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rocksaltandmountainash · 2 months

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Waking up in Beacon Hills - pt. 29

Chapter summary: all work and no play would make kara boring. peter is there to ensure that doesn't happen. set between Teen Wolf seasons 3b and 4, and Supernatural seasons 7 and season 8.

Series masterlist: can be found here.

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings/notes: swearing, canon (TW and SPN) typical violence, smut, peter hale being incredibly attractive and nice, which definitely requires a warning. Gif sources: Peter 1 | Peter 2

Utah:

Peter scratches his nails through your scalp, eliciting a contented sigh from you as you recline against him. You’re all kinds of relaxed, leaning back on his chest and resting your hands on his bent knees, savoring the moment as you come down from your high. He’s just given you a good-morning orgasm and if he wasn’t sitting behind you, propping your body up, you could collapse and melt into the bed.

Almost. If not for one question that’s pin balling round your head.

“Peter?”

“Mmm.”

“You know that…. Wh- when you…ah fuck, never mind.”

He stops playing with your hair to peer down at you, “What?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He swiftly wraps hands around your waist and shifts you so you’re facing him, draping your thighs over his own, “Tell me.”

Suddenly keenly interested in inspecting the veins running down his forearm, he has to lay a palm on your cheek to get you to look at him.

“Just…that thing you say -”

“We say a lot of things.”

You smile shyly at that, couldn’t deny it if you’d wanted to, because Peter is vocal and descriptive in bed and he makes you loud. Part of you thinks he does it on purpose, like he’s hoping if you get enough noise complaints at one Motel 6, you’ll be banned from them all and he won’t have to lower himself to your standards anymore.

“You know which thing I mean.”

Peter genuinely has to wrack his brains to figure out what you’re talking about and grins when the penny drops on the word that makes you croon beneath him, throwing your body higher toward ruination in an instant.

“Oh - you mean ‘Daddy’?” he smirks before continuing, “I thought you liked that?”

“I do! But…it doesn’t weird you out?” averting your gaze, your eyes drill a hole in the wall behind him. Tell me you don’t think I’m a freak.

“Why would it?”

“Because you’re someone’s actual father.”

Peter draws in a weighty breath, staring at you intently. He didn’t realize you knew about that, and guesses your source at the same time you break and admit;

“Stiles?”

“Stiles.”

The sound of shared laughter pierces straight through your embarrassment.

“You know they’re dating, right?”

“Yes, thank you - I’m aware,” he says curtly.

It bugs him; Malia with the sarcastic boy who not too long ago was flinging chaos around Beacon Hills - though he knows it’s not his prerogative, his place to be worrying about her.

“For one thing,” Peter lifts his fingers to list off reasons, “I only found out about Malia recently. I didn’t raise her, and she has never called me that.”

It makes sense. You know that blood doesn’t necessarily mean family. As much as you came to adore Bobby, all his bumbling affections couldn’t turn back the clock and make it like you’d known him your whole life, like he’d parented you.

“Also, it’s…” his eyes drift, recalling each yes daddy, daddy please, fuck daddy, you’ve ever uttered, “Exquisite - so you better not stop.”

He grins when you relax, “And third, you started it.”

“What? No, I didn’t!”

“You did.”

“When?” you demand.

He thinks back, pinpoints the beginning, “Colorado - when we sorted that nest.”

“Oh…whoops.”

You don’t remember, would have sworn it was Peter who said it first, which only proves how corrupting he can be, how far gone you are. With your fears mollified, you scoot closer and push on his chest to force him down to the pillows.

“Does Stiles know about me?”

“Pretty sure you’ve met him - several times,” you tease, grabbing a condom from the box on the nightstand.

Peter rips the foil packet open with his teeth. “Come on, you don’t gossip about me?”

“God no! Much as I love the kid, I’m not sharing details of my sex life with a seventeen-year-old.”

Impatiently, you wait as Peter carefully rolls the condom down before positioning yourself above him.

“Fair enough…mmmm,” he sighs as you glide over his length. “What about Weiner boy?”

That would be worse than Stiles - technically Samandriel’s probably thousands of years old, but he looks eleven, so the thought makes you cringe.

“Nah, he’s mad at me.”

“Why?”

“I have an idea. He thinks it’s dumb.”

The sensation of Peter’s hands squeezing your waist, exerting control over your motions, gets you worked up, primed for another round. How he studies your every move floods you with want, causing your cheeks to flush as you grind.

“What’s the idea?”

“Not telling.”

“Why?”

“It might actually be dumb…shit…”

Peter sits up, the head of his cock tapping against your entrance,

“Can you just shut up now?” you whine.

“Depends,” he smiles into your neck, gripping the base of his cock, “You gonna keep saying it?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Finally, he tilts his hips and lets you sink down onto him.

****

Arizona:

You decide you deserve a night off. The day hasn’t been particularly taxing, just a couple of hours wandering through the mall to replenish your and shower stuff and skin care.

You even got a trim, a few inches of split ends taken care of before feeding quarters into a massage chair and licking cinnamon sugar from your fingers after a warm pretzel, reluctant to venture out of the air conditioning back into the humidity.

After such a peaceful day of research and retail therapy, you simply can’t face the thought of hunting, want to chill, be normal for a change. So now you’re wolfing down a burrito while you watch A-Team reruns and text Peter. He’s arriving tomorrow, and you’ve been thinking about him all week.

Luckily, the limited amount of sex you’d had in the past hadn’t been bad, per se, maybe just a little disappointing. Bland. Boring. Not that you’d known at the time.

Chris was your introduction to multiple orgasms and dirty words falling from your mouth and all kinds of things you’d wanted but never tried. The discoveries you’d made about yourself, the way he monopolised your mind for a bit there, had felt like more than only sex. All intertwined with wanting to be his - you liked it when he called you pretty as he came and held your hand after, loved how he snuck kisses away from the bedroom.

But that’s all it - all Chris - can be now; a memory. Had to try to forget, the good parts and the bad. Clear out the image of his hand wrapped around a gun, pointed at Stiles. Push down the humiliating way you’d tried to fuck him after Allison, how kindly he’d denied you, barely touched you after that night. Until he left and kissed you goodbye at the airport.

Forced to choose one thing to lock away in your mind forever?

You wouldn’t be able to decide between the miss you and you’ve got this and trust your instincts or the heat of his breath on the shell of your ear moaning your name and groaning shit baby, just there and mmm, that’s it.

Peter, on the other hand, is your first experience of fucking like it’s sport, or a competition, something to excel at. Of giving yourself over to someone and letting them use you as they please. He calls you things you never would allow outside the walls of cheap motel rooms, things you probably shouldn’t enjoy - slut and whore. But always daddy’s slut and my perfect little whore.

It’s disgusting, and it’s worrying and it’s perverse, except...it really isn’t. It’s fucking hot.

No stake in each other, no claims, just teasing and playing games and then going your separate ways. It’s purely physical, neither of you have feelings, you’re merely another of each other’s bad habits, like how smoking tastes so right when you’re drinking.

Regardless of what this thing with Peter is, it’s undeniably fun and you want to keep it. You’re even beginning to feel relieved you’re so completely alone, because you don’t want to defend your desires, just want to follow them down the rabbit hole. Why not have some light to look forward to when everything else is so dark?

Wiping your hands, you laugh at his response to your text saying you’re headed for a shower.

Pics?? 🙏

You tell him to piss off and stand waiting for the water to warm up with your phone in your hand.

Go clean up, doll. Tomorrow you’ll be filthy. Sleep well x

****

Oregon:

A month later, and you’ve got a fairly stable routine going, taking tentative steps back into the real world. It’s an after effect of running away or being left behind that you become adept at rebuilding. You’ve done it before, even find some comfort in sowing the seedlings of a new life.

You work during the week, mostly straightforward cases, make time for Samandriel even though neither of you have anything resembling news, and do a reasonable job of being nice to him.

Peter usually arrives on Fridays - grabbing you up as soon as you open the door, always ready and always with some snarky remark about your lodgings.

“Is there any hovel you won’t stay in?”

“‘Dunno, any mirror you don’t stop in front of?

Tonight, though, you’re alone. Kicking open a flimsy bathroom door and slamming on the light switch, leaving a trail of blood across the wall and knocking the hairdryer out of its cradle. Panting hard and mumbling to yourself, you take off your jacket and cut your t-shirt up the middle so you can peel it away.

One glance at the gash that starts at your shoulder blade and runs all the way round your left side has your throat filling with acid. You slip your arms through your bra straps, unclip it and drop it at your feet before you lay out supplies across the counter and steel yourself.

“Shit.”

Much worse than you’d thought.

You’d only tracked two demons sneaking in and out of the abandoned mill. Nothing you couldn’t handle on your own. After climbing in through a basement entrance, there were three more waiting. During the fight that ensued, you lost your footing and landed on something sharp. In your hustle to get back up, you’d twisted without thinking, howling as your flesh tore open.

With the stress and the fever pitch of your anger, you were able to clumsily dispatch the last demon before you staggered back to your car, which was hidden behind the tree line a mile down the road. Not your finest work. Wasn’t until you were a few blocks from your motel that you started to feel the pain.

You feel sick as you un-spool thread with trembling hands. Feel so fucking stupid as you poke into the skin under your breast, watching your progress in the mirror, so you can pretend it’s not your body that’s carved and leaking blood.

Realizing there’s no chance you’ll be able to reach around to patch up the entire wound, you let the needle hang useless and pull your phone from your jeans pocket.

Don’t want to ask for his help but you’re out of options; the cut is still dripping and you’re chilly and tired and he’s closer than anyone else.

“Fuck.” you watch a fat red line dribble down your abdomen as your finger hovers over the contact. You hit the call button before you change your mind.

When it clicks over to voicemail, you turn and slide down the cabinet, wanting to cry at the automated voicemail greeting.

“Hey, it’s me. I’m in Oregon…can you…”

Suddenly you panic. He won’t come. Why the hell would he? You barely talk when he visits. All your questions seem to annoy him, so you just bang the weekend away - hardly what you’d call friendship, and probably not worthy of a favour.

“Can you come fuck me right now?”

The only ace up your sleeve to guarantee he’ll show up.

“Sweet Home Inn, Highway 20, Room 7.” you speak fast, closing your eyes and pulling your jacket to wrap it around yourself.

Peter parks next to your beaten up car, smiling to himself and brimming with smugness as he retrieves his overnight bag from the passenger seat.

It’s only Wednesday and you’ve called to beg. This is going well.

He raps his knuckles on the door, playing out in his mind how the night will go, what new thing you might be up for trying this week. Then there’s an unmistakable scent in the air and he barges in to find you slumped against the bathroom cabinet.

You’re out cold, topless except for your jacket thrown up over your shoulders. Could be mistaken for asleep, if not for the puddle of stained red clothes next to you, if your skin didn’t look ashen, gray under the singular lightbulb.

He moves your jacket aside and sees what he’d smelt - long, dried rivulets down your stomach.

Peter scoops you up and takes you to the bed, happy to hear you groan but unhappy you’re not waking. He presses a towel to your torso, because moving you caused fresh streams.

so much blood

Deaton doesn’t answer Peter’s call, and he fights the impulse to throw his phone across the room, electing instead to glower at your side, as if his angry look alone might staunch the flow.

too much blood

He calls Derek, who thankfully picks up.

“What?”

“I need you to go to Deaton’s.”

Peter can feel Derek rolling his eyes at him through the phone.

“Why? Pet-”

“Kara’s hurt. She needs a Doctor.”

****

People are arguing.

“She should be in the hospital.”

“Keep your voice down.”

They’re quieter now, “If she wanted to go, she would have.”

“Fine. Get her a tetanus shot, at least. And look out for signs of infection.”

“Fine,” Peter is equally snarky, “Here.”

He hands the man wearing glasses a wad of cash and bundles him out the door.

You watch it occur from one opened eye, wondering briefly who that man is and who they’re talking about before you fall back asleep.

****

Night comes and Peter wakes you, gently running his palm up and down your arm until you stir.

“Hey. You came?” you’re groggy and sore and more than a little shocked.

“You called,” he tucks your hair behind your ears, unsettlingly relieved to hear you speak, “Who did this, Kara?”

“Huh? No one…” you scramble for something that will stop the chilly steel in his voice from overflowing, because he’s here now and you don’t want him to leave, “I….slipped.”

You change the subject, wriggling your arms out from the sheets, “Who was that guy?”

“Some doc Deaton recommended. Stitched you up. Said you made a good start.”

Peering under the blankets, you look over the cleaned up wound, take in the line of sutures - much tidier than you would have achieved.

“I tried.” you admit, embarrassed by your efforts, and squirming under the soft smile he’s aiming your way.

“What do you need?”

Closing your eyes, you stretch your legs, careful not to move your body too much.

“I’m starving. Diner?”

“No, you need proper food.”

You roll your eyes at Peter’s disapproval. True, you’ve been subsisting on a steady diet of scrambled eggs, takeout, and protein shakes. Though in your defense, the drinks are loaded with vitamins, taste like chocolate milk and are the easiest way to stay full during your long drives.

He swats at your leg, “C’mon - get your ass up.”

“Eggs are healthy,” you mumble under your breath as you slowly get off the bed to wrap a bandage around yourself.

“They’re probably powdered.” Peter tells you, helping you get your bra clasped and pull a shirt on.

“Waffle House would never!” you protest, swaying as you let him do your buttons.

“There,” he takes your face in his hands and kisses you, “You’re ready.”

****

The restaurant Peter takes you to is fancy, as expected. What’s unexpected is that the hostess let you in.

Must be a slow night, or he laid out a hefty tip or - there it is. You realize Peter has disarmed her with all his handsome and charm when she grazes her hand over his back while taking his coat, and looks solely at him as she lists the specials.

“It’s like I’m not even here.” you tease after she’s gone.

“Jealous?”

“Definitely…. think she’ll take my number?”

Peter peruses the wine list as you read the menu, frowning at the prices.

“Don’t,” he warns, “Get whatever you feel like. My treat.”

“You sure? I didn’t bring my wallet.”

He pulls the menu away from your face, “It’s just dinner. I’m not giving you an organ.”

“You’d love to give me an ‘organ’”

Groaning at your terrible joke, he opens his mouth to say something obscene when the hostess returns, beaming at him.

He orders, then directs her attention to you, “What do you want, darling?”

“I’ll get the eye fillet, please.”

“Sides?” she’s a touch less friendly now.

“Green beans, and mashed potatoes, and…mushrooms.”

Peter grins at your appetite and you shrug, too hungry to care about politeness and if he’s buying, you’re eating.

“Drink?”

Now she sounds downright snippy and you can’t look at Peter in case you laugh.

“Just whatever he’s having.”

You hand back the menu and glare at Peter, waiting till she’s out of earshot to scold him, “Why’d you say that? She’s gonna fuck with my food!”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

Your phone vibrates against your ass and you squeak before you pull it out of your pocket and read the screen, remarking on the coincidence -

“It’s Derek.”

“Ah.”

You raise your eyebrows that he doesn’t sound surprised.

“I called him. I was trying to get hold of Deaton. Derek went and found him.”

Peter tries not to let it get to him when you mutter shit before hitting ‘answer’.

“Hey, one sec.” you tell Derek, holding the phone against your chest while you get up from the booth.

“I’ll be quick,” you promise Peter, “Check my food for broken glass please?”

You drop a peek on his cheek as you pass, leaving him smiling. Outside, you pace the block as you bring the phone up to your ear.

“Hi.”

Derek doesn’t bother with a hello, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Just a cut. All sewn up.” You pretend that’s all he’s talking about.

“That’s not - why is he there?”

“He’s…we’re…”

Screwing each other senseless? Pals?

“I called him.”

“Kara, he’s not what you think.”

“And what is it I think, Derek?” you ask, working hard to keep your voice on an even keel.

“I mean…he’s not a good guy.”

He’s probably right, you should heed his warning, but you look through the window and see Peter sip his wine without a care in the world. He’s just him, he’s here, and you’re not particularly good either.

“I can handle Peter.” you laugh off Derek’s worries, “Okay?”

You hear him exhale… ”Okay.”

****

Peter stays an extra few days, helping you out while you recuperate. He refuses to let you do anything for yourself, bringing you coffee and food in bed, fetching your laptop when you’re fed up with reality TV, lingering outside the bathroom door while you shower.

He’s kind and attentive and you wonder if it’s because he feels guilty. He should. You’re frustrated, borderline hostile, because Peter’s been ignoring you.

Tipsy from the drinks you had downed, drunk on how he’d taken your hand and shot the hostess a pointed stare, you pawed greedily at him in the car on the way back from dinner.

“Peter? Can I?”

He tuts, shaking his head as he peels your hand off his thigh, “No, you’ve been bad - running off, getting hurt.”

You huffed and sulked, then your hand snaked back toward him. “Please….Daddy?”

He couldn’t refuse, with your voice needy and your fingers running across the pronounced bulge in his trousers.

“Need it that bad?”

He smirks as you nod eagerly and pretends to be annoyed, “Go ahead, doll.”

Made it back without crashing, locked the door behind you, and almost got him right where you needed him. Peter could always fuck you dumb, bury himself deep in a way that had your vision blurring and stopped your mind from spiraling.

So, you braced for the pressure that would drive away your shame at messing up and having to resort to calling him to rescue you.

He looked down, saw your eyes squeezed tight shut and quickly put an end to it. Making a barrier of pillows between you, he told you to quit bitching and rest.

By the end of the week, you’re climbing the walls, itching to leave. Had grown accustomed to being alone, to uninterrupted days spent with only your own thoughts, so it’s strange to share your space with someone for such a length of time. And if he won’t fuck you, what’s the point?

“It looks good,” Peter says, inspecting the cut as you lie on your side, arm thrown up over your head and clutching a sheet against your front.

You’re healing fast, not as fast as he would, obviously, but he’s pleased with your progress.

“Good enough to get outta here?” you ask, dropping your arm.

“Wait…” Peter pulls your arm back where it was, “I’m fixing you.”

He focuses on arranging three rectangles of gauze in a line and taping them down carefully as you huff out a sigh, not sure which is worse - the ache of your injury or the one between your legs.

“Done.”

You tug a t-shirt over your head and start clearing up the trash, but Peter smacks your hand away.

“I got it.” he sits next to you and repacks the first aid kit, “You in a hurry to get somewhere?”

You glance toward your open notebook, “Mmm. Maybe Chicago?”

“What’s this?” he stands and picks it up, flipping through the pages, “See the Empire State Building? Faulkner Books, Jackson Square?”

“Hey! Give it back.”

Leaping off the bed, you grab for the book, but Peter spins and continues to read,

“Ride a horse? Kara, there are horses in Oregon.”

“Not the point, you dick.”

“Are you…” he turns to face you, “Are you scared of horses?”

“The average horse weighs 500kgs.”

Peter laughs.

“Shut up!” you try again to get it out of his grasp, wincing as you reach up.

“Sorry, here.” Peter hands it over immediately when he sees your pain, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” annoyed you lift your shirt to show him your side, “See? No blood.”

Peter’s gaze travels along your body, taking in the littered bruises in various hues of yellow and purple, and the small cuts and scabs of pink that dot your skin.

“Darach?” he whispers, eyeing older scars that have faded to an almost translucent silver.

Nodding and realizing he’s staring, you drop your shirt, self-conscious under his burning scrutiny.

You’re not hideous, but you don’t think you’re beautiful either. Hated feeling frail or weak, so are proud of your hard earned muscles, years of a strict training schedule giving you strength where you wanted it. A decent rack, curvy enough to like the way you look in jeans - but that was in clothes, covered. Without layers is a different story, an ugly one.

“Don’t.”

Peter moves your hand away from your hem, tracing his fingertips gently across your skin. His other hand reaching around the nape of your neck to bring you close,

“Scars mean you survived.”

#wakingupinbeaconhills #peter hale smut #peter hale fanfiction #supernatural x teen wolf fic #spn x tw #tw x spn #alan deaton #derek hale #peter hale

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lakesparkles · 1 year

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how do feel about Penny Carson?

Penny's plot broke my heart in so many ways, but I love her… So much. Ever since Charlotte appeared in season one, she became one of my favorite characters. (Maybe because she's a deer and it's my favorite animal, but her design is so beautiful anyway.) So, the moment I realized we were gonna see more of her, I knew it would be something big. But nothing in the universe would've made me ready for that episode. I was already surprised that Charlotte was married and had kids, but even more with how… Nice everything was? I was loving the interactions the family was having with Bojack. And, already knowing how the show was, I knew that moment of happiness wasn't a good sign. In the meanwhile, I thought Penny was a fun and interesting character. The way she talked and acted was so real in a way, it reminded me of my teen years. During the prom, part of me predicted what would happen and I hated it already. I was very shocked. After that moment, her story was surprisingly slow but I liked it a lot. I hate when fans blame her for what happened, and she's one of the characters who I hope is living a good life now.

It's always great to draw deer :>

#ask tag #penny carson #bojack horseman #bjhm #I'm loving how these questions are making me draw characters I never did before

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kitty-lennon · 1 year

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OK since I had some nice returns about the height hc I wanted to share with you some of my other Hc!! (it get a bit long)

- Robbie / Glanni are faes (principaly due to Bound, that fic have been engraved in my soul) and also are two different person

- Robbie took care of the kids before Sportacus was around and have taught them about their special interest (Trixie and pranks/mischief; Pixel and love for gadget/tech and all; Stingy.... Stinginess; Ziggy and finding comfort in sweets, also Robbie made him that super hero suit)

-Latabæ and Lazytown are two different towns, and Latabæ is in iceland

-there is a Jives and Penny counter part in Lazytown but they are older and away to university. They still love to play with the kids

- Latabæ kids gang are teens while Lazytown kids gang is well, kids (/ almost preteen)

- ìþrott is older than Sportacus by a few years, and they aren't related by blood. They still view each other as Brothers tho. Also ìþrott passed down the number 10 title to him (will explain this more if asked)

- Àfram Latabæ Íþróttaálfurinn and Glanni Glæpur Í Latibær Íþróttaálfurinn are the same, he got badly made fun of by Glanni and after fighting the bitch away from Lazytown decided to get a makeover bc he indeed was a bit out of style.... Not that Glanni finds it better (except the abs)

- Glanni is a real menace that's holding back o' taking the world bc like Robbie, he's too much of a softy but won't admit it. (doesn't stop him from being a wanted criminal that have done heinous crimes but he had arguably good reason, as much as a morally gray flamboyant vilain can)

- Robbie and Glanni are distantly related blood wise but Glanni took care of Robbie most of his childhood and make sure he wouldn't take the same road as him in Villainy. (in love with this one, I love secretly soft vilains)

- Robbie is nb/ Agender, just doesn't give a single fuck about pronouns or gender, Glanni is identifying as man but like she/her and dressing either hyper masc or hyper flamboyant, pink and feathers and fur everywhere, glitters in his pockets and strass on his gun

- Sportacus is cis he/him a'd confident enough to wear a dress and make up even if it's rare / for his traditions as an elf (he like it tho bc it's comfy and fun to move around in a dress) Íþróttaálfurinn is the same, and often have his nails painted and likes to help the girls with their hair

That's the most I could think of hard enough to materialise in words!!

(it's 2am when I'm writing this, I'll probably upload it way later wand I'm sure I could come up with more tbh they probably seem too logical to me rn to not be canon)

PLS PLS PLS don't even hesitate to ask me about your headcanons so we can talk about them I love that!! It's more than alright to judge my hc even if I think they are pretty basic, but I don't think I'll change my mind about them (I'll hear you out still tho!)

OK last blorb, if you have ocs you can also message / ask / pm about them and info dump on me I would LOVE to hear about them.

Tbh usually I get in fandoms along with some friends, and I love plotting / playing / drawing [with] our ocs. So tell me if you would be fine with it, it would be immensely fun to populate the towns with our silly characters and watch them interact.

Alright, stole enough of your time now, thank you if you read this far! I really like the community here and hope to interact a bit more with all of you nice people, Have a nice time out there ✨✨

#lazytown #glanni glæpur í latabæ #glanni glaepur #iprottaalfurinn #robbie rotten #sportacus #lazytown oc #Àfram Latabæ #Glanni Glæpur #Íþróttaálfurinn #Latabæ #Latibær #headcanon #Kitty is Rambling again #The fandom is making me so passionate about this

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lskamil27 · 1 year

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what was your inspiration to create your game? how was the creation process?

all the best, and good luck with the game! :D

OOO I CAN DEFINITELY ANSWER THIS!!

My inspiration for Weeping Rosemary was? a bit varied throughout it's creation, since I had first conceptualized it in 2018. I don't recall what led me to it, but I remember first creating Ophelia and drawing her around this time.

Weeping Rosemary was originally a webcomic series, since it was what I knew best and what was easier for me around this time, even though I always imagined it as a game in my heart. However, uni came along and made me too busy to continue it - which, to be honest, might have been a blessing in disguise LMAO

The story of Weeping Rosemary was... not well written at all. Coming out of the hands of a teen who's main consumption of media was edgy horror manga, or really outdated harem anime; the writing of it was so juvenile and cringe ( and not in a 'but free' way! )

As I got older, and my interests expanded, as well as my own growth within myself - it affected a lot of how Weeping Rosemary has changed and developed.

Now, for what inspired - a lot of it is the gothic! And not gothic as in like, the fashion & makeup, etc. ( though I still like these elements a lot ); but the books of gothic novellas! The books that mainly inspired me being:

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter

And then of course, movies such as Crimson Peak, directed by Guillermo del Toro, and the series Penny Dreadful. They are other media I like as well that have inspired me, but I can't comment solidly as I only know them from an outside POV ( for now ), like Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu, and Bram Stoker's Dracula, for example.

I really like sensual ( sexy? ) horror, that does a nice balance of blending in elements of sexuality with terror - and I feel that gothic novellas do a nice balance of this; which is what I plan ( and hopefully succeed ) in with Weeping Rosemary's full game. It's also why WR's horror is not, like, a loud jumpscare horror, moreso than a subtle horror.

As for the creation process - The game production had commenced around February of this year, as it was my final semester as a art student. I had to do a thesis and all I knew was that I realllllly wanted to make a game, but I was unsure of what. I decided to revise and redo Weeping Rosemary, my webcomic, because I felt confident that I could not only give it the writing it deserved, but make into the game I always imagined!

My dear friend & classmate had the program, and she gave me hers, and so I got to work! Weeping Rosemary became my thesis, and I had completed the demo game around?? April 30th?

I'll show in the images below, but I had done a lot of writing; around almost 30 pages of script writing and 5 page outline to hand to my professor so he could see my plan. And then a lot of thumbnail planning and art to make for the CG and sprites! As well as see what art style would suit the game best.

Some progress shots, to show the general gist:

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 3 years

Text

Fic: The Talk

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences (I honestly don't know how to draw a line, there's mention of fucking, but no actual fucking)

Fandom: Triple Frontier (2019)

Ship: Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You

Summary: You initiate THE TALK with Frankie about wanting kids, which you don't. But does he?

Notes: This is for all of you who don't want kids. Not those who can't have them, but those who just don't want them. There's a lot of fluffy married-with-kids Frankie fic out there, and that's fine. Kids are a wonderful thing for many people, but not for all. I like reading those fics because I like reading about responsible, soft fathers. But sometimes it gets to me how having kids is written as the only way to fulfillment, to making the perfect family. We still live in a society where a Good Life features certain stops along the way - college, a steady job, marriage, a house, kids - and twosomeness is often seen as not enough. (I realize of course that the idea of twosomeness also is problematic, but one thing at a time.) Again, nothing wrong with getting married, having a house, and having kids. Do your thing. Be happy. But there are people who find happiness in other things. And those people are just as happy.

”We kickin’ Friday date night off already, mi alma?”

Your gaze, up until now fixed on your bare stomach in the full length mirror, moves to Frankie, who’s coming up behind you and pressing a kiss to your shoulder, never letting his eyes off the image of you in the reflective surface in front of you. You’re in your underwear, fresh out of the shower, and you are about to get dressed to go out to dinner when something had caused you to linger at the sight of yourself. Critically, you had pinched a chunk of belly fat between your thumb and forefinger, frowning at the mass of it. You had never been a petite girl but it was clear that for every year, your body gained another pound. You were comfortable enough in your body, but it sometimes threw you, just how the years changed it.

”We’re not missing our reservation,” you tell Frankie with a small smile as his hands move to cup your breasts. ”I’m hungry, and patience is a virt – hue!” The last syllable comes in the form of a small squeak when he pinches your nipples, both of them at the same time.

”Sorry,” he apologizes with his lips moving up your neck. ”I know they’re tender ’round this time of month.”

You murmur something and Frankie rests his chin to your shoulder.

”Penny for your thoughts.”

”I was just thinking about how fat I thought I was ten years ago,” you confess ruefully. ”And in ten years I will be looking back at pictures from now and wonder how I ever thought I was fat now, because it’s going to be so much worse ten years on.”

”You know you’re not fat, right?” Frankie’s voice is matter-of-factly but his eyes are filled with emotion. You two have been over this before.

”I know, Frankie,” you tell him softly, then, a hint of teasing in your voice as you obediantly repeat the lesson you’ve learned from him: ”And even if I were, it wouldn’t matter to you.”

”You better believe it.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder and his hands move to your hips, where the waistband of your panties cut into the flesh, creating the curves you had been so conflicted about just now.

”More for me to love,” he murmurs, now at your ear. Hands moving over your belly, he tickles the dip of your navel before settling his large hands, fingers splayed open, over your lower belly. You meet his brown eyes in the mirror.

Oh, damn.

He’s got that look you’ve seen on your friends’ faces when they talk about babies. That inward, dreamy, secret smile they display when they touch their growing bellies. That radiant, loving pride their significant others have when touching their pregnant women, making you want to tell them to get a room. It’s too private, it’s too intimate to show in front of you. And then, the brief look of pity in their eyes when they finally realize that you’re in the room. Poor soul, she doesn’t have anyone, she will never know this happiness. When Frankie entered your life, it got a little better, but it didn’t take long for you to notice how the language around you changed. You’ll know when you and Frankie have kids of your own.

Thing is, you don’t want kids. You never did, not really. You figured you’d maybe change your mind, but the older you get, the more certain you are. And although the topic had been touched with Frankie – who was okay with not having kids – you never really had The Talk.

And now he’s holding his hands over your lower belly as if there was something growing in there, something he himself put there with a deep, hard thrust, one of those plunges right into your core, the ones that almost make you weep with the sheer force and pleasure of it. Is that hope in his eyes?

”Frankie,” you say, realizing that this is going to be painful, and loath to bring it up today, on date night, when you’re about to go out and have fun. ”You know I don’t want kids, right?”

You gauge his reaction carefully. Is this the face of someone whose dreams were crushed in the blink of an eye? No, you mostly just read surprise.

”I know, mi corazón,” he replies slowly. ”We’ve talked about it before. You know my position in this.”

”We haven’t, though,” you insist, and now you take his hands from you and turn around so you can face him, see him directly and not just his reflection. His hands stay in yours and you like the way he grips your hands, as well: not too tightly, but enough for you to know that if you’d let go, he’d still have you.

”We’ve never really discussed it,” you explain. ”I’ve said I don’t want kids, and you said that’s fine, but that’s not a discussion.”

”I didn’t realize there’s something to discuss,” he confesses, a little perplexed. ”If you don’t want them –”

”That’s the point exactly!” You raise your voice a little, as you always do when you’re passionate about something. It took a long time for you and Frankie to learn each other’s way of communication: when you’re excited or earnest, your voice goes up and you talk with a lot of exclamation marks. Frankie used to read that as anger, on account of his own emotions always being expressed in a voice lower than usual, but with extra heat.

”It was not a discussion because you just agreed with me, but you never expressed what you actually wanted! If there’s some part of you that wants kids, you need to really think this one through, because I won’t be able to give you this. And one day, sooner or later, you might resent me for it!”

”I would never –”

”No, listen to me, I’m serious,” you interrupt him, another one of your bad habits when you’re engaged in something. ”You don’t know that. Really, you don’t know that. And I can’t expect you to know it because nobody can tell what’s going to happen in the future. But you know the answer to this question: did you ever see yourself as a dad?”

You stare, unwavering, into his eyes, unafraid whatever his answer might be. You have an inkling, anyway. Frankie, however, is clearly uncomfortable. He wets his lips and there’s a small frown between his eyebrows. A long moment passes while he thinks.

”Yes,” he eventually answers, his voice hesitant. ”I did figure I’d have kids some day.”

”Thank you for being honest,” you tell him softly, raising one hand to his cheek, drawing a finger over his patchy beard. He smiles weakly.

”You need to think about this, Frankie,” you tell him, the volume of your voice lowered. ”You need to be absolutely sure. Because I love you, and I don’t want this to break us up when, one day, you realize that you want kids more than you want to be with me. Not if you could make that decision now, and go start anew with a woman who wants the same future as you. I don’t want to take those years from you.”

He inhales to protest, but your forefinger is quickly at his lips, shushing him.

”I know.”

He looks at you for a long while, conflict in his warm eyes. You can only imagine what’s going on in that head of his.

”Okay,” he says at long last. ”I’ll think about it.”

”Thank you.” You lean in for a kiss, and his lips meet yours, in that way only he can kiss: first his lips are only slightly separated and he brushes them against yours, delicately, tasting you. Then he applies a little more pressure, closes his full lower lip around your upper or lower one, tastes a little more, releasing and doing it again at a slightly different angle, like he’s testing every approach he can think of. Then, finally, he slips his tongue between your lips, your teeth, to meet your tongue, and by that time you’re already a hot mess. He takes his time, savours you, arms sneaking around your waist to pull you in, pressing all of you against all of him.

You’re reluctant to put an end to the kissing, but you know where you’re both headed and however nice a good fuck would be, you’re still hungry, and you’ve been looking forward to going to this restaurant.

”Mmmfrankie…”

”I know…”

He traces his lips to your ear and whispers I love you in that low, intense manner of his, and you know that he’s really going to think about the matter just discussed, and you think you know what his answer will be.

And you’re right: a couple of weeks after, he brings up the subject again, and tells you that he’d rather be with you for the rest of his life and not have kids than have kids but not have you.

That’s enough for you.

#my fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x you

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dragoneggos · 3 years

Text

Fanfic Year in Review

@captain-aralias thank you so much for these questions!! this was so much fun to do, and such a nice way to end off my first proper year writing fic! <3

my fics from 2021:

- A Thousand Words- Teen, 15k

- A Dream is a Wish- Teen, 17k

- The Last Four Years- Teen, 5k

- We’ll Go From There- Teen, 17k

- Initial Impressions- Teen, 6k

- Meet Me in the Middle- Teen 4k

- Oh Those Summer Nights- Teen, 5k

- Soft Skin and Scarlet Skies- Teen, 4k

- The Fabric of Scars- Teen, 4k

- i grew up at the top of a tower. with you.- Teen, 3k

- Draw a Line in the Sand- Teen, 5k

- door to door (please let me in)- Teen, 2k

- constant as the stars above- Teen, 27k

- as long as you love me so- Teen, 36k

so it seems every single fic I write I class as teen, which honestly is probably slightly overcautious as a couple of these could probbaly be classed as lower- if I didn’t swear so much anyway. what I mostly love to write atm is fluffy soft fics, so this makes sense.

14 fics, with a grand total of 152,482 words. Wow.

Best/Worst Title?

maybe because it’s still fresh in my mind, but I still have a massive soft spot for my Carry On Countdown fic, because the name fit so perfectly and didn’t take me an age to think up. every time I hear that song now (which has been a fair amount over the last week), i feel all warm thinking of snowbaz, and that’s been so lovely. I do also like ‘Soft Skin and Scarlet Skies’, mostly just because I’m proud of myself for coming up with something pretty and alliterative.

worst is probably ‘Draw a Line in the Sand’ because on reflection it doesn’t really make that much sense, except being a beach reference. Or ‘door to door’, mostly because I feel like it’s too clunky.

Best/worst summary?

worst is definitely ‘A Thousand Words’- I feel like it’s obvious how new I still was to fic writing and it just doesn’t work well. it doesn’t really fit the fic and it just feels awkward and out of place.

most of my summaries now just take my favourite written lines from the fic because it’s easy (cop out because I hate writing summaries), but my favourite is probably ‘A Dream is a Wish’. I think I picked a pretty quote and summarised the whole thing fairly well, which is what I mostly struggle with when doing summaries.

Best/worst first line?

I think my blunt ones are probably my best- ‘Oh Those Summer Nights’: Simon Snow is standing outside the Mage’s office and I also have a soft spot for ‘The Last Four Years’: My drink tastes like shit. I like starting with a bit of a punch, and I think these ones probably worked the best.

Reading it back, the worst feels like ‘Meet Me in the Middle’: The bed is too small for us both, my legs are all tangled with Baz’s, and Baz is taking up 90% of the duvet for himself, but despite this, I’m deeply asleep when Penny bursts into our room at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. Which is a shame because I like the imagery, but I just think there’s too much going on at once.

Best/worst last line?

best is ‘Initial Impressions’: I squeeze his hand in mine, and nothing else in the universe matters.

worst is ‘The Last Four Years’: And for the first time in four and a half years, I’m home. because for me looking back it feels slightly lazy, like I could’ve found something more meaningful if I’d spent more time on it.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

definitely way more!! I only started writing fic last year, and I never could’ve fathomed being able to write this much in the space of a year- it’s been crazy! but I feel very strange now when I’ve not got something on the go- I’m taking a short break atm after coc, and it already feels strange not to be working on something.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

oh easily all the Penny/Niall stuff. Which is admittedly weird. but also I do kind of love it. ( @meenawrites , I wrote it for us bestie). loved that I’ve now created that tag on ao3.

also probably the Barbie au too, though realistically that was probably more likely for me than the penny/niall stuff.

What’s your favourite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

this is so difficult because I feel like I have so many answers.

my Carry On Countdown got me through December, and I had sO much fun with it. but before that, I also love Dream is a Wish, just because I’m so happy with how it turned out, and it ended up being so much more than I expected it to be.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

it’s now my Carry On Countdown fic!! As of this week! Which I’m so happy about because I really did love writing it.

for most of the year though, it was ‘Initial Impressions’ which always slightly boggled me as I don’t think it’s my best plot-wise. I am happy with a lot of the prose in it though, and I think I forget that looking back on it.

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

for obvious reasons my least read fics were the penny/niall ones, which I completely get haha.

my Barbie/swan lake au also, because it’s so niche and strange sounding. which is a shame because I think it’s got some of my best writing in it, but also completely understandable because of how specific it is.

Story that could’ve been better?

I feel bad to keep picking on it because it was so early in my writing, but ‘A Thousand Words’. for me it feels kind of ooc, and I just see a lot of things in it that I wish I’d fleshed out more or just phrased better. it was my first ever attempt at a non-watford au though, so it was definitely a bit of a learning curve.

Saddest story?

probably ‘door to door’ because it feels like a raw issue that baz would actually having to keep dealing with post-canon, and not something that he or simon will ever be able to resolve. (thank you to everyone on discord who sparked the conversation that sparked the fic.)

Most fun?

‘constant as the stars above’- my Barbie au. I went into it knowing I could do what I wanted with it and it was just- so much fun to write. I just had a blast writing it, and coming up with prophecies and rhymes and baz’s chapter and barbie parallels, and I think the fun I had with it really shines through in the writing.

Story with the single sweetest moment?

I literally cannot pick between all my post-canon fluff, so I’m going with this from ‘A Dream is a Wish’ instead:

“You don’t even know who I am,” I muttered, though fighting seemed pointless now. We didn’t fight here; it had never been the place for it.

“I know enough.” His voice remained sure against my head. “I know enough,” he repeated, resting his chin on my head. And we remained like that, safe and wrapped in unconsciousness, for the rest of the night.

And somehow, when I woke up, everything seemed more okay.

Hardest story to write?

probably ‘We’ll Go From There’? only because I was writing so many new povs, and I cared so so much about getting them all right.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

other than what I’ve already mentioned, I think ‘Soft Skin and Scarlet Skies’. it was my first fic after awtwb, and my first ever attempt at post-canon, and I just felt like I had so much to write about and so much post-canon ready to pour out of me. I think it’s one of the reasons I love awtwb so much- the openness for fic opportunities.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

YES. ‘We’ll Go From There’ drastically altered my perceptions of some of the more minor characters, and is the first time I felt I properly understood Agatha. Before writing that I had a dislike for her, but- although she still isn’t my favourite character (sorry!)- I feel like I understand her much much more now, after writing her there.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

I wrote post-canon for the first time, and discovered it’s my favourite thing to write. other than that, probably nothing too drastic? I mostly just write what I want to read, and that’s what I love to do.

What are your fic writing goals for next year this year?

I have a couple more post-canon things I’d like to write- I have one I’ve been vaguely planning for a while, and something for Baz’s birthday I need to start shaping out (since we share the same birthday, I feel it’s an appropriate gift for us both).

I’d also quite like to participate in more events/fests, since I had so much fun with the Countdown this year.

(And I think I want to write an aftg fic, but we’ll see about that.)

Other than all that, I’ll just keep writing what I want to read!! (see: more fluffy snowbaz)

Thank you for the most amazing year of fics!!

#carry on #snowbaz #fanfic

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feeling--pink · 4 years

Photo

My Sweet Ride is an amazing episode of Phineas and Ferb and the only thing bad about it I that I wish we could have seen more people in full out 1950s clothes!! So I did that!! (Also including some MML kids because I love them and don’t draw them enough!)

Anyways!! If y’all want to see me rant about 1950s stuff for a very long time because I had a blast doing research for this project you should click the keep reading!! :D

Okay a quick prelude!! Not only am I going to talk about outfits I designed, but while doing research I was blown away about the attention to detail the original designers had for these outfits and characters so I’m going to talk about their outfits too! :D

Here are my sources if you want to look into this btw!! :D

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-teenager-fashions-girls-fashion-trends-and-clothing-styles/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-teen-boys-clothing/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-hairstyles/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-dress-styles/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-womens-hats-by-style/

https://vintagedancer.com/1950s/1950s-womens-shoes-style/

Candace

Okay I’m going to start out by saying I just adore this outfit

That has nothing to do with anything I just really love it!!

I’m thinking I might make one of my own for Halloween but that’s off-topic

Okay- 1950s clothing!!

Candace is wearing a blouse (?) with a cardigan over the top, and a pleated swing skirt.

This is a classic 1950s girl’s style

More specifically its also a classic “preppy good kid” look

Which Candace absolutely is!!

Y’all should notice that all the skirts are past knee-length, which was standard of the time.

Candace also has a neck scarf, a common accessory, and a headband.

Ribbon headbands were still a thing in the 50s but the hard plastic headband was also coming into style in the later 1950s.

She’s wearing a pair of saddle shoes which were one of the popular options of the time among boys and girls

Her hair is long with curls at the end, another classic teenager look in the 50s!

While short hair was more popular among adult women, teenage girls often kept theirs long with slight curls on the end!

Bangs were also standard, but usually shorter than how I drew them

Sorry that bit’s inaccurate through all of them, it’s just easier for me to draw long!

Finally, in case you had any doubt about Candace’s outfit being time period, here’s an advertisement from the article I read:

Vanessa

To start off we have a blouse and pencil shirt for Vanessa

Pencil and swing skirts were the two most common skirts of the time

She’s also wearing a belt, which I modified slightly to look like-

The wide contour belt on the bottom right!

She’s also wearing a pillbox hat, one of the popular hats of the time!

Hats were generally not worn by teenagers because they were seen as “mature”

But that fits pretty well with Vanessa’s character

It’s the same story with the pumps, which I also changed lightly to match time period ones a bit more

Now what made me make my original post about the outfits in My Sweet Ride was actually the hair

Specifically, Vanessa’s hair is modeled after the Bettie Page style

This hair wasn’t actually that popular with the masses because it was seen as too simple, not classy, etc.

BUT it was popular among rebel girls in the USA

And like!!!!!! Y’all the designers did SUCH a good job to get down into details like that!!!!!!!!

But yeah her outfit’s great!! Next one!

Stacy

For Stacy, I decided to change things up slightly and give her a dress!

Specifically, it’s a shirtwaist dress, which I modeled after the reference below

Why the shirtwaist dress you may ask? Idk I think they’re neat

I thought it fit the vibe I was going for so I did that one I don’t know what to tell you jkdshsf-

Okay so generally, the belt wouldn’t have been a different color but I wanted to tie the green I used in a little more

Btw sorry I changed her color scheme a bit

I honestly haven’t fully figured out her original color scheme so I modified it a bit so it would look nice for this!

Pastels were very popular in the summer after all

I tried to stick to everyone else’s original color scheme though!

Stacy also has a headband tied up into a bow, which was standard

And to change things up I put her in a ponytail (with the end curled) which was popular with the teens!

Sklsdjhdkj I sound very “how do you do fellow teens“ while writing this that’s unintentional sorry

Shoes are penny loafers, another popular shoe at the time

I liked the little bows on the ends of some of the ones I saw and thought it was very Stacy!

That’s about it for her!

Phineas

This has nothing to do with anything but I love drawing Phineas

He’s just a funky little triangle!! I love him!

I’ll admit here that I didn’t look into men’s hairstyles, so you won’t hear about that from me sorry!

Phineas is wearing a black button-up, standard.

Black and white matched everything so they were the most common undershirt colors

Over that, he has a jacket that looks to be varsity jacket inspired, which was seen as super cool!

Full jeans were coming into popularity in the 50s but only with the younger generations

Finally, he also has saddle shoes like Candace does

So yeah it’s a solid 1950s outfit!!

Ferb

Ferb’s a greaser, need I say more?

No, really he has everything

The white t-shirt and jeans combo is exactly the greaser look, so much so that most teenagers avoided it to not fall into stereotypes

Tighter fit jeans were coming into style in the later 50s, so that’s also accurate

The leather jacket just amplifies the greaser look

The one thing is that for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what shoes he was wearing

So I gave him a pair of sho-loks and called it a day!

More about sho-loks in Milo’s portion!

Isabella

Isabella makes an appearance with the first (and only) poodle skirt of the group!!

Poodle skirts, while definitely what most people think about when you say the 50s, actually weren’t that popular among teenagers

The embroidered designs were seen as childish, so children and preteens wore them the most

But here’s a fun tidbit you may not have caught from the show, Isabella is, in fact, a child

(I don’t know why I built that up so much sorry ldksjfhkds)

Anyways I decided if I was going to give anyone a classic poodle skirt it might as well be Isabella!

I modeled it after this poodle skirt:

She’s also wearing a blouse with a peter pan collar, the most popular collar of the time

Another headband tied into a bow because it’s Isabella I had to give her a bow

Standard belt (nothing really to say about that)

And another pair of penny loafers with little bows because they’re cute gosh darn it!

Milo

Okay, I’ve been writing for a while but honestly a lot of the rest of these I just drew directly from reference so…

I did say I would talk about shu-loks here though and I will!!!

Now we know Milo is shoelace-adverse

And while there are plenty of slip-on options I found the shu-lok to be fascinating!!

As you can see above, the tongue snaps down to keep the shoe on your foot!! Isn’t that cool? :D

So yeah I gave Milo those!!

Zack

We know Zack plays football so I gave him your standard sporty outfit

Sorry I just find girls outfits infinitely more interesting so I kinda focused on those skjhgfdss

Oh! I do have something to say here!!

Converse were your typical sports shoe for the 50s so he has those!! Almost forgot that tidbit!!

Yeah, thick soles with wrinkles and stuff were seen as cool among teens so they got popular!

Melissa

Finally, we have some patterned pants!!

Yeah- checkers, plaid, stripes, polka dots, etc. were all very popular!!

I just didn’t want to draw them a lot ‘cause it’s hard sksfjdhgs-

But I gave Melissa checkers because it would get the black and white of her color scheme and I liked the way the checkered pants looked!!

Girls did wear pants at the time by the way!!

During summer and weekends mostly since they weren’t allowed to wear them to school

Short-sleeved turtle necks were also a thing and I thought that combo would look neat!!

Also, converse because it went with the outfit and that’s kinda what she’s wearing in the show!

Hair in a ponytail and side part bangs, both popular!

Yeah okay, that’s about it for Melissa!

Amanda

By this point, y’all are hopefully getting the gist of 50s fashion so we’re going fast now

Blouse, swing skirt, penny loafers (different style but still penny loafers), headband

(here’s what I modeled the whole thing after:)

I do want to mention the pullover sweater because I thought I should include one and I really like the flower embroidery on them

Then finally we come to her hair!! I already mentioned the headband but I was specifically modeling her hair in the pageboy style which looks like this:

Obviously, it looks a little stylized but what can you do?

And that’s it!! I had so much fun doing research and designing this and I think they all turned out pretty good!! I’m going to do more go this in the futures so if there's someone in particular you’d like to see let me know!! I’m planning on doing Cavendish, Dakota, and Sara at least in the next batch!!

#I had too much fun with this hope yall can tell #phineas and ferb #milo murphy's law #candace flynn #vanessa doofenshmirtz #stacy hirano #phineas flynn #ferb fletcher #isabella garcia shapiro #milo murphy #zack underwood #melissa chase #my art stuff #my sweet ride

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theladypeace · 4 years

Note

In your opinion, which RWBY characters would a) kick a child b) kick a child but only if provoked c) NEVER kick a child d) be scared of a child or d) get kicked BY a child? (I too am bored and you said weird questions were welcome 😅😂)(also I imagine "child" to be anyone under 10 in this question lol)

a) kick a child

• Qrow. He did punch a kid, so I assume kicking a child isn’t where he draws the line.

• Raven. I mean, come on. It’s Raven.

• SALEM!!! No explanation needed.

• Ironwood. Again, there is no need for an explanation.

• Watts. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone.

• Nora. Probably by accident. She would try to give someone a nudge with her foot but forgot her semblance was activated.

• Mercury. He would do it really hard with his metal legs and laugh while doing it.

• Blake would have in volume 1-3.

• Cinder. What else needs to be said?

b) kick a child but only if provoked

• Ms. Goodwitch, of course. She wants to quit her job very badly, but she can’t, so she takes it out on children. One of those children is Ozpin.

• Tyrian. He’d do it for fun, but only if the child was doing something dumb.

• Emerald. She’d make sure the kid was alright. But if the kid wasn’t and started crying, she’d slowly walk away.

• Maria would kick a child with her cane.

• Ruby. She’d feel bad afterward.

c) never kick a child

• Pyrrha! She would never even think about it.

• Yang is everyone’s big sister. She would attack anyone who’d kick a child.

• Ren would make pancakes for the child.

• Hazel. But Oscar is an exception for him.

• Penny. I’m not even sure if she understands the concept of a child and growing.

• Ozpin. Mf runs a school, he’d probably get fired if he ever did kick a kid.

• Everyone is Tai’s child. Instead of harassing people by kicking them, he harasses them by hugging them.

• Summer. She was the child who got kicked.

d) be scared of a child

• Oscar. He may be older and be a pre-teen (I consider the ages 12-14 to be pre-teen), but he ain’t going near a child. Those mfs are creepy, okay?

• Winter doesn’t understand children and refuses to be next to one.

• Whitely. He never interacted with any of his peers because he thinks that’s beneath him.

• Like her siblings, Weiss is terrified of children.

e) get kicked by a child

• Jaune, probably. He’d likely try to be nice to the kid, but they aren’t having any of that shit and just— BA-BLAM! Right in the crouch.

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shadowsfiguresfigments-blog · 3 years

Text

A good place to die Chapter 26 (smut)

Warning: Harsh language, violence, smut

He was all over me, literally. Whilst he kept my lips and tongue busy with his, his hands roamed across my body, gently caressing every square inch of it. The last tattered remains of my clothes fell off, but his silken gloves kept me warm against the cold air. I sucked on his lower lip to encourage him further, and in response he leaned into me. The sensation of his touch multiplied, and during a breath pause to draw breath I opened my eyes. Penny had sprouted another two pairs of arms, giving him a slightly spider-like appearance.

Whilst he played with my hair, he simultaneously worjed my erect nipples, kneading them; pinching them just enough to illicit a sweet stinging pain. And all the while his hands wandered down further, along my hips, in between my thighs. I pressed harder against him, the familiar desperate yearning overcoming any sense of self-control I had left. There needn’t be any more barriers between us, nothing to separate us – I had been inside him, literally, for fuck’s sake – and I tore at his clothes, fighting against the last veil of silk that stood between us.

His chuckle was barely audible, more of a deep rumble that went through his body right into mine. The hands in my hair disappeared and the pressure against me lessened, but before I could protest his fingers slipped inside me. My insides clamped down on him in an unconscious effort to pull him further along, and their effort was rewarded; Penny’s finger went deeper and deeper into me, as if they were growing in length. The weirdest sensation filled my stomach – his gloves, he must have popped his gloves – and a heartbeat later he touched that sweet, sweet spot.

I screamed as the orgasm hit me like a sledge hammer, but Penny was nowhere near done. His body pressed back against mine, finally rid of clothes and all decency, and he held me so tight I was no longer able to breathe properly. He was still mercilessly working my pussy, but another hand made its way between my ass cheeks. I briefly and very feebly thought about protesting, but in response he pressed against my G-spot again. Whether it was because I was dripping wet or by some transformation of his, his fingers quickly spread some hot liquid around my asshole. Then he inserted one.

One moment, there was the sensation of having soiled myself; then he pushed through the barrier and there was some pain. It didn’t last long, though, as having him inside both front and back quickly overwhelmed me. Still, it wasn’t enough for him. His tongue swelled up, almost forcing my jaws apart, and picked up the rhythm of his fingers as it thrust deeper and deeper into me. As he had swallowed me whole, enveloping me completely, he now filled my up with himself in every way possible. I no longer could feel any ending to my body, nor the beginning of his; all of my senses were filled with him alone.

Again, there was a brief pause as he withdrew his fingers from my pussy, then he shoved his dick into me. I came immediately, and this time it lasted. Wave after wave hit me, eroding my sense of self further and further. Something was different from all the times we had had sex before – something inside me had changed. It resonated with Penny in a way that was difficult to understand – like two sound waves with just the right frequency to suddenly amplify each other.

That resonance almost tore me apart, and I screamed on the top of my lungs as Penny shuddered and came.

The following week was entirely governed by the last minute preparations for both Bee’s return as well as the store opening, which would coincide. With Auntie’s help I fought my way through the rooms and seemingly unending layers of garbage and dirt. Thankfully Bee had already declared her intentions to renovate the whole apartment by herself, and she had spent countless hours picking colors and some new furniture from catalogs. The little insurance money she got wouldn’t allow for much more, but her DIY-attitude had significantly improved over the last days. We just made sure the dirt was gone and that the facilities worked; which they did. Still, by the time I was done every evening I did little more than hit the shower and fall into bed.

Penny found his own way to keep me company – he usually waited in my room, made good use of the phone I had gotten him, and occasionally accompanied me on my ways in the form of a big orange tabby. At night he would cradle me in his arms, making our fight seem like nothing more than a bad dream.

I didn’t have the energy to discuss it any further, either; nor could I bring myself to tell him I still felt rather overwhelmed by the sex we had had. It was a weird, uncomfortable balance that I just couldn’t deal with.

He had carried me home that night, wrapped into silk-like sheets he had miraculously produced, and he had washed me in our tiny shower. I was still entirely beside myself – I didn’t even spend a thought on auntie – and just stood there as he rinsed away his cum that poured out of my body.

He even tucked me into bed.

When the big day finally arrived, I was too tired to feel the least bit excited. I almost fell asleep twice during school, but fortunately no one noticed. It was Friday, and I was excused for the last lesson (P.E.), so I got to leave early. That also meant there was no chance of any potential bully waiting for me, and I didn’t bother checking my bike for any manipulations, as there hadn’t been any for quite a while. Of course, that didn’t turn out too well – somebody had opened the valves of my tires, and by the time I got to the shop, there was no air left in them. I didn’t care, though, as I had to prepare the little buffet auntie had organized for me (nothing major, just some tea and coffee, and some cupcakes she had surprised me with in the morning). After I finished that, I went through the registry and my documents for the last time, in a desperate attempt to not think about Penny and focus on the task at hand.

A quick glance at my watch told me that I had about fifteen minutes left before the official opening hours started. I briefly wondered whether anyone would show up at all – Auntie and I had invested in some flyers, and we had distributed them both at her working place as well as my school. I had also thrown the remaining ones into random mail boxes on my various ways. Despite that, my reputation might very well end up keeping any potential customer from actually seeking the store – my store, I reminded myself – out.

For the first time in a long while I thought back to Yaneesha, Shot and the other idiots that despised me so much. The reason for their unwavering hate was still very much of a mystery to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to wish them harm. After all, they had ultimately suffered bigger losses than I did, and ever since Yaneesha had left school, I hadn’t been physically attacked anymore.

At least not by humans.

I sighed and unlocked the doors.

To my big surprise a couple of people entered while I was putting out the huge board I had painted. They roamed around the shelves, and a tiny silver-hair lady even told me how happy she was that the store was open again. I vaguely remembered her face and came to the conclusion that she was one of the very few somewhat regular visitors. Didn’t she have a fondness for novels? I directed her towards some new arrivals, which prompted my first successful sale.

It was somewhat difficult to believe, and the whole situation felt unreal. Something about the ordinariness was quite at odds with the crazy circus my life had become. I answered questions, recommended books, and made a couple of other sales. It wasn’t much, but still a whole lot more than what I’d expected – nothing.

Auntie joined me after I had been open for ninety minutes, and I could tell how tired she was. We both forced smiles, and despite my best efforts, she insisted on staying with me, though her face grew paler by the minute. Just when I had convinced her to sit down and stop fussing, her face lit up with recognition.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me he was coming. How nice!”

I whirled around just to see Benny-Penny standing outside the store, a red balloon on a string in his hands. For some reason that really touched me – I was just glad auntie sat behind me, so she couldn’t see the stupid smile spreading across my face. I rushed out and grasped his hands.

“I’m so glad you’re here”, I gushed. “I can’t believe you’re willing to go through this… Are you okay?”

He nodded, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, and handed me the balloon. It even read “Congratulations” on it. After quickly wiping my eyes I ushered him inside, ignoring the weird vibrations that built up in my stomach.

Penny looked utterly out of place, a wonderful mixture of awkwardness and otherworldly beauty that was just a tick off – probably not enough for anyone to realize but enough to cause the other visitors to show signs of unease. It was almost comical – a guy in a rather fancy suit started fiddling with his tie, a young girl put her jacket back on, and a group of teens moved closer together. Despite the fact that it wasn’t a good thing unnerve the people who I was supposed to sell to, it was still entertaining to observe. And I couldn’t help myself but marvel at his human form; the way his muscles visibly moved beneath the thin, tight sweater he was wearing; the way that ass looked in that pair of jeans; the way his movements were still the same as in his clown form.

I quickly went into the back room and tied the balloon to my backpack, not wanting to leave Penny alone for too long; but by the time I had returned he sat beside auntie and they chatted away merrily. He laughed – that wonderful, over-the-top crazy laugh of his, and shook his head. Auntie smiled, said something and started chuckling. For a moment she looked much younger, the stress lines fading, and my heart started hurting again.

How I wished I could see her like that every day.

I joined them, but I admittedly didn’t pay much attention, nor contribute much to the conversation – I was just content to see auntie and Benny-Penny happy. My odd behavior wasn’t noticed, though; Benny told one joke after another, and soon, my costumers had circled around us, joining in on the laughs. From time to time I could have sworn I saw a glint of something in Benny’s eyes, but it always disappeared so quickly I couldn’t be sure.

It was a rather pleasant experience to have him around. Time flew by quickly, and making sales felt like something I did on the side whilst I was mainly focusing on Benny. Finally the last pulk of people left the store, and I waved after them. Auntie stood up and started cleaning the buffet table; throwing away crumbled napkins and stacking plates. I offered to help, but she refused me; so I started counting the money I had made. When she left to bring the plates upstairs to the apartment, I dropped all pretence and threw myself into Benny’s arms.

“Thank you for coming”, I whispered, somewhat at a loss at how to convey the deep gratitude I felt.

He just patted my head, but I could feel how exhausted he was. I understood all too well – being around other humans and having to act normally was difficult enough for me, and I was part of their race. I reached up and cradled his cheek in my hand.

“I will make this up to you, I promise.”

Benny’s head shot up so fast I didn’t realize he had moved for a second.

Something was wrong.

His face had become devoid of emotion, the smile that had just been there completely gone, and there was an orange hue in his eyes. He stood utterly still.

“What’s the matter?”

“One of them is coming closer.”

“Who?”

“One of them.”

It took me a second to put his words and his behavior together.

“You mean… the ones that hurt you?”

He nodded, his eyes turning ever more orange. I took his hands and pulled him around to face me.

“Listen, if you need to get out of here, go. But I don’t think you’re in danger – you look like a human, you’re in a fucking bookstore, and besides, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, okay?” That had absolutely no effect whatsoever. He was still as tense as before. “Penny, I promise, you’re safe.”

He slowly lowered his eyes, exhaling loudly. Not even a second later, he tensed up again. This time, he was watching someone outside. I turned around and saw two young men walking down the street. They held brown paper bags and yelled loudly, pushing each other constantly. My somewhat rusty instinct for bad situations told me they were trouble.

“They want to trash your shop.”

I didn’t even question him; I was too focused on the fact that they had changed direction and were now clearly walking up to us.

“I won’t allow that.” I reached into my pocket for my phone, with every intention to call the cops, but this time, Penny grabbed my hands. He had the weirdest little smile, and his left eye started drifting to the side. For some reason, I got goosebumps. I could only watch as he left me and stood in front of the duo. They shouted something, he replied, and the three of them walked away.

What was I supposed to do? I still had my phone in my hand, and I contemplated dialing 911. But what should I say? That I had possibly evaded big trouble? That my killer clown boyfriend had just left with the troublemakers and they’d better start searching for the leftovers, if there would be any? And that Pennywise might be in danger? Hello officer, you know, there’s this creature that kills and feeds on humans, and I love him very much, and he got spooked, so could you please start an investigation, and by the way, clean up after him?

“Where’d he go?”

Auntie had come back to me and looked out the door. I shook my head, gathering my jumbled thoughts.

“Oh, his mom called, he’s supposed to help her with something.”

“It was nice of him to stop by.”

“Yeah, very nice.” I still stared at the corner around which they had disappeared, as if I could make my gaze bend around it to follow them and make sure everything was okay.

“Is everything alright? Did you quarrel?”

“Oh no, I guess I’m just… a little overwhelmed with everything.” My attempt at a reassuring smile was bad at best, but somehow auntie bought it.

“Oh well, it’s been some hectic weeks for both of us.”

I nodded. A quick glance at my phone told me it was time to close down. That, thankfully, wouldn’t take long. However, there was still-

“Look who’s come!”

For the second time that day, a very welcome visitor approached the store. This time it wasn’t my favorite alien killer clown, it was Bee; with a large suitcase in hand and a warm smile on her face.

#pennywise #pennywise fanfiction #agptd

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diamcndgirl · 3 years

Text

welcome one and all to task twenty-two: character approach!!! under the read more you will be introduced as to what different influences it takes to put together the wonder woman known as penelope hainline.

** my character approach process is pretty much the same when it comes to how i get into a certain head space to write my characters. but, i figured it would be fun to let you in on which and what sorts of media inspire me most when writing out each one of my characters.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

sometimes when i’m stuck on a character reply or just in a rut muse wise i always like to reread their biographies. to get a sense of where we started and how to admins saw penelope at first. and to just refresh myself on the basics. some of the most important character elements are written in their biographies and as i write them and develop them sometimes those things can get lost. so, it’s always nice to take a moment read back and see if i need to reign something in or make edits to how i’m playing penelope. she’s over the top personality and sometimes i’m afraid i’m not going bold enough or staying true to who she is.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐀

my favorite thing about writing penelope is that she truly is the definition of camp. i read an article and it stated “miss piggy is camp. miss piggy is ultra-camp. she’s fifty pounds of camp in a five pound bag. miss piggy is a man performing a puppet pretending to be a female pig pretending to be a movie star who somehow actually becomes a female pig movie star, and simultaneously parodies female pig movie stars, even though she’s the only one that ever existed. that, my friends, is camper than camp.”.

so, i like to draw inspiration from lots of camp and gay icons. mainly being: cher, diana ross, katy perry, donna summer, lady gaga, elton john, and the queen herself dolly parton. the list goes on.. be it from listening to their music, their style, career choices, or just watching an interview. i know they are icons not only in our lives but penelope’s life as well. these are celebrities i believe she’d model her life after and strive to have a career like.

also playing a bisexual woman it’s important for me to draw inspiration from gay culture when writing penny because it’s a huge part of who she is.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

penny is a pop girlie at heart. and we all know i love a good pop song. so i listen to my little penny playlist. as well as a lot of dua lipa, kylie minogue (her favorite artist), and diana ross. she also likes musicals.. so from time to time i’ll throw on mean girls, someone gets hurt specifically, and write out a reply or two.

and i’m not gonna lie a lot of the time i’ll pull up glee covers because my baby would’ve loved glee i just know it. and let’s be honest... she’s a rachel berry type.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍' 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒.. 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.

when in doubt go back to watching the original material your character is based on. and let’s be real watching the muppets is the best way to pass time. i don’t think i can ever do justice to the original muppets show.. i’m just not as funny. but, it always gives me ideas of little sayings piggy says that i can use for penny. and it shows you quirks and things that make your character who they truly are.

also i love watching 00s/90s teen dramas... mean girls, legally blonde, clueless, you know the list. they all just feel like penelope.

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊, 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊. 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

oh i know you didn’t think i was going to skip over fashion.. no no. not only are those camp icons people who inspire penelope daily with their careers it’s the fashion of it all!

at this point in time in penelope’s life i feel like she’s a mixture between: katy perry’s las vegas live show, lady gaga’s met gala entrance look, and cher’s do you believe? tour... all to the tune of coconuts by kim petres. but somehow she looks amazing doing it. she loves embellishments. huge on making statement pieces and loooooves a good accessory.

i usually google or look on pinterest for outfit inspiration.. but honestly little mix’s stylist does a pretty good styling perrie in a way that i think lines up well with an everyday look for penelope.

#watask #im sure there was more but i mean this is the main stuff

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writeyouin · 4 years

Note

Tfa request #1: what is the thoughts of bumblebee/jet twins/ blurr/ sari ( when she’s a teen! ) who has a crush on a dorky yet kind hearted person and what is thier reaction of when they kiss s/o, she fainted or got a nosebleed...( this happened to me but I fainted =u=|| )

TFA X Reader Inserts – Blowing a Gasket

A/N – Hey anon, hope you had a good birthday. Here is a gift for you.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Bumblebee

“YEAH,” Bumblebee cheered, punching the air victoriously. He was the only one who had opted out of the nature walk that Prowl had planned, and without Sari who was with her father for the day, he was left alone with the video game console.

You had dropped by only a little earlier to see everyone and had opted to read your book until they all came back. Normally, you would have played something with Bumblebee, but he seemed to be enjoying the single player game so you had left him to it.

“Nice job,” You said, looking up at the screen and seeing that he had finally gotten the golden relic he was after.

“Nice job?” Bumblebee repeated cockily. “I think you mean that I’m the king of ALL videogames.”

You snickered, “That is so precious. You want to talk to me about being the best player, then come back when you’ve got a platinum relic.”

Bumblebee tutted, “Those are impossible. Nobody can win one.”

“Move over amateur,” You said, taking the controller from Bumblebee and moving the small bandicoot on screen onto a level you knew well.

Starting the time trial, you caused the character to jump, spin, crush boxes, and generally beat the score Bumblebee had set. By the end of the level, you were the proud owner of a platinum relic.

“NO WAY!” Bumblebee goggled at the screen. “HOW DID YOU DO THAT?”

You stretched victoriously, “Years of practice. You know, if you play the second game and jump on the head of the polar bear in warp room two ten times-”

Bumblebee tried to look as if he was hanging onto your every word while internally, he was freaking out. How had he never noticed how cute you were before? It was so obvious. Maybe you had a crush on him too? Wait- A CRUSH! Colour rose to Bumblebee’s face plates.

‘Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. What if (s)he doesn’t feel the same? I need to know, right now. Why is (s)he still talking about the game? Can’t (s)he see what’s going on here?’

Unable to be patient and wait for an opportune moment wherein Bumblebee might learn if you had feelings for him, he dove at you, pressing his lips against yours, making you let out a muffled yelp.

Pulling away, Bumblebee stared at you, waiting for you to say something. Blood rushed to your face, turning it beet-red. You squeaked as blood started trickling from your nose.

“Primus!” Bumblebee screeched, jumping back.

“It’s okay,” You tried to explain, cupping your nose to catch the blood.

“HOW IS THIS OKAY? YOU’VE BLOWN A GASKET!”

Bumblebee practically drove off to get Ratchet, forgetting his comm-link in his panic. You meanwhile, were left to mop up your bloody nose and search for an explanation by the time Bumblebee came back; all in all, it wasn’t the smoothest first kiss.

The Jet Twins

Jetfire and Jetstorm were listening intently as you talked about the movies you were going to show them back at the base. You had a feeling they would like your old favourites as much as you did. The twins both loved that you took the time to teach them about Earth media and its origins. You were like a walking dictionary of what was cool and what wasn’t, yet if they liked a character or plot that you didn’t, you welcomed the new opinion.

The three of you came to a busy crossing where you had to wait for the traffic lights to change. As you chattered away, the twins gave a small nod to each other, indicating that it was time for something they had been planning since Megatron’s defeat.

Bending down to your height, they simultaneously kissed your cheeks. Afterwards, your head swivelled from Jetfire to Jetstorm, who were both grinning triumphantly.

“I- I- Uh-” You opened your mouth to say something more, but nothing came out. Instead, in a rush of nerves, you crumpled to the floor in a faint.

Jetstorm picked you up, watching you curiously, “Brother, I think she may have-”

“-overheated, yes it seems to being that way,” Jetfire finished his brother’s statement.

“Do you think her cooling fans are to be working?”

“I am thinking that human fans may be slower than ours, brother.”

“Let us be carrying her home then.

“Yes, lets.”

With that, the twins took turns to carry you home, each eager to hear what you thought of their kiss once your heating systems returned to optimal condition.

Blurr zipped back and forth in front of your house, waiting for you to come home. He had repeatedly run this one stretch of path for four hours; he’d been at it so long that the path was a mess of tire marks and scraped concrete. Far too anxious to stop for even one second, Blurr remained a prisoner of his thoughts, running to keep a hold of his sanity.

During the war, Blurr was only consumed with thoughts about the Decepticons. Now that those dark times were behind him, Blurr had time to think about other things… mainly you. He’d always known that he had liked you as a friend. You were one of the few people that could keep up with his fast mind and faster mouth after all. However, he had only realised that very day that he liked you.

Blurr hated the anxiety of wondering what you would think of him romantically. It made him erratic, like there was a swarm of scraplets living in his brain, threatening to tear him open from the inside out. There was really only one solution and that was to tell you how he felt; whether you accepted or rejected his affections, Blurr would at least have an answer and that would be enough.

Finally, Blurr saw you coming around the corner of your street. He rushed forward to you and started jabbering.

“(Y/N),IhaveromanticfeelingsforyouandIthinkyoumayreturnthemifyoujustgivemeachance.Itdoesn’tmatterthatwe’refromtwodifferentspeciesifwedon’tletitmatter,therehavebeenweirdercouplesinthepast.Whati’mtryingtosayiswillyougooutwithme?”

You stared blankly at Blurr. Usually, you were able to keep pace with his fast talking but there was no way to understand the fast-paced speech he had just given you.

“Excuse me, what?” You asked, dumbfounded.

Panicked by the prospect of repeating himself over such a delicate manner, Blurr pressed his lips quickly against yours, pulling away just as fast to stare at you.

Only a few seconds later, blood started dripping down your nose. Blurr was sure he had hurt you, and cursed himself for his behaviour, starting a rant about human fragility, though you only caught snippets.

“BLURR!” You shouted exasperatedly, surprised that the usually confident bot was so nervous now. “I’m fine, it’s just a little nosebleed. I- I like you too.”

Blurr, somewhat exhausted from the override of emotions flopped onto the floor. After cleaning your nose up, you laid down next to him and the two of you relished a few minutes of calm, each momentarily lost for words.

Sari

You and Sari walked through the park on the way to meet the Autobots for a game of improvised baseball. As you talked, you noticed how subdued Sari was. She hadn’t been herself all day; clearly something was on her mind.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You asked, drawing her attention back to you.

Sari sighed, then forced a smile, “It’s nothing (Y/N), don’t worry about it. I guess I’m just distracted.”

“C’mon Sari, something’s bugging you. You may as well talk about it. I won’t judge, whatever it is.”

“I know you won’t. It’s just… I was thinking about by dad.” That first sentence seemed to unlock a flood-gate as Sari began spilling her guts, “I just worry that one day Megatron might want him back. What if he decides to take him again? My dad is totally defenceless, and he could end up building something way worse than a space-bridge. I get that it’s not likely, but I still worry, y’know?”

“Hey,” You said, grabbing Sari’s hand reassuringly. “It’s all gonna be okay. No more bad stuff is gonna happen to you, but if it did, then you’ll have the Autobots to help out, and me as well, even if I can’t punch Megadork through a wall.”

Sari giggled, and smiled at you. You always knew what to say. She only wished she had a way to show you how much you meant to her. Blushing at the idea that just crossed her mind, Sari kissed you before she could lose her nerve.

As soon as her lips left yours, you let out a nervous croak, fainting soon after. Sari stood over you for a minute.

“Hmm.” She prodded you a few times in a small attempt at waking you up. “That didn’t go exactly how I planned.”

She called the Autobots to let them know that she would be late to the baseball game due to an ‘unexpected delay,’ and then she laid down on the grass next to you, awaiting the moment you would regain consciousness.

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soldrawss · 4 years

Note

Does Big Bro!Mikey AU have an april or no? I think it would be nice for Mikey to have a bff april!!

April is a part of this au, yes! She started out as just a classmate of Mikey’s, they had the same homeroom in high school before Mikey dropped out the summer before his Junior year. They hadn’t really kept in contact, mostly because she only knew him by proxy (Mikey was nice and friendly to everyone, April of course included, but they didn’t have much in common, and their main friend groups were different, so they didn’t hang out much) and when Mikey all but disappeared without an explanation, she kinda just figured he moved or something, and left it at that, not giving him any thought for the next three years.

That is, until she meets him again, in the halls of Hunter College, looking like he was gonna collapse at any minute, which he kinda does, into an empty bench at the schools outside cafe and lounge area. April waffles for a few seconds, because ‘holy shit is that Mike Hamato?’ before biting the bullet and making her way over to say, “Hey, Michael right? Hi, it’s been a while. It’s April, we had homeroom together freshman and sophomore year. I haven’t seen you since Savanti Romero’s pool party. How are you?” And his smile is a slow, automatic thing at first, more out of common politeness than anything else, but then it grows into something much more genuine and glacier melting when he responds back, “April, hey, yeah, hi! Wow, has it really been that long? Man, it seems like just yesterday you were fishing Mondo and me out of the pool after one too many chicken fights. It’s good to see you!”

And catching up seemed so easy, April was almost surprised they hadn’t been better friends in high school. Though, she suspected that was mostly due to Mikey’s incredibly easy charm and naturally inviting warmth. (Dude could make friends with just about anyone)

He was a little different than how she remembered, a little more weather-worn and tired, a kinda weariness that hung off his shoulders like heavyweights. But there was still a bright shine to those penny-colored eyes, and when he smiled, it was with all the dimples and joy that she remembers so clearly from when she was 15. Holding back a laugh at the Hamato kid that was preforming springing handstands across the cafeteria just to draw attention away from the impending fight between two of their more hotheaded classmates and ease the tension out of the air in a ridiculous but effective manner.

She doesn’t ask why he left high school, it doesn’t really occur to her to ask, but after 2 hours of talking (April not even realizing she was missing her history class because she was so caught up in their catching up) he offers the information anyway.

His dad died. When he was barely 16, and he was left alone with 3 baby brothers and no other family that could help take care of them, and oh my god, he just dropped out of school to get his GED like it was the most common thing in the world and he went to work, what, 2, sometimes 3 jobs just to make enough money to support them all and April didn’t mean for tears to start pooling up because that so wasn’t fair to Mikey at all, if anyone should be crying, it should be him, but Mikey just looks a little shy and bashful about it all. “It was hard, but we got through it. And hey, now I’m working at like, this really prestigious Italian restaurant, super classy and everything! And they pay me more than I’m probably worth, but I’ll get my culinary degree in like a year, and then after that, a lot of things will change,” He says like everything in the world is just that easy, handing April a few tissues from his book bag and giving her one of those genuine, if not a little crooked, smiles of his.

Mikey promises to have lunch with her again (because April absolutely refuses to let this dandelion haired lunatic walk away from her life a second time and practically demands that they hang out again) since they both have the same free time before their respective classes at the college, and makes a show of saving her number with probably a few too many emojis as a contact name just to make her smile.

And what turned into a promise for another lunch date turned into almost a daily routine, them having lunch together on the bench, talking about classes and teachers and jobs and April’s problematic little kitten she affectionately named Mayhem and Mikey’s little brothers who are probably equally as problematic but he doesn’t have a say in what their names are, and things are fun and casual between Hamato and her.

That is, until two months later, when April gets a call from Mikey at 5pm on a Saturday.

“Donnie’s sick,” Mikey says almost breathlessly, and even without the context, April was already springing to her feet just at the sheer tension and concern in Mikey’s voice, like a taught wire about to snap. “I can’t get off work for another few hours, but I don’t want to leave him by himself with a fever. And I know this is like, putting you on the spot and really awkward and you can totally say no if you want to, but I don’t know who else to call and,-”

“Mike, it’s ok. Breathe hun,” April is saying, not unkindly pushing Mayhem off her lap and reaching for her backpack off the floor in her dorm room, stuffing a few random things in it before grabbing her jacket and her car keys off the counter. “Text me your address. I’ll be over there in 5 minutes tops.”

And it’s more of a promise than a fact, because his building is technically 20 minutes away from hers, but April makes it in 10 just by spite alone (and maybe driving a little recklessly downtown) and knocks on the door of the little apartment on the 6th floor, unit 404.

It takes a hesitant second, but then the door lock clicks open and April is greeted by warm brown eyes and a freckled face that reminds April so much of Mikey that it takes her almost a full 10 seconds before she introduces herself with an automatic smile. “Hi sweetheart, I’m April. I’m a friend of your older brother Mikey.”

Raphael, if April remembered Mikey’s brothers correctly, didn’t really need much convincing to let April in after she mentioned he was a friend of Mikey's, and doesn’t hesitate to pull her into their little apartment, leading her to the bedroom that the twins share with a small but tight little fist around hers.

“Mikey called and said you were coming. Leo’s atah sleepover, but Donnie’s in here. His head’s still hot and his voice is all scratchy, even though I made sure that he took the medicine Mikey left out. And he won’t eat anything I give him,” the 7-year-old reports diligently, much more mature than April had expected from the young child.

April’s been babysitting since she was 11, and considering how all the neighborhood kids around her block adore her, she likes to think that she’s got a pretty solid Ph.D. in knowing how to take care of a sick pre-teen who wants nothing to do with her. So the heavy-lidded and red-eyed glare that Donatello shoots at her from under his covers is duly noted but otherwise ignored as she gently knocks on the door and slowly follows a much less hesitant Raphael into the bedroom.

It takes a while, a long while, for Donatello, no, Donnie, to warm up to her, but he gets there eventually, with the help of Raphael, Raph, who’s hanging off of Aprils shoulders, having warmed up to her almost immediately simply because ‘any friend of Mikey’s is a friend of ours Dee! Don’t be mean and eat some soup!’

After realizing that Donnie just had a little cold, and was in no real danger even with a fever, Raph seemed to cheer up immensely, and was more than willing to help answer all of April’s questions about what medicine Donnie had taken, any allergies, the last time he ate, and even helped her make some egg drop soup since they didn’t have enough ingredients of chicken noodle, which Donnie put up a fight about, but eventually took after one look of Raph’s puppy dog eyes.

Donnie was out like a light 15 minutes later, after taking some night time cough medicine and April sent a reassuring text to Mikey two hours later when his fever finally broke, to which Mikey replied with an explosion of heart emoji’s that April couldn’t rightly decipher other than he was happy about it.

Mikey got home at 11 that night, and April had to flag him down quietly from where she sat trapped under a sleeping, pj clad Raph on the couch; a Jupiter Jim movie marathon playing on the tv.

“Thank you so much, April,” Mikey said to her in the kitchen 20 minutes later, handing her a cup of hot tea. He had efficiently plucked Raph off of April’s lap like a pro with years of experience, putting him into his own bed before checking on a still sleeping Donnie, whose face was no longer a burnt red from his fever earlier. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. I don’t get my paycheck till next week, so I can’t really pay you right now, but I brought home some chocolate mousse cake from my work that you can have until I can-” “You didn’t tell me you worked at Huesso’s!” April didn’t shout, because there were two kids sleeping down the hallway, as she grabbed the bag Mikey had offered to her. “Dude, their deserts are like, crazy good! I love their cheesecake, but they’re stupid expensive and you have to get a reservation like, 4 months in advance to get in.” And April uses the change in topics as a distraction because there was no way she’d let Mikey try to pay her for helping out, she didn’t even want that to be an option. April didn’t do this for the money. She wanted to help out Mikey out. She liked Mikey. She thought he was funny and charming and had a heart big enough to cradle the entire world if he was as big as all the love he has. And she adored being around his baby brothers.

April grins at Mikey when she opens the box, and slides her finger over the glossy frosting of the cake and licks her fingers of the chocolatey goodness before she says, “Listen, if I could convince you to bring me home deserts from this place, then I’ll hang out with the boys anytime you want me too. You have my number, literally call me anytime, for any reason, and I’m here.”

#rottmnt #big brother mikey au #this took forever i'm so sorry #i was in the middle of moving #but anyway yeah #Mikey and April are bff's in this au #April has a spare key to the hamato place #and is the designated big sister to everyone #the boys adore her and she in turn adores her boys #and yeah they're basically family now

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anonniemousefics · 4 years

Text

Make This Weird

Fandom: Carry On/Wayward Son | Simon Snow + Baz Pitch

Word Count: 2,111

Rating: Teen and Up

Synopsis: Set in the unwritten in between of books 1 and 2 - Simon and Baz have the flat to themselves while Penny's studying at the library.

(It’s been barely a week since I finished Wayward Son, and I literally could not. I cannot recommend these books enough.)

BAZ

Ugh. Aleister Crowley. This fucking rain.

I pull the hood of my navy blue macintosh up over my head, hunching my shoulders like that’s going to do any good. I’m going to be proper drenched by the time I get to Simon and Bunce’s flat, there’s no way around it now.

The deluge dumps in sheets by the time I make a huddled dash for the front door of their building. Maybe I should have stashed our curry takeaway under my jacket. I hope it’s not wet and ruined, because Simon definitely needs to eat (he always needs to eat) and I’m definitely not going back out in this.

I ring the buzzer for their flat, and Simon (I’m assuming) buzzes me in.

“Holy shit,” Simon says when he sees me dripping onto their welcome mat. I probably look like a cat that’s just been drug out of a stream. But it’s cute when he swears like a Normal, so I grin back and hold our takeaway bags aloft in victory. Because the thing is, I’d do a whole lot more than stand out in the rain for him. I’d battle a fucking hurricane if it came right down to it.

Not that he knows that. I think I’d probably really freak him out if I said it. Affection can be a tricky thing with Simon Snow. Sometimes he’s like a starving man, desperate and devouring and all-consuming. Other times he’s like one of those scared animal shelter rescue puppies you have to coax out of the corner with a spoonful of peanut butter. (Sometimes literally. I’ve literally watched him eat peanut butter right from the jar with a spoon.) (And once without a spoon at all. I know. My boyfriend’s gross.) (Boyfriend. Simon Snow is my boyfriend.)

And it’s hard to know what you’re going to get on any given day.

I set the bags of takeaway containers on the kitchen counter while Simon fishes out forks from the drawer that tends to stick. It’s a small kitchen, and he has to curl in his massive red wings for us both to maneuver it safely. He’s in loose grey trackies and a dark green hoodie that makes his curly hair look more reddish – it’s been a minute since he’s had it cut, and the thick curls fall in his eyes sometimes. Like now. I want to push it back, see his eyes, probably kiss him until he’s not that scared rescue puppy anymore. But I know now that’s not how this works – not yet.

“Where’s Bunce?” I ask instead, and shrug off my macintosh to drape over a kitchen chair.

“She has a paper due Monday,” Simon says. “She’s went to the library to write.” He’s already eating straight out of a takeaway container, over the fucking sink. Honestly, it’s like he was raised in a barn.

“So I have you all to myself,” I smirk at him as I rake the rain-damp hair off my face. There’s an unmistakable spark of something in Simon’s eye when he shoots me a look up from his food, and it’s not rescue puppy-ish.

“I suppose you do,” he grins, and he leaves a quick peck on my lips as he shuffles out of the kitchen with his takeaway container.

Well, then.

I can’t help the stupid grin on my face he leaves in his wake. I’m such a hopeless case where Simon Snow is concerned. But at least I’m not fighting it anymore.

I plate my rice and my chicken tikka masala – like any decent human being should – and follow Simon into the little living room where he’s eating on their beat-up old sofa, stocking feet up on the coffee table. His red dragon wings are spread out wide over the rest of the cushions, his red devil tail draped over his lap. He’s watching some old episodes of Top Gear, and I think this is really all we need. Good food, fast cars, a little snogging. Nothing trying to kill us.

I really am living a charmed life.

“Push over,” I tell him, so I can sit in front of him on the floor, plate on the coffee table. This is the arrangement. He’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t mind when my fangs pop, maybe even thinks it’s cool, but I just can’t. I literally want to set myself on fire when he stares at my teeth. (Well, maybe not literally anymore.) (But I still hate it.)

So, we eat in front of the TV so there’s no awkward silence to fill. (I hate talking around my fangs. I sound like I have dentures.) I sit in front of him on the floor, and then I don’t feel compelled to cover my mouth with every bite.

It’s normal. Sort of. It’s normal enough, for now.

Today, when I sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table, he shifts behind me so that his legs are on either side of me. It’s cozy there. Like he’s a tree, and I’m sheltering under his limbs.

But it’s a different sort of feeling entirely when I feel him run his fingertip through the ends of my hair. My rain-damp, probably insanely matted hair. I’m seized with insecurity and run my own hand back through it again. Merlin. Should’ve checked a mirror. He’s probably going to laugh at it any second.

“Christ, Baz,” he swears instead. “It ought to be criminal for hair to look that good after it’s been rained on.”

Really? I raise my eyebrows. Now I definitely want to check a mirror. This must be my lucky day.

“Thanks,” I mutter around my fangs, mouth full of chicken tikka.

And fuck he does it again. His fingers lace through the ends of my hair, brushing against the back of my neck. It’s impossible to suppress the shiver that follows, and it makes Simon chuckle.

“Sorry.” He’s apologetic even in his amusement.

“Don’t be,” I say, and I cover my mouth so I can turn to look at him. So he can see my sincerity. “It’s nice,” I insist.

Which is a bit of an understatement. Because he’s Simon Snow, and he’s my boyfriend who thinks my hair looks so criminally good, he must touch it. It isn’t nice. It’s fucking incredible. It’s making my dead heart beat erratically.

That’s only the beginning. I turn back to my plate of food, and then, unexpectedly, Simon leans forward and rakes his fingers against my scalp. It catches the breath in my throat. And my eyes stutter shut. My neck feels like its going to go limp. He pushes his hand through one way, watching as the strands slip through his fingers slowly. Then he does the same thing the other direction.

I have to be going red in the face. (I did just drain a rabbit a half hour ago.) No one’s ever touched me this way before. Ever. I mean, maybe a barber now and then, strictly professionally. But no one’s ever just enjoyed my hair. (Well, I do, if I’m being honest.) (Why else does one grow out their hair?) (But I thought I’d be the only one.)

Simon’s definitely noticing the effect he’s having on me. I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but I can feel the way he’s craning his neck to get a look at me, can feel his warmth behind me, so I shield my mouth with my hand again. I mean, Merlin and Morgana, I’m right in the middle of eating. He has the worst mealtime manners of any person alive.

Although, at the moment, I really, really don’t care.

“Feels nice, does it?” Simon asks, and I can hear the impish smile on his face. He does so enjoy undoing me. (I do so enjoy being undone, so it works out.)

“Mhmm,” is all I can mumble behind my hand.

And then he shoves his hands up the base of my scalp, gathering up all of my hair in his fist. Oh, Crowley, I will not moan. I will not make this weird.

SIMON

Am I making this weird?

I just –

Baz has, objectively, perfect hair. Ask anyone. (I’m pretty sure Penny would agree.) It’s dark and thick and shiny, and it falls around his face just so. I’ve definitely thought it for ages, even when I was sure we’d end up killing each other. (I’d just resigned myself to the fact that he was going to die with much better looking hair than me.)

Now I don’t just have to look at it. I can inspect it. I can marvel at it. And it’s full of his scent – all cedar and bergamot – when I hold it off his neck.

He seems to be enjoying it immensely, how my hands feel in his hair, so I don’t think I’m making it weird. And the scent of him hits me with a kick in the gut, full of memories and longing, and I’m drawn closer to him.

He draws in a deep breath – I can see how it darkens the hollow at the base of his throat. I don’t feel particularly hungry anymore. (Which ordinarily is cause for concern.)

With his hair gathered in my fist near his scalp, I tug him gently to the right. Baring the side of his neck to me. His lips slightly part just in time for me to spot the tips of his fangs retracting sharply, and he’s quick to pull his lips closed over them.

Eh. I bet I can make him gasp again.

And I do when I press my mouth against the bared curve of his neck. He’s so cold against my lips. (I used to burn hot enough for the both of us.) He draws in a quick breath when I do it again. And raises a hand to lightly cup the side of my head, holding me close. Slowly, he cards his cold fingers into my curls, and I trail my lips up to his jaw. Up to the lobe of his ear. Every inch smells like forest and rain.

“Simon…” he breathes.

I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he can hear how my heart is pounding.

BAZ

Aleister fucking Crowley.

I will sell whatever is left of my soul if it means Simon Snow will keep kissing me like this.

SIMON

I keep kissing him.

It’s really hard to stop once you start. (Especially when he’s sort of melting against me.) (Seriously, oh my God, could he be any more delicious?)

So, I just keep kissing him. The sharp edge of his jaw. The sandy stubble over his cheek. (He has to shave regularly now, and I’m really trying hard not to be jealous.)

But Baz catches himself as he starts to turn his face to meet my lips. He holds his damn hand over his mouth again.

This again? When will he get it? The fangs are wicked cool. I’m just going to kiss him until he gets it. I’m sliding off the cushions, turning him so I can crawl on top of him between the couch and the coffee table.

“Simon,” he says again, though, annoyingly, not in the same starved gasp I’m after. He’s saying it like he has something he wants to say. (It’s probably about his fangs.) (It’s always his about his fangs.) (Enough about the fangs already.)

“Shut up,” I insist. I’m straddling him, and Baz’s still got his hand over his mouth, the prat.

“My breath’s going to smell like curry!” he exclaims, looking a little wild-eyed as I’m hunched over him.

I can’t help it: I burst out laughing. It's just so unexpected - the absurdity of Baz Pitch worrying about what I'll think of him! The corners of his grey eyes crinkle up as the laugh becomes contagious. It means he’ll let me wrap my fingers around his wrist. Pull his hand away from his mouth.

“I love curry,” I reassure him, bending toward him. (And I really do.) And I cup his face in my hand and kiss him. I’ll kiss him until he sighs against my mouth and pulls at my shoulders. I’ll kiss him til he stops thinking about his fangs and his curry breath.

(Because curry isn’t the only thing I love.) (I’m gonna figure out how to tell him someday.) (I just don’t want to freak him out.)

BAZ

I’m going to pretend that, when he said “I love curry,” it was code for something else.

(Because it really seems – unless I’m delusional and I might be – that he meant me.)

(I hope he means me.)

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

Tagging a few people who’ve requested to be tagged in all my things/I think would be down for some Snowbaz content (if I’m wrong and you’re like, “Shannon - I don’t know what this fandom is, what am I even reading?” then just let me know): @loveyatopluto, @raging-bisexual-alert, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @annejulianneh111, @whosanxiety, @raeisgaeandahalf, @bookish-mind

#carry on #wayward son #fluff #fanfic #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #simon snow x baz pitch #simon x baz #boys in love #snowbaz fluff #rainbow rowell #fanfiction #one shot

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ofstoriesandstardust · 4 years

Text

discovery

a/n: I posted the first chapter and was overwhelmed by the fact that people actually liked it??? that I decided to ignore my homework that I definitely should be doing to write this. this chapter definitely plays more on SVU, so sorry for the name-drop of people you may not know if you aren’t an SVU fan

main masterlist | the choices we make masterlist | story description | what’s left of us | recognize you

summary: ADA Gray is thriving, just ask any of her fellow ADAs or the detectives at Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit. So shouldn’t the discovery of a brother she never knew about make her feel like her world is collapsing in on her?

warnings: reference to TUA canon death/murders, swearing

word count: 1,587

Elena laughed, holding the door open for Detectives Sonny Carisi and Fin Tutuloa to follow her in the building. Fin had just made a snarky comment that had caused Sonny to roll his eyes and for the blonde to start laughing. She waved to Angela, the woman who worked at the front desk of 1 Hogan Place. The detectives followed her to her office, where they were planning to meet Barba, Liv, and Amanda to discuss to the latest on one of their cases. It had been a complicated case, and a bit of a high profile one, so the DA had assigned both Barba and Elena to work on the case with the SVU detectives. Stone had been gone on vacation when it had happened, thus it was Elena’s case as she worked both Homicide and SVU cases.

She approached Lucy, who had quickly become one of her closest friends after getting a job as an ADA. “Hey Lucy.” She greeted. The girl smiled.

“You have a letter.” Lucy said, pulling a draw open and retrieving an envelope from inside. She turned in confusion, moving away from the office door to grab the letter from Lucy. At that moment, Barba, Liv, and Amanda approached the desk, ready for their meeting. “No Dodds?” Lucy asked as Elena grabbed the letter from her outstretched hand. Liv shook her head.

“No, he’s on a trip.”

“How was court?” Rafael asked, and Elena shrugged.

“It was court. You know the usual.” Elena’s eyes never tore away from the letter. It just had her first and last name written on, in a somewhat sprawling handwriting. “Lucy, who’s this from?” Elena asked, the curiosity rising in her voice. She sighed.

“That’s the interesting thing.” Elena’s eyes flicked up to meet her friend’s but only for a moment. “Luther Hargreeves dropped that off. Wanted to make sure it got to you.” Elena’s head shot up. “Mhmm, that’s what I was thinking.” Elena shook her head.

“Strange.” She said, moving to open the door of her office. The detectives followed her in and she moved to her desk, pulling off her jacket. It was an unusually chilly day in the city for almost June.

“Wonder what Luther Hargreeves wants with you.” Liv said, setting a file down on the desk. Elena shrugged.

“Maybe one of his siblings got in trouble again and he’s come to ask for your expertise lawyer help.” Amanda joked and Elena laughed.

“Probably.” She said as she sat down, tossing the letter on her desk.

“Man I still can’t believe both of them got off.” Fin said pulling a chair up to the desk. Carisi shook his head.

“Wonder what the DA was thinking. Oh sure, we’ll just ignore the fact that these people committed crimes because they’re special.” Carisi said, the disgust evident in his voice. The Hargreeves cases had left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, but especially in New York’s legal field and police officers.

“Didn't you use to love Allison’s movies?” Amanda replied, shooting Sonny a look.

“Yeah, but then her brother went and killed a cop. And got away with it.” Sonny said, as he sat down. “Plus, after that custody battle, what she did to her kid... she’s not someone I want to support.” Barba made a face of agreement as he sat down directly across from Elena.

“Alright, the Taylor’s case. What do you have?” Elena asked, diverting their attention to the important matter at hand.

Elena sighed, pulling her hair up into a ponytail as her food cooked in the oven. It had been one of those days and she had just gotten back to her apartment, so pizza rolls for dinner it was. Barba often teased her for eating like a college student but she always shot back that at least she wasn’t shelling out a good chunk of money on sushi all the time. As her food cooked, she shifted through the files she had brought back with her, intending to do a bit more work before heading to bed for the night. The letter she had so quickly forgotten about from earlier in the day slipped out and she picked it up. She took a deep breath as her thumb slid through the top. She pulled the paper out and unfolded it. Holy shit.

Hi,

My name’s Luther. Well, you probably already know that I guess. I’m sure you’ve heard about my siblings and I from our superhero days, if not from the days of Diego running from the police and Allison’s stardom. If you haven’t, then I guess I should explain it. My name’s Luther Hargreeves, and I’m Number One out of 7 from The Umbrella Academy. On October 1st, 1989, we were all born to women who weren't previously pregnant, all at the same time. There was 43 of us, in total, as we just learned. Our father, Reginald Hargreeves, who was a millionaire, offered large sum of money to our mothers for us and turned us into his superhuman crimefighting soldiers by the time we were teens.

The reason I’m telling you this is because we recently found all our files with our information about our biological parents, which is how I found you. You’re my sister, my biological one. And, I’d love a relationship with you, if you want that. If not, please feel free to disregard this letter like you never read it.

Luther

He left what she was assuming was his phone number at the bottom of the paper. Elena dropped the paper on to the counter, taking a shaky breath, gripping the counter. Luther.. her brother? Unlikely... and yet, not impossible. She had always felt there was something about her parents divorce they weren’t telling her. But still, she’d grown up low income most of her life, and had only become financially stable once she’d secured her job as an ADA. The DA’s office paid a pretty penny, thankfully. So the question was, where’d that sum of money go?

The real question was, did she want to reach out to him? She was curious about him, especially because she didn’t talk to her other siblings. He probably had million of questions about their family, rightfully so. But his family did not have a good reputation. Allison had had a very public and nasty custody battle that had dragged out everything. Vanya had killed her boyfriend, albeit the case seemed to scream self defense. Diego had killed a cop for goodness sake... but even then the facts of the case seemed so murky to everyone outside of Diego’s legal team and the investigators. Establishing a relationship with Luther, getting involved with that family, she might as well kiss her job goodbye. Jack McCoy, Manhattan District Attorney, had made it abundantly clear where he stood on the line of the Hargreeves. If he knew, well, it would be bye-bye to the best job she’d ever had and all the friends, the family, she’d made here in New York. The oven beeped, interrupting her thoughts. She sighed, moving to grab the food. What was she going to do?

She tried to keep her hands from shaking as she took a sip of her soda, waiting for Luther. It had taken a few days but she had called him early one morning, asking if he wanted to meet for lunch that day. He had agreed, and at the time she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement that she was going to actually meet him. But as time passed and he hadn’t showed, she was starting to wonder if this was some sort of test from the DA’s office to see where her loyalties lied... or something. It sounded ridiculous, she knew that, but she couldn’t keep her brain from wandering. She glanced at the time on her phone again and sighed. He wasn’t late by any means, she was just ridiculously early. After hours, it seemed, which was probably only ten minutes or so, a large man walked into the restaurant and her heart skipped a beat. That had to be him. His eyes scanned the area until he turned to the hostess. The hostess led him to where she sat and he smiled at her tentatively as he sat down. The place was nice, situated outside, and it was a warm day, making the noise of New York City that much livelier as people walked past, enjoying the day. She’d chosen it specifically because of that, and the fact that it was out fo the way of the courthouse and precinct, meaning there was a low chance anyone from work would see her. She offered him a nervous smile as she took in his appearance. Large build, blonde hair (like hers), brown eyes (what color were her eyes again?), tall. She vaguely heard the hostess ask for what he’d like to drink and him responding with water. he turned his attention back to her. “Hi, I’m Luther.”

“Elena.” she said, nodding at him. She took in a deep breath, folding her hands. “I’m sure you have lots of questions.” He nodded. “Well, ask away.” He took a deep breath, seemingly trying to figure what to ask first.

“So... DA’s office, huh?” She nodded. “And three siblings, can’t imagine that was a peaceful household.” She chuckled, shaking her head.

“I don’t think we ever stopped fighting.” He laughed.

“Try six.” He joked, and she laughed freely.

“I couldn’t even begin to imagine.”

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