh - 

He trembles as he strokes himself through it, breathing like he’s just run a marathon. There is silence on the other line and Brock drops his head, doesn’t move. 

He tries to catch his breath, sticky and uncomfortable and boneless with longing. His knee throbs and he realizes that at some point the ice pack slid onto the floor. 

This was not what he envisioned when he thought about his first time getting off with Jose. (But what had he envisioned? Rose petals and champagne? Had there been an ending anywhere in sight or was it just about the show and the rest of the timeline was blank? Had he thought about it, or had it just been a fucking dream?)

Brock’s almost afraid to say anything, break the silence.  What does this mean for them - anything at all?  After everything that’s happened, is there a reason to think this matters? Or is it just something that Jose does on the daily when he’s buzzed and lonely?

“Jose?”

There is no answer.  Brock can hear slow breathing, just barely, on the other line. 

“Have you fallen the fuck asleep?” he says, a bit louder. Nothing.

Unbelievable. Brock would laugh if he wasn’t afraid he’d start crying. He says Jose’s name a couple more times, only to get mumbling in response (and a frankly adorable snore but don’t let anyone know he said that.) 

Jesus Christ.  He feels like an idiot. He feels - feels - 

(“Now the real reason I keep kissing you,” Brooke’s heart is beating like a kickdrum in her chest, be cool, be cool for once, “is to get you to shut the fuck up.”

Vanessa’s smile in response is something to write songs about. It’s shy and proud and embarrassed and everything that always seems to smack Brooke in the face, knock her to the ground. 

“I’ll take that.” Vanjie tilts her head and Brooke forgets all the reasons that she wanted to slow things down, forgets how to count money and block out her eyebrows, forgets the name of her first grade teacher and the smell of her hometown. Forgets why she’s even in this competition, and that - that’s a huge fucking problem.)

“Night, boo,” Brock says to the universe, before he hangs up. He finishes taking off his face, and gets in the shower, and tries not to think about it. Tries not to think about the water running over his skin the way he wishes Jose’s fingers would. Tries not to remember anything about tonight, lets his mind go blank and blissful. Lets his body take over, go through the motions of drying itself off, and dressing itself up, and swooning into bed.

The text he’s expecting comes the next morning (well, morning for drag queens so around noon.)

“Sorry bout last night i was white girl wasted”

“Brock im so so sorry shit im stupid”

“next time i call you late don’t answer :(”

Brock doesn’t text back. 

* * *

And the music plays.

“Oh why can I not conquer love?”

Brooke moves the way she’s born to, feeling each beat of the song in the bones of her hips.  She’s a fucking performer, this is what she does. She tries to focus on making eye contact with Ru, with Michelle, tries to command the stage and dare them not to want her. She glances over to see Vanjie more than matching her, hitting each beat of the music with a punch. 

Brooke looks away before she can get distracted, crossing the stage and posing where the lights hit her just right. She spins, she stretches, she waits for the moment to make her move.

“And I might have thought you’d be the one..”

Brooke glances over at Vanjie again. Girl has dropped to her knees and is crawling across the floor, back arched like a cat. Her skin shines, perpetually glittery, and Brooke can remember the taste of her tongue, the sweet pressure of her mouth.

And then Vanessa rises to her knees, tilts her head toward the stage lights. Brooke’s about to look away (FOCUS) but before she can - 

- she sees a tear runs down Vanessa’s face. 

Just one.  

Black with mascara. Delicate as a line of calligraphy. 

Brooke snaps her head forward.  She doesn’t - she can’t - she won’t think about that right now, she’s not hear to think about that. She’s a drag queen and this is a fucking competition and she came here to win it.

She listens to the music, and it swells, it swells.  Sia’s voice crescendoes and Brooke takes a breath, prepares to slide into the splits and then -

(Once upon a time, in a small Canadian town, there was a boy who wanted to be a dancer.  

He was late to start but he worked harder than the other students, practiced longer.  This boy had a dance teacher, and even though he worked harder and practiced longer, his teacher did not like him. She only saw his flaws, and saw them often.  She was constantly finding something to criticize - the height of his jumps, the strength of his arms.  And though the years passed and the boy learned to dance and dance well, his teacher did not change. She was never satisfied.

When the boy left the small Canadian town at last, at long last, he asked his teacher why.  She waited for a moment before she replied. 

“You dance with your head. Your head is in control of your performance. Technically you have the skills, but a truly great dancer must listen to their body.  Listen to their heart.”

The boy left the small Canadian town, and kept dancing.  And he listened to his head, and he built walls made of brick and stone, and he never looked back.)

Brooke takes a breath, prepares to slide into the splits and then -

She doesn’t move.

NO 

It’s not even a decision, it’s just a moment and the moment is gone. And it’s - fine, Brooke’s a dancer, she can turn it the fuck out, it’s not too late. She can - she’ll just - Brooke spins into the music, prepares to fall flat into a death drop in time with the beat and then.  

And then she doesn’t.

NO NO 

Her body is not moving.  Her movements are stopping (there was a tear on Vanessa’s face, it was black like ink.) 

DON’T DON’T YOU’RE THROWING IT WHAT THE FUCK ARE 

Brooke can’t get enough air, sees fireworks across her vision. It’s not too late, she just has to - move, she has to -

But she doesn’t. She slowly comes to a stop on stage. Why isn’t she moving? What is happening? She can’t even look at the judges, can’t meet their eyes. She clenches her hands into fists, the possibility of winning this moving farther and farther, waves carrying it beyond her reach. 

“You won’t see me fall apart.”

And then all of sudden, Vanjie realizes what’s going on.  Out of the corner of her eye, Brooke sees Vanjie stiffen. It’s like a stutter in her heartbeat, and Brooke can’t help but turn to look at her. She sees Vanessa’s wide, dark eyes, sees her give a horrified little shake of her head, ‘no’.  

Vanjie doesn’t stop dancing, though, and Brooke stands in one place, staring at her, trying to breathe. Vanessa finishes the song with her signature twisty death drop, arching off the floor with her hand out-stretched (“That’s a star, right?”) as Sia half-whispers half-sings the last line.

“I’ve got an elastic heart.”

When it ends, Brooke is shaking.  

Her hands are trembling so much she has to hold them behind her back so nobody notices and calls for a medic. There are applause from the judges but Vanessa is not smiling.  A smudged tear-track still lingers on her cheek.  

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WHAT DID YOU

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo,” Ru says, not even taking a moment to think it over. “Shantay you stay.”

Brooke hears cheering from Silky and A’Keria, and she nods.  The sounds seem to be coming from somewhere far away, another room.

Vanjie releases a shaky breath, whispers, “Thank you so much” (barely audible, voice breaking) and then is suddenly crossing the stage and in Brooke’s arms. Brooke can’t speak, can’t understand what’s happening, can only hold Vanessa like the world is ending, breathe in the smell of her skin like it might be the last time she gets to. 

She doesn’t know what to say.  She doesn’t know how to let her go.

“Brooke -” Vanjie is shaking like a leaf, pulse racing.

“You -” Brooke searches for words but they scatter like ashes. So she says the only thing she can remember.  “- you want a ring or some shit?” 

Vanjie pulls back, eyes flooding with tears. 

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.” Ru’s voice makes them split apart and the absence of Vanjie in her arms is like a broken bone. 

Brooke tries to get it together. Tries to remember who she was before this whole mess started.  She’s Brooke Lynn Hytes, she was Miss fucking Continental, damn it, she had a plan -

She doesn’t remember how she gets offstage. Ru says something in parting, and she smiles and plays the grateful queen, and as she passes the girls Yvie grabs her, hisses “What the fuck did you -” but it’s all like moving underwater. Somehow Brooke’s back in the werkroom.  Somehow Brooke’s staring shell-shocked into the camera, holding the statuette in her hand.

“Brooke,” a producer keeps repeating, “Brooke, do you need a minute? Are you ready? Brooke, are you okay? Can someone get her some water?”

She blinks, stupidly. 

“I’m - in love with him,” she says to herself.

As soon as she says it, it’s like a bomb going off.  There’s a ringing in her ears, and her mouth tastes like honey and thorns. How can this be possible? The werkroom looks the same, Brooke’s hands and arms are the same shape, but that doesn’t make sense. The whole world should be a different colour if Brooke is in love. There should be fish swimming through the walls. 

Everything should be changed in the wake of this earthquake.

“Oh my god.” Brooke looks at the camera with wide, horrified eyes. “I love him.”

That’s when she remembers she’s on television.

[watchtoomuchtv]

A MARVELous Christmas - Part 2

Pairing: Mystery Avenger x Reader

Warnings: some swearing and a little bit of angst and fluff for a second there

Summary: In the lead up to Christmas y/n is made aware of a secret admirer. Can she work out who the mystery avenger is in time for one important dance at Stark’s annual Christmas Eve party?

Word Count: 1.5k

PART 1 I PART 3

Refusing to stay cooped up in your room alone for one more second this close to Christmas you walked out into the kitchen to grab some breakfast. Yes, at midday. As you rummaged through the fridge looking for something to eat that didn’t make you feel like throwing up. You shot up and whacked the back of your head on the fridge shelf as you jumped hearing rustling behind you. Spinning around way too quickly giving your hungover state. It took some adjusting to the light to see exactly what was happening.

But any thoughts of the room being too bright and your head throbbing too much disappeared when you realised what was taking place in front of you. Tony stood there directing, what you believed to be the interns, placing the biggest Christmas tree you have ever seen in your life into the middle of the common room. You squealed and ran towards Tony, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Oh my god Tony it’s gorgeous! Can we decorate it yet?”

“Who said anything about we?” Tony said removing himself from your grip, “I’m sure the interns will enjoy every second of it.” Your mouth gaped open, “Tony, one of my favourite parts of Christmas is the Christmas tree and decorating it, I’ll do it myself if I have to!” The interns gave you an appreciative look as they wiped their faces and moved away from the gigantic tree.

“Suit yourself, the decorations are in the storage room. You might need a hand carrying them up though,” he said gesturing to the two super soldiers that you hadn’t even noticed up until that point. They sat together, Steve looked to be sketching whilst Bucky wrote, both clad in their work out gear. Of course they had probably woken up at 6am with no hangover and already spent a solid 3 hours working out. Stupid super soldier serum.

“What do ya say boys?” you say clapping your hands together and plastering the biggest, cheesiest grin on your face hoping they wouldn’t mind cutting into their relaxation time.

“Sure thing y/n.” Steve said with a smile as Bucky looked up and nodded, turning up the sides of hip lips into a grin as well.

“Let’s go! Christmas awaits!” You yelled running from the lounge room to the elevator doors, all signs of a hangover completely gone.

You carried the tinsel and Christmas lights draped over your shoulders with a box of ornaments in your hands, the two super soldiers on either side of you held the remaining boxes. Tony did not skimp on decorations. You knew this was going to be the greatest Christmas you’d ever had. That’s why you couldn’t wipe the grin from your face as the elevator opened back up and you stepped into the common room while Bucky and Steve followed you, both reluctantly wearing the santa hats you’d found and thrown on their heads in the storage room.

As you set the box onto the table you dusted the pretend dirt from your hands and placed them on your hips. Looking the boys up and down in front of you, ready to put their broad shoulders to good use. Wow their shoulders were extremely broad. And those arms. As you looked them both over Tony’s words filled your head again. In all the excitement for decorating the tree you had forgotten your mission. To find out who you needed to dance with.

You hadn’t paid any attention to the way Bucky’s hand had brushed yours while collecting the boxes. Or how Steve had looked at you while you sung Christmas carols and danced around the storage room collecting decorations.

As the smile started to sink from your face you looked up at the two men again, Steve ducked his head and started to move towards you while Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed together and he went to open his mouth before FRIDAY spoke up. “Captain Steven Rogers, Natasha Romanoff and Sergeant Bucky Barnes, Fury is requesting your presence for a briefing.”

Steve and Bucky shared a look before fumbling a little bit with the boxes as they placed them haphazardly on the ground. “Sorry” they said in unison, pulling off their santa hats and offering you a sympathetic smile before turning on their heels and walking out of the room. Nobody liked to keep Nick waiting.

Letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding you ran your fingers through your hair. You weren’t gonna be able to figure this out if you kept getting distracted and didn’t gather enough intel.

Looking down in defeat the glint of the baubles brought the smile straight back to your face. Deciding to not let anything dampen your mood you picked up one of the discarded santa hats and plomped it on your head. At that moment you felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around to see Sam grinning back at you. “Mind if I join?” he asked motioning his head to the tree.

You placed a hand to your hip and used the other to tap the side of your mouth pretending to be deeply considering his proposal. “On one condition” you say pointing your fingers and twirling around to pick up the second santa hat and plopping it on top of his head. He let out a deep chuckle “I guess I can wear the hat, how does it look?” he asked stepping back and giving an overdramatic twirl. You laughed and told him he was definitely more built than the regular santa which granted you a deep chuckle. “Decorating the Christmas tree is my favourite part of Christmas, you know I even did it while I was on tour. Used leaves and rocks I’d find. But Tony obviously has a much better collection.” He said motioning to the boxes upon boxes of ornaments.

You draped some red tinsel over Sam’s shoulders and flung it around like a scarf. “Let’s make this the best damn Christmas tree anyone has ever seen.” You smiled with a twinkle in your eye as you started stringing the lights around the trees. You glanced out of the corner of your eye at Sam as he begun picking up some baubles.

Sam’s name was on the list, so it was time for some first hand investigating. A little flirting here and there couldn’t hurt. For research purposes of course. You did your best attempt at a sultry grin as you made your way over to where he stood. Placing your hand on his shoulder, asking if he could help you hang the lights higher on the tree. He smiled taking the somewhat tangled mess from your hand and tossing the lights to reach higher.

You began placing the decorations, asking Sam which ones were his favourite and what his family traditions were. You laughed and shared stories together until the sun was setting.

“Will you do the honours?” Sam said bowing and offering out the crowning jewel to you, the golden sparkling star for the top. “It would be my priveldge!” You squealed jumping over the discarded boxes to not so gracefully take it from his hand. Suddenly holting when you reached the enormous tree. How were you going to get this to the top? You looked around for something to step on before you felt two strong hands wrap around your waste. You slightly jumped at the contact, feelings his front come flush with your back as he began to slowly lift your feet off the ground. You let out a slight giggle and Sam teasingly told you to stop squirming or he’d drop you.

Placing the star on top, and managing to not break a wrist in the process despite how high the tree was, Sam placed you’re feet back on solid ground and you stepped back to admire your handiwork. Sam kept his left hand on your waist wrapping around you as you both looked up at the most beautiful tree either of you had seen. The red and gold theme (of course Tony chose that colour scheme) along with the individual ornaments that represented each avenger; a little shield painted bauble for Steve, an arrow for Clint, a soul stone looking crystal for Vision and so on, all placed perfectly.

You looked up to Sam, who couldn’t wipe the obvious smile from his face. “How about a dance bird boy?” You said grabbing his hand and doing a little twirl.

“Nuh ah. This is about the whole Tony thing isn’t it?” Sam replied letting go of your hand. You looked down twisting your hands together shamefully, mentally crossing Sam’s name off your list currently sitting on your unmade bed, “Sorry Sam, he really just got in my head and I really want to know who it is.” suddenly an idea crossed your mind as you looked into Sam’s eyes. Interrogation time.

As if preempting what you were about to ask he started to back away, raising his hands in surrender. “I am NOT getting involved y/n.” “But please Sam, surely you know who Tony meant! Think about how embarrassing it will be if I dance with the wrong guy, I’ll never be able to live with myself. Never show my face in this building again! I’ll be forced to spend my days curled up in bed crying that you hadn’t just told me when I asked you, and so nicely too.” you pleaded, attempting your best puppy dog eyes, as you looked up at him through your lashes.

“That ain’t gonna work on me, let’s just say it’s not in my best interest to disclose that information just yet. But you’re not gonna make the wrong choice. Remember you aren’t just trying to piece together this puzzle or win Tony’s game. You have to have feelings for the guy too y/n or else there’s really no point in any of it.” His tone had gotten quite serious as he placed his hand on top of yours, never breaking eye contact.

You felt kind of stupid that the simple fact Sam had just shared hadn’t really dawned on you yet. Not only were you trying to figure out who had feelings for you. You needed to decide if you reciprocated them. Surrounded by so many attractive superheroes you’d kind of just tried to tune it all out. But now you had to face your feelings. Urgh. You needed another drink.

As you headed to the bar, you spotted Tony leaning back in a stool. “So how’s the dancing partner scouting going y/n?” you let out a groan as you hopped into the seat next to him pouring yourself a water, remembering you were still slightly hungover. Tony lent on the bar scanning your distraught face. You looked up and were not happy with the slight smirk you could see reaching his eyes.

Feeling the need to have even the smallest of victories you raised your chin and said proudly, “well I know Sam is no longer an option.” “And why would you think that?” he challenged. “Umm maybe because he just practically told me so.” You got up to leave, happy with the amount of gloating you’d accomplished and knowing not to take it any further with Tony. Before he piped up “yeah and I’m sure that hand touch meant nothing,” he’d seen that? It wasn’t really a hand touch hand touch was it? Not being able to analyse the comment for a second more before Tony continued “he wouldn’t want to be ruining the surprise so soon if it was him now would he?” Taking a sip of his drink you could have punched him square in the jaw.

Mentally uncrossing Sam’s name from your silly list you reached for the vodka and snatched it on the way back to your room. You shot up your finger behind your back as Tony called after you making sure you didn’t forget to attend the Christmas movie night tomorrow night and to “wear something sexy”.

You may have been a good spy but in regards to relationships and understanding others’ actions and emotions you weren’t entirely competent. As soon as Nat got back from the briefing you were getting her help. You needed her skill set, and her ability to read men. Because honestly you were hopeless. That was the only thing Tony’s ridiculous little challenge had revealed to you… so far.

To be continued...

[wodenscild]

Hello ! Mystery anon here !! I promised to send you the skull since Tumblr hates me and ate the ask, so here it is !

honestly references are live savers, I'm not too happy with how the hand turned out but eh. The line art is already done and i cant really erase it.

Yet another reminder you wanted to paint your nails (if not done already lmao) cause i saw that you said that when Pumpkin send you a hand with the agender colors !

Wanted to color the gems in the crown too but forgot- this is btw a reference to Scotts empire lore. The skull who took one of his eyes !! I was too late with it tho and it was kinda an accident so... Anyway it is the skull of one of the monsters haunting yer dreams ! >:3 i am a successful nightmare hunter and have brought ye their head !! I kill them all >:D

Another thing i got from ye... >:3

Also sending many many cuddles and love from here 🫂🫂🫂🫂 i hope it goes well for you in Australia and here's your daily reminder that you have friends that love and accept you with their whole heart <3 <3 <3 You are awesome and deserve many nice things ! :]

-Mystery Anon 1 But With Frogs Phone

:0000 THAT IS SUCH A COOL SKULL I LOVE THE DESIGN!! The coloured version would have been cool :0 I have been half watching Scott’s POV for empires out of Galaxy’s suggestion & I am really really enjoying it ^~^ lol speaking of SMPs but I had a dream I was a member of the old Troll Craft series & now I really wanna watch the through it again DKDKSKD

& YES I AM WANTING TO PAINT MY NAILS but haven’t had the chance to yet- my grandparents are not too accepting of me & I have to spend a few days out at their place soon & I wanna make it as not awkward as possible (tho they have already noticed I have chest growth & that I wear a bra- they just shift uncomfortably & move on lmao). But when I get to my new city I wanna dye them like: 🖤🧡💛🧡🖤 I like the colour scheme tho it is very Halloweeny-

& awwwwww beloved thank you 🥺🥺🥺 today has been a lil stressful with my sociology study but I am taking a lil break atm before I dive back into my essay planning! I have a rough idea of what I am gonna do but hhh the specifics are weird.

BUT THE SAME GOES WITH YOU BELOVED!! ILYSM ANS YOU ARE AWESOME & YOUR ASKS ALWAYS MAKE MY DAY FEELS A LIL BRIGHTER!!! KEEP BEING FEKKING AWESOME YE BLAGARD!!!

[virtual-design-lab]

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