#his bonnet has snowflakes on it

[restinslices]

Bi-Han Is A Black Mom

Now before y'all say that I'm tweaking, I need y'all to hear me and hear me well-

I don't know anything about Asian dads, but I do know about black moms

This mf is one

He has a bonnet and a robe in his house. I literally seen it.

"I said I'll think about it"

Knowing damn well the answer is no. Just tell me I can't hang out with friends this weekend

Y’all gonna try and convince me he wouldn’t say “fix your face before I fix it for you”?!

Maybe he’d say it more elegantly because he’s a Grandmaster and all, but the message is still there

Kid gets in trouble in school-

“But dad, everybody was doing it-“ “I don’t care what everybody did! What did YOU do?”

A firm believer in “when you go somewhere, you’re representing me. So don’t act a fool”

Like bro nobody knows you where I’m going. What are you talking about?

Gets unbelievably angry when he sees a baby without a coat on

And bitch, if the parent got one on but not the baby?

I’m not even a mom and that pisses me off-

“Why that baby ain’t got no damn coat on? These young parents…”

“You really calling me while I’m at work?” “Well I wanted to know if I could have this bag of Doritos” “Enjoy it while you can because when I get home, I am going to kick a hole in your throat”

“Aht aht! School is coming. Shut that tv off, take a shower and go to bed. You need to start conditioning your body to sleep and wake up at a reasonable time”

Meanwhile, school starts next month. Not next week

“Stop running in and out of my house! You letting all the good air out!”

Which is crazy coming from him because he could just make the air cold 🧍🏾‍♀️

“You must want me to whoop yo ass” um, no?

*Sees a kid acting up in public* *Turns to his kid* “I would’ve whooped yo ass if you did some shit like that”

Why am I now being threatened?

Ya’ll know that thing moms being doing where they make their lips disappear and talk through their teeth?

“So nobody knows who broke my lamp? That’s fine. Line up-”

“Why did you eat at Kuai Liang’s house?” “He offered food and I was hungry” “Now people are gonna say I don’t feed you!” “I don’t think that’s gonna happen”

Definitely says “if you can huh, you can hear”

*Random rambling about bullshit*

“Why are all my lights on?”

“Where they parents at?”

“We have leftovers at home”

From last week! I BEG YOU TO GIVE US NEW FOOD

It’s 6am so imma end it here

Pls join my Bi-Han Is A Black Mom movement

I told y’all I saw a bonnet and robe at his house

[slippinninque]

🌨️🌁Winter with Fontaine prt 2.🌁🌨️

Fontaine x blackreader

A few scenes in which you and your man enjoy the winter season.

Prt.1

warnings: 18+, cursing, mentions of smoking, fluff, sensual themes, a bit of a long one lol

By the next winter, Fontaine has found a second home within your two walls. While he isn't ready to leave his Mama on her own, it makes him feel good to know he has one other safe place to be

Fontaine is the Man of The House. He doesn't think he runs your shit, he just makes sure he plays his role. Shoveled walkways, car dusted off and started up, the coffee machine going on the days you have to go in early.

He only had to see you fall once ("Your little hat went flyin'--my heart just 'bout stopped!") before Fontaine became your winterland escort. Meeting you at your car to walk you safely to the front door or, "It's icy baby, hold on to me." Don't think about leaving the car for anything while you're out and about with him. If so, be ready to hold on to that gentlemen's elbow he'll stick out.

He'll miss you when you're gone. There is something about the winter that makes him yearn for all of your warmness. So, expect to be snatched up and cuddled when you get home.

Christmas can still hurt him. You can see it when he sees commercials for you robots or new holiday cartoon special. On the days he wouldn't cry out loud, you keep him wrapped in your arms as you both watch the falling snow.

Fontaine felt that every day he would spend with you was a gift. He hadn't known what that meant when they said it on TV, Fontaine thought it was corny and low-effort. Now, when he looks at your shining eyes as you take in the flashing lights and splendor--he understood. To be able to reach out and be met with love, that was a gift Fontaine thought he had no way of receiving.

—---------------------------------------------

The only thing you were allowed to do after the first, heavy snow was to take out the trash first thing in the morning.

Fontaine watched your trek from the kitchen’s back window. Your purple-sparkle extra-large bonnet peeked out from a wool hat right above your mad little smile. Fontaine was glad that you grabbed your taller boots as you sunk down a considerable amount into the snow, he would have to shovel soon.

Though the image of you getting stuck like a two pound Pomeranian in a pile of snow made him smile.

Fontaine puts on a kettle to boil water for tea. He learned his lesson from last year and made sure to reinforce the fence line. There was no need to be wary of any critters that could be lingering and it was cute to see you taking full advantage of the safe space.

He watched you dispose of the trash and put your hands onto your hips, looking around the pillow-y surface of your backyard. You pushed your hood back and tilted your face up to the climbing sun. An errand wind blew snowflakes into your face and Fontaine could already imagine the feel of your cold cheeks.

It was a gorgeous sight. You are standing in the middle of the yard, surrounded by the muted beauty of winter time. He watched you tug off your gloves to lift your hands, offering the falling snow a safe place to land. The thought crossed Fontaine’s mind–if anything ever happened to you, it would be his end…

Outside, something caught your attention and you were already turning to investigate–

He tapped the window, startling you into looking over. 

Fontaine cracked the window to call out, “Don’t you do it! You better come on before your friend comes lookin' for you…”

The panic made you jump and he laughed at how you hustled, kicking up snow everywhere as you went.

—---------------------------------------------

“Oh, fuck, yes….”

“Feels good, baby?”

“Mhmm, right there–

“Here? Like th–yeah, you like it just like that..”

Fontaine scrubbed deep, the tea-tree scent of the lather covering your head. You were bent over into the basement sink, all of the creepy crawlies were kindly evacuated by your man. You were purring into the sink as Fontaine scrubbed your scalp down to your locs.

Between your squinted eyes and water–you watched the foam float down the drain. 

“Shit’s gettin’ long, baby.” Fontaine whistled slowly as he wrung and wrung and wrung your hair. You giggled and sighed at the feel of the rinse, “How’s that feel, baby? Need another round?”

“Mmn. Go ‘head and finish me off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fontaine rinsed you out once more. Then he put those big, beautiful hands to work as he gathered the water from root to loc–tip, wringing a small waterfall into the sink. Once, twice more and Fontaine helped you into standing. 

He put a hair towel over your head and moved back as you dried your own face. You tied your hair up onto the top of your head, feeling freshly polished.

Fontaine had a matching microfiber towel in dark green from when you had your hands on him earlier. He kept on his robe as you swapped yours for the fluffy lounge set that you found waiting for you when you got home.

You followed Fontaine back up the stairs, singing quietly as you got the water out of your ears.  

“Ain’t nobody dope as me, I’m just so fresh an’ clean–

“So fresh and so clean, clean…!”

Fontaine's head tilted as he watched your fine form, outlined and soft to the touch. You made his favorite noise, the type of murmur a disgruntled cat would make. Fontaine came up to you and hugged you around the waist just to be in the way of you trying to dry your hair.

“C’mon now, ‘Taine! Get yo’ big self off–off me, I said!”

“Can’t you gotta wrap my hair.”

“You can do it yourself!”

“I like it when you do it. You get all of ‘em first go.” 

“Okay, sure, Rapunzelie,” You rolled your eyes but waved at him to back up a bit once you had your hair settled. Fontaine did and dipped down a bit just to be dramatic as he wrapped his locs into the towel.

“I want the lavender oil too. Shit be havin’ the whip smelling nice as well.

“You’re so spoiled now, I love it.” You said, grinning, “But lavender is running a pretty penny these days, you’re gonna have to do something a little funny to get that runny….”

Fontaine’s face scrunched up and you winced, “No? I’ll workshop it. I only said it ‘cause oil be run–

“I know, baby. I know.”

“How ‘bout, you’re gonna toil to get that oil? Better?”

“....Better…?”

You smacked your lips at the lie Fontaine spat out before you. He pounced, reaching down and heaving you over his shoulder as you let out a yowl of protest. Fontaine gave your bottom a slap as before depositing you onto the couch, liking how the flare in your nostrils and your eyes narrowed.

“You’re hyper.” You accused him. 

“I’ve been inside all day–

You snorted and snarked, “Hell yeah you’ve bee–wait, wait!” 

Fontaine was on you, his towel already loosening as he ran a hand up the ratty t-shirt you wore when washing your locs. Your thighs fell apart for him as memories of your good time that earlier morning came flooding back. 

“What are you thinking of, ‘Taine?” You teased as his lips found the sensitive skin beneath your earlobe, “You got a particular look in your eye…”

“Thinking of something to get my hands on that oil…”

"Well, let's workshop what you got..."

—---------------------------------------------

“Y’know, Denzel and Whitney made this look so much easier…”

“What do you mean, you’re doing just fine!” 

“Only because you’re bein’ my damn crutch!”

You laughed as you and Fontaine eased around the ice rink. There was a chill following the semi-spill you took in an attempt to save Fontaine. As cool as he tried to be, you could feel how tightly he held onto you. The stiffness in his back was the main cause and the man wouldn’t bend his knees for the life of him, but he was getting better the more time he could spend on his feet.

It was adorable, really.

For someone who wanted to surprise their girlfriend with a secret, frozen pond–Fontaine was oddly shocked when you asked him to join you in skating.

“I haven’t been ice skating in years.” You switched topics when you felt him begin to wobble, “Last time I did this, I was…what…16? Went downtown to see the city light the tree, stood in line for hot chocolate and donuts…”

Fontaine’s gait smoothed as you painted the scene. You giggling and laughing with a few friends, puffers and pompoms everywhere as you tore through activities and sweet treats. You sped up and Fontaine followed automatically as he listened to you tell about the worst fall you ever took.

He trailed you as you turned backwards to skate as you held onto his hands. 

“I’m pretty sure I saw the skating attendant-dude look at me while I’m on the way down to the ground. He looked at me, like, dead in my eye–-then turned to help the toddler hurtling through space and time."

You paused to laugh at yourself, “I guess he had to make a choice–it was the right one…”

As you circled the pond, it felt like you two were in a different world. Beyond the frost and snow of the high weeds and bushes, there was the sound of the Glenn moving on and on. You remembered running along the block with your braids knocking you in the face when the snowballs weren’t.

Fontaine’s pace became smoother and he lost his hesitancy when trying to slow down. He followed after you when you skated nearer the center, nearer the light. Fontaine’s smile glowed as he watched the frosted air puff from your lips, your eyes darting around him and the snowflakes but your hands never loosening on his.

The Pontiac's headlights focused on the center of the pond, giving the two of you a dreamy lighting that felt like winter’s magic was all around you. You couldn’t find enough words to express how much you were enjoying yourself, only able to laugh and press a kiss to Fontaine’s gloved hand. 

Maybe he felt it too. Suddenly emboldened, Fontaine let go. Your eyes widened and you kept your hands extended, following after him  as he took off on his own. Not very fast, but enough that had you squeaking.

“Oh, okay, you feelin’ yourself now–huh? Be careful 'for you hurt yourself!"

Fontaine’s answer was to whip out the warmed blunt he had tucked into his hat. Your eyes popped wide and before he could even ask, you met him with a lighter already extended. 

“What type of Sugar-plumb fairy magic you got goin’ on, Sir? Where did you even get that fro–I’ve been with you all day and I ain’t seen you roll up once!”

Fontaine only winked at you and his cockiness nearly got him sprawled on the ice. You hurried to meet him, holding him steady and providing the lighter as you laughed.

“I almost lost my life and you’re gonna laugh at me like this?”

“Mhhm and I’mma smoke your weed, too.”

That made Fontaine smile as he came close to share the blunt with you, “You just a lil’ bully today, huh?”

Your answer was to grab his hands to put them on the excess fabric of your coat. At his curious expression–you turned and took off as fast as you could. Puffing the blunt like a little locomotive, you trailed a fussing Fontaine into a careful figure eight along the line of the car’s headlights.

His hands eventually found yours though and he turned you, nearly sending you both onto the ground. Luckily, the two of you were able to keep your footing. It was only right to share a smoky kiss to celebrate the beautiful, falling snow.

—---------------------------------------------

✨ending notes:✨ a little soft!taine to keep our fires going as the chill comes rolling in! 😌Tell me what you think and thank you so much for reading! 💓💜💕✨

💕taglist💕: @megamindsecretlair @notapradagurl7 @mcondance @sageispunk @wide-nose-and-wonderful

@kindofaintrovert @hunnishive @ms-angiealsina @harmshake @blowmymbackout

@miyuhpapayuh @hunnishive @educatorsareslutstoo @thickeeparker @flydotty @kindofaintrovert

[sundove88]

World’s End Club Headcanon Masterpost (The Go-Getters)

Cheers to the first post of 2024!!!

In General

They all have an aptly named “Ice cream day”, in which they ride off to the nearest ice cream shop to get their favorite flavors. And if you’re curious, here are each of their fave flavors:

Reycho- Caramel Banana

Vanilla- Vanilla Bean Marshmallow (Obviously)

Kansai- Tiger Milk Tea

Chuko- Cheesecake

Mowchan- Everything But The Kitchen Sink

Nyoro- Strawberries and Cream

Aniki- Toasted Oatmeal

Pai- Maple Bacon

Tattsun- Dragonfruit

Pochi- Neopolitan

Jennu- Ube

Yuki- Frosted Sugar Cookie

Each of them has a friendship bracelet- each having charms of their favorite things. Ex- Reycho has a Fist, Vanilla has a Marshmallow, Pochi has an MP3 Player, Nyoro has a robot, Mowchan has a burger, Chuko has a chili pepper, Tattsun has an Electro Rangers mask, Kansai has a ball and bat, Pai has a flower, Aniki has a guitar, Jennu has Comedy and Tragedy masks, and Yuki has a snowflake.

When it comes to crafting, they have an entire shack when it comes to it. They even invite other kids from around to join in!

Reycho

He’s currently getting baseball lessons from Kansai.

He loves drawing- a lot. Especially when it comes to sports!

He uses sign language to communicate with his friends.

Vanilla

She is quite good at sewing little dolls of yarn!

She enjoys a good storybook or two- especially picture ones.

Dressing up is one of her biggest interests- she also loves taking bubble baths after long days.

Pochi

He’s got a connection to animals- especially dogs. He loves puppies most of all.

He and Reycho moved in with Vanilla and Aniki after the main story, so they’re part of the family.

Not just that, he often invites the others to play video games together and share snacks.

Nyoro

She is arguably the BEST at drawing in the group- all the drawings of blueprints had to start somewhere!

She designs bead jewelry and keychains for her friends to give on their birthdays.

It took a long time for her to forgive her dad, but she did it in giving him a bag keychain she made herself.

Mowchan

He works at food drives so he can spread happiness to those who need it the most.

He makes his own “Secret Sauce”, which is Mayo, ketchup, a bit of soy sauce, a handful of spices, salt, pepper, and a dash of hot sauce.

His parents definitely own a local restaurant.

Chuko

She absolutely HATES bullies. And whenever she sees an innocent person being bullied, she decides to stand up for them.

Her comfort food is definitely anything with cheese. Especially pasta with said ingredient.

She won’t hesitate to jump into action when someone is in danger.

Tattsun

He has an entire collection of comic and manga books at home, mostly ones of Shonen anime.

He has Electro Ranger suits for all of his friends in his closet in case they need to wear them to a convention.

One of his most prized collectibles is a limited edition comic con exclusive Power Rangers Megazord toy.

Kansai

He collects baseball cards. Enough said.

He keeps an entire pack of bubblegum on him for emergencies.

He often invites the others to baseball games at their local park to play together.

Pai

She is an expert in babysitting and always packs extra clothing for everyone when they go on trips.

She loves taking long walks and photographing beautiful animals!

She can write little notes for the ghosts she sees to read.

Aniki

He really wants to take horseback riding lessons with his sister.

He lets his sister stick bows and clips into his hair- and one time even a whole bonnet!

He’s a massive fan of rock music and knows how to play the guitar.

Jennu

She makes her own costumes in her big sis’ honor.

She trades little trinkets with Nyoro as well as designs!

Her favorite musical is Hairspray.

Yuki

Soft pillows and fluffy pajamas are two of her favorite things in the world.

A good book is one of her favorite interests.

She loves tobogganing in the snow, as well as snowball fights! She loves it especially when the gang has them in the park.

[sea-owl]

Back to my seasonal wives au because I can.

So, as explained in the previous post, the seasonal wives are the chosen temporary partners of the four seasons, aka the Bridgerton brothers. Think of it as like a sacrificial bride type of situation. The wives can be wives for either just a season or a few years. They are marked over their hearts, and when the mark disappears, they are done with their duty. They are seen as very desirable after and are well compensated. Each town offers up a bride based on a rotation schedule.

Kathony - Fall

Mark: A tree with multi colored leaves

Fall is probably one of the busiest seasons, from bringing in the harvest to gathering supplies for winter. The trees change color, and nature prepares to go dormant. Anthony has a lot on his plate during this season. Thankfully, he's got Kate there to force him to sit down and take a break. He was so serious before her, now she could have him playing. I'm the leaves with her with just one look. Despite how good Kate has been for Anthony, she wasn't the original choice. Anthony was going to originally mark her sister Edwina, but Kate had mistaken Anthony for a creep and got in his face. Trying to create some distance, Anthony tried to push her back but instead marked her. Well damn now he's stuck with her for at least the season. Anthony has probably had the most brides among his brothers, but a lot of his brides were more like business transactions than him desiring true companionship.

Benophie - Winter

Mark: Snowflakes

Benedict, like his season, is one of the most fickle of the brothers. He has actually switched brides mid-season because he felt like it, much to Anthony's annoyance. He really enjoys designing each snowflake. But his artist bohemian lifestyle can cause some issues with his responsibilities. Thus leading to fluffy snow one day and storms the next. Sophie's there to keep him on track, and inquire his mercy should he lose his temper. Benedict completely missed his choosing ceremony because he spotted Sophie in the crowd and decided he was gonna make her the new winter bride. It took him majority of fall to find Sophie again. By random luck he found her while she was doing some shopping for her employers and then proceeded to whisk her away. Sophie was pissed her shopping went to waste.

Polin - Spring

Mark: Blooming flowers

Colin and Penelope met randomly before she was chosen for a bride. Penelope was enjoying the spring's rain and dancing in it. A gust of wind took her bonnet, and it proceeded to hit Colin in the face. They struck up a friendship, and Colin honestly spent more time with her than his bride at the time. Penelope developed feelings for him during their friendship, but he left when summer came. She thought he was a travler based on his stories, so she believed him a nice what if. The next year is Penelope's hometown's turn to have a spring bride chosen. Colin recognized Penelope and placed his mark on her. As spring Colin's duty is to bring nature out of the dormant state, it was put in and breathe new life in. It is a delicate process, and unfortunately, Colin has a temper possibly the worst of his brothers. That's where Penelope steps in to either calm him down or fight back with him. She helps him find the best ways to help revive nature whether to be gentle with it or give it some tough love.

Grucy - Summer

Mark: The sun

Lucy is the newest of the wives and was picked by the other three. Gregory was having trouble finding a wife and love like his brothers had. He falls in and out of love too quickly. So he decided why not. Maybe to help find a good wife, he should consult his sisters in-laws. He asked his in-laws to please help him with this aeason's choosing. So they did just that. When one wasn't busy helping their husband with his season, she joined the other two as they looked through the town that would be responsible for producing the bride. They found Lucy. Since Gregory couldn't technically approach her until his season came he wrote letters and sent them via his in-laws. Lucy was surprised to see how much older tje brides were. She would have thought they were lying if they didn't have the undisputed proof of their marks. Gregory's job is probably one of the chillest of the brothers. His main responsibility is to make sure the growth Colin started in spring kept going through the summer, so it was ready for Anthony when fall came. There were a few summer plants he could harvest but nothing as big as Anthony's. It can get rather boring but Lucy is there to help keep him on track.

[feetoffire]

second rotation:

the sideline playbacks are just as fun to watch as the actual rounds; a lot of the team/staff members “ride” the jumps (the big ones at least) with whoever’s on course. human quirks my beloved.

Spain: Sergio Alvarez Moya on Puma HS. pretty fleabitten gray.iInteresting bridle - has that strap down the center of the face. sheepskin on the part of the breastplate that attaches to the girth. let Puma look around a little before the round started. wiiiide open mouth and froth. 

Austria: Gerfried Puck on Naxcel V. he’s got one of those fly mask-esque things on, except there’s no mesh over the eyes. head tossing up to the jumps.  

Mexico: Federico Fernandez on Romeo. horses named Romeo always catch my attention - the pony that really helped solidify my foundation is named Romeo. love that marshmallow man. this Romeo has a red ribbon in his tail. some gape. just under time, one rail down. cool fleabitten gray.

Switzerland: Pius Schwizer on Vancouver de Lanlore. shadow roll on the noseband but no martingale - maybe a trade off. bit setup looks complicated. some froth. 

Sweden: Rolf-Goran Bengtsson on Zuccero HV. pretty gray, cool dappling - looks almost like a snowflake or leopard pattern. gape (unsurprising, with two sets of reins). clear and in time. 

Japan: Takashi Haase Shibayama on Karamell M & M. clever name. a touch of hyperflexion before the round started. seems like a careful jumper, or at least trying to be. one of those weird combined nosebands again. maybe some froth?

Poland: Dawid Kubiak on Flash Blue B. another almost fly mask and shadow roll, although this one is in conjunction with a martingale. some froth. very leverage-y looking bit. 

France: Olivier Perreau on Dorai d’Aiguilly. mare! nice and quiet beforehand. some gape and head tossing when he asks her to collect. interesting fly bonnet - the flap comes down to her noseband. very nice through the triple combination and over the last jump. girl’s got some opinions that she’s mostly expressing though her ears. 

Ireland: Daniel Coyle on Legacy. mare! lovely bay. very nice over the water; she just stretched her big body out and bam! (as a frequent rider of a big mare, it’s so cool to see them just hop over sizable jumps like it’s nothing.) frame is a little hyperflexed in the turns. overall a boring round (again, a good thing). clear and in time. it’d be even better if she wasn’t frothing. 

UK: Harry Charles on Romeo 88. two Romeos, huh? one of those combined nosebands again. frame was a little tight before the round. head tossing between the jumps. two sets of reins,  gape. 

Germany: Phillipp Weishaupt on Zineday. some gape, i think he’s in a drop noseband. not pleased about being asked to gather himself up. clear and in time. 

Israel: Robin Muhr on Galaxy HM. big jumper this one, especially with the hind end. head tossing between jumps. 

USA: Karl Cook on Caracole de la Roque. mare! oh i don’t like her neck/withers - looks very atrophied. sheepskin on the center strap of the breastplate. leverage-y looking bit and some gape to go with it. clear and in time, but i can’t get over how undermuscled her neck is. suggests bad things for the rest of her topline. 

Netherlands: Kim Emmen on Imagine. much better muscling, nice solid hindquarters. two sets of reins, otherwise very normal bridle. Imagine is gorgeously scopey. some gape while on course. older boy, i think; he’s very grayed out. 

Brazil: Stephen de Freitas Barcha on Primavera. mare! two sets of reins, accompanied by a touch of gape and froth. this girl is scopey as hell 

UAE: Ali Hamad al Kirbi on Jarlin de Torres. head tossing; gape when steadied. annoying but unsurprising, given the two sets of reins. had to take a second go at the wall (they went over the bushes at first). idk if it was an awkward turn or if Jarlin de Torres didn’t like the graffiti. picked up some time penalties bc of it.

Saudi Arabia: Khaled Almobty on Jaguar King WD. quite a name. red ribbon. feels a little sluggish/behind to begin with. also ducked the wall on the first try and collected some time penalties. some froth.

Australia: Thaisa Erwin on Hialita B. mare! With a cool ombre-y tail. one of those double rein attachments and an almost fly mask. froth and gape. 

Canada: Eyrnn Ballard on Nikka VD Bisschop. mare! extra little kick with the hind legs. only one rail down, and no froth or gape that i noticed. nice pair. Nikka seems to really like her job. 

Belgium: Wilm Vermeir on IQ van Het Steentje. blinkers on this guy. neck seems under muscled, and not just because he likes to hold his head high. dip in front of the withers suggests under or incorrectly developed topline. bit of froth, leverage-y looking bridle/bit setup. clear until the last jump.

olympic jumping qualifiers this time. less in-depth because of how quick the rounds are vs dressage tests, and i’m sure i missed some details, especially in terms of tack/tack names. if anyone is actually reading these and knows the names of things, please tell me!

(please assume everyone is in a running martingale, they're so common i quit mentioning them.)

Spain: Ismael Garcia Roque on Tirano. pretty gray. i know it’s hard to not have (some) mouth gape when you’re fighting about speed (i jump too) but i can’t help cringing. interesting running martingale set up - i don’t think i’ve ever seen one like that. 

Austria: Katharina Rhomberg on Colestus Cambridge. also a gray. three rails down, which is rough.

Mexico: Carlos Hank Guerreiro on Porthos Maestro WH Z. that is an…interesting set up. looks like a normal noseband and drop noseband on the same bridle? not sure i like it/why not just use a flash

Switzerland: Steve Guerdat on Dynamix de Belheme. a mare! her blaze is cool :) she’s gaping a lot coming out of the arena - again, i get it, you do really have to fight them on tempo sometimes, but i’m still cringing. knocked a rail or two; that triple combination has gotten everyone so far and i think it’ll continue to do so.

Sweden: Henrik von Eckermann on King Edward. i have no idea what’s going on with his bridle. i think that’s a net of some sort to keep the flies off his nose? idk. kinda cool that he has no browband. watching the jumpers’ big canters is awesome. the first pair to go clear and inside the time! i think he threw a shoe on that last jump - something shoe-shaped goes flying in the slo-mo replay.

Japan: Taizo Sugitani on Quincy 194. this boy wants to look at the crowd and go. not the cleanest round i’ve ever seen - my instructor would have made me go back and do some of those again (in a lesson). 

Poland: Adam Grzegorzewski on Issem. several rails down - this course is tricky. 

France: Simon Delestre on I Amelusina R 51. a stallion - look at that crest. so much gape. too much gape, even for a jump course. i want a closer look at his bridle - two sets of reins. 

Ireland: Shane Sweetnam on James Kann Cruz. okay that’s a decent pun. i wonder how old he is; he’s really grayed out. the bit set up looks ridiculous - there’s so many straps. 

UK: Ben Mahler on Dallas Vegas Butilly. this mare has some favorite cities, it would seem. she’s got a nose net thing too. low, tight frame in canter before the round started. they’re also clear and in time! she’s frothing tho 🙁

Germany: Christian Kukuk on Checker 47. nice, plain figure 8 bridle for once. he does a little extra kick with the back legs as he’s in the air over the jump. clear and in time. 

Israel: Ashlee Bond on Donatello 141. it’s always interesting to see how much sheepskin each horse likes; Donatello has it on all three straps of his breastplate. 

USA: Laura Kraut on Baloutinue. i like them. came in nice and quiet, gave Baloutinue some pets before they started. fantastic, chill feeling round/not frantic at all. clear and in time (5 seconds under!)

Netherlands: Maikel van der Vleuten on Beauville Z. for a horse who apparently likes wiggly lines, they looked very straight through the triple combination. also a nice round - boring, as my instructor would say. (that’s a good thing)

Brazil: Pedro Veniss on Nimrod de Muze. i couldn’t help it, i laughed at the horse’s name. there’s some head tossing, especially as Veniss tries to steady him before a fence. clear and in time. 

UAE: Omar Abdul Aziz al Marzooqi on Enjoy de la Mure. pretty dark bay. happy ears, even over the jumps. nice pair. 

Saudi Arabia: Abdulrahman Alrajhi on Ventago. red ribbon tail, watch yourselves y’all. his stirrups are green to match his coat and the saddle pad and ear bonnet. it’s cute. lots of sheepskin on the breastplate. not the ride Alrajhi was hoping for, methinks - he was shaking his head a little after the round. 

Australia: Hilary Scott on Milky Way. a gray mare, as her name suggests 🙂 sheepskin on her breastplate too. four rails down, but a nice ride in other respects. 

Canada: Mario Deslauriers on Emerson. head tossing in the turns and coming up to some of the jumps. two sets of reins - i don’t think it’s a double in the two bits sense, but there’s a definite elevated-control situation happening. looks like there’s a star under his fly bonnet! touch of froth. 

Belgium: Gilles Thomas on Ermitage Kalone. gorgeous chestnut and a big bold blaze. he’s got a nose-fly-net thing. lovely round (clear and under time) and lovely ride (no gape or froth). i like this pair.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Colin Bridgerton and Christmas (headcanons)

A/N: Colin and Carolling! I shall be posting Anthony’s after this too so expect two posts tonight! As always, I hope you all like! <3

warnings: carolling, singing, very light religious tones, christmas, holiday season, fluff, happiness.

It was a well known secret that Colin Bridgerton could sing, and could sing well.

The eldest three brothers could all sing, but it was Colin who nurtured his voice and could be found humming a tune when lost deep in thought or writing in his extensive journals.

As the year hurtles towards December and advent falls upon them, Colin often catches himself singing the very same carols he has known for most of his life. The very carols he loves.

Colin supposes his love of carols stems from the time spent in church over the festive period when he was younger.

Though that time has lessened as he’s grown older, Colin sings the familiar hymns and carols with fondness.

————————

Colin had never fully immersed himself in charitable pursuits. That wasn’t to say he didn’t give to those in need, but there was never something that he devoted his spare time to.

That is until you came home, close to bursting at the seams with excitement over your new charitable adventure.

Organising luncheons, galas and lectures for charities was nothing new for you. From the moment you took Colin’s name as your own, you dedicated plenty of your time to numerous charities and this latest one had you all flustered - skin flushed from the thrill and from the cold wind.

As you burst into his office, eyes bright, hands fluttering around with elation, Colin fell for you even more.

Explaining your venture to your beloved husband, you could see the excitement come to light in his eyes. Pacing back and forth across his office floor, you explain how you want to raise money to rent rooms in a schoolhouse to improve education for young girls who would not typically have access to maths and English.

Colin loves the idea as much as he loves you.

But he had one question: “How are we going to raise the money?”

You smile. “This is the part you’re going to love… By carolling.”

————————

Colin had never his love of such songs from you. This would be your third Christmas as a married couple - he could hide nothing from you at this point, you knew him just as well as he knew you.

On the morning of the small carol concert, there’s a light dusting of snow on the ground. The air is cold; biting at your cheeks, reddening your nose and turning your breath to white puffs with ever exhale. Colin remains a warm presence by your side; keeping you close as he gathers your hands in his and rubbing them together, doing his best to rub some warmth into them.

Only a few had chosen to sing with you; a small group of ten gather together, drawing enough attention from passers-by to gather a crowd.

Song sheets are handed out and Colin takes a steadying breath before the group begins.

Colin’s voice is rich; he only holds back slightly but feels himself relax when you look up at him with such warmth and adoration in your gaze that his voice becomes louder and his smile becomes brighter.

It isn’t a long concert; five carols where three are Colin’s particular favourites. Applause greets the carollers as their final notes are stolen by the wind. The crowd disperses but not before dropping coins into their charity bucket and wishing them all an enjoyable Christmas period.

Colin remains where he is, watching you as you smile and thank patrons for their donation. Your smile lights up your face; your bonnet dusted with fresh snowflakes as the skies have opened once more. He feels his heart close to bursting in his chest from the pride he feels for you, from the love he harbours for you, and from the sheer enjoyment he experienced when singing.

As the last of crowd disappears, you wander back to man you love with your whole being. A smile is fixed on his face; his blue eyes bright with love as he grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it before stealing a kiss from your lips.

“Shall we head home?” Colin murmurs, feeling how cold your skin has become.

“I think it was a success,” You comment to Colin as you wander the short distance home.

“I have to agree,” Colin states, “It was a wonderful way to spend a winter’s morning.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I love carols, I love singing,” Colin begins, pausing the walk home to hold you in his arms. “But there is something I love far greater.”

“Oh? What is that?”

“You, my darling. You.”

[subjectnr8]

SoapxGhost pt1

Based on my daydream I had about them while watching the first snow here

“Warmin’ yer hands”

Icy wind swept across the grasslands of England, dragging light snowflakes with it. For the past nights, Ghost could watch the snow slowly covering the landscape surrounding them. The days became shorter and shorter, and finally it was cold enough for the snow to not melt during the day. Now, only a few brownish grass patches shone through the snow.

The cold claws of the wind dug themselves into Ghost’s mask and white clouds escaped him, dancing through the chilly air. He huffed, crossing his arms and rubbing his sides to keep himself warm. He has been on night watch the past days, even though it was hardly necessary when they were back at home.

The HQ, even for people who struggle with trust issues, was the safest place someone like Ghost could find. Heavily guarded gates, thick concrete walls with thermal imagers, barbed wire and many more defensive gadgets guaranteed the save slumber the TF141 deserved. Yet, Price had sent him out on night watch.

Taking a deep breath, cold air tickled Ghost’s nostrils. He didn’t mind being alone out here, peacefully watching his surroundings while the snow painted everything into a white masterpiece. Yet, it was hard not to feel like he was missing out when he saw his mates enjoying their time back home.

(And he was freezing his ass off, thanks Price.)

He would never admit his dissatisfaction out loud, he was a soldier after all, and he was keen to do his job well. But seeing Gaz and Soap huddling together and smoking a cigarette, trying to keep themselves from wheezing as the crack jokes, looking totally unprofessional but cozy…

Ghost shook his head and glued his gaze forwards again. He had no time for self-pity. The landscape he memorized through daily jogs and training. The cold wind. The soft noises of his crew going along their business. His name being called out. The cracking of the watchtower as someone climbed up the ladder.

Maybe he had time for self-pity. Because he felt like complaining, cursing, wailing as soon as Soap got into his view. He had his mohawk hidden behind a black bonnet, the white faux fur of his black winter jacket wrapped itself around his neck as he tilted his head, calling Ghost by his name again. Trying to keep his emotions at bay, not calling out how incredibly unfair all this was and how frustrated he was, he just gave Johnny a quick glance.

“Though ye were sleeping”, white clouds accompanied Soap’s words as he spoke. Ghost hummed, his eyes darting back to the snowy grass hills. Soap followed his gaze, his shoulders relaxing at the sight. It has been dark for a few hours by now, stars sparkling through the black sea called sky. Ghost knew a few star constellations, his eyes searching for them as Soap rustled with his jacket next to him.

“Ye don’t want me to take over, aye?” Ghost shook his head, still scared that if he spoke, he might dump all his emotion on his sergeant. “Alright, sir. Talk t’me” Johnny leaned against the railing of the tower, now finally blocking Ghost’s view. He had a hip flask in his hands, screwed the cap open and took a small sip.

Ghost had no other place to stare at besides John in this moment. Snow was stuck in his little beard, the scar over his eye more prominent than usual, the cold making the scared tissue an angry red. Even with the snow falling silently behind Soap, he looked so warm and comfortable. His cheeks slightly red, maybe due to the alcohol in the flask or the wind, Ghost couldn’t really tell. All he could see was Soap, and the warmth he was emitting.

Concerned blue eyes looked back at him, and it took Ghost embarrassingly long to notice he was handed the flask. He took the flask and took a sip, a sweet mix of tea and rum slid down his throat, immediately warming his insides. “Keep it, wuid ye? Keeps ye warm”

“Didn’t you had bourbon?”, Ghost closed the flask, storing it in one of his pockets to keep it safe. Soap snorted, rolled his eyes. “Sir, you are truly ungrateful. Santa’s gonna put ye on his naughty list”

“Oh, I already am. Right below your name, sergeant.” Ghost felt a smile creeping onto his face, denying the cigarette Soap offered him. John just nodded, a smile planted on his amazing lips.

The rum speaking already?

Taken back by his thoughts, Ghost didn’t catch what Soap said while climbing down the ladder again. “Ha?”, he asked after Johnny. As Soap reached the floor, he stretched himself and looked up at Ghost in the tower. “Have a good night, Ghost.”

He watched him leave, disappearing behind a corner on his way to their barracks. Ghost sight, already missing Soaps warm presence. The picture of Soap posing in front of a snowy landscape merged its way into Ghosts mind, but before he could continue this thought he unscrewed the flask again and drank a big sip.

He wasn’t ready to face his feelings tonight. Not today, maybe another.

A/N: Might as well countinue writing this series cause I have lots ideas and Soap still has to take Ghosts hands and warm them up with soft kisses ;)

Pt2 for anyone interested :)

[mossy-rainfrog]

I posted 97 times in 2022

81 posts created (84%)

16 posts reblogged (16%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mossy-rainfrog

@coulson-is-an-avenger

@thesunwillshineclearer

@a-moop

@nerdangels

I tagged 97 of my posts in 2022

#mossy art - 67 posts

#described - 62 posts

#accessible art - 34 posts

#mossy ocs - 28 posts

#original character - 26 posts

#the magnus archives - 25 posts

#fan art - 25 posts

#original characters - 24 posts

#tma - 21 posts

#inktober - 19 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#i finally realized why this piece felt so weird to draw and it's bc he's outside the lab/shatterdome like sir what are you doing here

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Martin Blackwood reclining in a nice outfit. Martin is a fat Black non-op trans man with square glasses, a goatee, and coily black hair braided back along his scalp and fluffing out at the back behind a bandanna. He is wearing a black bralette underneath a long-sleeved sheer top, patterned with shooting stars, crescent moons, and clouds, and he is also wearing denim short shorts patterned with stars and planets overtop fishnets. For accessories, he has a star earring, and an ace ring. He is smiling smugly towards the viewer. End ID.]

i need everyone to be aware of this hot martin i drew right now immediately

324 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

#4

[ID: A digital drawing of Jon aiding Martin in recovering from top surgery. Jon is a thin Persian person with long curly greying hair, a short beard, and various scars, and Martin is a fat Black man with his hair in a bonnet, square glasses, a small goatee, and lots of body hair. Jon wears a spaghetti strap pink dress over a long-sleeved white shirt, and Martin is just wearing boxers. Martin’s chest is wrapped in bandages that are accompanied with drains, and he is sitting up slightly on a bed, accepting a glass of water from Jon. A blanket is draped over his feet, and behind him are various pillows, including one patterned with stylized cats, and one patterned with highland cow faces. Martin is smiling fondly at Jon and saying “Jon…” as Jon looks back at him with wide eyes, and infodumps about the top surgery recovery process to him. The background of the image is a light pink. The artist’s signature, mossy-rainfrog, is visible at the bottom of the piece. End ID.]

Here’s my gift for the @seasons-in-the-archives secret snowflake gift exchange!! For the lovely @qpenguin98 !!! You said you liked jonmartin hurt/comfort, and also trans stuff, so I thought a good ol top surgery recovery might be fun :D I really hope you like it uwu!!!!

357 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

#3

[ID: A digital drawing of Jon rescuing Martin from The Lonely in MAG 159. Jon is a thin Persian person with long, greying hair, various scars, and stubble, and he is wearing a loose blue sweater over a darker turtleneck. Martin is a fat Black man with short coily hair that is dissolving into fog, glasses, and stubble, and he is wearing a purple button down. The two are touching foreheads and their hands are interlocking fingers in the foreground. Jon is pulling Martin closer by the back of the neck and smiling tearily in relief. Around them swirls bits of fog with various dialogue between the pair of them. In the corner of the image is a picture of a frowning slug from Star Wars, captioned “live slug reaction” in all caps. End ID.]

genuinely cannot believe the first MAG 159 art I’m posting is for this fuckign meme but in my defense college has me on my last legs of sanity so :)

slug-less version under the cut for my partner specifically bc i Know they hate this (affectionate) 🥰🥰

See the full post

379 notes - Posted March 4, 2022

#2

See the full post

434 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

See the full post

472 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[eerythingisshaka]

Ficmas Day #4 “I’ll Be Home for Simu”

[Simu Liu x Reader]

Word Count: 1k

Under your blanket, sprawled out, and unaware of the world, your mind ponders everything all while doing nothing.  It doesn’t make sense to you how you can have all your basic needs met and yet remain unsatisfied within yourself.  A small part of you knew why though but you weren’t ready to confront it.

“Psst.”

“Mm,” you groan, tugging at your comforter tighter over your head as a cocoon.

You hear the light thud of Simu’s footsteps as he makes his way to your bedside and pulls at your blanket.

“Simu, please,”  you whine.  He sighs out loud as your body changes shape under the sheets from an upside down Y to a kind of seahorse fetal position.

“I just wanna know what’s up with you.  You haven’t talked to me like, all day.”

“I did,” you say.

“Asking for the toilet paper from the hall closet doesn’t count.  I mean why are you upset?”

His soft tone is inviting but you fight hard with yourself and clamp your jaw down to brick up your feelings once again.  Simu feels the war of attrition with no signs of retreat, sitting in front of you on the edge of the bed.

You feel uneasy the closer he gets.  “Go home!  I’m fine!”  

“I think you were like this last year too,”  he says.  “We hadn’t been dating long by then so I didn’t notice and just assumed you maybe you weren’t ready to celebrate the holidays with me cuz that’s a big deal, you know?”

Your face grows hot with anxiety of what he is about to say.  You feel your body heat collect under the blanket as the carbon dioxide you expel weakens the oxygen quality.

“But then when we talked about what we did for Christmas, you never really said anything substantial.  You didn’t mention family at all, and tried to change the subject.”

You pull at the blanket to open for air but his butt is on the exact edge you need for freedom.

“Now I come here to surprise you for the holidays and you’ve been just...sullen and reserved and it’s like I can’t get next to you-”

“Simu, get off please,”  you request anxiously.

Simu smacks his knees in frustration.  “See?  Why would I leave you like this?  You’re my girl, I’m supposed to-”

“No, literally.  Get up, I can’t breathe!”  you exclaim, shaking the comforter from all sides once Simu got the clue to let you pop up and take a deep relieving breath.

“God!  This blanket is too good, it practically suffocated me with warmth!”

Simu looks down at you, frazzled with your bonnet half back off your head and one boob dangerously close to crossing peeking fully out the side.  When you look up at him, he gives a waning smile that brings you back down again.  You adjust your bonnet and lay back on your pillows once again, beckoning him over with a wave.

You shuffle further to one side as he slides under the covers next to you, bringing his arm around you but you raise your hands in protest.

“No hug right now, I just want to talk.”

Simu stays on his side, looking intently at you.  “Do you not want me to be here?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then what’s making you moody?”

You shrug, looking out the window as snowflakes dance across the night sky.  “That used to make me happy.”  You point at the window.  “All of the signs for the holiday:  lights, snow, pumpkin spice and mocha peppermints, the TV specials.  But for a long time now, my spirit just hasn’t been in it.” “Did something happen during the holidays that changed you?”

You scoff at his question.  “What didn’t happen?  Arguments, disappointment, loneliness, sickness, death.  I mean people think because it’s the ‘Most Wonderful Time of the Year' nothing bad happens, but for me, nothing but bad happens.  It’s too much pressure to make shit perfect.”

Simu clears his throat.  “You know, this would be a great time for a hug, but for now I will use my words.  I’m not super crazy about the holidays either.  A lot of people aren’t, for those reasons and then some.  But luckily now I can use the holiday time to do stuff that I like and may not fit in the cookie cutter traditions but it works for me.”

You look up at him expectantly.  “Like what?”

He squares off his shoulders, puffing out his cheeks.  “Well, first of all, the snow out there?  Perfect for making some snow families.  I’m talking about snowmen, snow wife, and snow babies.  It’s falling so hard and fast, I can’t wait to go out there tomorrow and get to building.”

You snort at the idea.  “What a wholesome concept.”

He smirks at you.  “And then when I come in around noon, one o’clock and you’re just waking up and wiping the sleep out of your eyes, I’ll get some of those jumbo marshmallows and hot chocolate together so we can sit at the table and sit with the hot mugs in our hands while you’re wrapped up like an old lady mumbling about what you want to do for the day.”

You pinch his solid bicep as he winces.  “I don’t sleep late!  You keep me up with your snoring so I have to make up for it!”

He raises his hands.  “I have never been told that I snore.  But I will say you are the cutest when your mouth is hanging open slightly in the middle of your sleep.  So peaceful yet so-”

You reach under the covers and dig your nails into his sides, making him hoot and holler from the avalanche of tickling you strike down on him.  He brings his arms over your head, squishing your face into his chest.

“Simu, stop!  You’re smothering me!”

“Stop attacking me then!”

You both sit in a stalemate as your nails sit on top of his rib area, contemplating your next move.  You risk it all, digging a nail slightly deeper and Simu swiftly lifts the back of your shirt to slap his palm across.

“Why are your hands so cold!?”  you exclaim, bucking against him as you release your grip on his torso.  He rubs his hands over your back swiftly, creating heat, diminishing his icy touch.

“Cold hands, warm heart, babe.”  He says with a deep grin while holding you tight into him.  You feel the warmth of his chest against you as you fall deep into the snuggle, melting your anxiety and frustration progressively,

“I don’t want you to go.  I’m really glad you came,” you say finally.

Simu kisses your forehead.  “I’m always glad to see you.  You’re my snow wife.”

You giggle, inhaling him in comfortably.  “So we’re supposed to be makin some snow babies tomorrow?  In all that damn cold?”

“Let that be my Christmas present, going half on a snow baby with me.  Deal?”

“Ha!  Deal.  Just better make that hot chocolate extra rich for me.”

[dzmoot]

EASTERWEEN

BY DERRICK ZURN

It can truly be said that each holiday is unique. Christmas has it's trees and lights, Valentines' has it's hearts, St. Patrick's Day has it's gold coins and rainbows, Thanksgiving has it's turkeys and afternoon naps. Easter is no exception to the rules. The mere thought of the holiday brings on images of pastel colored eggs, chocolate bunnies, flowers of all sorts and multi-colored beans. And all these trademarks are generated from a world far from our own turf. It's a world where all these Eastery things exist indefinitely, all 365 days of the year. The name of this world: Easterealm, what else!

Rabbits are the most prominent species in Easterealm as are the chicks which never seem to grow into full on chickens! The jellybeans, marshmallow critters and even the chocolate bunnies aren't manufactured but grown from the sugary grass, harvested around the clock to ensure plenty for each Easter basket on Earth. The chicks eat a steady diet of these sweet treats to ensure each egg they produce has a different color and one of a kind design. Like snowflakes, no two eggs are exactly alike! The mayor of Easterealm was a lengthy lagomorph named Robbie Rabbiton, a jolly fellow who loved Easter so much, he had a secret vault in his house full of jellybeans which he dived into and swam in, giving him a fresh fruity scent every time there was a town meeting. He was very much liked by his people and never missed an opportunity to bolster his favorite holiday and all it's greatness.

There is no greater holiday than Easter. Every day, we write sonnets about Easter bonnets and revel in it's wholesomeness with our mouths full of mashed marshmallow rabbits. All the other holidays pale in comparison to our beloved Easter and one thing is certainly clear. Throughout every realm of existence, throughout every town and village and isthmus and archipelago, everybody knows our glorious Easter has the best candy, certainly much better than the candy of that retched, rancid neighboring town right next to us that SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS! Why, the very mention of that holiday makes every one of my blue hairs stand up!

Now what other holiday do you suppose he is referring to? What other holiday is known for it's sweet treats and it's overall horrifying nature. It began with a Hallow and ended with a ween and it indeed existed right next to Easterealm in the stream of holiday themed worlds. The town's name, Hallow End.

There is no prominent species in Hallow End although one could argue that a great number of pumpkin headed lurkers lurk there and everyday, several tiny critters wearing revolting masks went door to door collecting chocolate eyeballs, jelly filled worms, marshmallow ghosts and sour suckers.

Everyone in Hallow End was dressed in a different costume, for like snowflakes, no two monsters are exactly alike! The mayor of Hallow End was a lengthy fellow with the head of an orange named Saul Wen, an odd fellow who loved Halloween so much he had a pet octopus with a candy corn head he brought with him to every town meeting. He was liked by his people for the most part and never missed an opportunity to bolster his favorite holiday and all it's horrifying greatness.

Halloween is the greatest holiday of all holidays. There is nothing quite like a good scare or boogie in the graveyard or a spooking in a haunted house! All the other holidays are inferior to our beloved All Hallows' Eve and one thing is certainly set in the tombstone. Our horrible, retched, spooky and cooky Halloween has the best teeth rotting sweets, certainly much better than the candy of that goody good, prim and proper, cutesy wutesy rabbit infested world they called Easterealm! The thought of those brightly colored peeps makes my brain want to explode!

Yes, to say that the worlds of Easter and Halloween didn't see eye to eye would be an understatement and it was all over the age old debate over who had the better candy. Were peeps truly superior to candy corn or vice versa, it was all a matter of personal preference of course but in the worlds of Easter and Halloween, one holiday had to come out on top and one had to plummet to the very bottom. That was why the holiday overlords from high above decided that the time was right for this candy feud to be put to rest. They decided that on one single fateful day, the worlds of Easter and Halloween would in fact, combine to form one, single hybrid world. On one fateful day, a once in a lifetime holiday would be born, Easterween!

Both Robbie Rabbiton and Saul Wen were out for their morning jogs when a strange phenomenon occurred. The invisible barrier between Easterealm and Hallow End broke apart and the two worlds crashed together like a bunch of paints on a canvas. All the haunted trees started sprouting jellybeans, the chocolate bunnies had jack o lantern faces and both Robbie and Saul found their bodies transforming. Saul's orange skin was pink as a strawberry and Robbie, he didn't have any skin at all!

They weren't the only ones going through a strange metamorphosis. All over the town of Easterween, once haunted creatures found themselves "Easterfied". The eggs were covered in black and orange and morbid shades of purple. Even Saul's pet octopus found himself a bright shade of pink and baby blue. Even the candies of both worlds came together to form something truly exotic. And in the Easter baskets, eggy spiders crawled around in search of flies!

Yep, it was madness and it all started over a stupid candy debate. Both Robbie and Saul didn't know what to make of their makeovers but as time went on and the day progressed, the two came to realize something. Maybe Easter and Halloween are good in their own unique ways. Maybe Easter and Halloween stand out in their own right. Maybe, one holiday doesn't need to be better than another and their respective candies don't need to be better either. Maybe, just maybe, each holiday can coexist together in harmony, bringing delight and cheer to all. And Robbie and Saul shook hands as their worlds separated. Easterealm was back to being just Easter oriented and Hallow End, well, you get the picture. All was set right, but the concept of Easterween still deeply intrigued both Robbie and Saul. So, it was decided that on one special day of the year, the combination of Easter and Halloween would be celebrated, bringing both worlds together.

EASTERWEEN FOREVER!

Happy Easter from DZ's Moon of Toons!

[theprocrastinatingredkitty]

I honestly thought these were comical panels at first, but it’s actually quite important. As all the panels do.

First, we see that Na-Kyum has forgotten to put his scarf and bonnet on, and puts it on quickly as he’s cold. He wears it outside as he thinks over everything that has happened to him, as we can see here, moments before he meets Nameless for the first time

And then we fast forward to the last few panels of the chapter, where Na-Kyum is now without any scarf and bonnet.

It seems to be a recurring theme of Nameless, starting with Deok-Jae, when he had killed him off, but left a trail of blood, along with his scarf left just by the doorway back in c54

It’s either he’s aware that he’s leaving a trail behind and knowing he cannot be traced, or he’s too caught up in the moment to care for trivial things and forgets that he leaves a trail behind

Either way, there’s a high chance that the bonnet and scarf are now left in front of the room they were staying in, and once Seungho sees that, all hell will break loose

The other mystery remains, is if Min gets wind that Na-Kyum has now been taken, he will surely take Na-Kyum and assault him first before having Nameless do the deed

The kidnapping episode is the new chapter 29-30, wherein Na-Kyum gets taken away, only to return with the very person whom he was supposed to run away with. I am saying that Nameless will take the role of Inhun in this arc, and that it is likely that he’ll be the one to also return Na-Kyum to Seungho’s side, but not before Seungho spills blood, either on his poor valet (I hope not), or on Nameless himself. But what strikes me as odd is the feeling of calm after reading the current chapter. It had not been what I hoped for. I had expected Nameless to be extremely ruthless to Na-Kyum, though I also had a hunch that he looked apologetic when he first saw Na-Kyum, as though he really didn’t want to do it. He is shown for the first time in a while in a very soft light and with snowflakes around him (like he’s some kind of fairy godmother or something)

Even his eyes look warm, compared to how cold and lifeless they have been to Deok-Jae

And this is quite surprising, because from Na-Kyum’s point of view, he sees this unknown man as someone who looks kind and soft, and then he gets seized all of a sudden. It reminds me of how Seungho had been when he had taken Na-Kyum, of how ruthless he can be, but now we see him in this vulnerable and soft state after everything

This wave of calm in me tells me that I really shouldn’t be afraid of the outcome of this arc, as Byeonduck has said that:

I will keep my hopes up, I really think this assassination will not become fruitful because of certain aspects

[irreplaceable-ecstasyy]

Could we perhaps get a part 2 to the Marya and Helene running away fic?!

YOU WANTED A PART 2?!?! I GIVE YOU A PART 2!!! SORRY FOR THE WAIT BUT HERE IT IS!!! <3

Part 1 here

Vanya Vorobev trudged her way through inches of snow after a long day at work, boots heaving to free themselves from the ground that trapped them. Snow coated her short locks of red hair that pooled at her shoulders unceremoniously in a mess of tangles and knots. How dreadful the winters could be. It was no different than what she had had in Moscow and her dislike for these horrid days only grew. If work had ended any earlier, she would have beat the stir of the oncoming blizzard but here she was battling her way through with the residue of her strength. A full day’s sewing garments had drained her but there was something that kept her going. Or to be more precise, someone. Someone at home waiting to welcome her with open arms and preferably a cup of hot tea laced with rum to shake the cold away.

The walk to work was never an issue for the morning weather was always pleasant but it was always unkind during the evening. Work was even more unpleasant for her supervisor would never allow her colleagues and herself off early. The weather was no excuse to dismiss everyone early as they had deadlines to meet and quotas to fulfil, both which Vanya despised with all her being. She had filed complaints before to her higher ups but was met with harsh laughs and mockery for being so bold. They would jest at her for being a woman then threaten her with their class and gender. God, how she despised those pesky imbeciles and their horrid perverted words. She always gave in and she hated it. If only they knew the power she possessed. What she once had before this life but she had left all that behind for this one and she did not regret it for a moment.

Amidst the blizzard, her eyes were squinted to see through the haze of white, a hand raised to shield the snowflakes that might obscure her vision. Aggressively, she stormed through the building blanket of snow at her feet, unbothered by the way the cold seeped into her boots. Warmth awaited her as a reward for her efforts and a little water never hurt. Eventually, she defeated the storm. She collided against the gate of her home with a soft grunt then yanked it open after fumbling about with the lock. As she stepped into her garden, the gate slammed shut behind her with a very unsatisfying thud and that was when the door of her home swung open. She bolted towards the entrance and was greeted by a graceful breeze of warm air blowing in her face, accompanied by the scent of soup and fresh bread.

The door closed and Vanya was engulfed in a warm embrace. A face pressed against her back, arms wrapped around her waist in a firm hold and a light giggle filled the air. Sighing softly, Vanya leaned into the arms of her lover… her wife, to be more precise… and she craned her neck to look over her shoulder at the head of curls in her line of vision. Roza Sorokina Vorobev. Or, Hélène Vasilyevna Akhrosimova, as we all know. Vanya Marya turned around and pulled Hélène into her arms, burying her face in her hair to take her all in. Hélène moved her hands to hold Marya’s cheeks within her hands, lifting her head to kiss her gently on the lips which Marya happily returned. They had been deprived of affection for too long. Yes, in their terms, a day was long. The kiss lasted for a while then it was followed by another and then another one until Hélène pulled away to speak.

“How was your day at work?” Hélène murmured as she removed Marya’s bonnet, tossing it onto the couch lazily.

“Awful as always. Today could have been worse but thank heavens for my colleagues. My supervisor insisted that we worked until the wind died down but we demanded that we returned home since we weren’t getting paid for overtime,” Marya told her with a scoff.

“What did your colleagues do that saved your day?” Hélène inquired, taking Marya’s coat to hang it up on the coat rack.

“They had my back,” Marya simply answered.

Raising a brow, Hélène’s gaze followed the woman as she walked to the kitchen to help with dinner that was still cooking. “Okay. What did you do?”

“I raised my voice.” Marya shot Hélène a smirk and it earned her a small round of an applause.

“How terrifying~ Oh, you’re truly my feisty dragon!” Hélène exclaimed.

Marya picked up a spoon, stirring it in the air dramatically. “If there’s anything I’ve kept from my previous life, it’s that name,”

“I’m not complaining. I adore it.”

“Keep it in your pants, Kuragina.”

Hélène hugged Marya from behind and kissed the back of her neck. “It’s actually Akhrosimova now~”

“Oh?” Marya smirked lightly. “How cute.”

“You’re not supposed to praise your own name.”

“I was praising you, stupid.”

“Ah. Thank you~ I appreciate it very much.”

“You had better.”

Marya abandoned dinner just for a moment to attend to her wife, drawing her into her arms to press a kiss to her lips. She ran her hands through Hélène’s curls and rested her forehead against hers gently. Hélène hummed softly against Marya’s lips and cupped her cheeks delicately. Before they could lean in for another kiss, a voice cried out. A loud shrill sob filled the house and Marya pulled away from Hélène to look towards the corridor where the cry had come from. Hélène acted quickly. After a kiss to Marya’s cheek, she dashed down the corridor and entered a room that appeared to be where the wailing came from. It went quiet, save for the occasional sniffles and reassuring whispers, and Hélène came out of the room carrying a little girl who was no more than the age of 3. Their little girl.

Her cheeks were stained with tears pouring down, eyes red rimmed from crying too hard and her little fists clutched Hélène’s blouse tightly. When the little one saw Marya, her face lit up and she held her arms out to her with grabby hands, finger wriggling insistently for Marya to pick her up. Children were funny little beings. Their moods could switch within a matter of minutes and Marya was not one to complain for she found it very easy to figure her way around the ways of parenting. The girl squealed in excitement as Marya plucked her from Hélène’s arms and she buried her face against the woman’s neck where she was perfectly comfortable. Hélène stood beside Marya, a hand on their daughter’s back to trace circles in a comforting manner, and she smiled at her wife.

Etoile Kuragina Akhrosimova. That was her name of their little one. She was not their biological daughter but they loved her as their very own. They had adopted her on the day she was born. Prior to her date of birth, a co-worker had confided in Marya about an unplanned pregnancy which peaked Marya’s interests. All it took was a question, one that changed her to love not only as a wife but as a mother. This colleague of hers trusted Marya with the birth of a new life and she had never been more honored to have the privilege of raising a child of her own with the woman that she loved. This was God’s greatest gift to them, a sign that he had given his blessing and Marya, until this day, was eternally grateful. She prayed to God every night, thanking him for all that he has given them and praising his generosity. There was nothing more in the world that she wanted.

“She’s been asking for you all day and when the blizzard came, she thought you were never coming back,” Hélène stated quietly, a solemn look settling upon her features.

“Oh… Poor dear. Please don’t tell me she’s been crying all day.” Marya looked at Etoile who was beaming up at her, her wet cheeks dried from rubbing her face against her mother’s shoulder.

“She didn’t, and thank goodness for that… She started crying when you did not show up on time. Sat in that very spot”- Hélène motioned vaguely to the sitting room- “and stared at the clock for hours.”

Etoile held up two fingers. “You said 4… You came back at 8.”

“I’m so sorry, Etoile. I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Marya cooed softly then kissed the little girl’s cheek.

“Promise?” Etoile lifted her pinkie finger which Marya hooked her own pinkie around with a smile.

“I promise.”

Etoile was more than pleased. She hugged Marya tightly and nuzzled against her neck, tucking her head in between the crook of her shoulder and neck. Hélène giggled softly and wrapped her arms around the both of them, her little family. Every day was just perfect among the three of them; though, they did yearn the company of their families back in Moscow, the place that was once their home. Marya missed her goddaughters as well as her old friend, Pierre. She wrote to them as frequently as she could but with how letters were being tracked, it would risk revealing their location to those who were searching for them so her stuck to a quota of two letter per month; three in case of emergencies or festivities.

It had already been two months since Marya sent her letters to her dear family but it was not forgetfulness that created the hiatus. It was the incredibly patient wait both her and Hélène had to endure as well as the receiving end of the letter which consisted of Pierre and Natasha who branched out to Sonya and Mary. Hélène’s receiving end consisted of her brother, Anatole, whose letters also were addressed to Dolokhov. Waiting was never a simple task, unless one were disciplined like Marya or as easily entertained as Etoile. Hélène was terrible at passing time and two months had felt like an entire year to her. On the bright side of things, she did not have to wait any longer.

A knock echoed through the house and it was followed by a drumming of fists that were much gentler than the former. The door rattled with every knock, especially with the overly-enthusiastic rhythm and Marya feared that the door might cave in soon. Hélène went to answer the door hurriedly for she did not want their guests standing in the middle of a snowfall for too long, Etoile waddling closely behind her after Marya had settled her down to lay out the table. When the door swung open, Hélène was greeted by a pair of arms flinging over her shoulders which pulled her into the tightest but warmest hug she had ever received in a long time.

“Vanya! It’s so good to see you again!” Natasha exclaimed but she paused her excitement. “Wait… Or is it Roza?”

“It’s Roza, ma charmante.” Hélène leaned in to whisper into the young girl’s ear. “But it’s exclusively Hélène for the lot of you~”

Natasha beamed and squeezed Hélène tighter in the hug. “It’s been so long!”

“It has! Your godmother and I are so happy to have you here.” Hélène noticed the way Pierre shuffled awkwardly beside Natasha and she pulled away from Natasha to greet him with a hug. Baffled, Pierre wrapped his arms around her and patted her shoulder. “Hello, Pierre. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Elena. Hélène… Uh- Roza,” Pierre stammered but he was smiling in amusement. “I apologize. You have quite a number of names and you didn’t specify which to use in any letters.”

“Hélène will do, my dear. I see you haven’t changed at all,” Hélène jested as she nudged him gently in the side with her knuckle.

“And neither have you,” Pierre jabbed back. His eyes widened at the sight of Etoile clinging onto her mother’s skirts, head peeking out from where she stood behind Hélène and he knelt down. “Is this little Etoile?”

Natasha gasped, a hand flying to her lips. “Oh, she’s gorgeous. Hi there.”

Etoile’s eyes twinkled in curiosity and pure joy to see the people that Hélène had shown her before in photographs. It was as if her picture books had come to life. She waved at Natasha then approached her slowly. These people in front of here were her own relatives she was meeting, other people who she could consider her family aside from her mothers. Leaping with joy, she buried herself against Natasha in what was supposed to be a hug and she stayed in Natasha’s fur coat for a while. Her fists clutched the furs and Natasha picked her up with a light giggle. Pierre watched them fondly and he placed a fairly large hand on Etoile’s back, rubbing circles in a familiar and comforting manner.

“She’s an angel,” Natasha swooned as she leaned into Pierre who kissed her forehead.

“She gets that from her mother,” Hélène said as she motioned to the kitchen where Marya came rushing out.

“Natasha, darling! How wonderful it is to see you! And Pierre, old friend, you’re looking well!” Marya cheered as she drew the two of them into a welcoming hug.

Pierre grinned at the sight of his dear friend. “Marya, it’s good to see you”- He was startled when Natasha interjected.

“Marya! Where have you been? It’s rude to be late. You taught me that lesson yourself,” Natasha scolded her godmother mockingly.

“I know I did but truth be told, I just got back home a while ago and I had dinner to prepare. Please excuse this minor inconvenience. I promise, it won’t happen again,” Marya swore.

“It better not. Now come give your favorite goddaughter a hug!” Natasha bounced into Marya’s outstretched arms and Etoile was sandwiched comfortably between the two ladies before Natasha passed the little one to her mother.

“Sit down at the dining table, my dears. Food is ready. We can’t have it going cold,” Marya insisted as she ushered her guests to the kitchen. “Hélène, dear, could you close the door?”

Hélène complied and skipped to the door to shut it as she was told but stopped when she saw four figures in the snow making their way to the door. Two men clumsily kicking through the snow and two women walking like completely normal humans with their arms linked. One of them, the tallest male of the lot, was mocking one of the ladies for her height and this small lady happened to be the smallest of the group. From what Hélène could see, she had quite a feisty attitude and very quick retaliation. As this tall figure ruffled the shorter figure’s hair, the shorter one struck, the back of her hand whipping the taller’s side swiftly and it elicited a loud high-pitched whine that Hélène knew all too well.

“Told you to stop bullying her,” Dolokhov laughed as he hit the taller man’s head.

“It’s not my fault that she can’t take a joke.” Anatole rubbed the back of his neck, scoffing at his companion before side-eyeing Sonya who was glaring daggers at him.

“Can we please be civil?” one of the girls squeaked out meekly, specifically Mary Bolkonsky who was clinging onto Sonya’s arm for dear life. “Marya won’t appreciate this behavior.”

“I doubt she’d appreciate anything we do,” Dolokhov added.

“Would you guys rather argue in the snow or come inside?” Hélène called out to the group which caught their attention and Anatole gasped.

“Sister! Oh, dear god, it is so good to see you alive and well,” Anatole cheered as he abandoned Dolokhov’s side to race up to his sister, swooping her in his arms for a big bear hug. “How are you?”

Hélène squeezed her younger brother with love as she leaned into the hug. “I’m fantastic! I’m glad to see you! Fedya, Sonya, Mary. Welcome!”

“All attention on me, please?” Anatole requestion politely and Hélène pinched his cheek.

“You always were a joker. Come in, otherwise I might get a scolding from Marya for leaving the door open for too long.” Hélène moved out of the way, allowing the group to come in.

“And now for my turn!” Dolokhov declared and embraced his friend, one hand tossing his coat right onto the rack with precision (finally living up to his name of being a crazy good shot).

Hélène could have sworn she heard Dolokhov sniffle but crying would be quite uncharacteristic of him. No matter the circumstances, Fedya Dolokhov never cried. The winter wind might have caught him with a cold which was not very good. Hélène did not want anyone to return to Moscow with a burning fever. That would mean that they failed to be hospitable. But once more, crying and falling ill were not words in the vocabular of Dolokhov. If either of that happened in one day, then something must be wrong. For all Hélène knew, she could be in another universe but that was irrelevant. Why fret now?

“My dear Feddy. How have you been?” Hélène purred.

“Never better. Has Marya been taking care of you?” Dolokhov asked as he threw a look over Hélène’s shoulder.

“That is your biggest concern? Of course, she has! She pampers me a lot,” Hélène answered dreamily.

“Good! I actually wrote her a letter asking if she was and she only responded with “Dear Fyodor, we are fine. Stop wasting parchment paper, yours truly, Marya D,” Dolokhov storied.

Hélène snorted and laughed. “Ah- I’m aware of that. She wasn’t very pleased by your doubts in her.”

“I’m just concerned!” Dolokhov debated and scowled.

“I know you are. Now, stop sulking and make yourself at home. You’ve received your attention. I have other guests to attend to.”

“Yes, ma’am~”

Dolokhov skipped off with a hum as Hélène watched in amusement, shaking her head lightly. As for the two very similarly quaint and bashful ladies, Hélène also gave them a hug. They were not close but they appreciated affection as a warm welcome, metaphorically and physically, after bickering in the snow and troika ride for too long. Marya, despite her well-known dislike for Dolokhov and Anatole, had shown an accepting attitude as she greeted them with a handshake far too polite for the occasion. At least she allowed them to touch her hand with their icy ones, unless one were to count the fact that she was wearing mittens to avoid direct contact.

Etoile, who had been in Marya’s arms, demanded for Anatole to carry her and without hesitation, the man picked up his niece and twirled around the room with delight. The blonde had screamed, “Is this my beloved niece?!” as he spun which sent Etoile and Hélène into a fit of giggles. As much as she trusted her brother, Hélène still had to keep an eye on his as he played about with her daughter. He could get a little too absorbed in his own mind to consider caution. At the same time, the sight of her own brother and daughter bonding brought tears of joy to her eyes.

Dolokhov slid into a vacant seat at the dining table beside Sonya who groaned loudly in dismay for him to hear and Natasha laughed opposite them. Mary looked away, girding herself. Pierre waved to them awkwardly and pushed his falling glasses up his nose, scrunching it from how his glasses slid off his nose once more. The house was filled with Etoile’s giggling and cheering as Anatole spun around the room with her. Her cheers were contrasted by the quiet hissing and snapping from Dolokhov and Sonya who had decide to strike up another petty argument over Dolokhov’s manners. Oh, the joy to have the familiarity of the orchestra of sounds Hélène and Marya had been so used to in Moscow. They never thought that they would ever have the homeliness of Moscow in their own house but with this family of theirs, they brought the entirety of their home with them.

In all honesty, Marya did miss the ambience of Moscow. She would never forget it though. The gossips, the opera, the parties. They were all part of her being. She stood at the kitchen door with great fondness for everyone in the room, breathing in a refreshing whiff of air. It would have been nice if it were not for Anatole’s overwhelming perfume but it would do. Clapping her hands together, she sat at the table and everyone sat to join her.

“I won’t speak long. I’m sure everyone is hungry a long journey but I would like to thank you all for coming such a long distance to see Hélène and I. We have missed every single one of you dearly and I don’t think there’s a day that is more blessed than today. I hope we can gather like this more frequently in the future. But for now, we will cherish what we have,” Marya spoke, glancing at Hélène who was swooning over her. “Enjoy your dinner and may god bless you all.”

“God bless you too,” Mary chimed in her seat and when everyone turned to look at her, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

“How adorable,” Hélène cooed.

“If you responded like her, maybe you’d be adorable too,” Marya interjected which earned her a frown.

“Are you saying I’m not adorable?” Hélène gasped dramatically.

“And we eat!” Dolokhov interrupted which worked like a charm.

So, they ate their dinner as one loving family. Hélène had Etoile sat on her lap as she fed the little girl. While so, they chatted with Anatole and Dolokhov in their weirdly positioned triangle but it worked. Natasha, Sonya and Mary shared their own triangle where they whispered and giggled in soft whispers in stark comparison to the other trio but neither groups were bothered. Marya was far too busy for a conversation as she was gazing at Hélène who was speaking to their daughter and feeding her with some bread and soup. Her daughter and her wife. Her heart was so full and with everyone here with them, she felt as though she might just pass out from the joy. She could very well but she did not wish to make a fool of herself.

And Pierre. Dear old Pierre. He observed his old friend and his former betrothed with an easy smile that came to his lips, distracted to the point he had forgotten about his dinner. He had never seen Marya so romantically endearing nor had he ever seen her openly display her emotions towards Hélène who she had once despised with every bit of her soul. Hélène was kinder now; much more kinder than she used to be when she carried the title of ‘The Queen of Society’. The title she held now was different, a better one for a change. She was now a mother and a wife to the woman she loved, and my God did that make Pierre proud of his intervention in their plans to grant them such happiness. He too had found his own happiness fairly quickly with Natasha which he was grateful for. It appeared that everyone at the dining table found their happy endings, or beginnings.

A curious thought. He wondered how things had been if he had refused to help Marya and Hélène flee Moscow to start anew. Would they be this happy, decently happy to an extent or miserable? Pierre was not willing to make a bet. Whatever it was, he appreciated the moment. He thanked the Lord above who gifted them this life and began to eat when Natasha tapped his shoulder for his attention. All was well.

[thekidultlife]

Rewind | Choi Seungcheol

Plot: After meeting in a deserted park, two people sit down at a convenience store and relive memories together.

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x fem!reader

Word count: 4,351

Four years ago | Seoul

It is the last day of your vacation in Seoul, and your heart is torn into a thousand pieces.

You hold a box in your hands, not too big, wrapped in scented paper. Snow is falling gently and some of the snowflakes get stuck on your long, wavy hair. Your eyes well up with tears. 

You had asked the heavens for a sign. If I don't see them today, I won't see them forever.

By six o'clock in the evening, you will board the plane going back to your country. Whatever wishes you had asked the heavens for must be fulfilled now.

God, please, your fangirl soul wept, can't I get a glimpse of them at least? And...especially...

Your mind is suddenly filled with colorful images of doe eyes, infectious laughter, broad shoulders and dad jokes. Dark hair that had changed from red to ash blonde and other beautiful colors. 

"Hey, fangirl!" 

Suddenly your brother is beside you, grinning impishly. He snatches the box from your hands and tosses it to the entryway of Pledis Entertainment. 

"Nate! Why did you--" 

"Oh, please, thank me later," Nate says sarcastically as he drags you away from the building. "You could have gotten reported to the police for snooping around that building! Come on, our flight's in two hours and we're still here in Gangnam. So much to do and Dad doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"B-but---"

"--no buts, sis. Your token of love will be well-received by your boy band, for sure. They won't ignore it, would they? As long as you did not put anything dangerous in there..." Nate stops for a second and turns to look at you in mock suspicion. "...did you?" 

"Let me go!" You wrench free from his grasp and turn just in time to see a van park into the garage adjacent to the entrance. Even Nate turns around to see the action for a moment before grabbing your arm again.

"Wait!" You watch as a person wrapped in a huge dark coat, bonnet, sunglasses and a face mask gets out of the van hurriedly and walks up the steps of the Pledis building. He sees the box, examines it, looks around and looks in your direction.

You could not clearly see who it was from the distance because Nate was dragging you, but you were almost sure--

"--Oh, great." Sighing, Nate lets you go and pulls out his phone. "The Führer calls. Just what I needed. Come on, we have to go. For real."

You watch as the person holding the box disappears inside the building.

. . .

Present Day | Seoul

"It's you, isn't it?"

The voice was filled with unabashed wonder. And it sounded like it came from someone you know very well. But you could not place where you've heard it before. 

You turned around to see who had spoken. The park in front of your hotel was mostly deserted, but there he was, the owner of that strangely familiar voice, standing by the swings, wearing a huge, black jacket and jeans. He was all long legs and had a broad, protective manner about him, as seen by the way his shoulders were set. He had huge, dark eyes but that was all you could see. He was wearing a face mask. 

"It is you. I was so worried." The man slowly brought up a hand to his face, taking off his mask. Suddenly your heart beat faster, but whether it was because you felt like you should recognize him or you were afraid of him because you might not know him, you could not tell.

You spoke carefully, still weighing whether you knew this man, or you never knew him at all. "Hello. Do I know you?"

To your amazement, he spoke your name. 

He stepped closer, and for a brief moment you were afraid, but when you saw his eyes, the warmth and hope lit there, your fears melted away.

"Are you okay?" Again, his lips formed your name.

. . .

Four years ago | Seoul

"Wonwoo, you're late," Chan hollered over the conference table as Wonwoo steps into the room. All heads turn to his direction, except Seungcheol. The sleepless nights he'd been experiencing had taken their toll on him. Now, he could not even turn his head around without feeling lightheaded. 

"Sorry. Someone was at the door when we were on our way here and the staff told me not to get out of the van until she leaves." He gingerly places something on the table. 

"Oooh, a gift," Seokmin glances at it and pokes the scented paper. "She must be a fan who wanted to give this to us personally." 

Wonwoo nods. "I saw her boyfriend toss it towards the door, so it looks a little bit dented. I had someone check it first before I brought it up here. Looks safe." 

"Let's open it! Meeting's on a break anyway." The boys nearest to the table, Seokmin and Jun, carefully tear the wrapping and open the cardboard box. Everyone's curiosity is piqued as they bring out the contents. 

"Wow. She must be a pretty good writer because she wrote a lot of letters for us." Seokmin picks up a letter addressed to him. "Here's a picture of her."

Everyone crowds around Seokmin to take a look.

Jun pulls out something from the bottom. "Hey. It's not just letters. She has an iPod here, too." Jun squints his eye as he reads the label, a tape attached to the back. "But it's not for us. It's only for Seungcheol." 

Everyone turns to Seungcheol, who is dozing off, oblivious to the commotion.

"She probably likes Seungcheol the best."

"Or she labeled it by mistake," Jisoo comments and everyone laughs.

"But are we allowed to receive iPods from fans? Did you run this by our managers?" 

"Let's wait for our managers to come in. Break's almost over." 

Seungcheol has fallen asleep, and Mingyu places the iPod and a thick packet of letters next to him.

Later, Seungcheol would wake up, find the gifts next to him and take it with him. He would read the letters along with other fanmail, but he would forget the iPod. It would be misplaced and will end up on a wicker basket in their living room. 

One year later, on a particularly bright afternoon, Hansol would come into the living room to look for headphones in the wicker basket and he would see the iPod. He will not be able to read the label at the back, but he will get curious and take it into his room with it. He will open it and play its contents, and he will find out that it is not intended for his ears. 

He will then find Seungcheol and give it to him. 

"Listen to it," Hansol will say.

Seungcheol will take it, his foggy memory recalling having been gifted an iPod a year ago. He will see the only playlist there, and he will listen to it.

Headphones on, lying on his bed after a very long day, he first heard your voice. He first spoke your name and he found that he liked the way it sounded when he says it in a whisper; he liked the way it sounded when he says it aloud.

"Beautiful," was all he could say that first time he finished listening to the playlist, the whole day forgotten. Night had falleb and he lays back, staring, wide-eyed at the ceiling. He had simply lain there and listened to your voice filling his ears until there was nothing to listen to anymore.

Beautiful. He drifts off to sleep.

. . .

Present Day | Seoul

"I'm sorry."

You took a step back and pulled your coat closer. "You know my name, but I--" you hesitated for a second, peering into the handsome face before you. "I--I don't know you."

The man looked taken aback by your response. This made you even more flustered, and you struggled to make an explanation.

"You--you see, I'm not really from around here," you stammered, all the while frantically praying that you would remember who he was, because he really acted like you should know him! "I'm on leave from work for a few days and I flew here to unwind. So..." You took another step back but did not look away from the completely bewildered  person in front of you. "...I'm sorry..."

The man did not speak for a minute. But he did open his mouth to speak again. This time, he smiled apologetically, and his kind, dark eyes conveyed his unspoken message to you.

Somehow, he understood that you weren't able to recognize him at this moment; he won't be stressing you out any further. Your heart calmed down at the thought.

He pointed to a convenience store just below the hotel. "Can we go there and talk for a bit?" His eyes turned to look at you again, and you noticed how intensely he was staring at you, but he seemed to be taking great pains trying to hide it. He smiled more easily after a while and scratched his head. "I think we need to clear the air between us. I must have startled you when I approached you. Sorry." 

You smiled back, taking in how the lamplight reflected on his eyes and made them glow beautifully. You almost forgot how uncomfortable you had been in the first place, talking to a stranger in a deserted park. 

But somehow, you knew. He knows you. The way he said your name...there was something about the way he said your name. 

"Okay." You walked towards the direction of the convenience store, and then looked over your shoulder at him, still offering a polite smile. "I'm in. Let's talk."

. . .

Three years ago | Seoul

Seungcheol closes his eyes peacefully. 

The night is far from silent; the practice room was teeming with people. Their managers, the two dance instructors and a few aides, along with the members--it's hard to find a place where he could sleep and relax before he is called back to the floor. Cozied up in a corner where he could lean his head back, he clicks on the iPod and plays.

The lilt of your voice both calms and excites him the moment he hears it. "Hey. How are you? I hope you're doing better than I am. It's Thursday here, and it's been a bad night for me." A melodic sigh fills his ears, and Seungcheol smiles.

I know, he answers your voice, I know. Your boss that you told me about last time called you into his office to finish paperwork and you had to stay until late at night.

"Remember that boss I told you about, the one that gives me headaches everyday? Well, he called me into his office this afternoon and asked me to file this and that, to finish important paperwork for him. Boy, if only I knew how long it would take me. I had to stay until the building closed! Time check, it's now...wait, I have to get my phone from my bag..." Seungcheol heard thuds and the ripping sound of a zipper being opened, along with a tired humming of Taylor Swift's New Year's Day song. 

Seungcheol smiles to himself. He hoped no one was looking because he was whispering another imaginary response to you. It's past twelve midnight there. 12:04, to be exact. And you always put your phone inside the secret pocket of your bag, but you always forget that you had put it there, too. You will find it in 3, 2, 1...

"It’s 12:04 a.m.!" You shout triumphantly and Seungcheol smiles brighter. "Sorry for the long silence. I was looking for my...my phone, because--"

"--you don't wear a watch," Seungcheol says out loud and he forgets that his manager is beside him, looking at him quizzically now.

"...I don't wear a watch. I misplaced it somewhere here in my room. But I'll find it later on. I almost forgot where I put my phone, too, because I always forget that I always put it inside my bag's secret pocket. Ha. Forgetful, and...tired. But I can’t let myself down now, or anyone else. I can’t. Like I told you, a lot depends on me right now…”

Seungcheol opens his eyes and his gaze roams around: at the members, at the crew, at everyone inside the practice room. Magically, what you experienced and what he experiences now, your and his emotions, have aligned again. You're tired. You're tired because you feel pressured to do well. To excel in everything you do. You do it because you can't let down the people who are looking up to you. You want to be carefree but you aren't in a position where you could be carefree...You feel lost. Just like I do. I know. He shuts his eyes again. I know how you feel. 

You say exactly what he said in his mind. He had memorized everything already. 

"To be honest, I don't even like my job now! I've always wanted to write. To set up my own publishing company. But I'm stuck for now, editing articles and saving up. I don't know what lies ahead, but I," you said your full name, "will fulfill my dreams! I know I will. Someday. Someday. I won't mess up."

Seungcheol began to try out the sound of your name on his lips for the thousandth time. It was a common name, all standards considered, but somehow, you had made it unique. You were unique.

And so it went. For a full hour, Seungcheol simply leans against the wall,  eyes closed, listening to you talk about your day. 

He sighs contentedly when he gets to the end of the track. You had picked up a guitar and was strumming a sad but hopeful tune. 

"This is one of my originals. It's titled, 'I'll Be Okay'. Listen to this if you are having a bad time like me right now, or if you want to feel hopeful in the face of uncertainty. This helps me." Then, in a softer tone that Seungcheol knows is meant only for him, you add, "And I hope it helps you, too."

You start to sing.

But I know

That I'll be okay

The sun will still shine

After the rain

I may still be

The same as I was yesterday

But I know

That I'll be okay.

Directly across Seungcheol, Soonyoung sits on the floor, catching his breath after a strenuous practice. He sees Seungcheol silent, earphones on, seemingly in a world all his own. "Is he still listening to that iPod playlist?" Soonyoung asks Wonwoo beside him incredulously, barely whispering. He runs a towel through his face. 

Wonwoo nods and shrugs. "He probably feels relaxed listening to whatever's in there." 

"A fan made it for him. Must have taken a lot of work." 

They watch as Seungcheol mouths a word.

"Must be the fan's name," Wonwoo wisely suggests, rising to his feet as the dance instructor asks them to huddle in the middle of the room. "We're up. I'm going to tell Cheol." 

Soonyoung nods, throws the towel onto his shoulder and walks toward the group. He is tired but the night is still young and there is a lot to improve on for the next performance. But he looks back at Seungcheol, who is getting up and is removing the earphones. Their eyes meet.

"Her name sounds beautiful," Soonyoung teases, smiling. 

Seungcheol smiles back, embarrassed. He scratches his head and replies, "Yes. It does." 

. . .

Present Day | Seoul

You both bought cheap coffee and found a table by the corner where you could talk privately. The man's doe-like eyes regarded you with an emotion that you could not interpret. Who was he? 

Your head hurt just trying to remember. So you let the awkward pause grow longer, sipped your coffee and waited for him to speak first, eyeing him warily.

"Is the hotel above the one where you are staying? Oh. Sorry." He must have seen your alarmed expression at his question, so he smiled apologetically. He scratched his head, embarrassed, but his dancing eyes continued to look at you. "Hmm. How should I begin this conversation?" 

"Well," you carefully set aside your coffee and folded your hands together on the table, gazing at this handsome stranger as levelly as you can, "maybe you could tell me who you are first. That could be a good start." 

And so he did. He said his name. But it did not ring a bell in you. You stared at him blankly. 

He paled at the stony stare you gave him, and he repeated his name again. "Choi Seungcheol. You really don't know me? At all?" 

Choi...Seungcheol. There was something familiar about this name, but you could not place it. Barely an echo in your mind, but it was in there. That name. It belonged to your memory. But how? 

Anxiously, you prayed that God would clear your mind. That you would remember this man, because he was looking at you with such an expectant expression, an almost desperate expression in his desire that you remember him. But you shook your head. 

"I'm sorry. I don't know your name, either." Your hand went up to your right temple.

"You don't?" There was a disbelieving tone in his voice, and it made you want to retract your words. His eyes had widened in confusion. "You really don't know my name? Not at all?" 

Slowly, you shook your head. Tears began to sting just below your eyes. This conversation was getting embarrassing. And confusing. You looked across at the park just in front, where you had met this man. You suddenly wished you did not agree to sit with him here. 

Another silence reigned and this time, it was you who broke it first. The man named Choi Seungcheol looked devastated, the hurt in his eyes so visible. It made you feel guilty. He had leaned back on his chair and was gripping his empty coffee cup too tightly.

"How did you know my name?" you asked softly. 

He opened his mouth to speak immediately, but he looked away, as if he did not know how to answer that, too.

"Because you say you don't know my name and because I look like a total stranger to you, I don't know how to respond to that, either," was all he could say.

Curious, you leaned closer into him. Dark, sad eyes met your inquisitive ones. "Why don't you know how?" 

Swiftly, he drew closer, too. You felt your knees touch underneath the table. Electricity shot up and down your spine. Your faces are merely inches away at this point. Something inside you was melting, all buttered up and ready to cave.

"If I tell you how I got to know you, will you believe me?" The way he said this upped the mystery that tangled you this familiar stranger. 

"Clearly, you are not a friend of mine," you said bravely despite the turmoil boiling inside you, "but you act as though you know me well. And the way you greeted me...I think you haven't seen me for a very long time."

Seungcheol looked all the more confused by your words, but he nodded in agreement. "Actually," he answered hesitantly, "you are right. We haven’t seen each other for a very long time.”

Your heart rose to your throat and your eyes widened. Your face flushed red and you cleared your throat. "Um. Mr. Choi?" 

It clearly stung him to hear you address him so formally, but Seungcheol sadly smiled and said, "Yes?" 

The question in your head sounded ridiculous, but you forced yourself to ask it.

"Did we date?" 

This time, his eyes widened, but they twinkled and light danced in them. 

Was that acknowledgment that you did date? Or was that humor in his eyes at your question? 

You flushed a deeper red at this point, and you leaned away. "Like...online or something?" 

Seungcheol looked like he wanted to laugh because he was pursing his lips too tightly. Instead, he broke out into a smile and leaned away from the table, too. He fixed his gaze on you again. But his expression grew serious after a time.

"You really can't remember anything about me?" 

"You're really not my friend," you said tightly this time. You crossed your arms. "Because if you were, you would have known that I got into a car accident about two years ago. I almost died, but I eventually made it and I lost my memories instead. I've recovered most of my memory, but..." you paused when you saw the surge of emotions on Seungcheol's face. "...there are things, places and people that are like ghosts.” 

Seungcheol’s features softened as he began to understand why you don’t know him. But he also looked as though he was in pain. In pain because of what you had just revealed to him.  But you have to continue speaking. “Some people,” you say, idly stirring what was left of your coffee, “some people...I see their faces and I hear their voices and for a while I feel certain that I would finally know who they are.  Some things  I remember fragments of. But nothing connects. Nothing gets fit together. I am only left with pieces. Pieces that  I can't put together because there are other pieces I’ve lost somewhere. Pieces that I can’t remember where I lost anymore.”

Suddenly, there was no space between you both. 

He had closed the space and his arms were going around your neck, his hands putting something in your ears. You saw that it was white earbuds. He had put on earbuds to your ears. He pulled out something from his jacket pocket. 

An old iPod. 

Seungcheol’s eyes found yours again. He smiled sadly. “I,” he whispered softly, “am a piece that you lost. But with this,” his fingers played with the iPod, “you will find me where you lost me.”

He pressed Play. 

. . .

[Throat clearing.] Hello, babe! It’s me. 

Choi Seungcheol. 

Your boyfriend. 

I’ve been waiting for you for two years and five days now. Yep. That long already. This long time makes me remember that day we had a concert and I literally ran to the crowds when I saw you for the first time. Will our meeting again be like that once I see you again? 

Will you smile at me again and say, “Hello, Choi Seungcheol”? 

I hope the doctors were just messing with me when they told me that there could be a chance that...that you may not remember me. I really hope that’s not the case. But if it is the case...do I have to ask you out again? [Laughs nervously.] Well, if I do have to win your heart the way I did before, I will give it my best shot. So you won’t have anything else to do but  say yes to dating me again. 

I miss you. 

I love you so much. 

I...the reason why I’m recording this is because...when I was down and in a slump, it was your voice that brought me back to life. Your voice, your stories, the hardships and happiness you experienced...you told me about it all and you recorded it for me. I got to know you in a way no other person could because of what you did for me. 

[Voice breaks down.] Babe...if there is a chance that you lost your memories of me...I’m...I’m really hoping that these recordings...would make you remember. Remember me. 

Remember us. 

So here ends Track 1. Hit ‘Next’ for Track 2. 

Get to know me. 

Again. 

. . .

“Choi Seungcheol…”

Seungcheol was crying.

He was holding your hand as you listened. As you listened to his voice, pleading, begging you to remember. His head bent low, he spoke. 

“I wanted to take you home after you got out of the hospital two weeks ago, but...but I could not bear it when you...when I saw you and you did not smile at me the way you used to. That was when...that was when I knew that you could not remember me.” He looked up at you with tears brimming his eyes, his mouth open, gasping for air. He closed his eyes again and he sobbed.

Tears fell from your eyes and your voice constricted in your throat. 

After a moment of silence, Seungcheol’s head was between your hands, his eyes looking up at you.

“You’re right,” you answered hoarsely, your eyes filled with so much pain at the sight of this man becoming undone. “You...are a piece I can’t remember. But…” your eyes rested on the iPod. “You’re right. With this…” Seungcheol’s hands found your face. “I will find you where I lost you.”

Your tears mixed with his as he claimed your lips with a kiss.

. . . 

Three years ago | Seoul

“Jeonghan,” Seungcheol whispers, his eyes round with amazement, “front row. That’s her.”

“Okay, CARATs, looks like Seungcheol found his friend in this concert crowd now, the one who gave him a very special gift. Can you help her up the stage?” 

But CARATs need not move, because Seungcheol is already racing down the stage, all the energy he’d spent coursing back his body, his heart beating a million times faster. He could not hear anything around him as he runs, runs and runs until, finally, he reaches his destination. 

You. 

His ears stop ringing. 

Your eyes, smiling at him the way he knew they would, takes him in and he is plunged into a world where only you and him exist. 

“Hello, Choi Seungcheol.”

He has heard that voice so many times in his head. 

He smiles and takes you into his arms. 

“Hello.” He whispers your name softly. 

And he holds you for a long time.

- Leanne

[minichedders]

st.valentines day massacre 0.1

mobster!bucky barnes x reader

February 14th, 1929.

Gang warfare rules the streets of Chicago, anyone who was anyone knew that if you even whispered the name Al Capone, it wouldn't be long before you were shot or deemed crazy. He was rising to the top of the mafia, he was gradually taking down his enemies, along with the probation, helping him to build his empire, he grew to be a ruthless king. The passage of the 18th Amendment in 1920 meant that all the mafia groups increased earnings through bootlegging, speakeasies, gambling and prostitution. Capone’s income raised well over $60 million a year, he was one of the richest and powerful men in America.

Since 1924, Chicago had been a lawless and violent place; it was called the ‘reign of Scarface’; he was ruthless and did anything and everything to get rid of his enemies and rivals, all except one. The Irish gangster George ‘Bugs’ Moran…

10:25 am.

Your heals clicked along the street, impractical for the cold weather you thought, though your long fur coat was keeping some warmth, under it your favourite green dress. Your dad had convinced you to go round to the Michaels for brunch, however, opposed you where, he practically shoved you out the door, Mr and Mrs Michaels where both pushovers who were pushing you and their introvert son to get married, and apparently your opinion doesn't matter.

10:30 am.

You head tilted back as you admired the white sky, hoping that small snowflakes would soon fall. You loved winter, as it gave you an excuse to stay inside by the fire, and not have to socialise with men and their mothers that boasted about them, or the snobbish wives that had foolishly agreed to marry only because of the money benefits. You believed you were the only person in the city, or world, who wanted to marry for love, not benefits. Before your thoughts could carry you away, a speeding car drove past, abruptly stopping outside an old looking warehouse; what confused you where the three men who exited in police uniforms, and another 5 that stepped out of another car in black suits. Your interest was picked and your walking slowed, you had not yet reached the warehouse, but you could already hear muffled shouts, and a few seconds later, gunshots.

You stood still, mouth agape, even though you shouldn't be so shocked, crime was basically unstoppable in this city. But never would you think that you would have to encounter something so closely. As you where regaining your breath, a man from across the road, someone you had not seen get out the vehicle, even though he was leaning against the bonnet, started walking towards you and calling for you. You froze, not knowing what to do; there was no point in running, not in these heels, plus, he has already seen your face, and knows that you had just seen their faces. Oh, you were so screwed.

“Ma'am?” He called again, his deep voice digging into your skin, making goosebumps crawl along your arms, shivering as they formed. Your head turned back towards him, seeing his face close up, almost losing your breath again; he was beautiful, dark hair, chiselled face, and a tall lean body which looked perfect in that pinstripe suit. If you were in any other situation with the man you would've jumped to joy, finding the perfect Valentines to the day.

Your ears began ringing, buzzing at the sheer closeness of the attractive man, and for a split second you felt as if the rest of the world blurred around him; that was until multiple gun firing in the etching warehouse tore your body limb from limb, panic coursing through your veins like a drug.

“Um, yes?” You said, trying to act as innocent and normal as you could muster, you couldn't die, you couldn't leave your father, not like this. You noticed his gaze drop down your figure, which was noticeably shaking, whether it was from the coldness of winter or the terror that currently ran through your body and soul you were not sure; he looked back into your eyes, the blueness of his reminding of when your father took you to the ocean when you were younger, they almost filled you with warmth, until you heard more calling and shouting.

“Buck! C’mon!” One of the men exiting from the warehouse shouted, making the man in front of you turn his head back, giving them a wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry about this miss, but you are going to have to come with me,” He said, taking a hold of your forearm, gently tugging you to the car; you were too cold and shocked to fight back, and the fear of not knowing what he might do scared you more. Stupidly, you let him push you into the passenger seat, and when he ran round to the driver seat, the three men shoved in the back began clapping, you already felt sick but their whistling and dirty comments made your stomach twist; until than man called Buck told them to shut up, which made you feel less queasy, only just.

11:22 am.

After driving in silence and tension, you arrived at a large house in the forest; the abundance of cars and bikes at the door already told you that this was obviously the mafia house, which only heightened your fear, all the worst possible scenarios where running through your head. You knew that they weren't going to kill you, not yet at least, they wouldn't have bothered to bring you to the house if they were, they were probably going to use you, which terrified you more than a bullet between your eyes.

As the men poured out of the car, you stayed still. The idea of moving seemed almost impossible as you just stared at the big blue house, envisioning all the dirty old men that lived in there, and the possibility of young girls being held unwillingly. A tear started to sting your cheeks as you let out a sob, not noticing the door beside you opening and Buck wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up and carrying you in the house, purposefully avoiding all the busy rooms and corridors. You were still in your dress and coat, which was now slightly damp from the frost and the tears that had fallen on the front, and you could feel your heels slightly slipping off the tips of your feet, although you were now too tired to adjust them. Buck turned into a room, large and messy, and placed you on the bed, slipping the shoes from your feet and neatly placing them on the floor. You both stayed in silence, apart from every so often when your sobs would unwillingly break past your dry lips.

The sight of any women crying made Bucky's heart twinge, but growing up in a ruthless world and business, he knew that if you wanted anything, you took it with no hesitation. And Bucky wanted you from the first moment he laid eyes on you.

"Why am I here, please, I won't tell anyone," You said in between broken cries, bringing your knees to your chest, curling yourself as small as possible; trying to remain an unwilling victim, too scared to look into the man's eyes in case you might slip into a lustful teenager.

"Because you are a witness, how am I supposed to trust a woman that walks the streets of Californa by herself. You are obviously reckless," Bucky replied in a rather harsh tone. He was lying. He just wanted you, to hold and protect forever; he knew he was foolish, how was she ever supposed to love her captor? Bucky sighed deeply, sitting beside her figure, watching as she winced at the gentle touch of his cold fingertips against her back, even with the layers of clothes on, you could still feel the jolt his touch sent to your body. you weren't supposed to react like this. But the longer he kept drawing small patterns on your back, the warmer you felt towards him, relaxing only slightly as the tears stopped flowing down your face. You understood why. 

"How long are you going to keep me here?" You asked, hesitantly, scared of his answer as he took minutes to reply, his fingers now still.

"Until I can trust you," He replied.

"Please, Please, I need to be with my father, he's ill, he can’t live without me," You said, lying. Your father wasn't exactly ill, he was just old, but you were true when saying he relied on you for everything.

"I'll have someone look after him don't you worry princess," Shivers. There it was. The wrong reaction to being nicknamed by a member of an infamous Mafia. You watched his dark, muscular figure rise, walking out the room, leaving with a distinct click, clearly locking the door. You ran around the room, checking the windows, all locked. No weapons, unless you smashed his head with a lamp. But anyway, you knew there was really not any kind of escape. You were in a house full of Mafia members, ruthless and dirty ones at that. You hated to admit it but this room was probably the safest place for a couple of miles. As well as that, if you did manage to escape, you know Bucky would probably go through the ends of the earth just to find you again, and possibly kill you.

Happy Valentine's day to me.

[enchantedxrose]

The Monster of West End: A Victorian-Era Retelling of Beauty and the Beast The “Beauty” of this story is a young seamstress desperate for work to pay off her father’s debts. Her new employer, though Beastly in appearance, is coldly tolerated by society because he has money and status. She is quickly charmed by his warm heart and sense of humor, but his monstrous form isn’t the only obstacle to their budding relationship. 

Part 1/?

London, 1837

           It was a dull, overcast January afternoon when young Miss Viola Weston hired a hansom cab to take her to an unfamiliar part of town. Damp, heavy snowflakes drifted from the hazy sky and turned the cobblestone streets to rivers of grey slush. Clumps of snow clung to the horse’s mane and even coated the driver’s hat and cape.

           Viola winced at the very thought of the unnecessary expense—usually, she walked everywhere, regardless of the distance or cold, because she could hardly afford the fare—but today she would regard it as an investment of sorts.

           She smoothed out the newspaper advertisement that she had tucked into her skirt pocket, though the runny ink was smudging onto her fingers.

Help Wanted: Skilled seamstress to serve in the household of Mr. Albert Carlyle, esq. Eight pounds a month, plus room and board. Please bring samples of your work.

           Viola could hardly be presentable for an interview in a respectable household if she arrived flushed and windswept. From the cab window, she watched pedestrians burying their faces in mufflers and hunching over to shield from the biting chill. She thought of her father, left behind in a dismal, bare room, struggling to warm his hands by the feeble coal stove.

           “Please, my dear, do not take this position if it is demeaning and low,” her father had urged her this morning. “We can get by without you slaving away in some factory or scrubbing floors.”

           Viola had bit her tongue against the obvious wry observation that their family was not, in fact, getting by: they were living in the Marshalsea debtors’ prison. For years, their family’s pride had prevented them from seeking help from friends and relations, until they found themselves buried in debts.

           True humility, and seeking a domestic position in a wealthy household, was the only remedy Viola could see. That, or an advantageous marriage, but she had no desire to leap from one prison to a wholly different one.

           As she rode on, the houses and buildings grew smarter, neater. Gone were the shabby, narrow pawn shops and public houses with dingy windows and peeling paint; they gave way to gilded music halls and libraries with gleaming marble pillars. The unfamiliar address that she had given to the cab driver turned out to be a brick townhouse with newly-painted green shutters, nestled comfortably in a nouveau riche neighborhood.

           Promising, but not intimidatingly ornate, she noted with satisfaction.

           Her knock on the front door was brisk and confident. She straightened her bonnet and smoothed back the wisps of hair that had begun to escape in the breeze. She was greeted by a sullen-looking housekeeper with an upturned nose.

           “Yes? What is your business?”

           Her prepared speech tumbled out in a rush. “Hello, my name is Weston, Viola Weston, and I’ve come about the position you advertised in the newspaper—if it’s still available?”

           “Slow down, child, what are you saying?”

           Viola exhaled in a gust, endeavoring to speak more coherently. “I was wondering if the position is still available. I sent you a letter…?”

           “Oh, Miss Weston, of course, you’re expected. Do come inside.” Despite her words of welcome, the housekeeper peered at Viola critically as she beckoned her inside. “You’re rather younger than I was expecting,” she remarked.

           Viola met her gaze without wavering and lifted her chin defiantly, refusing to feel self-conscious. Young hands were more nimble with a needle, and young eyes could see up close without spectacles.

           The interior of the house was just as cheerful and comfortable as the exterior promised. Though the foyer was long and narrow, it felt bright and airy with its sunshine-colored wallpaper and stair carpets flecked with poppies and daisies. It was as if someone were trying to bring the English countryside inside, to spite the dingy, smoggy city outside.

           The housekeeper led her through a front parlor, but instead of directing her to sit, crossed to a heavy oak door on the other side.

           The housekeeper rapped her knuckles on the door. “Master, Miss Weston is here to see you.”

           From within, a smooth, refined tenor voice responded. “Promptly on schedule. Excellent. Be kind enough to send her in, Mrs. Hutchinson.”

           The housekeeper leaned closer to Viola to speak to her in a whisper. “The Master asked to meet you in his study. He thinks the front parlor is too formal.”

           Viola chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Is he an agreeable man, Mr. Carlyle?” she asked in an undertone. “Do you like him as an employer?”

           A curious look passed over the housekeeper’s face. “Agreeable, yes. He’s a fair and generous employer. A man? That depends on who you ask.”

           Before Viola could make any sense of this cryptic remark, the housekeeper opened the door and all but thrust her into the study.

           A cursory glance over the room suggested a man of curious tastes and scientific interests. Much of the wallpaper was hidden by detailed diagrams of vascular plants and root systems, and framed collections of beetles and butterflies pinned to cards. The mantle was bedecked with ammonite fossils, and the bookshelves stuffed with taxidermied weasels and hedgehogs.

           But Viola’s impressions of the study quickly faded from her attention when she caught sight of its occupant.

           She thought she had prepared herself for any and every possibility when meeting her prospective employer, but she could not have been more wrong. The figure standing by the desk was shaped vaguely like a man—and yet it was not a man.

           It stood nearly seven feet tall, its body lean and lithe as an antelope. Every visible inch of skin was covered in thick, shaggy chestnut-brown fur. Its long face was framed in a heart shape by a soft tufted black mane, like a lion’s, and from the top of its head sprouted two wide, elaborate antlers, like those of an elk. Its arms and hands seemed dexterous like a human’s, but each of the fingers was tipped with a sharp, curved talon.

           Surely—surely that soft, genteel voice had not come from this creature?

           Despite the figure’s bizarre chimera appearance, he was dressed neatly as a gentleman in grey silk waistcoat and cravat. When he looked up from the letters on his desk, she saw his eyes were large and catlike, golden amber.

           “Miss…Weston, is that correct? Thank you for coming. Please, do be seated.”

           She sank wordlessly into a chair. He seated himself in the armchair opposite, folding his absurdly long legs underneath it—she then noticed he wore no shoes, for his feet were formed into two wide, splayed toes like a camel’s.

           If he noticed her distraction, he cheerfully ignored it. “Will you take some tea, Miss Weston? It is such a dismally cold day and I know you have come some distance to us.”

           She accepted the steaming cup and saucer with numb hands, still unable to unfurrow her nonplussed expression. His manners and tone were impeccable, courteous, designed to put her at ease, yet he seemed determined not to acknowledge the reason for her stunned silence.

           “Ordinarily, I would not accept a domestic employee without references,” he said as he offered her the sugar bowl, “but at present, I am more concerned with your mending skills. I trust you have brought samples of your work, as requested?”

           “Yes—yes, I have,” she said, shaking herself out of her confused haze. She drew out a fine cambric handkerchief that she had embroidered with bluebells and daisies. He put a pair of pince-nez on the end of his long snout-like nose to examine the stitches more closely.

           “Hmm. Yes, you have a neat hand,” he muttered in an approving tone. “And you can mend just as well?”

           “Yes, I mend all my own clothes. And my father’s.”

           He nodded, giving her back the handkerchief, carefully avoiding brushing her hand in the action.

           Viola could not take it any longer. “Forgive me for being blunt, sir, but I must ask. What…manner of being are you, exactly?”

           He raised his eyebrows.

           “That was a terribly rude question,” Viola sighed. Why could she never simply keep her mouth shut?

           Instead of contorting his face in outrage, as she might have expected, Mr. Carlyle chuckled. His smile revealed a row of dagger-sharp teeth.

           “If I knew the answer to that, Miss Weston, I would certainly tell you,” he said.

           His light, conversational tone emboldened her to press onward. “And have you always been—like this?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat.

           “As far as I can remember, yes. My guardians told me I was born like this, though I suppose I must take their word for it.”

           Viola studied him for a moment in disbelief. He stared right back at her over his teacup with a placid smile.

           “I apologize for all the impudent questions,” she said with some chagrin. “I suppose you must be used to it by now.”

           “Most people in my circle are content to leave those questions unspoken. It is truly amazing what eccentricities people will tolerate when enough money is involved,” he added wryly.

           Viola straightened in her seat. “I cannot bear to leave the obvious unspoken, sir. I think it is an affront to common sense. But I understand if my lack of delicacy makes me an undesirable candidate for your household.”

           He cocked his head to the side as he studied her. Despite his inhuman features, his expressions were surprisingly easy to decipher.

           “Quite the contrary, Miss Weston,” he said mildly. “I find your frankness refreshing. As you say, it is foolish to tiptoe around the obvious.” He opened a small chest on the side table and pulled out a pipe. “Will you object if I smoke? Some ladies find the aroma offensive.”

           “Not at all, sir.”

           He methodically filled his pipe and lit it before turning his attention back to her. The wisps of tobacco smoke smelled warm and redolent, like spiced tea from India.

           “You haven’t yet asked the most obvious question,” he noted. “Why should anyone employ their own seamstress instead of bringing their clothes to a tailor?”

           “The thought did occur to me, but I assumed you would explain in due course.”

           “The answer is somewhat…awkward. But your candor has convinced me that I may be just as forthright with you.”

           For the first time in their interview, Mr. Carlyle looked uncomfortable, his amber eyes fixed determinedly on his lap. He took a deep breath.

           “As you might imagine, Miss Weston, tailors find me a frustratingly difficult subject to fit. And I am…rather prone to tearing my clothes if I am not careful,” he added, holding up his sharp claws in explanation.

           “Ah.” Her heart swelled with pity. “That must be quite irritating for you. I can understand why our arrangement might be more practical in the long term.”

           His eyes were wide, earnest. “Are the terms of this arrangement agreeable to you, Miss Weston? That is to say—you needn’t make up your mind this very instant, you may think on it as long as—”

           “They are,” she said emphatically. “Your offer is fair and generous.”

           He smiled, again displaying that row of jagged teeth. “I am pleased to hear that. I am prepared to take you on immediately, on a trial basis of course.”

           There was a brief pause in the conversation as he poured out another round of tea and offered her a plate of biscuits. His solicitous manner made her feel more like an honored guest than a potential employee.

           “Have you any family in the city, Miss Weston?”

           “Yes, I live with my father. He used to be a clockmaker, quite a good one in fact.” She fiddled with a loose strand of lace at the edge of her sleeve. “Unfortunately his health has forced him to set aside his business, which is why I must look for work.”

           It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it skirted uncomfortably around the truth.

           She had come to this interview intending to be forthright about her family’s financial situation. But now that the moment had come, she felt too queasy at the thought of this strange, kindly gentleman knowing how desperate their circumstances were.

           No, I can’t mention the debts. Not while he’s speaking to me like an equal. He’ll look down on Father—or worse, he’ll feel sorry for me.

           “I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr. Carlyle said. “I always give my staff Sunday afternoons off, but perhaps you would like the entire day to visit him if he is in poor health.”

           “That’s very kind of you, sir. I should like that very much.”

           “That’s settled, then.”

           Viola glanced nervously at the sun outside, weakly sinking toward the horizon. “Mr. Carlyle, would you happen to have the time?”

           He drew out a silver pocket watch. “Twenty minutes past four. Are you expected elsewhere?”

           “No, sir, but I must get back before the gates—” (before the gates to the Marshalsea are locked) “—before dark, that is.”

           She colored a little at her slip, but he did not comment on it.

           “Are you certain that’s wise? This blizzard seems only to be getting worse. Wouldn’t you rather set out in the morning? There is a spare bedroom in the servants’ quarters, and I’m sure my housekeeper could lend you some nightclothes.”

           They both froze for a moment, listening in dismay as the wind howled over the chimney and made the fire stutter. The shutters rattled against the windows as if some unseen creature was struggling to get inside.

           Nevertheless, she pulled on her shawl and replied, “Thank you for the offer, but my father will fret if I do not come home.”

           “Then do take care, Miss Weston. I’ll hire a cab to take you—”

           “No need, sir. I can hire my own cab.” She winced: that had come out sharper than she had intended. It would have been a a perfectly ordinary courtesy for her new employer to help with travel expenses, but it was now so ingrained in her to pretend she needed no help, that she no longer knew how to accept it.

           Mr. Carlyle looked a trifle crestfallen, and she suddenly wished she could apologize. But he quickly recovered and smoothed over the awkward moment.

           “In that case, I shall see you first thing tomorrow, if that’s quite convenient,” he said briskly, rising from his seat to bid her farewell.

           “It is. Thank you for everything, Mr. Carlyle,” she added with feeling; “I am much obliged to you for the opportunity, and for your hospitality.”

           She extended a hand for him to shake. He stared at her uncertainly for a moment. When he hesitantly took it, he bowed his head and kissed the air above her hand, as if he were taking leave of a duchess.

           She suppressed a shiver at the subtle scrape of his claws against her palm.

To be continued...

[robronsecretsanta]

(we will be together) if the fates allow. pt. 1

for @raelee514 aaron/robert a coffee shop AU in three parts

ao3 link

“Careful with that one,” Ellis muttered as he squeezed through the door next to him and struggled to untie the knot in the back of his apron in a hurry to finally get home for the holidays. “Proper Christmas Grinch,” he clarified, giving a subtle-not-so-subtle nod towards a bloke sitting on the corner table at the window with his back towards them, head buried deep in his laptop and an extra large cup of coffee on hand.

“Probably, cause you‘re so charming, eh?” Aaron smirked at him before pulling his dark woolen bobble hat off. It was dripping now that the warmth of the coffee shop had started to work against the dozens of snowflakes that Aaron had brought in with him and he couldn‘t help himself but try and shake some of the drops of water out right against the younger man‘s face.

Ellis‘ corresponding eye-roll earned him a well-meant slap to the back.

Grumpy facade aside, Aaron was the kind of boss who‘d fight a war for his employees, if need be. Especially when faced with some snotty baby boomer, who enjoyed getting offended by just the thought of having to wait in a line for a full three minutes when coming into the shop right at the “last chance to get caffeine before university starts” rush hour of eight forty-five, or some hipster-y part-time-vegan philosophy student who got a kick out of sending back half-eaten cookies five times over for tasting too sweet or too artificial in the hopes of bagging himself a free meal. But that aside, they both knew that - a lot like Aaron himself - Ellis tended to have quite the mouth on him when someone rubbed him the wrong way.

Even more so when he was working the much hated Christmas Eve shift.

Once Ellis had disappeared to his locker to pack it in for the day, Aaron grabbed his own apron and pulled it over his head, giving the machines and the bakery display a quick once-over before taking his place at the counter to face the last few hours of the Christmas shift.

He never much minded it to be honest.

Being his own boss had been Aaron‘s dream ever since he had had to earn his first few pennies as a mechanic under Cain‘s hard-nosed look. All his dodgy ways aside, his uncle had always taken his business incredibly seriously and while Aaron had respected that and had found it something to look up to, 16-year-old him would have respected getting to decide on his own lunch hours and ending up with more than a tenner in his pocket after spending a full eight hours under a bonnet in the burning August heat even more.

And this shop had been his chance at all of that and more. So when the opportunity had come up a little over a year ago, with one of their old customers declaring over a broken shock mount that he was about to move to Germany to make a go of it with his bird and leave his old shop behind without a new owner in sight, Aaron‘s ears had perked up.

Yes, he had only been 25 and yes he hadn‘t know a thing about running a business, but he had loved tea ever since he could remember - a good cuppa sometimes being the only bright spot in his day back when those had consisted of nothing but screaming matches and trouble - and he barely went a day without coffee since an ex-boyfriend of his had dragged him to France for a couple of months, his relationship with the caffeinated liquid the only one that had made it back up north without ending up in tatters.

So he had scoured every savings account and sock for every last penny of his savings. And when that hadn‘t been enough, he had swallowed most of his pride and gotten himself a half-decent loan with the help of his family. Because say what you like about the Dingles, but for what often seemed like a mismatched bunch of thugs and simpletons from the outside, they had always been exceptionally good at coming together to support their own. And they could be incredibly resourceful when need be as well. (Though to this day Aaron would rather not know where Cain and Charity had dug up their respective shares.)

Which was how he had ended up here now.

With a shop of his own, working on Christmas Eve of all days and enjoying every minute of it in a way he never thought he would, the constant grinding of the coffee machines behind him and the bitter smell of caffeine in the air calming his usually so busy mind in a way he‘d never expected it to, but treasured all the more for it. Keeping his shop open for most of the Christmas holiday, even if not as long as usual, had been the one of Aaron‘s best ideas to date. Those days always earning him a few new customers, searching souls who had been let down by all the usual chains and ended up stumbling into the little corner shop in desperate need of a cuppa or maybe just a bit of peace and quiet.

Aaron could relate.

Especially to the latter one, when he himself still had a classic Christmas Dingle do ahead of him later in the evening.

It was why he always liked to send the boys home earlier than usual on Christmas Eve and end the shift all by himself. His place behind the counter had somehow become Aaron‘s own little oasis of calm, carved out for himself amidst the holiday rush.

“Seriously, mate,“ Matty chimed in in a whisper from his place at the till after having overheard the exchange between Aaron and Ellis, dragging his boss from his daydream with it. “He‘s been sitting there since half nine this morning, complaining about everything like a right muppet and with a face like someone‘s just run over his favourite cat and his grandma in one go.” It came out as an annoyed sigh.

There was a quick pause before he added, “could give yours a run for its money, I reckon.”

Aaron furrowed his brows at him and turned to take a closer look at the bloke.

He didn‘t seem like your typical troublemaker, but the light brown elbow patches adorning his dark blue blazer and the thick, black coat hanging over the back of his chair that looked like it might have cost more than Aaron made in a month gave him just enough of an air of poshness to make him the type to complain about his cappuccino only being topped by one instead of the recommended 1.5 inches of foam. And yet there was also something familiar and warm about the man and the way he kept running his hand through his wild blond hair in frustration, strands sticking up in every direction at the back of his head.

Not enough though to make Aaron dismiss Matty‘s judgement out of hand.

Unlike for Ellis, this wasn‘t Matty‘s first stint as a barista. He had survived two years at the local Starbucks before Aaron had taken him on, which meant that he had spent two entire years of his life selling completely overpriced muck to every customer imaginable and somehow keeping a straight face when asked for such atrocities as Unicorn Frappuccinos with almond milk, 6 shots and no whip.

So there usually was absolutely nothing a customer could do to truly put Matty off.

(It was also the reason Aaron had earned himself a massive, unwanted hug from him when he‘d explained that his plan was to just sell coffee and tea, the menu no carrying a single beverage with more than five syllables in its name, nor anything pumpkin spice or snickerdoodle flavoured, thank you very much.)

Which meant that if Matty called someone difficult, they had to be an absolute nightmare.

—

Robert‘s phone started to vibrate yet again with the fifth video call request from Victoria in as many hours. Before that it has just been a slew of text messages, but his little sister had always been incredibly determined when need be so the chances of her giving up any time soon were minimal to say the least.

Robert had tried.

He really had.

Because it was Christmas and he loved his sister. But also because, as much as he didn‘t ever want to admit it out loud, the loneliness of the bachelor life he had suddenly found himself  forced into was starting to eat away at him.

So he had ordered a ridiculous amount of presents for Vic and Diane online and let them eat away at his savings in an attempt to make up for lost time. Had folded his nicest shirts neatly and ironed all his pants before putting them into his travel bag. He had showered and shaved and - for what was probably the first time in the month since he had had to ditch the slightly upscale room in a B&B he had called home for almost half a year in favour of a tiny one-bedroom apartment for lack of funds -  put some effort into his hair instead of just letting it greasily stick to his forehead, because he couldn‘t even be bothered about the pizza delivery guy realising what a mess of a human he really was. Not that the four orders a week hadn‘t already been a dead giveaway anyway.

And then he had stuffed everything into his car to drive. The fact alone that he had gotten into the front seat with a direction in mind, instead of yet again only having an aimless drive with the only purpose of making the night go by a little faster ahead of him had been enough to put a smile on his face, so he had turned up some Top100 station on the radio and sung along to Cher and Chris Rae in full force. And then he‘d driven out of Leeds and onto the highway and as the sky got darker around him and snowflakes started to dribble onto his windshield until he could barely see the street ahead of him Chris Rae started to sing about all the memories he was driving home for Christmas with just that one time too many for Robert not to remember that in actuality he would far prefer it to drive as far away from all those memories as his Porsche would take him, then to let them hit him again with full force.

So he had left the highway and stopped at the first Motel he could find.

In Hotten.

Not Emmerdale.

Because deep down underneath all the charm and his own illusion of grandeur, Robert had always been a coward at heart and Hotten‘s town sign had been as far as he could manage to drive before it had felt as if his stomach was about to turn with the images that were burning in his mind. Old ones of his dad screaming at him with a red face and wide eyes, of belts with silver metal buckles and burning barns.

But also new ones.

Scenarios that hadn‘t played out in front of him yet, but that his mind enjoyed to torture him with anyway as if they were absolutely certainties. Unavoidable horrors yet to come. Like the disappointment Robert was bound to find in Diane‘s eyes the moment he would take a step through her door or the footless guilt that Victoria would try to hide behind bitten lips and red cheeks for not having been a shoulder to lean on, as if Robert would have let her anyway.

His phone beeped again and he turned it on its screen just so he wouldn‘t have to look at Vic‘s smiling face looking up at him from it anymore.

God, he needed another coffee.

—

It took almost an hour before Aaron got to really meet the guy that Matty and Ellis had been so happy to throw their “asshole of the month” award at after only spending a mere six hours in his presence.

Aaron had made himself comfortable at table closest to the sales counter with the books spread out in front of him, gnawing on the cap of his ballpoint pen. It was almost four now and the shop was even quieter now than it had been an hour ago, the only customers a young couple completely oblivious to the world around them with their ankles wrapped around each other under the table and their noses almost buried in their respective hot chocolates and the apparent Christmas Grinch who hadn‘t moved from his place in the corner. It had been the perfect opportunity for Aaron to try and get a handle on his budget for the new year, or so he thought.

He had only been lost in thought for a minute or two - the year of running his own place not enough to have stopped numbers and calculations from giving him a right headache just like they had back in school - when the blond was bellowing, his voice carrying through the room and almost making Aaron jump.

“Can anyone around here be bothered to actually work and serve a half decent cup of coffee, for fuck‘s sake?” Out of the corner of his eye, Aaron see him standing at the opposite side of the counter now, one hand grabbing its top tightly as he leaned over and tried to peer into the backroom in hopes of finding someone to yell at the other waving his empty coffee cup. Seemingly, he hadn‘t noticed Aaron hunched over at his table yet, though that wasn‘t all that surprising with all the colourful Christmas decorations that Matty and Ellis had outvoted him on and the till obscuring the view.

“Just a minute, mate.”

Aaron had been doing this for long enough now to know when to pull his best fake-happy customer service voice out of his bag of tricks and this was just it. Calmly, he pushed his chair back and got up, dropping the pen onto the table without a care as he took a deep breath and plastered an overly kind smile onto his face before he turned to face the his new least favourite customer.

The corners of his mouth dropped as quickly as he‘d pulled them upwards as his eyes were met with green-blue ones, high cheekbones and a nose scattered with freckles that he couldn‘t make out with the distance that the counter was putting between the two of them, but could have drawn a map of in his sleep anyway for having spent so many restless nights in hotel rooms softly tracing them with his ring finger in a desperate attempt to commit every inch of the man to memory.

“Robert.”

It wasn‘t a question, just a whisper thrown into the space between them, low and unbelieving.

“Aaron.”