#like this time I used a different brush to line! ironically that brush was called Charlotte Royale lmao

[askcapital]

Capital seems to be on the run move...

[ @sinnohsiblings ]

[lemoniiiiiii]

chances

(frat!kyle spencer x fem!reader)

content: fluff, angst (if you squint?), mentioned sexual harassment (by frat members)

a/n: not proofread, short drabble inspired by this post, wrote it really fast so sorry if it's not the best (it's my first time writing for kyle too so)! also, the last line is sick I'm aware I'M SORRY RYAN MURPHY POSSESSED ME

when your boyfriend kyle told you that he was joining the fraternity kappa lambda gamma you seriously thought he was joking. kyle was caring, hard-working, kind. yeah, he liked to joke around, but he was nothing like those greek alphabet degenerates you associated frats with. you told him this earnestly. it wasn't just a passing judgment, it was a genuine concern for him. trapped in a house with all those guys? kyle could handle himself well growing up in the 9th ward, but these frat guys were different to the types of people he was used to dealing with. you didn't want to see him to get hurt, or worse... start becoming like them.

when you expressed your feelings to him, kyle (of course politely) brushed your concerns off.

"give em' a chance..." he told you, caressing your head in his lap. "they're not all as bad as ya think. and even some of em' that are a bit.. y'know.. they're good people at heart, i can tell. they just hafta be put in the right direction."

"and is that why you're gonna try and become president?"

"yep! kappa lambda gamma has the potential to be one of the best chapters tulane has ever seen. that, and it gets ya some pretty awesome connections"

he was right.. a lot of past frat members had become pretty successful and kyle could use that to his advantage.

"okay fair... just, be safe okay? stick to what you know- who you are"

"oh i f'sure will" he flashed a knowing smile, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on your lips. your hands found their way into his golden curls, drawing him closer for a deeper connection.

as if on cue, the moment kyle pulled away, his phone began to ring. he glanced at the screen, and an apologetic smile appeared on his lips as he answered the call, shifting slightly as if bracing for what was coming.

"whoa, whoa, whoa, ma, slow down. what's going on? i’m at a—" he hesitated, casting a quick glance your way, "—at a friend’s, i told ya already... yeah, i’ll be home soon... what? right now?" there was a brief pause before he sighed. "okay, ma. love you too."

as kyle lowered the phone, you let out a soft sigh, already knowing what was coming. "gotta go, huh?"

"yeah, i’m sorry, baby..." he took your hand gently, lifting it to his lips in one smooth motion, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin before his lips brushed your knuckles. his fingers slid between yours, intertwining, and then he leaned in close, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "i’ll see you on campus, okay?"

you nodded, trying to mask the disappointment tugging at your chest. "mhm… see you," you murmured, sitting up and watching him leave.

--

"oh my god" your jaw dropped as kyle stepped out of the bathroom. you had gone to surprise him after move-in day, wanting to see how he was adjusting to the frat life. and oh boy did he adjust. he had the blue embroidered polo with the collar obnoxiously flipped up, a white long sleeve underneath it, rolled up to the elbows, even-

"your hair!" you gasped. kyle's once luscious curls you loved to run your hands through had now become flat and side-swept. you silently cursed yourself for ever teaching him how to use a flat iron so he could help you do your hair.

"well y'know you could say hi-" he chuckled, enjoying your reaction to his new look. "like it?"

to be honest, you didn't hate it, as much as you wanted to. kyle had a way of making anything look good. it was more what it represented that made your stomach churn.

"you certainly look the part" you said, forcing a half-smile. "all you need now is a backwards cap and a blood alcohol content of .12%"

he laughed, walking over and nudging your arm. "c'mon babe. open mind, remember?"

you sighed. "right... open mind" you glanced over him again, noticing how the fabric of his clothes hugged his frame in a way that accentuated his muscles. "okay.. you do look really hot i'm just wor-"

"gonna stop ya right there." he gently placed a hand on your arm, giving you a warm smile. "thank you. i'm happy ya came."

"i'm... happy i'm here- well, with you anyway" you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth lift. kyle just had that effect on you.

"..seriously though," you started again, looking into his eyes with a hint of concern.

kyle’s expression softened as he wrapped an arm around your lower back. "i promise it's stoppin' here, alright? all this… it's just surface level. you still have me." he gestured vaguely to his clothes and hair. "this is still the same me."

you held his gaze, trying to believe him, though a small part of you still worried that he may fall in too deep.

"please baby, give em' a chance..."

"what kind of chance?" you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "because i was violated like three different ways just walking up to your room." the words came out half-joking, but there was an edge to your tone that kyle didn’t miss.

he straightened up, eyes narrowing, and his brow furrowed with a fierce protectiveness. "what happened?"

"i'm kidding... kinda. nothing crazy just a few wandering eyes" you waved it off, though the memory of being looked up and down like that made your skin crawl for a second.

"i'll talk to em' about it. if they say or do anything else, tell me. i'll cut their fuckin' balls off" his voice was serious, and though he didn't mean it literally, you knew he would go to war for the people he cared about.

"as long as i get to watch," you giggled, leaning into him a little more.

"...any chance you’ll stop using that flat iron, though?" you asked, giving his new hairstyle a gentle tease, still missing the curls that used to frame his face.

"when i'm dead." he chuckled with a cocky grin.

"we’ll see about that."

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @heartz4peter

[imthebadguyyy]

Iron Hearts

With the same fire and charm that runs in the Stark bloodline, you’ve never been one to fade into the background.

pairing : steve rogers x reader fandom : mcu synopsis : As Tony Stark’s younger sister, you’ve always shared his brilliance and bold personality. Outgoing, witty, and never afraid to speak your mind, you’re just as comfortable stealing the spotlight as your brother is. But when Tony ropes you into joining the Avengers' operations after the Chitauri invasion, the last thing you expect is to clash with Captain America, Steve Rogers—a man so different from the fast-paced world you’re used to. Steve’s stoic, old-fashioned values collide with your free-spirited nature, sparking a connection that’s as electric as it is infuriating. As the Avengers face new threats, you and Steve find yourselves drawn together in unexpected ways, each challenge bringing you closer. The world is always in need of saving—but will the Iron legacy and a shielded heart leave room for something more?

EPISODE 1 : COLLIDE

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The low hum of machinery filled your private lab, a familiar and soothing backdrop to the glow of various monitors and the holographic interface suspended above your desk. You were in your element here—surrounded by sleek gadgets, circuits, and blueprints only you understood. The soft, sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs bathed everything in a cool hue, making the outside world feel distant, almost irrelevant. Your hands moved with practiced precision, making the final tweaks to your latest invention—something sleek, cutting-edge, and powerful. It was not for public eyes, least of all Tony’s. Let him bask in the glory of his Iron Man suits and his public heroism. You preferred working in the shadows, away from the spotlight. After all, the real power came from the things people didn’t see.

Just as you were about to run another test, FRIDAY’s calm, computerized voice broke the silence. “Incoming call—Tony Stark.”

You let out a small, exasperated sigh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Of course Tony would interrupt now, just when you were getting into the groove. Without breaking your stride, you gestured toward the nearest screen, signaling FRIDAY to patch the call through.

Tony’s face flickered to life on the screen, his usual cocky grin already plastered across his face. He looked annoyingly well-rested for someone who constantly threw himself into world-saving chaos.

“Hey, sis. Got a minute?” His tone was casual, but you could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. Tony always had an ulterior motive.

“Not for you,” you shot back, though your lips twitched with a slight smile. You’d perfected the art of giving Tony a hard time over the years. “What do you need, Tony?”

“Can’t a brother call to check on his favorite sibling?” He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “We both know I’m your only sibling.”

“Touché,” he admitted, chuckling softly. "But seriously, I need you."

You froze momentarily, your hand hovering over the interface. Tony rarely outright asked for help, and when he did, you knew it was big. Slowly, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you gave him your full attention.

“I need my secret weapon,” Tony added, his voice dropping to that tone he used when he really wanted something.

You blinked at him, skeptical. “Secret weapon? Tony, I’m not about to be your backup tech support.”

Tony grinned, undeterred by your resistance. "This isn’t just tech support. It’s big. New team, new mission, bigger stakes. And who better to help me keep this bunch in line than you?"

You hesitated, glancing at the half-finished prototype on your desk. For years, you’d operated under the radar, happy to let Tony soak up the limelight. Being his sister came with a certain level of scrutiny you’d avoided like the plague. You preferred the quiet. The idea of stepping into the Avengers' world—especially now—seemed chaotic at best.

“I’m not suiting up, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you finally said, narrowing your eyes at him. The last thing you needed was to get dragged into one of his world-saving escapades in some shiny new armor.

“Of course not,” Tony grinned, though there was a playful glimmer in his eyes that told you he wasn’t ruling anything out entirely. “Just come to the Tower, meet the team. If you hate it, you can go back to hiding in your lab and pretending you’re not a genius like me.”

You rolled your eyes, though the thought lingered. A new team? A new mission? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. If things went south, you could always disappear back into the shadows. But something in Tony’s tone hinted at urgency, something serious brewing on the horizon. He wasn’t just calling for fun. He needed you.

With a resigned sigh, you pushed off from the desk. “Fine. But this better not be some ploy to get me into an Iron suit.”

Tony’s smirk widened. “No promises.”

The call ended with a flicker of the screen, and you were left standing in the soft hum of your lab, the weight of Tony’s request hanging in the air. You glanced at your half-finished prototype one last time before grabbing your jacket, muttering under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

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Later, at Avengers Tower, you stepped into the grand lobby, the space sprawling before you like something out of a futuristic movie. Towering glass walls reflected the sunlight, creating a dazzling effect that made the entire room shimmer. High-tech displays blinked with data and notifications, while sleek metallic accents added to the modernity. It was a world apart from your cozy lab, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how Tony had truly outdone himself with this place. The grandeur was impressive, but you felt a knot tightening in your stomach, a sense of unease settling in as you stepped further inside.

Just as you took another step, a voice sliced through the air behind you, cool and assessing. “So you’re the sister Tony doesn’t like to talk about.”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding slightly at the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his muscular frame radiating authority. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was an edge to it—a mix of skepticism and something akin to wariness. He looked you up and down, his gaze critical, and you could already sense the judgment simmering beneath the surface. He thought you were just another Stark, another piece in Tony’s ego-driven game.

“And you’re the soldier out of time,” you replied, matching his coolness with your own. The words felt sharper than you intended, a defensive instinct kicking in. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve offered a tight nod, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t smile. “Tony’s told me a lot about you.”

“All bad, I hope,” you shot back, a hint of a smirk dancing on your lips. But Steve’s expression remained unyielding, the weight of his gaze unwavering.

“I’m not here to judge,” he stated, but his eyes bore into you, steady and measuring, as if he were trying to peel back layers of your identity with sheer will alone. “Just here to see if you’re serious.”

“Serious?” You scoffed, your heart racing with indignation. “About what?”

“About helping, about doing what’s right. We’ve got enough egos on this team.”

Your smirk faded, replaced by a flash of frustration. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know your brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Tony,” you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended. The tension between you crackled in the air, palpable and thick. You hated the feeling of being judged before someone even bothered to know you, and clearly, Steve didn’t like the idea of another Stark stepping into the fold.

For a moment, silence engulfed you, and you could almost hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. The intensity of Steve’s gaze felt like a spotlight, and you wondered if he could see through your facade, exposing the vulnerabilities you kept hidden. You could sense his protective instincts flaring, the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders, and somehow, you felt like an outsider even though you were family.

Just as the tension threatened to spiral further, Tony strolled into the room, an air of nonchalance enveloping him. “Hey, you two! Getting along already?” His grin was impossibly wide, brightening the atmosphere even as it made the air around you feel heavier with unresolved tension.

You shot Tony a glare that could’ve cut through steel. This was not the time for his usual bravado. Steve merely shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in an attempt to contain a smile. “We’ll see,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on you, as if he were weighing the likelihood of your success in this new venture. Then, with a final, assessing glance, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, frustration simmering just below the surface.

“Great. This is off to a fantastic start,” you muttered under your breath, a mixture of annoyance and apprehension churning inside you. The day had barely begun, and already you could feel the weight of expectation bearing down on you. As the lobby buzzed with the energy of heroes and high-tech innovation, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a tightrope, teetering between proving yourself and succumbing to the shadows that felt all too familiar.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, reminding yourself that you were here to help. No matter what Steve Rogers thought, you had your own strengths, your own path to carve in this world. You just had to figure out how to make them see that.

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The air in the war room was thick with tension as Tony briefed you on the mission, his voice crisp and urgent. “So here’s the deal: leftover Chitauri tech has been activated by HYDRA operatives in the city. It’s supposed to be a routine clean-up mission, but we know better than to underestimate anything HYDRA gets their hands on.” His brow furrowed, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that made your stomach knot.

You listened intently, nodding as he laid out the plan. But as he insisted you tag along—even if just to observe and assess—you felt a mix of excitement and dread. You weren’t officially part of the team, yet here you were, being dragged into the chaos by your brother’s unwavering belief in your abilities.

When you arrived at the scene, the streets were already in chaos. The sounds of sirens blared, drowning out the shouts of frantic civilians being evacuated. Smoke billowed into the air, curling around toppled cars and shattered glass. You felt a chill run down your spine as you surveyed the destruction.

Amid the chaos, Steve barked orders at the rest of the team, his authoritative voice cutting through the noise like a beacon of hope. You hung back, monitoring the situation from a mobile unit that Tony had rigged up for you—a lifeline of information in a storm of uncertainty.

“Stay behind the lines!” Steve called out to you over his shoulder, his tone firm as he and Natasha led the charge into the fray.

You rolled your eyes, a mixture of annoyance and determination bubbling inside you. "I know what I’m doing, Captain," you shot back, trying to sound more confident than you felt. The last thing you wanted was to be coddled like a helpless child.

Just as the fight erupted, the atmosphere shifted. A crackling energy surged through the air, and before you could process the threat, one of the HYDRA operatives unleashed a pulse from the Chitauri device. The wave of electricity shot toward you, a blinding flash of danger that sent adrenaline coursing through your veins.

In that split second, everything shifted. Time seemed to slow as you braced for impact, your instincts screaming at you to move, to do something—anything. But before you could react, Steve surged forward like a force of nature. He slammed his shield into the ground with a resounding thud, creating a barrier that absorbed the surge of energy before it could reach you.

You stumbled back, wide-eyed, the reality of what had just happened crashing over you like a tidal wave. Steve turned to you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. “I said stay behind,” he said, his voice clipped, but there was a hint of protectiveness that made your heart race.

“I had it under control,” you snapped back, though deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. You felt a surge of embarrassment rising within you, the remnants of the adrenaline making you defensive.

Steve didn’t argue further, but his gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching yours as if he were trying to gauge the depths of your resolve. The moment stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, and you could sense a silent acknowledgment between you—this was new territory for both of you, a fragile thread connecting your destinies.

But as quickly as it had come, the moment shattered. With a final look that communicated both concern and determination, Steve charged back into the fray, his shield raised high as he fought against the chaos. You stood there, heart racing, grappling with a whirlwind of emotions—frustration, admiration, and a flicker of fear for what lay ahead.

With a deep breath, you refocused on the task at hand. You weren’t going to let this moment define you. You had to prove to yourself, and to Steve, that you belonged here—among heroes and legends. The fight was just beginning, and you were ready to carve your place in it.

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The mission concluded in a flurry of activity and relief, but the tension between you and Steve lingered in the air like an unresolved chord. Back at the Tower, you settled in front of the computer, the glow of the screen casting an almost ethereal light across your face as you replayed footage of the battle. Each frame brought back the chaos—the electricity crackling, the screams of civilians, and Steve’s shield slamming into the ground just in time to save you. The rush of adrenaline from earlier mixed with a more unsettling feeling as you examined the moment you almost lost everything.

As you scrolled through the footage, you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Steve; the weight of his gaze felt palpable, a steady warmth that contrasted sharply with the intensity of the battle you had just fought. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the soft light of the hallway, watching you with a quiet intensity.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere, cutting through the silence that surrounded you.

Surprised, you glanced up at him, momentarily meeting his gaze. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice a mix of pride and humility.

“But next time,” he continued, the firmness returning to his tone, “don’t make me have to save you.”

A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips, a spark of your trademark confidence flaring up in response. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t,” you shot back, your tone light, though beneath it was a current of seriousness.

Steve didn’t respond immediately, his expression shifting as he studied you. In his blue eyes, you caught a flicker of something deeper—perhaps a grudging respect, maybe even a hint of admiration. It made your heart flutter unexpectedly, a rush of warmth that was both thrilling and confusing. The Captain of America saw you, and for a moment, the weight of expectations from being Tony Stark's sister lifted, replaced by a connection that felt genuine.

He nodded once, a subtle acknowledgment of the moment shared between you, before turning to leave. As he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another fleeting exchange. You were carving out your own space in this team, proving that you were more than just Tony’s sister—you were a force to be reckoned with in your own right.

Left alone in the dim light of the lab, you turned back to the screen, but your thoughts were no longer on the footage. Instead, your mind lingered on Steve’s quiet strength, his unwavering resolve. You were beginning to understand that there was more to him than just the Captain—the man behind the shield had his own battles, his own vulnerabilities.

And you felt an undeniable pull towards him, a sense of camaraderie that was slowly transforming into something deeper. The mission had ended, but the journey was just beginning, and you were more determined than ever to prove yourself—not just to Steve, but to the entire team.

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The mission had been a success, but the moment Steve saw you—Tony’s sister—standing there, he felt the weight of responsibility tugging at his heart. He knew you had potential; he’d seen you handle yourself with surprising skill, but he wasn’t prepared for how much the little spark in your eyes got under his skin.

Leaning against the doorway, he watched you replay the footage of the battle. You were focused, your brow furrowed in concentration, and it captivated him. You radiated a unique blend of confidence and determination, much like your brother, yet with a warmth that was distinctly your own.

When he finally spoke, telling you that you handled yourself well out there, he truly meant it. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a mix of admiration and wariness wash over him. You were Tony’s sister—his little sister. He recalled the stories Tony had told him about your childhood, the sibling rivalry, and how fiercely protective Tony had always been of you. That instinct felt like a wall between them, even as he felt drawn to you.

“Don’t make me have to save you,” he warned, hoping to impress upon you the importance of caution. He had seen too many people underestimate their enemies, and he didn’t want you to be another victim of that recklessness.

Your response—light and teasing—pulled a small smile from him, but it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t.” It was infuriating how effortlessly you seemed to deflect his concern. You had a spark that reminded him of Tony, but there was something more disarming about you. Something that made it hard for him to maintain his composure.

He nodded, more to himself than to you, before he turned to leave. He didn’t want to admit how much your presence affected him, how he found you attractive in a way that made him question everything he knew about focusing on the mission. But he also understood that getting involved with Tony’s sister could complicate things—complicate his already tangled life.

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As the days turned into weeks, you became a more permanent fixture in the Tower, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly you blended into their chaotic team dynamic. Watching you interact with the others was eye-opening. You had Tony’s quick wit, but there was a warmth in your approach that brought out the best in everyone.

He remembered a moment during a team meeting when Clint made a joke at your expense. Without missing a beat, you shot back, “If you’re going to insult me, at least make it clever.” The room erupted in laughter, and Steve found himself chuckling along, secretly impressed by your tenacity.

But the more time he spent with you, the more he struggled with his feelings. You were intelligent, fiercely capable, and incredibly brave—qualities he admired. Yet every time he looked at you, he felt the ghost of Tony’s protective nature hovering over them. He could practically hear Tony warning him to keep his distance, reminding him that you were off-limits. It was a mental tug-of-war, and every glance between them only heightened his awareness of how close they were getting.

One evening, you both worked late in the lab. He caught you watching him as he threw punches at a training dummy, a curious smile dancing on your lips. It was a moment of connection, but it also made his heart race in a way that both thrilled and terrified him. He knew you were trouble, yet there was something about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

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a/n : so this is new series im experimenting with!! not proofread. any comments tips suggestions you have would be highly appreciated. happy reading!!

TAGS

all writing - @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove@bluesongbird-blog

marvel -

to be added to the taglist send me an ask or a dm specifying which fandom 🩷

[lullaebies]

Aegon III/Jaehaera prompt/request: Jaehaera bonds with a new dragon (they're both teenagers in this) and Aegon tries to overcome his fear for her.

(also Aegon II is still alive because I said so)

“You don’t have to do this,” Jaehaera tells him. Her face is even but her palms are troubled, fingers fidgeting together as they enter the dragon pit. 

“You will find your father doesn’t share that view, Haera.” Aegon answers. His own hands are clammy as well, his heart speeding up as the steel gates of the entrance close. It is a jest in some way, but a reminder to himself as well. Aegon the Elder had begrudgingly agreed to a betrothal between them after a long while of refusing profusely.

The many changing lords of the Small Council had been making cases for it for years on end, but it was only Jaehaera that had her father swayed. Her request was tender, one he wouldn’t forget, but her father has never been sweet on him as a good son. Trials and tribulations were due, he has known. 

“If you can’t stand by my daughter's dragon, how could you stand by her?”

On one hand, he wanted to shout. He and his future good father shared a name but no favours with one another. But on the other hand, it was undoubtedly true that they share care for Jaehaera, and that he needs to stand with her in all aspects of life. His mother was a Queen, with a husband that had left her alone until she lost herself; Jaehaera will be Queen next after her father, and he mustn’t be a craven who cannot stand by her in tough times.

Jaehaera has been brave against her father, when he wanted to send Aegon to the Wall. Jaehaera had been brave against her father when she called for him to keep Viserys in the Keep when he came back, too. They were threats to her, he and his brother, as her father and her uncles were threats to Aegon’s mother.

Perhaps there was never a choice but them marrying, when her mercy has won over against a concern of another succession crisis. But his heart has chosen her at the same time, in spite of it all. Ironic and inevitable, all at the same time. 

I want us to be different. I want there to be no tragedy.

Jaehaera sighs, and reaches out to hold his hand. “I am sorry. I never meant for it to hurt you. I didn't think I could claim another after Morghul, but…”

“You were happy for it,” Aegon says, not letting her finish. “You wanted it. I will not rob this of you.”

It is not as if she is never scared herself. Strange men with daggers about them had her weeping for her brother. When Viserys’s retrieval party came, gruff, burly, and roaming throughout the Keep loudly at night, she cried her panicked state into silence on his tunic.

They are a fearful duo, scared of fire and blood. But that never means they will falter at the sight of it.

Jaehaera gives one of her small, gentle smiles. “I love you.”

He whispers it back, and kisses the top of her forehead. Small, but she makes waves in him with one pip. 

The voice rumbling is heard, and dragon keepers announce the entrance of a dragon. Aegon swallows, the dread setting in him. Often when he hears dragons, he feels breathless. He feels the heat of fire, and the yells return to his mind. He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against Jaehaera’s. Calm, calm.

“Lykiri,” Jaehaera calls for the dragon, but it almost feels like it is for him. Be calm. The steps of the beast soon come closer, and Aegon does feel his lash line water. His heart is thundering in his very chest. 

Jaehaera inhales loudly, with him. Her breaths guide him away from erraticness in the same way his lips guide hers in every stolen kiss of theirs. It even ends the same, with her nose brushing against his, telling them it is time for both of them to open their eyes.

Aegon holds her hand as he opens his eyes. Eyes of dark amethyst open to see his betrothed new dragon.

The dragon is a dusty, greyish-white in color, with dark blue eyes to match. If Aegon the Elder’s late dragon had been reminiscent of a scorching, destructive sun, Jaehaera’s dragon had been a dim moon in the night’s sky. A tear trails down his cheek; as the dragon croons for attention, he almost reminds him of Stormcloud. 

Jaehaera wipes away the tear with one palm, and uses the other one to lift his hand. Carefully; her big eyes are requesting. Aegon swallows all his fear, looking at her crinkling violets. I will not be hurt; she will not be hurt. It’s okay.

He lifts his palm with hers, reaching out to the dragon’s snout. Their hands brush through the scales together, and the dragon coos, leaning against the touch. Aegon sighs aloud as their hands keep petting it. I will not live in fear, mother. I will not live in tragedy.

“He’s… good,” Aegon sniffles out, but it’s a nearby laugh, even as his heart is still too fast-paced. This dragon had been a newly sighted dragon from Dragonstone; he hadn’t thought it would be so calm. Jaehaera is petting his hands more than she pets her dragon, and he slowly wills himself to relax, trying to focus on it. “Have you decided its name yet?”

Jaehaera smiles at him. “Yes,” she says. “I may have doomed my former dragon, naming him nothing less than death,” she says softly, and closes her palm on his. “But now I’d like to wish the opposite, for this one. For me, and for us, too. His name is Glaeson.”

Life.

Aegon allows himself a smile. They will not live in fear of fire and blood. They’ll live, overcoming, together. The dragon chirps for attention, and while Jaehaera moves her hand to pet its chin, Aegon dares to scratch his scales lightly with his index finger.

[bingwriterxo]

paparazzi

pairing: jenna ortega x reader

summary: in which an accident occurs after your dinner with jenna

warnings: mentions of blood

word count: 1200+

author's note: another request for the books (find here)! also, i couldn't resist the end references. they're just too good. also x2, 100th post woooo!

"There she is!"

"Jenna! Jenna!"

"Over here!"

What had started as a quiet dinner in celebration of your two-year anniversary had quickly descended into chaos when a few paps caught wind of the fact that America's newest 'it girl', a.k.a your lovely girlfriend, was seen in public after having disappeared off the face of the Earth for the past month (the two of you had been vacationing, and then you got sick, and then she got sick from taking care of you, so you had been homebodies while trying to recover).

The moment you stepped outside of the restaurant, hand intertwined with Jenna's and body pulled close into her back so that she wouldn't lose you amongst the crowd, you were swarmed by flashing lights that blinded your eyes, shouts of your girlfriend's name that were almost deafening, and people, people, people.

Jenna had an iron-clad grip on your hand, but people were shoving you in the opposite direction as they tried to get a close-up shot of your girlfriend, and your body couldn't take the struggle of being pulled in two different ways. Before you knew it, you had lost your hold on the actress and were left drowning in the sea of photographers.

"Y/N?" Jenna's voice rang clear above the commotion. You stretched your neck to try and look for her, but it was no use: she was too crowded.

If we ever get separated, just meet me at the car, okay? she had told you when the two of you first began dating, back when you hadn't yet realized what you were getting yourself into.

Just meet at the car, you thought. Simple enough.

You tried to maneuver past people, keeping your head down and your eyes trained on your feet so that you wouldn't step on any toes. However, it was much easier said than done as the spaces between bodies grew smaller and smaller, making it nearly impossible for you to get by.

"Sorry. 'Scuse me, could I just--" you tried, but to no avail. You had barely moved an inch when you heard her voice again.

"Y/N?!" She sounded closer this time, like she was moving toward you. You still had no visuals on her, but if she was trying to make her way to you, then you could make it easier on her and try to find her as well, right?

Guess we're jumping in, you thought with a huff.

You pushed against people, having much less care for their toes this time around, and used your arms to try spreading them apart, creating little gaps for you to slip through. It took you a few minutes, but finally, finally, you could see a head of brunette hair and a pair of wide, frantic eyes as they flitted from one person to the next, undoubtedly looking for you.

"Jenna!" you called, and her head snapped in your direction. There was still a line of people separating the two of you, but as her eyes softened and the crease between her brows disappeared, you knew that she could see you.

"Y/N!" she shouted in relief as her arm shot toward you, her fingers wiggling in desperation.

You reached for her, hand brushing over peoples' shoulders and past their faces, and just as her finger skimmed over the metal of your ring, you were thrown sideways by a photographer, hitting the concrete hard.

Your vision blacked, your ears rang, and you could feel liquid pooling beneath your head. Is that...? You blinked your eyes open and sat up slightly, the pads of your fingers dipping into the puddle. You cringed when you saw they were red. Oh, that's my blood.

You looked up when you noticed people were parting quickly, their feet shuffling to the side and creating a large circle around you. Jenna rushed into the middle, her arms extended toward you. She kneeled down, taking your cheeks in her hand.

"Oh my god," she said. She pulled you closer to inspect your injury. "You're bleeding."

The cameras never stopped clicking.

"I'm okay," you said, even though she sounded a bit muffled to you and she was a little blurrier than normal.

"You're bleeding," she repeated, like you hadn't heard her the first time.

You placed your hand over her own, palm pressed against her knuckles. "I'm fine, baby."

She huffed, and you watched as her eyes turned from worried to enraged. She looked up at the paps, her lip turned up in disgust. "Look at what you guys did! She's bleeding and you guys are still taking your goddamn pictures?!"

Oh shit, you thought. This is gonna be everywhere tomorrow. You could already imagine the headlines: Jenna Ortega -- America's It Girl, or America's Bitch Girl?

"Jenna, baby," you cooed, calling her attention back to you before any more damage could be done to her 'good girl' reputation. "I'm alright, see?" You stood, albeit on shaky legs, and the woman was quick to wrap her arm around your waist, helping to hold you steady. "Let's just go home."

Jenna pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, a million different emotions flickering through her eyes. "I have half a mind to shove their damn cameras up their asses," she muttered, loud enough for only you to hear. Her grip tightened. "Or better yet, beat them all over their heads with their stupid fucking--"

"J, come on." You started ushering her toward where the car was parked, and she sighed, annoyed.

"Fine." She used her body to shield you from any photographers that dared to follow, which, to your surprise, there were plenty. "But if one of them so much as looks at you the wrong way, I swear I'll--"

"Do something involving their cameras up their asses, I know," you said, chuckling.

"Damn right I will," she grumbled, reaching out to open the passenger's side door for you. You offered her a grateful smile before slipping into the car and watching as she rounded the hood. She gave one last Kubrick-like stare to the remaining paps before joining you, huffing as she sat behind the wheel.

The two of you sat in silence for most of the ride home, with Jenna grumbling and mumbling to herself, and you trying to ignore the pounding in your head. It wasn't until you were on the street of your shared apartment that she spoke up.

"I should sue them all," she said. "Sue every last one of them."

You giggled. "Oh yeah? And what's that gonna do?" you asked lightly.

"Teach them a damn lesson about personal space." She clenched her jaw. "Clearly they didn't learn anything about it in preschool."

"Baby, I'm fine." You placed a hand on her thigh, your thumb rubbing at the hem of her dress. "There's no need for suing or beating any of them up."

She parked the car and turned to you, eyes glowing in the light of the parking lot. "They hurt you." She reached up and placed her fingers on your jaw, tilting your head upward slightly. "You have blood on your forehead."

You shrugged. "'Tis but a scratch," you said, grinning as you quoted a line from one of your favorite movies. Jenna rolled her eyes, though the smallest of smirks was beginning to show.

"Whatever, nerd." She leaned over the center console and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. "Let's just get you cleaned up."

You smiled. "I'm invincible!"

"Stop quoting Monty Python!"

[sailing-through-hawkins]

✧ sequel to my vampire eddie microfic because i had the urge to write a scene from steve's pov and make it super sweet so have 1k of a fluffy morning after ✧

Everything is so warm.

Steve rubs his nose deeper into the sheets with a content sigh, basking in the glow of a soft morning.

"What are you still doing here?!"

Blearily, Steve pulls his eyes open, slowly shifting in place to survey the room around him. He's alone, which is a major bummer, he's gonna have to dock points from Eddie for that. Then again, he muses as he looks over the clothes that are hanging from everywhere, including on top of the ceiling fan, maybe a few points don't matter much when he's definitely up in the hundreds already.

Oh shit, that's the brand new outfit, the one he and Robin spent hours agonizing over before their night out, thrown across the floor, isn't it? Fuck.

"Be polite, he's a guest -"

Steve stretches out his back, lifting his sore arms up towards the sky where his hands brush against the muscle tee, the one on the ceiling fan, that Eddie was wearing last night. Oh, now there's an idea.

With a smirk, Steve pulls the tee down and onto himself, fluffing out his hair and hoping today is one of those days he can pull off the bedhead look.

"Eddie?" he calls out softly as he steps out of the bedroom, rubbing at one of his eyes, the one on the side that was squished up against Eddie all night (well, not all night...).

"Stevie!"

His voice is loud and happy, far more chipper than Steve expected from a vampire after a long night. He blinks, looking up to see Eddie beaming at him with flour dusting his hair and a whisk in one hand. The sunlight filters through with the shades to cast lines of light across him and with the way he's smiling, Steve doesn't think he's ever seen a prettier sight.

"I was just making breakfast for you, I wasn't sure if you were a morning person but I figure, y'know, sun-kissed skin and whatnot, it'd make sense if you were -"

He can't help it, Steve lets out a giggle, something small and light, something he used to never let himself have. But Eddie's smile makes it so worth it. Steve smiles back shyly, gliding in closer and stroking a hand up Eddie's arm (he's wearing a different shirt, maybe he took it out of his closet?). "You're making me breakfast?"

The vampire sighs dreamily as he looks into Steve's eyes, his fangs peeking out from his dopey little smile. There's so much flour in his hair, did he forget to tie it up before starting to cook? "Yeah..."

"That's so sweet," Steve coos, bringing his hands up to cup Eddie's face, pull him in closer and nuzzle their noses together. "Thank you, Eds."

He slowly opens his eyes and stifles back a giggle at how desperately cute Eddie's expression is, eyes flickering between Steve's face and his own shirt, cheeks flushed pink with Steve's blood. He has a feeling that if vampires had tails, Eddie's would be wagging uncontrollably right now.

"So, what're you making me?" he whispers, dragging his nose down the curve of Eddie's jaw, breathing in his scent of iron and cranberries (did he have some juice? or does blood just smell like cranberries on a vampire?).

"I - uh, ha -" Eddie swallows and Steve tracks the motion with the bridge of his nose, peeking up over Eddie's shoulder to look at -

"Shit, is that the time?!"

"Wha -"

Steve shoves himself away from Eddie, rushing back into the bedroom and slamming the door shut. He frantically pulls off the tee (goodbye cozy morning, sigh) and grabs his skirt from last night - no stains on it, or on his top, thank fuck.

"Stevie?"

"Gimme a sec!" Steve calls out, crawling out from under the bed with his shoes in hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck, how did it get so late, Robin's gonna be so mad -

"What's -"

"I'm so sorry, Eddie!" Steve yanks the door open, guilt curdling up his insides when he sees Eddie waiting outside his own bedroom door with a hopeful-turned-distressed expression. He walks past him, hopping on one leg as he puts a shoe on. "I have a thing I need to get to, I honestly forgot until I saw the time -"

"Pfft, likely story," a random voice says.

He spins to stare at the sofa, where three people are strewn about, legs and arms overlapping each other. Only one of them is awake, a bleary-eyed, wavy-haired guy that's glaring at Steve.

"Shoulda thought of that excuse before he started nagging at us."

"It's not an excuse," Steve snaps, finally managing to get his second shoe on. "I have brunch -"

"Told you, dude," the guy lazily rolls his eyes over to Eddie, sending a hot flash of anger through Steve.

"Oh fuck you," he hisses, pointedly grabbing Eddie's hand (the one without the whisk, why is he still holding it?) and pulling him in closer. He glares at Eddie, who's staring at him with big doe eyes, softening at the gaze. "I'm really sorry I can't stay, Eds."

"But...waffles?" he says quietly, like he's confused, like Steve isn't making any sense.

And he isn't, not really, but he can't afford to be late to the Robin-and-Steve-Monthly-Gossip-Brunch after they both missed the past two months already, third time's the charm and he does not want to find out what that charm would be for.

"I'm sorry," he says again, wincing when Eddie visibly deflates. Steve presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, just so he doesn't get distracted and lose even more time, and pats his chest. "I was really looking forward to breakfast with you."

A little bit of shine comes back to Eddie's eyes, flickering over from Steve to the window. He speeds away, whisk clattering somewhere in the kitchen, as Steve blinks and suddenly he's back, holding up his leather jacket towards Steve with a shy smile.

"'S cold out. Take my jacket?" Eddie asks and Steve pulls him in, flour-hair and all, for the deepest, filthiest kiss he can give, swallowing down his gasp, his moan and every last sliver of his minty breath.

"Thanks, babe." Steve whispers, pulling the jacket on (at least it makes up for the muscle tee failure) and relishing in the warmth. He opens the front door, presses one final, chaste kiss to Eddie's lips and walks out, the smell of cranberries sticking to his skin.

Eddie watches Steve leave in his jacket with a sigh, already longing for that pretty voice to say "Eds" to him again.

"You know," Gareth says from the couch, which pops the blissful balloon Eddie was happily floating in. He turns to glare at his three friends, all lounging on the couch even after he told them to be presentable. Gareth continues, "You know, you could have offered to drop him off. He'd get there faster and you'd get more time with him too. I mean, did you even get his number?"

Silence. Then -

"Fuck!"

[trulybetty]

Stood Up | Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,668 Warnings: being stood up, torrential rain (always bring an umbrella), mentions of alcohol, a difference of opinions on Top Gun and some could call this fluff Summary: Stood up for a date that left you in the pouring rain, you seek refuge in a sports bar and before you can change your mind the man next to you strikes up a conversation AO3: Linked

A/N: so, I was supposed to be working on Bookstore Frankie as per the WIP poll the other day and technically (in my head at least) this is Bookstore Frankie, we're just meeting him a long time before he becomes Bookstore Frankie lol.

Also, consider this is my entry for @pedrostories’ celebration, enjoy! xx

Stood Up

The Seattle rain was relentless. It wasn’t even supposed to rain that day, the forecast ironically calling for sun and highs of warm heat, which had meant you’d left the house in a maxi dress and your flimsy denim jacket. So that meant no umbrella and certainly no practical footwear for the torrential downpour you found yourself in for the date you’d left the house over an hour ago for.

You'd been stood up, and now, thanks to All-Star Week, cabs were impossible to find.

You checked your phone once more, Uber was a wait of over an hour, said date had left you on read and Cat, your friend with a text. One that promised as soon as she could get out of dinner with her husband and his parents, would come and get you with a bottle of wine to commiserate the evening over at your place.

The door to the dimly lit bar slammed shut behind you, cutting off the relentless sound of rain pounding the pavement. You were soaked to the bone, rain dripping off your hair to your face, and in a less-than-stellar mood. 

As you settled into a barstool and ordered a stiff drink, you tried to shake off the frustration. The bartender served you with an understanding smile and you were just beginning to relax when a voice from the end of the bar cut through the chatter of the bar.

“How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”

You looked up, and some guy in a ten-gallon hat made eye contact with you with a flourish of said hat and a wink. Based on the accent and the Texas Rangers shirt he was certainly from out of town.

Your eyes rolled at the cheesy attempt, dismissing it with a casual brush-off. The downpour seemed to amplify the irritation simmering within you. Tonight was not the night for clichéd pick-up lines, especially from individuals who seemed to believe they had some inherent right to your attention.

As you took a sip of your drink, you exhaled and began to second-guess coming into the bar. You prayed for Cat to show up soon and get you out of there. Looking through the window, you thought about downing your drink and fleeing for somewhere else less crowded. You were already drenched; what more could the rain do?

But before you could think on it any further from the other side of you, a deep laugh resonated, and you glanced over to find a guy wearing a ball cap labelled 'Standard Oil', a beer resting in his hand, his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Can't believe that line didn't work. What's this world coming to?” he joked, raising his glass in a mock salute.

Despite your mood, a reluctant smile tugged at your lips, “A horse did me wrong once, a cowboy and I would be destined for heartbreak from the get-go,” you replied, playing along.

“How about a pilot?”

You raised an eyebrow, you hadn't missed the aviation logo on the shoulder of his shirt, “I feel like I’m being set up for a Village People joke here,” you eyed him wearily, “how often does that line work for you?”

He laughed into this glass as he took another sip, “A lot less than you think.”

You took another sip of your drink, “What a surprise.”

“Frankie,” he said, extending his hand.

You took it, his grip firm and warm and gave him your name.

He gestured to your soaked clothes, “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you admitted.

Despite your initial want to just drown your sorrows and maybe scroll through Instagram while you waited for Cat, you found yourself in conversation with Frankie. Turned out he was actually a pilot, a little elusive on the details of what exactly he did in the military, but a pilot nonetheless. That and he was currently stationed temporarily out of McChord Field, in Pierce County. He was up in Seattle for the weekend to meet up with some friends coming in from their own deployments.

Frankie's face turned playfully serious, his eyes widening as he said, “You're breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, come on! You’ve got to agree with me?!”

He grinned, shaking his head. “I never thought I'd meet someone so smart and yet so wrong at the same time.”

You playfully swatted his arm. “I could say the same about you.”

Frankie's eyebrows shot up in genuine disbelief, and his lips curved into a playful half-smile as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Not like 'Top Gun'? That's almost sacrilege in my line of work!” His eyes sparkled with amusement, revealing his lighthearted take on the situation. 

When he’d mentioned he worked in aviation within the military, you’d jokingly asked if it was all like Top Gun and if he was a Maverick. Frankie had laughed at the question as he’d flagged down the bartender for another drink for you both. That had been before you’d voiced your true feelings on the 1986 cult classic.

You shrugged, sipping your drink. “I don't know, maybe it's the cheesy one-liners, or perhaps I just don't get the appeal of fighter jets.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. “The appeal of fighter jets? Oh, you're really twisting the knife now.”

You giggled at his antics. The more you talked to him, the more you liked him. He didn't take himself too seriously. It was refreshing, especially considering your recent string of bad luck in the dating department.

“I'm sorry, I just don't get it,” you admitted, shaking your head.

Frankie's eyes softened, and he reached over to gently touch your arm. “It's okay. We can't all have perfect taste.”

“You think your taste is perfect?” you teased, enjoying the banter that had been flowing between you two all evening.

“In some things,” he winked, making your cheeks heat furiously.

When your phone buzzed with a message from Cat, signalling that she was outside, you found yourself a little reluctant to leave. It was strange, feeling a connection with a stranger on a night that had started with disappointment, and a part of you wanted to hold onto that feeling a bit longer. Frankie seemed to feel the same way, his eyes lingering on you as you gathered your things.

“Well Frankie, thank you for being a bright light in what was almost a terrible evening.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” he replied, his voice warm.

The two of you paused for a moment, the atmosphere suddenly more serious. He'd already mentioned that he was stationed temporarily and had hinted at an upcoming deployment. And though the good company and the buzz from the drinks had lightened your mood, you were still reeling from being stood up by the man you'd really thought you'd had a chance with.

You waved goodbye to Frankie and headed outside, the rain still falling heavily. As you approached Cat's car, thoughts of Frankie lingered in your mind, leaving you with a strange mixture of excitement and melancholy.

You were just about to open the door to the passenger side of Cat’s car when the noise from inside the bar broke through over the sound of the rain. Turning around Frankie was coming out of the door, you watched him look around before his eyes settled on you with a smile.

Throwing up the umbrella he had in his hands he dashed the short distance over to you, “Look,” he shouted to be heard over the traffic and the storm that was now brewing, “I thought maybe,” he paused looking a little at war with himself before he spoke again, “we could do this again? Maybe without the rain and the cowboy.” he joked and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sure, I’d like that.”

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and pressed a napkin into your hand. Under the cover of his umbrella, you opened it to see his name scrawled with his phone number and you shot him a smile.

“Call me?” Frankie asked, his voice suddenly softer, more intimate despite the storm raging around you.

“I will,” you assured him, tucking the napkin safely into your pocket.

With a final smile and a lingering look, Frankie dashed back towards the bar, and you climbed into Cat's car, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Cat, ever the observant friend, was already eyeing you with curiosity. “Okay, spill. Who was that guy? And why are you smiling like you've just won the lottery?”

You looked over at her, your grin widening. “That is Frankie. We just spent the last few hours talking in the bar.”

“Frankie?” Cat's eyebrows shot up. “Also, you stayed in that bar with a stranger for hours? That doesn't sound like you.”

And it really wasn’t, even going out for the date that eventually stood you up had been a push outside your comfort level.

Cat narrowed her eyes. “You sure you're not being catfished by this guy?”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips. “Cat, that means online, not in person.”

“Same thing,” Cat retorted, not missing a beat as she started the car. “You never know these days.”

“Anyway, he's only here for a temporary assignment between deployments. Not like anything really is going to happen.”

Cat glanced at you, her expression softening. “It's okay to have fun here and there, you know. Doesn't have to be serious all the time.”

You sighed, leaning against the window. “I know. It's just… different.”

“Different is good,” Cat said, her voice softening as she pulled away from the curb, knowing all too well your past relationship history. “Different can be very good.”

You looked at her, realizing how much you appreciated her support, even with her teasing. “Yeah, maybe.”

Cat's smile widened as she focused on the road. “Of course I'm right. Now tell me everything about this Frankie guy.”

[jojolymes]

𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎; thirty-seven

࿔*:･ﾟ xxxvii.

next: ࿔*:･ﾟ xxxviii.  |  table of contents

THE SECOND the sugary, saccharine scent of half-ripened plums stopped hanging in the leaden air around you, you let out a burdened breath to let bitterness pool in your stomach. Your hips shifted with each step Thunderstruck made, her hooves leaving impressions in the malleable ground. With your hands clamped tight around the reins, you looked over your shoulder at the endless lines of white-painted trees, overlapping with layers of dusky violet. Somewhere in there, behind all the leaves, was that decrepit cabin, already collecting dust.

You turned back around to look ahead at the neverending miles and miles of lush grassland stark against the cerulean sky. There was hardly a cloud in sight, save perhaps for a few dusty sweeps of white far up in the air. A gentle breeze swept across the green, rustling the high pasture until it reached you, messing with the fabric you had across your nose and mouth. You tugged at it, pulling it down and pressing it against the plush of your lips, ignoring the words of the two men before you.

"Shit, how far along do ya think Diego got along?" grumbled Johnny, running a veined hand across the width of his forehead, resting his tense fingers along his hairline. His hat resisted futilely, slowly revealing more of his blond hair until he tugged the blue knit forward. In his other hand sat the worn map all three of you had been using since you joined them back in the second stage— the markings from the previous owner had long been written over by three different forms of penmanship.

"There's no point thinking about that, Johnny," Gyro huffed, raising his hands out in front of him, stacking his fingers atop each other, "only two hours of daylight left. We should get moving." Your wristwatch sat heavy with obsolescence. Gyro's brows furrowed tight before he slumped back into his saddle, crestfallen. You were mere seconds from looking away, wholly uninterested in any more of their chatter, when his green eyes shot up to meet yours.

Your heart gave a hollow thump, so you gave Gyro a tight-lipped smile— you could barely call it a smile, though. He looked away immediately, settling into his saddle properly, hands clutched around Valkyrie's reins. You could almost laugh. Almost. Johnny groaned suddenly, dropping his hands to his lap with a deep frown that accentuated his typically non-existent smile lines. His baby blue bottom lip puckered out the tiniest bit.

"But he has a hundred-ninety points! I only got a hundred-thirty, and you- you only got seventy-one!" Johnny protested, his brows furrowed tight until the skin between formed ridges of ivory. And I have 115 points, you thought, letting your eyes travel back to the beautiful green grasses and clear blue skies. If you were ever to settle down, maybe you'd do so over here— far, far away from Johnny, Gyro, and that creepy cabin. 

Maybe with...

Your stomach flopped weakly as a scaly smile appeared in the forefront of your mind before quickly being replaced by steely maroon eyes framed by hot pink hair. You brushed the thoughts off just as fast as they had come, distracting yourself with Thunderstruck's impatient huffs. She pawed at the dirt with her hooves, her horseshoes dull and dirtied. You'd have to take the time to polish them once you had the chance. Perhaps there was a town nearby. You weren't sure you wanted to camp out for the umpteenth time in a row.

"Look, there's nothing more we can do. All we can do right now is move forward," Gyro sighed, rubbing the patches of beard on his chin with the back of his hand, "if we head East from here, we should be able to reach the next Corpse Part before he gets to it or gets first in the race." You felt Iron Maiden break away from you to look East, her shining silver armor glinting in Johnny and Gyro's peripheral. 

"Since Iron Maiden is back, we're less likely to stray off route," Gyro added, ignoring the stray glance you threw his way, "now, seriously, Johnny, let's get moving. I can't afford to get anything but first place!" Gyro squeezed his legs around Valkyrie, just enough to get her flying forward. Johnny did the same with a soft tug at the reins instead. You followed suit, letting yourself fall to the back of formation with Iron Maiden hovering close beside you. 

Just like that, you and your two companions were off, thundering down the Great Plains, held back only by brief gusts of wild wind. The following two hours were devoid of much talking, save for Iron Maiden's occasional interruptions of "East, East" that kept you all on track. You were grateful for that much. It seemed Johnny and Gyro had at least taken the hint that you wanted anything but to talk to them. It made the prospect of leaving them in ten days much easier on your conscience. 

You all eventually stopped a good 30 or so miles from the outskirts of Dodge City which had Gyro ranting and raving about all the pretty women they would see. You had tucked in early before he could see the disgust on the visible part of your face. Sleep came begrudgingly slow despite all that had happened two hours earlier. Your mind was littered with hot pink until you had managed to steady your pounding heart— you didn't want to think too much about how you assumed Hot Pants would just let you tag along with him during the fifth stage.

Before you knew it, the early morning came, emphasized by the frigid chill of the wind. From behind the flaps of your tent, you could hear Johnny and Gyro's gravelly voices, roughened by that same cold. You forced yourself to ignore the heat that crawled up the back of your neck, emphasized by the pins and needles that made your head go numb. You adjusted the fabric on your face and shuffled out of your tent, rubbing at your eyes as you did so. 

"G'morning," you mumbled, slowly getting to your feet and blinking hard until your eyes adjusted to the change in light. Once your vision normalized, you found yourself staring at Gyro and Johnny who had gone rigid when you appeared before them. Silence sat heavy in the morning air as two pairs of eyes stared you down.

"... What? Is there something wrong?" you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. You knew things were awkward with them  Before you could scoff and brush it off, Gyro pointed up at his head where his hat sat. You mirrored him slowly, reaching up where your hat was— only it wasn't there. Your heart stopped. You scrambled backward, nearly falling on your ass, and practically threw yourself into your tent.

There, sitting unceremoniously next to your pillow, was your beloved hat, the embroidered name under the rim like always. 

"Huh..." You picked it up, gave it a brief once over, and plopped it back onto your head, tucking any excess hair into it. You sat there a moment and then crawled back out to where Johnny and Gyro still stood, seemingly still affected by whatever it was that had made them stare so blankly at you. Then it hit you.

"Do I look that weird to you guys without my hat?"

Johnny winced.

 "...No?"

"Oh my... you guys do think I look weird."

Gyro gave a pathetic laugh. 

"It-It's not that, Speedwagon, it's just-"

"I... don't want to hear it." And with that, you spent the rest of the day in complete silence, relying on Iron Maiden's directions as you all made your way to Dodge City. For the most part, you had managed to ignore the thought that Gyro and Johnny were most likely ignoring the fact that you were actually a girl, but when you did, the sensitive skin under your eye twitched like no tomorrow. 

Did you really look weird without your hat? Or maybe... had you managed to pass as a man so well that you had lost that little touch of femininity you had held on to as the sole daughter of a man with almost too many sons? No... surely you hadn't. Diego had immediately asked for your hand in marriage after meeting you. But was that because he thought you were pretty, or was he just trying to get into your head? Your mind, swirling with doubts, kept you busy until you arrived at Dodge City under the light of the moon and the stars.   

"Congratulations on your arrival, sirs—" Walter and Wallace Scott, the two identical men who had managed to hop from checkpoint to checkpoint since the first stage, greeted you with clipboards in hand—"The citizens of this fair city have graciously offered their services for use in the race! As usual, we must check your race numbers and your horses' prints." The words managed to break you out of your stupor, and you gave a blank nod before getting off your saddle.

"Could you tell us who's in the lead?" Gyro asked as he jumped off his saddle, patting Valkyrie on the neck. She replied with a soft snort, and Slow Dancer did the same while Johnny unbuckled himself from his saddle. You watched from your peripheral while Thunderstruck leaned down to press her nose against the ink pad Wallace held up. You brushed a hand through Thunder's white mane, watched Johnny spin his way off of Slow Dancer, and muttered "good girl" under your breath.

"I'm afraid not, Mister Gyro," Walter replied, handing his clipboard over to Gyro, who read it over with a scrutinizing eye, "we lost sight of some of the racers in the front lines, you see. We presume that Mister Diego Brando is in the lead, but our people haven't seen him or any other high-placing riders on the suggested course." Gyro hummed as he returned the clipboard, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Great," Gyro grumbled, sighing as he turned to Johnny, who heaved himself onto his wheelchair, "well, we can't do much at this time of night. We'll leave at first light tomorrow." You watched Johnny's bottom lip pucker out once more— did he know he did that? To be fair to him, it wasn't that noticeable, just something you noticed. But someone really had to tell him. It was just laughable. Not in that it looked bad, but-

"My sincerest apologies, Mister Speedwagon! I must have been distracted," Wallace fretted, his hands and red vest coated in black ink. You raised a brow and looked down at the darkening black stain on your shirt and jeans. You froze, scrunching up your features in mild defeat. You then looked down at Wallace, who looked guiltier than you had expected. You let out a soft breath— nothing a good wash couldn't fix.

"Hey, hey, no worries, man," you chuckled, patting Wallace on the shoulder with a smile he couldn't see, "I can just buy something temporary 'till I get these washed up!" You ignored the little voice in the back of your head reminding you of your horridly low funds and the unused clothes in the bottom of your saddle bag that you still hadn't gotten rid of. 

"Say, if you're finished with the prints, I'll just take Thunderstruck here to the stables if you could point me in their direction," you prompted with a pat on Thunder's neck. You could already feel the ink seep onto your skin, which meant you'd have to take a shower later, which normally wasn't an issue. But you barely had any money left, which meant you would have to share a room with Johnny and Gyro, if they even would allow you to, and the last thing you wanted was to shower in the bathroom of an inn chamber that you had to share with either of them.

Curse your innate talent to think of every possible horrible situation you could find yourself in.

"Yes, of course! Just take this road and make a left at the end. The stables should be right there!" 

"Thanks," you beamed, trying desperately not to show how anxious you already were from just the mere thought of being anywhere near those two when you went to sleep later that night. What if there was only one room left? What if that one room only had one bed? You shuddered and hurried away toward the stables, missing the shared looks from Johnny and Gyro. 

The second you stepped foot into the stables, you let out a heavy breath, slinking against your beloved Palomino. Thunder huffed and made her way to an empty block in the corner as she always did, her ears flicking every which way, every time she saw a horse she didn't like. You still don't know how she managed to get along with Valkyrie and Slow Dancer. You opened the block door, allowing her to walk in and for you to follow once she turned around. 

"Hope you don't mind me, Thunder," you mumbled, taking off all her heavy equipment and reaching out past the door to hang it on the hooks. All your personal belongings would be coming with you to the inn, but until you could increase your pitiful funds, then... You looked at your saddle bag and almost cried. With a groan, you pulled off the fabric around your mouth and the hat off your head so you could change into the clothes you hadn't worn in months.

It took a good five minutes for you to change, save for the few moments you took to wipe at your ink-stained torso with your dirtied clothes. You had wet your shirt with some water from the trough inside Thunder's particularly roomy block, making taking off the ink easier than you had expected. Still, there was a faint gray spot on your body that you made a note to scrub off later.

But then you were back, dressed in that long brown skirt and a well-worn beige blouse. At least back at the beginning of the race, you had a looser-fitting shirt. Your collarbone felt far too bare, too exposed to the brisk air outside. Not to mention that the blouse was tighter than you had grown accustomed to from your time in the race. You sighed for the millionth time— at least the sleeves stopped at your elbow. 

"Speedwagon? You in here?" You froze at the sound of Johnny's signature Kentucky drawl. The last thing you had expected was for him to come after you. He continued calling for you with, of course, your last name. You looked down at your attire and nearly screamed. What if someone overheard or saw you reply to Johnny calling you by your race name? How were you supposed to explain that to a stranger?!

"Speedwagon? Look, I know- mmph-" Johnny had no chance to say another word as you dragged him into the block, clamping a hand over his blue-lipstick-covered lips. God, maybe it was the blue lipstick that made you distracted whenever he pouted. You met his gaze with a finger on your lips, eyes narrowing until he nodded. When you finally took your hand off his lips, you wiped away the blue stain on your palm on your skirt.

"Johnny, you can't call me Speedwagon right now, okay?" you whispered, leaning down towards Johnny, face scrunched as he stared at you absently, "under absolutely no circumstances can you call me that. Not until I can get my other clothes clean. Until then, it's (y/n), and only (y/n)." Johnny kept staring, a small crick in his brow forming while you stepped back and ran your hands down your face with a groan.

"Can you at least respond?!"

"You're that girl Gyro saved after the first stage."

"...Johnny, you are beyond insufferable right now." 

Johnny's face scrunched up, lip puckered out again. You wanted to punch him in the mouth.

"The hell?! Why?!"

"It really took you almost a whole stage to realize that?!"

"Yeah?! What's wrong with that?!"

"Seriously?!" You turned and put your face against Thunder's shoulder and screamed into the joint, to which she gave a mere flick of her ear in response. When you turned back around, Johnny gave you that same mindless stare that he had been giving you the entire day. Nine more days, you thought to yourself, nine more days and change until you could get away from these assholes.

"You know what, doesn't matter, let's go get Gyro," you grumbled, ignoring Johnny's protests as you grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and pushed him out of the block. You turned back around to put your clothes into your saddle bag, as well as your hat, which you then hung from a hook in the corner of the large block. With a soft pat to Thunder's flank, you were back beside a very irritated Johnny Joestar.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but Gyro's at the tavern across from the inn," Johnny stated, his brow furrowed as he rolled after you, who walked out the doors of the stables with a huff, "he was talking about gettin' with some woman he saw." You were hardly surprised at what Johnny had told you, but what really shocked you was just how talkative Johnny had become. What? Did he suddenly tolerate you again? 

You could feel yourself bristle with every step you made in the direction of the tavern, ignoring the occasional whistle that you got from the men around you. They didn't seem to notice Johnny rolling behind you— it was pitiful, really, but you had lost all ability to feel pity for him or Gyro since the beginning of this stage. You and Johnny maneuvered your way to the tavern with you rejecting the advances of every man who called for you and Johnny grumbling all the way. 

When you slammed open the swinging tavern doors, it didn't take long for you to set your sights on Gyro, twirling a strand of some brunette's hair around his finger. Johnny came to a stop beside you, holding up a hand to keep the door from hitting his face had you decided to let go. You watched Gyro give the girl a sleazy, golden-grilled smile, behind his green-painted lips. He hadn't noticed you or Johnny just yet, which was more of a blessing than anything else. You were a moment away from screaming at him when you really took in your surroundings.

The tavern was filled with drunken, disheveled men and a few women who giggled at all of their slurred words. It reeked of alcohol, of course, as well as vomit and another lingering smell you weren't quite sure you wanted to think too hard about. But in the heavy haze of musk, you watched as men slid small pouches across tables, their telltale jingling giving away just what was inside: Money. You suddenly became hyper-aware of the nearly empty pouch in your saddle bag back at the stables— as well as a man sitting at an empty table nearby.

"Great. Y'know, I told him he had to get his own room if he..." Johnny trailed off as you sauntered away from him, heading toward an almost empty table. He watched with narrowed eyes as you pulled out a seat across from a man who had laid cards out across his side of the table. He could feel his heart hammer in his chest as you smiled at the man, tucking stray locks behind your ear. And your lips, you were... biting them. Since when had you gotten so bold? The man mirrored your smile and in an instant, Johnny was headed for Gyro.

"Shit- Gyro!" Johnny blustered, rolling up to the counter, catching the eye of his blond friend and the brunette who scoffed at Johnny at first sight. She was irrelevant anyway, at least to Johnny.

"Woah there, Johnny," Gyro laughed, gritting his teeth into a smile that spoke for itself: Not now. Johnny ignored the silent message and pressed on. The brunette glared and scoffed a little louder, swirling around the drink Johnny assumed Gyro had bought her. 

"Dammit, Gyro! Speed- (y/n) is uh- Look, he's- she's- I mean- fuck-" Johnny dug his hands into his hat and then pointed behind him where you sat, swinging your feet in your chair, "Just look!" Gyro flicked his hat up and leaned to the side where you sat, laughing with the man who sat in front of you. He had nearly toppled over at the sight of you, no hat to be seen again, dressed in clothes he had never seen you wear before. He could actually see that you had... well... a chest.

"What the hell is she doing?" Gyro growled, now ignoring the brunette beside him. She made a noise of offense and stormed off, unbeknownst to Gyro or Johnny. They kept their eyes on you and that man who was now gathering up his cards from the table. You put your chin in your hands as you watched him make cards dance across his fingertips, shuffling the cards in flamboyant ways that made Gyro and Johnny scowl. You gave the man a cute round of applause, giggling in a way they had rarely, if not ever, heard. 

Little did they know, as you feigned a giggle, you kept a close eye on the cards, the man smiling a little too wide for your tastes. His dark hair cast a shadow over his eyes, nearly distracting you. He distributed ten cards to each of you, far quicker than you could ever manage to do so. You had only ever played this game in passing when Scott or Seth had roped you into playing a quick round with them. While you had gotten a good grasp of it over the years, you could feel your mind shout in protest. The man finally met your eyes again, and for a moment, you swore you saw a flash of flowers appear on the wall behind him.

"READY TO PLAY NOW, SWEETHEART?"

3600ish words, oh my god... guys... it's been too long. I AM SO SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY!! i have had the worst case of writer's block that I have been trying desperately to work through. the fact that I even managed to write this chapter felt crazy to me. here's to hoping I can get my writing back for good because I want to update ALL my fics crazy bad. ESPECIALLY my one piece and jjk one ( I swear I will update it yall)... but THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH ME AND SUPPORTING ME THOUGH I LOVE YOU ALLLLL SOOOOO MUCH <33333

anyways, semi-unrelated but I have a tiktok where I draw and shit (and post my art for the fics I write) so if u wanna follow me on there my @ is quad.balls !!!

some semi-important notes for this chapter:

walter and wallace scott are references to the scott twins from the band the whispers!! they canonically do not have a name in steel ball run as far as I could find but if they do have names please let me know so I can change that!!

thank you all again for reading this fic and I swear I will try to update more <3333

[loupy-mongoose]

I don't know how you shade things so perfectly! I'm excellent at blending colors but I can't shade even if my life depended on it!😅🤣

How do you do it so good? Could you lend me some tips?

First off, thank you very much, but I refuse to accept my shading as "perfect". I'm proud of how far I've come, but it ain't perfect!

Tips... Hmmmm...

I have a pretty good understanding of the characters' and objects three-dimensional shape in my mind, so when I shade I subconsciously keep in mind how the light will affect them and where shadows will form.

Don't be afraid to look at books, references, tutorials, and Youtube videos! Take advantage of the vast library of resources at your fingertips!

I've spent a lot of my teen years watching speedpaints--Twarda8's Pokemon paintings on Youtube are old favorites of mine. Ironically their playlist called "Junk'n'Old" played a MASSIVE part in my artistic upbringing. One man's trash is another man's treasure~ I've also looked at many many mannnyyyy tutorials over the years, some of them multiple times, taking in how different shapes affect the shadow outcome. For example, sharp cut-offs will result in solid lines of shadow, while rounder shapes will have softer transitions from dark to light.

Take, for instance, my latest masterpiece; The eyebrows are meant to somewhat sharply overhang the eyelid, so they cause a sharper shadow cut-off.

While rounder parts of the body have smoother shading.

Mix and match them depending on the shapes present! (Hopefully that's coherent enough. X3)

A few extra things;

-Different light sources and surroundings can influence shadows as well. For example, the sun will create sharp, defined shadows, but clouds will soften the shadows considerably.

-When shading colored artworks, try to avoid using pure black to shade. If possible with your tools, use a darker color set to the Multiply or another darkening blend mode. Experiment! (I have another post about my painting process here if you're interested, although the canvas size in that may be incorrect now.)

-Find brushes you're comfortable with! I don't want to advocate that an artist can't be good without certain brushes, but I do think it's important to love the tools you use. But also don't feel like you have to stick with them for eternity--Every once in a while I get dissatisfied with my brushes and tweak them a bit, or dump them for others.

-For doodle shading like the above, I scribble in rough chunks where I want the shadow to be, then smudge and erase them as I see fit. All on a separate layer from the line-art, of course.

That may be more than you bargained for, but you can pick and choose what you want to take from this, if anything at all. I just felt like dumping. Happy shading! ^w^

[hasufin]

Getting nailed

You know something that's bugging me? Nail heads.

Specifically, nail heads on archaeological finds.

Okay, a couple of things. First, iron ages like fine milk. One time I was cleaning a nail someone had dug up, and a museum visitor came up and asked "Sorry for asking, but why are you brushing dirt off a dog turd?" And he was completely serious. Because, yes, a century-old nail looks an awful lot like a dog turd. If you're lucky. Newer - coil - nails puff up like a Cheeto. I think it has to do with how the metal is drawn into wire.

Now, nails are actually super interesting. They used to be very expensive: there were laws forbidding people from the practice of burning down old houses to sift through the ashes for nails. And there's a passage in the work History of the Dividing Line in which one of the surveyors gives a generous gift to a homesteader: a box of nails, so he can put a roof on his house.

The reason for this is, it used to be extremely laborious work to make nails. They had to be made by hand, and for much of history if a blacksmith had any spare time, he'd make nails. Over time, various contrivances were developed to make nails, and as a result we can date layers by the type of nails we find. this is mostly apparent in the nailhead: whether it was afixed by hand or machine, what type of machine, and so on.

Which hits the thing that is bothering me. See, in construction there's this derisive joke of "union marks", which is used at times to imply the work was done by a union carpenter [and therefore somewhat sloppily]. There's no particular reality to the derision, but the so-called union marks are real: they're the marks made by the cleats of a framing hammer and/or the marks in the wood made by hammering home a nail more than it should be hit.

Thing is, at least in a modern or semi-modern context, that should mean the pattern on the head of a given nail is mostly destroyed, especially if it's been in the ground like the ones I see. Hand-tooled, machined, or welded, it don't matter: the pattern is whatever was used to pound it in.

So how are we seeing distinct marks from the manufacture of these nails? Did we change the type of steel used? Are modern hammers made of harder steel? Are nails today made of significantly softer steel? (These would both be plausible, and modern nails are definitely made a lot differently from the historical ones).

Unfortunately, the archaeologists at the museum where I volunteer are largely experts in pottery and glass, and no one there knew. But now it's bugging me.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Makeover

@cullen-blue23

🧟💄💅🏻Prompt from the one I missed last time; Wen Ning using make up to make himself lol more alive

Part of the Wen Ning fucks agenda because I have found my calling as a Wen Ning simp.

Enjoy!

Wen Ning stares through the windows of the little makeup shop, at the many bottles, vials and colorful boxes on the shelves lining up the cream-colored walls - and the way the shopkeeper applies the finishing touches of makeup to her client. The young woman looks... regal, almost, the colors around her eyes and the shine on her lips enhancing her already delicate features. She looks... beautiful. Alive.

Wen Ning remembers how he tried to paint his nails one day, a light, fleshy pink. It never lasted, but it made him feel...good. Human.

Oh, how he wishes he also was...

It feels ungrateful to think this way - he isn't... fully alive, but he's not dead either, and that's more than he could have ever dreamed of the moment he succumbed to exhaustion and died all those years ago.

He has a home now, and a family, and he's trying to make a name for himself other than the Ghost General. He can go wherever he wants, do whatever he wants, he even has money now! He can travel the world and meet all sorts of people, learn all sorts of things...

Still, there is so much he cannot do anymore. Precise movements are difficult, and sometimes he feels stuck in his body, every sensation muted.

He doesn't feel a lot of the things people do. Most sensations he gets to feel have to be very intense for him to get anything out of it. And it's... weird. That's the word Wen Ning has decided to settle on, even if that's not quite right.

(What a shame, that he doesn't get to feel with his body, but his soul is still so painfully human.)

Anyway, he does wish he was more... alive. Or at least look it. He isn't sure he still remembers what he used to look like...

"You can just come into the shop, you know?" the shopkeeper smiles at him from behind her counter. "I promise I don't bite! ...well, not without prior consent at least!"

If Wen Ning could, he'd be blushing. A bit ironic, considering the things he's been getting up to lately...

Still, he decides he might as well - he's been staring like a creep for too long not to purchase anything, and perhaps he can find something here that's going to make him feel less... different.

"So, what can I help you with today?"

"I'm looking for... makeup."

The lady laughs, and Wen Ning feels like blushing again.

"Well, you've sure found it! But what exactly are you hoping to achieve? What kind of look would you like?"

Wen Ning feels suddenly very self conscious, out of place in the shop, in the world.

"I want... to look more... alive."

The lady laughs, again. "You know, that's a very common request. And anyway, I see people that look dead-er than you on the daily! Go sit by the window and I'll try to work my magic!"

He does as instructed and struggles a little bit not to feel silly about it. What is he even doing here? The fearsome Ghost General is getting his makeup done.

The lady return from the back of the store carrying a few items. "I brought some foundation and some blush, I tried to go for the lighter colors because you don't seem like you had a dark skin tone."

"Oh, no, I used to burn very easily in the sun too..."

"This is the powder for your face, it's a bit thicker so you're going to need a special brush to apply it." The lady explains as she opens the cap to a round box and dips a thick brush into it. "The good thing about your skin is that it's even-toned, so the color should apply seamlessly, with a great finish."

She moves the brush expertly over Wen Ning's skin, focused. "You have very beautiful features, Wen-gongzi."

"Um, thank you..."

She moves the brush down his neck, applying the product in quick, precise strokes, as far as his robes show skin. "I'm not just saying that, my livelihood is beauty, I deal with it all the time, and so when I tell you that you're beautiful, I mean it."

Wen Ning doesn't know if the lady should be so close to him, but she seems not to notice the sudden few inches less of distance between them as she evens out the powder around his nose and cheeks. This feels... weirdly intimate.

"Say, can I do something for your eyes too?" she asks as she finally finishes livening up Wen Ning's complexion, adding blush powder onto his cheek bones.

"Something like what?"

"Eyeliner, maybe? I think it would make your eyes pop, give you that seductive gaze, know what I mean?"

He looks away, sheepish. "Not-not really..."

The makeup artist laughs, picking a small container off a nearby shelf. "I promise I won't overdo it, and if you don't like it, I'll wipe it off, okay?"

Wen Ning nods and closes his eyes, only to feel a tender swipe over each of his eyelids in turn. His makeup artist works very quickly. But so very closely to him.

"You can open your eyes now, I have a mirror you can look in."

And so, Wen Ning does. The reflection in the mirror is him - it is, but not really. His skin is glowing, his eyes appear painted on, lively, no longer faded, and just a bit less lifeless.

It's him if he was alive, if nothing went wrong, if-

"Everything okay?"

He blinks his thoughts and his phantom tears away. "Yeah, yeah, everything is... okay."

The makeup artist scrutinizes his features, curious. "Can I try some eyeshadow on you as well?"

"I guess...?"

The makeup artist already sweeps her eyes around her collection of displayed powders. "Are there any colors you don't like?"

"No red, please. Anything else is fine..."

She nods, and reaches for three little boxes. "I'm thinking some warm browns would compliment your look well, and I also just got this glittery powder that catches really prettily in the light, I think it will look amazing on you!"

Wen Ning flutters his eyelids closed. He's excited, almost - having seen how well the makeup artist has revived his complexion, he can only wonder what other things she'll surprise him with.

He feels the tender touches of brushes, the closeness with the other person - and he knows he's going to become a regular customer. He enjoys this, the feeling of being pampered, of being made beautiful.

"Not to toot my own horn," she says, a few minutes later, "...but I think I turned you into a bit of a god."

"Can I see?"

"Not yet, keep your eyes closed, I want to do something with your hair too."

"I-I really don't think I can afford-"

"No worries about that! Money isn't an issue." He feels her fingers comb through his hair carefully. "And anyway, money isn't the only way you can pay for something."

"I could help around... carry boxes or..."

"Wen-gongzi. That's not what I meant."

"Oh. Oh... But the makeup..."

She hands him the mirror as he opens his eyes, admiring the shine around his eyes, and the beautiful hairpiece atop his head.

"I use very high quality products, Wen-gongzi." the makeup artist smiles. "Nothing will run, no matter how strenuous the activity."

"Mm... Let's test it out?"

"Let me close up shop."

[aceing-on-the-cake]

Hii, how did you make those shoelaces? They're so cute.

Ok so, I was going to make a video where I showed you how to do it but things have honestly been so busy I literally have not had time to get around to it, and you're anon so I don't have anyone to tag so.....I'm very sorry basically. I hope you see these.

So I used these beads:

They're called pony beads and you can find them places like Michaels, Amazon, the online Pony Beads Store, etc.

I got a single pack from Michaels and they were like under 4 dollars, but they were missing some colors like grey (which meant I wasn't able to do the ace flag......) so like if you are looking to do a flag it might be worth seeing what colors they have.

But anyways to get them on my shoes I basically unlaced my shoes entirely, strung the beads on my shoelaces in the order of the flag I was using and about 9 across in total (but really that just depends on how wide your shoe is), made sure the beads sit in the very middle of my shoes and then relaced my shoes making sure the beads were facing outwards.

There's lots of different ways you can do this though, like mine was just a single line across but people have done things like this:

As well where they put the beads all the way up.

You can also do cool stuff like these:

If you have some clear string and smaller beads (or the larger pony beads, you know, whatever you have on hand will work). And you can get fancy and attach it with clasps like these or you can just tie those fuckers like I did on mine. Be warned though, if you have zip up shoes and these go across where they zip up, you have to make them loose enough that you can open your shoe still. If you just tie your shoes, I don't think that's a problem, but I have accidentally broken one string on my boots before in public....so like, just take that into account.

Or if you don't have strong but you've got safety pins, you can do stuff like this:

Like honestly I would legitimately suggest checking out pinterest for ideas like this if it's stuff you'd like. This is my DIY board and you can find some of this stuff on here, but just looking at pictures of what people have made can give you some ideas on just DIYing your own clothing. There is so much you can do with things like basic needle and thread (patches from old tshirts, embroidery, mending, sewing entirely new clothing, etc), acrylic paints and an iron (paint directly on fabric, heat set with the iron and bam, you can paint on clothing), bleach (add a cup of water and a brush and you've got a whole new thing you can "paint" with, or you can literally just dump that shut on there in fun ways), or things like beads and safety pins.

Like here's some things I've done to clothes:

And these are some future things I want to do to clothes that I've found on pinterest:

I hope any of that was helpful! And again, I'm sorry that it took me so long to reply.

[moreteethplease]

Devlog: Close The Window, My Love

Close The Window, My Love is a game about nursing things that should no longer remain. It was made for the 73rd bitsy jam, with the theme "close the window" - pretty on the nose, I know lmao. Click here to play it!

C/W for the game: allusions to death and physical illness.

Told myself I'd write devlogs/post-mortems whenever I make something, even if it's a very tiny something, so here goes! This devlog contains spoilers for the game.

Writing

When I started making this game, I didn't really know where it was going. The game jam's theme didn't spark any inspiration, which is ironic because I voted for it. So I just whipped out a word document and started writing, and the first thing I wrote was this: "Close the window, my love," she says, voice softer than a whisper."

But why is this person asking me to close a window?, I asked myself. Maybe they don't really want me to close the window. Maybe they're only doing it because they feel they have to?

I often find that I don't set out to create things that relate to me, but if I let myself write and work, the things I'm processing begin to leap out, begging for a spot in whatever I'm working on. That's what happened here. This is an ode to a past version of me, one so vastly different to who I am now that we have little in common, one I've spent the longest time desperately clawing my way back to, trying to embody them again. I love them very dearly, and I'm sure they love me, but it was time to let them go. I'm never going to be them again, and it's time to accept that and move on, growing into someone new.

It took me a whopping three days to finalize the script. I started out writing prose, but when some lines ended up rhyming, the non-rhyming lines felt out of place. I flip-flopped between intentionally rhyming them and trying to remove all rhymes for two days before committing to writing a rhyming poem. The poem is divided into four "parts" or "portions", each with three verses.

Making The Game

Because I'd spent so long on writing the script and was pretty busy the week of this jam, I didn't have a lot of time to spend on art. I opted for a very simple room - just a little square with slight top-down perspective, bare walls aside from the window, and a bed for The Relic (yes, that's what I call the person in the bed). When that seemed too empty, I added a doormat and a lil bedside table. Don't ask where The Relic uses the bathroom; I don't know either. It's an impractical living space, to say the least.

I made sure to leave plenty of space for four lines of dialog on top of the screen that wouldn't obscure the room. This is important because the window sprite doesn't appear until after the first two verses of each part of the poem, and I wanted players to see the window change colour, indicating it is now interactable.

My favourite portion of this game is the bit where the window slides down over four lines. I really love doing stuff like this in bitsy, where you shift rooms to create an effect akin to very simple animation. I've only used it a couple of times - the last time with It Piles Up - but it's so much fun. I didn't have a sketch for this, I sort of just made it right away at the 128x128 size used in bitsy and tested it, found it satisfactory, and added it to the game. I did this with the "Dot" brush in Ibis Paint, which is how I make most of my bitsy sketches and tests.

I also wanted each part of the poem to have a different mood, despite the fact that the poem itself mostly has the same vibe throughout. To do this, I used a different colour palette and ambient sound for each portion.

Of course, I needed the four parts of the poem to be divided smoothly. Just having the player avatar pop back up in the exact same room would be jarring. So I created a small area where the player avatar walks up to a house, and the environment slowly loses its verdancy with each new part of the poem - until the post-poem portion, where it is green and lively again.

Okay, I don't really know how to write these things. This might have gotten rambly. Please give the game a play if you like! You can play it here:

[ponds-of-ink]

And now, for something completely different: A (Mostly?) Original Haunted House One-Shot

TL;DR: Listened to a couple of hours of extra Haunted Mansion lore and now I’m here wanting to try my own spin. Enjoy the much shorter-than-expected piece?

–

Hey, you.

Yeah, you. The kids straggling through my neck of the woods.

You want a good place to get a scare?

Try the old Heartland house up on that hill over there. That place’ll send chills which could rattle your spine like a xylophone.

..I’d ask if you don’t believe me, but I can’t see your faces that well. Pretty dark here, even with your fancy flashlights.

Welp, may as well tell you my own story anyway. You kids look like you’re about to join those ghosts up there the moment you fall asleep. Sit down. Rest a while. Ol’ Jebediah will make sure you stay awake.

It was back in the days when cars were sharp and music swelled with passion. Maybe a bit too much passion, at times, but nobody really cared.

One night near Halloween, I was walking down this very same path. With the very same thoughts you were thinking, as a matter of fact. “Boy, I wish I could get a good ghost story to tell my friends during Trick or Treating,” I said to myself. “Then maybe I’ll be the talk of the neighborhood. Maybe I’ll even be called the bravest boy in all of Westerfield!”

’Course, my bones were shaking from the idea of ever setting foot in that house. I could take a strange fella in an old hat and cloak whisking me away or some pumpkin-head jumping out in front of me. But ghosts in a mansion that was just a few miles out from my own home? Phew. Poor lil’ Jeb couldn’t handle the thought.

But I tried to keep going. I pressed on through the brush, praying that some other monster tried to snatch me before the ghosts did. Even Mr. Hyde was a better option than the fiends occupying my mind.

After a few more minutes of fumbling around, I wandered into something. Something I’m not entirely sure is still there, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it still stands to this day.

A pair of two stone pillars with the name of “Harlan” scrawled in iron between them.

Since the name didn’t really ring any bells, I squeezed past the half-open gates and just waltzed on in. Overgrown rose bushes gave a bit of color, but it was all dark and foggy in that place. No storms, though, if you were thinking it was one of those nights.

Things got stranger as soon as I entered the place where the fountain stood. The water in that thing was a bright blue-green. Like a working neon sign with no lightbulb in sight. I was going to ponder about how this could be, but something else caught my eye: A statue of a rabbit, curly-haired and floppy-eared, sitting beside a plaque. I thought it was a little pet memorial at first, but then I read the sign– Though some of the words were scratched out.

“For Will ––

19–– to 1983

You made us laugh ‘til grief took hold...

...May this bunny set you free”

I knew that this little poem must’ve had more to it, but that last line made me uneasy all the same. I sat down on the fountain’s edge to think it over. “There’s no way that this little fella’s got some clown’s ghost inside,” I told myself. “How would it even make people laugh if it’s just standing still?”

Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Ol’ Will’s statue move.

It was slow at first. A little wiggle to the left here. A little shift to the right there.

But as soon as I sprang up from my spot? Boy, was he hopping like a real rabbit. He got closer and closer while I ran faster and faster. Heh, I would’ve crashed into the house’s side windows if they didn’t look like big, black voids!

...Right. You’re here for the scares. Gotta get that drilled into my noggin.

Well, Will wasn’t the only scare I had that night. In fact, as soon as I stumbled into that house, I was greeted with my second spook of the evening: A music box being wound by a pale woman dressed in white. We stared at each other for a good minute or two. I tried to sputter out something, but the dame just stared like a deer. Can’t really blame her, since I barged in on her music recital of sorts.

“S-Sorry, Miss Polly,” I finally squeaked out, remembering a local tall tale about her. “I, uh, don’t mean to interrupt your song and dance, but I just got away from a really creepy rabbit. Do you know a way out that doesn’t involve messing with that thing?”

Polly tilted her head and kept it there. I shook at the change, but tried to stay brave. “You don’t know any other way out?” I asked her.

She just leaned her head to one side even more. It was cocked to the side so much that I could even see the stitching ‘round her neck.

I looked away from the awful sight, but I noticed an open doorway. “Thanks,” I said as I backed away into the next room. “You have a nice night.”

Polly just kept on playing her music, which was good enough for me. She sure was pretty (and her story sure was sad), but boy she was unsettling.

The foyer of the house was decayed and all sorts of grimy. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall through the floorboards while I struggled to open the door– And I mean struggled. I had to wander around that house for an hour just to find the key after that. The dining room had floating silverware that looked like it was going to poke you if you made one wrong move. The kitchen wasn’t much better, with all the food that glowed much like the fountain out back. I even tried to take a bite just to see what it tasted like, but it turned into mist right before my eyes. And the attic...

...Hang on now. I just thought of something. The rest of my story won’t make sense to you not-Westerfield folks. Pretty Polly and the rest of the Harlans are local legends. Legends that you gotta dive into almost two centuries of stories for. And, truth be told, y’all don’t seem like you’re in for that kinda story. Especially since I’m supposed to be telling it like I understood it back then.

So I’ll make sure an hour of my time isn’t an hour of your time. All you need to know is that Lil’ Jeb found the key up there and booked it back to the foyer. Sure, there was the entire Harlan family tree following close behind, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t quite get the reason back then either. All I could catch was something about “never leaving their manor alive” above all the other angry goings-on. To be honest, I was just happy to be back outside and free to run back home.

...Oh, and Ol’ Will? Well, he wasn’t related to the Harlans at all. Turns out he was a favorite guest of the last real owners of the house. Guess the Harlans decided to turn that last phrase into a challenge. Thinking back now, I guess the little fella was actually the tamest out of all of ‘em. Maybe I should go back up there and apologize sometime..

But not tonight. It’s too foggy, even for me. Y’all can take this old rambler’s word for it, or y’all can go find something a bit more thrilling. Either way, I’ll be here warming up by the fire.

Happy travels..

[bujorulgalben]

a river and no sea

a playlist for slavko vukašinović and anica mihăescu. for the slow burn and smoulder of hearts. for those as thick as thieves who one day, unintendedly, stole those same hearts. for the spirited peony, the hardy lily of the valley, the stalwart oak, the heavenly chorus. an undying faith in each other.

cover pictures used: ‘sigillum’ by roberto ferri iron gate - danube river (serbia-romania border)

meant to be played in the set other. track-list and some favourite lyrics below the cut:

one. laughter lines - bastille

you took me to your favourite place on earth / to see the tree they cut down ten years from your birth. / our fingers traced in circles round its history, / we brushed our hands right back in time through centuries. / as you held me down, you said:

"i'll see you in the future when we're older / and we are full of stories to be told. / cross my heart and hope to die, / i'll see you with your laughter lines."

two. lightning fields - the killers (ft. kd lang)

late at night, i lay in bed and / think about things left unsaid and / all the things that i'd do different / if i just had the chance

don't beat yourself up / you laid good ground / look at 'em walk from scratch to sundown / you put the work in and then some / where is all this coming from? / there's no end to love / there's no end to truth / there's no end to me / there's no end to you 

i just wanted to run my fastest and / stand beside you in the lightning field of love / press your face to mine / name and raise again / take the car out for a drive

(take me with you to the other side)

three. twilight omens - franz ferdinand

i wrote your name upon the / back of my hand / slept upon it / then i woke up / with it backwards on my face / reading forwards from my mirror / to my heart twilight omens in my life / then i hear your name / hear the radio sing your name / should i give you a call? / what should i say? / maybe you still feel the same?

four. lay my head down - band of skulls

was i asleep? did you save me from disaster? / wake up and tell me i'm just imagining / thought i would brave it 'cause i don't wanna live in doubt dreamt of escape but i'm nowhere near the feeling / fell from a high but i never hit the ground / can't hold the weight of your words, heavy on my mind so i'm gonna lay my head down on your shoulder and run / keep it away from my soul, i'm not holding it all / i'm gonna lay my head down on your shoulder and run / all that we know will get old and with you i'll unfold

i'm gonna lay my head down

five. opera house - cigarettes after sex

if i abandoned love i'd be a man without dreams / i'd rather be out there staring death right between its eyes now

and i can still hear the sound of you crying through the night / there in the opera house with no one else for miles

i was meant to love you and always keep you in my life / i was meant to love you / i knew i loved you at first sight

six. stolen dance - milky chance

i want you by my side / so that i never feel alone again / they've always been so kind / but now they've brought you away from here / i hope they didn't get your mind / your heart is too strong anyway / we need to fetch back the time / they have stolen from us

and i want you / we can bring it on the floor / you've never danced like this before / we don't talk about it / dancing on, do the boogie all night long / stoned in paradise / shouldn't talk about it

seven. come a little closer - cage the elephant

heartbreaks, the heavy world's upon your shoulders / will we burn on or just smolder? / somehow, i know i'll find you there / ooh, you wanna see if you can change it / change it / still, i know i'll see you there

come a little closer, then you'll see (come on, come on, come on) / things aren't always what they seem to be / do you understand the things that you've been seeing? (come on, come on, come on) / do you understand the things that you've been dreaming? / come a little closer, then you'll see

eight. 100 years - florence & the machine

i believe in you / and in our hearts we know the truth / and i believe in love / and the darker it gets, the more i do / try and fill us with your hate and we will shine a light / and the days will become endless / and never, and never turn to night / and never, and never turn to night then it's just too much / i cannot get you close enough / a hundred arms, a hundred years / you can always find me here / and, lord, don't let me break this / let me hold it lightly / give me arms to pray with / instead of ones that hold too tightly

nine. as it was - hozier

and tell me if somehow some of it remained / how long you would wait for me? / how long I've been away? / the shape that I'm in now is shaping the doorway / make your good love known to me / just tell me about your day

just as it was, baby / before the otherness came / and i knew its name / the drugs, the dark, the light, the shame

eyes at the heights of my baby / and this hope at the fight of my baby / and the lights were as bright as my baby / but your love was unmoved

ten. when the world breaks your heart - goo goo dolls

i held your face in my hands / so i could feel you smile / every time that i kiss you / you put your lips on my scars / made a tattoo of stars / felt the rush of blood and i knew

i never answer to / anybody who / tries to tear us down again so take the angry words / the things that make you hurt / kiss them goodbye, forever tonight

when the world breaks your heart / i can put it back together / i write your name across the sky / so i'm always with you / now it's you and me / like the stars we burn forever / so listen when i say to you / i'll be there, you're not alone / you're not alone

when the sun fades into shadows / when you call and no one's there / and the light goes out inside you / don't you know that i'll be there

eleven. francis forever - mitski

i don't know what to do without you / i don't know where to put my hands / i've been trying to lay my head down / but i'm writing this at 3 a.m i don't need the world to see / that i've been the best i can be, but / i don't think i could stand to be / where you don't see me

twelve. wolves without teeth - of monsters and men

open my chest and colour my spine / i'm giving you all / i'm giving you all / swallow my breath / and take what is mine / i'm giving you all / i'm giving you all

i'll be the blood / if you'll be the bones / i'm giving you all / i'm giving you all / so lift up my body / and lose all control / i'm giving you all / i'm giving you all

you hover like a hummingbird / haunt me in my sleep you'll sailing from another world / sinking in my sea, oh / you're feeding on my energy / i'm letting go of it / she wants it

thirteen. chasing cars - snow patrol

i don't quite know / how to say / how i feel

those three words / are said too much / they're not enough

if i lay here / if i just lay here / would you lie with me and just forget the world?

forget what we're told / before we get too old / show me a garden that's bursting into life

let's waste time / chasing cars / around our heads

i need your grace / to remind me / to find my own

fourteen. lovers rock - tv girl

are you sick of me? / would you like to be? / i'm trying to tell you something / something that i already said

you like a pretty boy / with a pretty voice / who is trying to sell you something / something that you already have

but if you're too drunk to drive / and the music is right / she might let you stay / but just for the night / and if she grabs for your hand / and drags you along / she might want a kiss / before the end of this song

fifteen. wine in the afternoon - franz ferdinand

so summer stains / a sky with inky swirls / that bring the thunder low / but i don't mind / i'm doing things and doing them with you

and if you're smart you'll put that book back down / you'll drag me to the floor / drag me down for more

sixteen. running towards a place - the killers

can you see the world / in a grain of sand? / can you find heaven in a wildflower / hold it in the palm of your hand? / the moment we met / burst like a star / onto the canvas of the skyline / purple and gold / we're in this together / i ain't never letting go

because we're running towards a place / where we'll walk as one / and the sadness of this life / will be overcome / if i lay with you in love / will you meet me there? / and shake the lightning from the locks / of your unbound hair

seventeen. be - hozier

when the man who gives the order is born next time 'round on the boats and back / when the body is starving at the border / or on tv given people the sack / love, when the sea rises to meet us / oh, when there's nothing left for you and i to do / oh, when there is nobody upstairs to receive us / when i have no kind words left, love, for you

be, be, be, be, be / be as you've always been / be, be, be, be, be / be as you've always been / (lover be good to me)

be love in its disrepute / scorches a hillside and salts every root / and watches the slowing and starving of troops / and lover be good to me / be there and your stairs you stack / or be like the rose you hold in your hand / i will grow bold in a barren and desolate land / and lover be good to me

eighteen. i found - amber run

i'll use you as a warning sign / that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind / and i'll use you as a focal point / so i don't lose sight of what i want / and i've moved further than i thought i could / but i missed you more than i thought i would / and i'll use you as a warning sign / that if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

and i found love where it wasn't supposed to be / right in front of me / talk some sense to me

nineteen. nightmares - band of skulls

if you can reason, if you can stay / to put all your faith in the palm of my hand / i will protect you, i will defend / it'll never get you ever again

‘cause when you're afraid of everything / everything is a start for nightmares / nightmares, nightmares, nightmares / oh, oh, oh, oh

if i die tomorrow, would you be upset? / or would you be the one coming to get me? / falling by the wind side of the never changing world / so tell me it's alright

maybe i'm just dreaming / maybe i was wrong / maybe i was right / 'cause i can't imagine distances in our faiths / is there any kind?

twenty. paper boats - darren korb, ashley barrett

seconds march into the past / the moments pass / and just like that, they're gone

the river always finds the sea / so helplessly / like you find me

we are paper boats floating on a stream / and it would seem / we'll never be apart

i will always find you / like it's written in the stars / you can run but you can't hide, try

[self-shipping-hell]

What it's like having Lucifer as a dad

🍎 Both super protective and the worst instigator, there's no escape. Compromising is a fucking nightmare.

🍎 Not even joking, one second he's telling me to loosen up and live a little and the next he's yelling at me to go change because my shirt shows too much collarbone.

🍎 "If you want a tattoo here's how you're going to do it. And don't go to anyone else other than who I refer. I know their style, I'll be able to tell."

🍎 He's brought me breakfast in bed for "special occasions" but really I think he just likes me needing him sometimes. These special occasions range from my birthday to "It's the anniversary of the first night in your highschool's production of Hairspray where you played Hooker #2!"

🍎 I call him Luke a lot if I'm not calling him Dad. I also use father of mine a lot, to which he calls me child of mine.

🍎 Adopted me when I was well in highschool (AKA The show Lucifer came out when I was sixteen and I've seen him as a parental figure since lolololol)

🍎 Have had a conversation with someone that went along the lines of "You gotta check out this kink shop, they have everything!" "Yeahhhh, my dad goes there a lot, so I avoid it whenever possible." "Oh, you have a daddy?" "No, my literal father!" (Based on a vid I saw once and realized that'd be me with Lucifer as a father.)

🍎 If I had a nickel for every time someone thought I was his girlfriend that happened to be half his age, I'd have enough money to buy an electric chair and zap myself out of existence! :D

🍎 Tries to coach me on my singing, which leads to me proving I don't need it, which leads to him proving I do, which turns into a sing off.

🍎 Wants to teach me piano one day. I mentioned it once several years ago, but for some reason we just never get around to it.

🍎 Has seriously upped my expectations for a partner because he treats me so well, and he's unbelievably picky with who I introduce to him. He shouldn't be worried, they don't get to that stage if I don't think they have a chance.

🍎 Hilariously, I'm the one popping out the dad jokes while he's rolling his eyes praying to his dad for strength.

🍎 Apparently God is "not my grandpa", even if Lucifer's my dad, but I still call God gramps just to fuck with people.

🍎 He's ironically the most honest person, and it's to a fault sometimes.

🍎 Like, I'll be breaking down and he'll accidentally say something to make it worse while trying to comfort me with the truth. I appreciate it later, but sometimes the guy needs to read a room.

🍎 I'll call him whenever I miss him, even if it's the middle of the night. I know he'll drop everything to answer. Sometimes it's just because I want to talk or don't want to feel so alone while I'm trying to sleep.

🍎 Queue incident where he's on the brink of solving a case and suddenly I call from a different timezone like, "Dad, I can't sleep." "Hold on, pumpkin, I'll call you right back. Just two minutes, okay? [Turns to everyone else] We have a deadline now. Let's wrap things up, please!"

🍎 Reminds me to take care of myself in his Lucifer ways.

🍎 [grabs me by the face, effectively squishing my cheeks] "Why on Earth do your teeth look like that?" "I haven't brushed em in a minute. Stop it!" "Have you been cleaning your human enclosure?" "I've been sad." "Well, stop being sad, then! What'll it take, hm? A movie? Vodka? Do you need help getting a start on your room?" "No, I'll do it." "I'm sure you will, after we have a lovely stroll and get you a tea. [pats my cheek] Come along, child of mine!"